A Lyon's Share (11 page)

"Who's the lucky girl tonight? The blonde china doll I saw you with a few weeks ago?" she inquired with a decidedly cutting edge to her voice.

"You have the advantage." His head went back, a sardonic light glittering in his eyes. "You must be referring to Angela, because I can think of no one else who could be so aptly linked to a china doll. Unfortunately I didn't see you."

"Hardly unfortunate," she flashed, "since you don't believe in mixing business with pleasure."

His face was suddenly grim and she knew she had overstepped her bounds. Her hand brushed a strand of burnished gold hair back to where the rest was secured by a clasp.

"I spoke out of turn," she shrugged defensively even as she apologized. "Don't let me keep you. You must be anxious to meet your date."

"I'm not so easily distracted from the reason for my presence in your apartment, Joan," Brandt stated, his gaze narrowing on her face. "What are you going to do with the check?"

"I suppose I'll have to accept it," Joan agreed grudgingly.

He crossed the few paces that separated them. She wanted to turn away, but like a butterfly under a pin, she couldn't wiggle free of his compelling gaze.

"Do I have your word on that?" Brandt demanded quietly.

For a mutinous moment, Joan nearly didn't give it. She guessed he wouldn't leave until he got her promise. And as much as it hurt to have him so near, she wanted him to stay.

"You have my promise I won't tear it up again." Joan tore the words through the constricted muscles in her throat.

"Nor stick it in some forgotten corner?" His mouth quirked at one corner at the possible qualification of her promise.

"I'm not that wealthy that I don't need every dime I earn. I can assure you I'll spend it." She glared at him resentfully.

Brandt smiled. "That wasn't so hard."

"You gave me no choice but to agree," she answered, fighting that sudden leap of her pulse at the magic smile. "How else would I get you to leave?"

"Are you so anxious to have me go?" he mocked, watching the way she nervously moistened her lips.

"Just as anxious as you are to leave." she said firmly.

His gaze swept the room, then returned to her pale face. "You never know. I might want to stay."

"I can't believe you would want my unwilling company instead of the adoration of your Angela." Waspish rejection coated her words.

His left hand imprisoned the back of her left wrist as Joan started to walk away. When she tried to pull free, the hold tightened and Brandt smoothly twisted her around and drew her to him. The incredible ease with which he subdued her struggles forcibly reminded her how very strong he was. That impression was soon erased by the electric tingling of her skin radiating through her body wherever she came in contact with him. A strange inertia took hold of her, reducing resistance to a vague thought.

"I can't get used to the fact that behind those glasses and ridiculous bun of my capable secretary," Brandt mused on a curious note, "is a sensitive and insecure woman."

How badly she wanted his arms around her, protecting and soothing and stimulating. She hardly dared breathe for fear she would reveal the helpless hunger that assailed her. Tormented and aching with need, her brown eyes transfixed their velvet gaze on the knot of his tie.

With a savagely impatient movement, Brandt released her and walked swiftly to the chair where his overcoat lay. Inwardly Joan's senses reeled from the sudden shock of his withdrawal.

"I'll be late picking up Angela if I don't leave now." he said sharply.

"It certainly wouldn't do to keep her waiting." Her voice was sarcastically low and controlled to hide the quiver of pain.

"That's true." Brandt sliced back. "Unlike you, she's eager for my company."

His supple strides carried him quickly to the door into the outer hall. As his hand closed over the doorknob, he hesitated and turned back. It cost Joan the earth to meet the compelling yet indifferent glare of blue.

"Will you be all right alone here in the apartment?" The question was asked with grudging concern.

Chilled, Joan hated his male arrogance. "I'll be so busy tonight that I doubt I'll even notice I'm alone," she declared coldly. "Ed is flying in tomorrow morning and I have a lot to do before he arrives."

His gaze raked her face. "Lock and bolt the door when I leave," he ordered.

Joan did.

Chapter Six

THE filing drawer of the metal cabinet was slammed shut as Joan walked into her office. Her darting look was just in time to see Brandt glance at his watch.

"I'm five minutes early," she informed him coldly, walking to the coat-stand to hang up her coat.

When she turned around, he was propped against the cabinet. The hard line of his mouth was pulled up at the corners in a mirthless smile while his gaze inspected her sardonically.

"I have never known you to be less than punctual, Miss Somers." His arms were folded complacently in front of him "Although I did think you might cheat a bit this morning after what must have been a full weekend."

In truth, it had been a wretchedly flat weekend. Too many forced smiles and laughs. Too much pretence that she was actually enjoying Ed's company or his kisses.

"Like you, Mr. Lyon, I don't let my personal life affect my work," Joan responded curtly. Walking to her desk, she removed her reading glasses from her bag and slipped them on to her nose. "Now, what was it you wanted from the filing cabinet?"

"You've slipped back into your business skin, haven't you, Joan?" The dryly rhetorical question mocked her subtle attempt to divert the conversation "My comment was motivated by a purely friendly interest that your weekend was all that you hoped it to be."

"You're no more interested in hearing about my weekend with Ed than I am to learn the highlights of yours with Angela."

There was altogether too much bitterly jealous truth in her stiff words. Her entire weekend had been haunted by visions of Brandt making love to the dainty blonde.

The carved features hardened. "I want the completion schedule on the Blackwood project. Bring it into my office." Then Brandt was pushing away from the cabinet and walking with long strides to the open doorway of his office. "Let me know when the cold war is over," he tossed back.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Joan was stung to retort.

Brandt stopped in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he met her haughtily cool look. "I'm not accustomed to receiving a severe case of frostbite simply because I make a casual inquiry," he snapped.

