A Lyon's Share (19 page)

"So sorry don't have honorable fortune cookies," the sing-song voice of her room-mate said as she bowed low when Joan walked into the room, drawing a more genuine smile. "It will have to be vanilla wafers."

The kettle began whistling merrily. "Now, it's your turn to put on your gypsy outfit," Joan returned. "And when we finish our tea, you can read the teal-leaves to make up for forgetting to buy fortune cookies on your spending spree."

"Wait until John sees me in that!" Kay laughed gaily, pausing by the couch to pick up her own package. She paused in the bedroom doorway. "Can I borrow your gold chain necklace?"

"Sure. It's in my jewel box. Help yourself," Joan nodded, reaching into the cupboard for the cups and saucers while the tea steeped in the hot water.

She was just pouring the tea into the cups when Kay whirled into the room, her bare feet skipping over the carpet. She stopped, posing in the center of the room, the calf-length skirt swirling about her legs.

"What I really need is a long brunette wig," Kay declared.

"You'd shock John to death," Joan chuckled, carrying the caps to the coffee table in front of the couch. "Where are you ever going to wear that outfit?"

"Who cares?" Kay shrugged, sinking lightly to the floor in front of the table in true gypsy fashion. There was an impish gleam in her pert brown eyes as she glanced at Joan. "He's supposed to come over this afternoon for an hour. Do you really think it will shock him to see me dressed like this?"

"Well, maybe not shock," Joan qualified. "He's probably beginning to realize he can expect anything out of you, but I'm sure he'll be surprised."

There was a knock at the door and Kay bounded to her feet. "Good heavens! He's here already."

She quickly smoothed her skirt and adjusted the elastic neckline of her blouse to a more daring angle. With a quick wink at Joan, she dashed to the door, swinging it open with a flourish. But instead of almost throwing herself in John's arms, she stopped inside the door.

"What do you want?" she demanded harshly, and Joan sat up straighter on the couch, stunned by the loathing in her friend's voice.

"Is Joan here?"

Her heart turned over at the rich, low sound of Brandt's voice. She rose quickly to her feet—whether to flee the room or run to the door, she didn't know as she waited like a statue beside the couch.

"If she was," Kay was answering, "she wouldn't want to see you."

"Well, I would like to see her. Would you tell her I'm here?" Brandt responded. She sensed the patience in his tone, and the irritation, too.

"If it has to do with business," Kay was still blocking the door, "Mrs. Mason is your secretary now. Go and find her."

"It's Joan I want to see, not Mrs. Mason."

Joan knew that tone, the one that said Brandt would stand for no interference. Her fingers twisted together in agitation.

"Haven't you caused enough trouble, Mr. Lyon?" her room-mate cried angrily. "Why don't you leave her alone?"

"I understand your motives in trying to protect your friend," Brandt said crisply, "but I'm not leaving until I speak to Joan."

"You're in for a long wait!" And Kay started to slam the door.

It moved only a few inches and it was stopped by a stronger force pushing it open. Nothing was going to deter Brandt. Drawing a deep breath to steady her shaking nerves, Joan stepped around the coffee table, accepting the inevitable.

"It's all right, Kay," she said tremulously. "I'll speak to him."

An angry glance was flashed at her as Kay stayed mutinously in front of the doorway. "You don't have to talk to him, Joan. We can call the police. He doesn't own you anymore. You don't have to do what he tells you."

"Kay, please!" Joan murmured.

"You're a glutton for punishment!" Kay declared, and stalked away from the door to stand beside Joan, her arms crossed in front of her as if she was ready to do battle at a moment's notice.

Brandt walked into the small apartment, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat. He stopped just inside, his diamond-sharp gaze riveted on Joan's pale face. Then it quickly swung to the length of her, richly garbed in bright Oriental silk. She felt her legs quaking beneath her at the impassive expression on his compelling face.