"We've never exchanged confidences in the past and I see no reason to begin now." Her voice matched his own clipped tones.

"You sensitive little prig!" He laughed shortly and harshly. "I intended no personal or private exchange. The type of conversation I had in mind was 'How was your weekend?' to which you would reply 'I had a good time.' Then I would say 'The fun is over and it's back to work for another week.' My intentions were all very innocent!"

Joan flushed scarlet, firmly put in her place. "I didn't know … I didn't realize …" She fumbled for an apology. I misunderstood. I'm sorry."

"As usual, you were making mountains out of molehills," he stated dryly, the contempt leaving his voice. Her gaze skittered to his face and bounced away. His head tilted inquiringly to the side. "Pax?"

Her mouth moved into a tentative smile. "Pax," she agreed weakly.

"Good," he nodded abruptly, a dancing gleam suddenly appearing in his eyes. "Then get me that completion schedule. It's back to work."

Their truce was surprisingly solid. That infinite tension no longer crackled in the air. True it was bittersweet for Joan, but at least she didn't feel she had to guard every word an the chance that Brandt might misconstrue its meaning.

Besides, in this Christmas week, it seemed so wrong not to declare 'peace.' Christmas was a holiday of love, and her heart overflowed with love for Brandt. In another month she would hand in her notice and be forever out of his life. It was better to leave a casual friend than the instigator of a cold war. He would be less apt to question her motives.

Her fingers paused on the keys of the typewriter, and she wished she hadn't reminded herself of her imminent departure. A minute before she had been rejoicing silently in the Christmas spirit. She was determined not to let herself sink back into the doldrums of despair. Tonight she was taking a bus home to be with her family on Christmas Day. She would not have her visit colored with useless yearnings.

The door to her office opened and Kay floated into the room looking like one of Santa's helpers with her pixie curls and bright red dress. A beaming smile of exasperation bowed her lips.

"Aren't you ready? Nearly everyone is in the canteen now, except you and Mr. Lyon," she scolded lightly.

Joan returned the smile indulgently. Kay was always the party-lover. The annual Christmas party at the office was one more reason to exhibit her outgoing and bubbly personality.

"As soon as I finish this letter I'll be done for the day," she replied.

"You're much too earnest!" Kay sighed. What does it matter if that letter gets done today or not? Tomorrow is Christmas Day and it isn't going to get delivered to wherever it is that it's going."

"It will only take me a few minutes to finish it and then I won't have it waiting for me when I come back," Joan argued logically.

"Well, I'm not going to wait for you." Kay wrinkled her nose and glided towards the door. "The party is to start at one-thirty, and it's now one thirty-five."

"I'll be there shortly," Joan promised.

When the letter was typed, she set it with the other stack awaiting Brandt's signature and cleared her desk. Kay's bright spirits were infectious. She found a smile came readily to her lips as she picked up the letters and walked to the connecting office door. She rapped lightly on the door and entered Brandt's office after his muffled summons.

He was leaning idly back in the large leather chair, a suggestion of a smile about his mouth that was disconcerting as Joan approached his desk.

"If you'll sign these letters," she said, placing them on the empty desk top, "I'll see that they get out yet today.

"You're all done after this, aren't you?" He slipped the pen from its holder and began affixing his bold signature to the letters.

"Yes," Joan agreed quietly, liking the way the pen flowed in concise strokes over the paper.

"You're late for the party," Brandt commented, not glancing up.

"So are you." A few days ago, before their truce, she wouldn't have been able to respond so lightly and naturally.

The last letter was signed, but instead of handing them to her, he began folding and inserting them in their respective, attached envelopes.

He glanced up at her and smiled. "Yes, but the boss is supposed to arrive late and leave early, so I don't inhibit my employees."

The smile sent thick waves through her system, and she transferred her attention back to the letters. "I suppose it's only natural that we're self-conscious when you're around."

Deliberately she placed herself with the rest of the company's employees, although she didn't exactly fit. Her closeness to the boss elevated her to some indefinable plateau.

"Are you self-conscious around me?" The letters were all sealed in their envelopes, but he kept them in his hand.

"Not as much as others who only see you from a distance," Joan qualified.

His gaze roamed freely over her face and her slightly guarded expression. "So to you, I'm not some omnipotent god with the sword of dismissal in my hand," he mocked.

"You are my employer," she dodged.

Her hand reached out for the letters. There was something omnipotent in his hold over her heart and senses, but she didn't liken him to a god. Almost reluctantly, he handed her the envelopes with their correspondence inside.

"I'll be off to the party now," she stated, oddly feeling the warmth of his hands on the paper.

"Not yet." An enigmatic expression in the carved, rugged planes of his face as he rose from his chair and walked around the desk to where she stood. Compellingly, his gaze held her confused brown eyes. "There's something I want to give you first."

"Give me?" Her echo was weak and barely audible as she watched him reach into his pocket and withdraw a flat jewel case.

Behind the patient and amused gleam in his eyes was something else that sent her pulse racing. Her hands were extremely uncoordinated as they took the box from him. She could only stare dazedly at the familiar name of an expensive jewelry store scrolled across the top of the leather case.

"Open it," Brandt commanded.

His eyes were on her bent head, watching, waiting. In compliance, Joan fumbled for a second with the catch, then snapped the lid open. A white-gold circle of linked ovals winked brightly at her from its bed of olive green velvet. Dangling from the bracelet was a rectangular object of the same shining metal in the shape of a filing cabinet. The drawer handles were diamond chips.