It was barely twenty-four hours since she had last seen him. Yet that last time hadn't made near the physical impact on her system as she felt now—probably because she had convinced herself that she would never see him again. The wounds in her heart throbbed with pain.

"What do you want, Mr. Lyon?" She had to force herself to speak.

"I want to speak to you. I thought I had made that clear." His mouth curved cynically, adding to the harshness of his rugged features.

"There really isn't anything we have to talk about." She couldn't meet his gaze any longer and lowered her own to her hands.

"I believe there is."

"If it has to do with work, as Kay said, you should contact Mrs. Mason."

A disgusted sound of exasperation came from his throat. "I'm perfectly aware that you don't work for me any more, Joan. If you would ask your watchdog to leave the room, I will explain why I'm here."

Joan glanced hesitantly at Kay, who was still glowering at Brandt. Frightened and vulnerable, she knew she should insist that whatever he had to tell her could be said in front of her friend. Kay was her crutch, her moral support. Without her, Joan might forget to obey her common sense.

"Kay," her voice shook as her treacherous emotions took over, "would you mind waiting in the bedroom?"

A bare foot stamped the carpet in anger and exasperation. For an instant Joan was positive Kay was going to refuse. Then blazing dark eyes tossed fire arrows at Brandt, a silent warning that she would be out of the bedroom like an avenging mother bird should he attempt to molest Joan. The full gypsy skirt whirled about her legs as Kay bounced from the room.

Joan's gaze was drawn back to Brandt, but it couldn't linger. She seemed incapable of looking at him without betraying the leap her heart made. Her fingers still were clenched in front of her, knuckles white where the skin was drawn tautly over bone. Brandt took a step forward and her gaze flew to him in alarm. The hard line of his mouth tightened in grimness as metallic blue eyes raked her form.

"That robe is very beautiful." The comment was uttered with indifference, yet the compliment made Joan's lips tremble with gladness. Brandt withdrew its effect with his next words. "Somehow it makes you look even more untouchable and aloof."

Nervously she smoothed her hands over the silk, then let her fingers resume their curling knots. "You didn't come to discuss my clothes," she reminded him with a weak flash of pride.

There was a quick exhalation of disgust. "Why are we no longer capable of idle conversation?" he wanted to know.

"We never were," Joan murmured.

"Yes, we were," Brandt sighed. Unbuttoning his coat, he gazed at her sharply. "May I take my coat off, or will you regard it as some overt act against your person?"

The dry sarcasm in his voice sent her lashes fluttering down to conceal the anguish glittering in her eyes. The wavering movements of her hand signaled her permission. Her voice failed her.

"If you haven't turned into a statue, may I have some tea?"

The few steps had been taken to bring Brandt to the rocker where he had deposited his coat. Hard cold anger glittered in his eyes as Joan involuntarily flinched under the cutting edge of his question.

"Why?" Her brown eyes, wary and hurt, slid to him. It was dangerous to share anything with him.

"Because the air is cold and inhospitable, outside and in this room and I need something to warm me. Tea will do, unless you want to volunteer." The quirk of his mouth was without warmth or humor.

Joan hastened to the kitchen where the teapot was still warming on the stove. The cup clattered in the saucer as she tried to hold it steady and pour tea into it at the same time. Brandt was seated on the sofa. Joan ignored the vacant cushion beside him as she sat his cup on the coffee table and chose the safer distance of the rocking chair. Her action drew a glittering look of harsh amusement.

His hand was iron-steady as he picked up the cup. "Have you found a job?"

"Not yet." Her chin tilted a fraction of an inch to show it didn't matter.

"What type are you looking for? I know quite a few businessmen. I might be able to arrange to find you work." He was settled lazily against the back of the couch, controlled and untouched by the tension that had Joan's nerves jumping.

"No, thank you." she refused sharply. "I would prefer not to be under any obligation to you, Mr. Lyon."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His narrowed gaze swung from her face to the twisted hands in her lap. "I see you're still wearing the bracelet."

Her hand raced to cover it too late. "It's an attractive piece of jewelry," she defended. She was foolish to wear it constantly.

"Yes." His brows gathered darkly as he stared at the brown liquid in the cup.

Silence pounded in the room. The strain of sitting immobile, hardly daring to breathe, maintaining the fragile pose of a near stranger had Joan's heart screaming with frustration.

"Brandt, why are you here?" she burst out suddenly, the drumbeat of her heart roaring in her ears.

The usage of his Christian name brought a quick gleam of satisfaction to the gaze that focused intently on the desperate look in her eyes. Then it slid rapidly to the bedroom door where Kay waited, an ear no doubt pressed to the keyhole.

"I want you to have dinner with me tonight." Brandt's head was drawn back, a regal, leonine pose of alertness as his eyes missed none of the dismay etched in her features.

Her fingers closed over the arms of the rocker. She pushed herself violently out of the chair, leaving it rocking wildly behind her.

"No!" Her refusal was sharp and vigorous. The molten amber of her hair danced about her shoulders at the negative shake of her head.

Swiftly her feet carried her to the apartment window overlooking the street below. Concentrating her attention on the traffic, her sensitive radar still knew the instant Brandt rose to his feet. His steps were muffled by the carpet, but the vibrations relayed his approach behind her. She refused to turn her head even when her peripheral vision registered his profile, lean and sharply aquiline beside her.

A brown shirt of some clinging material molded the broad shoulders with disturbing thoroughness. Brandt, too, stared into the street below them. His gaze lifted to the pale, winter blue sky.

"What I wouldn't give for a January blizzard!"

His swift glance at her was unexpected and it caught her covert study of him.

The thought of Brandt being marooned in her apartment twisted her already wounded heart. The consequences of such an event were too exquisitely painful to contemplate.

"Why would you wish for such a thing?" Coldly she rejected his veiled implication to stave off her own prayer for the same.

"Why?" Brandt echoed with bitter mockery. "At least that once you exhibited some human reactions. I wasn't standing beside an emotionless creature."

That biting comment was beyond calm acceptance. Emotionless! Every sinew registered his nearness. Every fiber cried out for his touch, however degrading the outcome when he would leave her to return to Angela. Retaliation for his sarcasm was demanded.

As she spun sharply around, her brown eyes flashing with avenging sparks, the open palm of her hand swung towards the infuriating curl of his mouth, taunting her lack of feeling. Inches from the tanned face, her movement was severely checked by an iron vice clamping itself around her wrist, unmindful of the hold that cut off circulation to her hand. Pride-born temper tilted her head back to let the force of her glaring anger be observed by his implacable face.

"You're the one who is despicable and disgusting using people for your own satisfaction!" Joan accused bitterly. "Always arrogantly forcing others to do what you want. Like a jungle beast, playing with people's feelings, dragging out their torture until they beg for mercy. Not me!"

Her wrist was twisted viciously to draw her nearer to the rock-hardness of his body while his other arm punishingly circled her waist to mould the rigid length of her more closely against him. It only took his touch to spark the kindled fires of her love. A quivering shudder of surrender raced through her even as her rounded velvet eyes pleaded with him for mercy, contradicting her declaration of an instant ago.

Dark blue eyes gleamed with wicked satisfaction as they read her fear. Then their attention was riveted on her parted, trembling lips. She formed the word "no", but not a sound came from her throat and the sensuous line of his mouth moved hypnotically closer. Powerless, to resist, Joan waited for his kiss.

Brutal possession accompanied the action, denying her breath. Crushed against him as she was, there was no opportunity to respond, but a gasping sigh slipped out when he angrily trailed his mouth over her neck. Her wrist was released, yet her arms were pinned against his chest, the thudding of his heart hammering against them. Blinded by the fury of his embrace, Joan was caught in a blizzard of emotions, lost to everything but his demands.