by Janet Dailey
A probing hand reached out into the darkness as she felt her way to the desk and then the chair. It was empty, with only a little warmth remaining in the cushions.
"Mr. Lyon?" She nearly ran into the open door leading into the hallway. Her hand maintained contact with the corridor wall as she tiptoed into the dark void. "Mr. Lyon?"
Only the echo of her own voice and the whistling north wind answered her. She ventured further into the darkness, trying to fight off the sensation that she was completely alone in the building.
"Mr. Lyon?" A frightened note crept into her cry. Where could he be? she wondered frantically, and called again, much louder this time. "Mr. Lyon? Brandt? Where are you? Brandt?"
A beam of light pinned her against a wall, blinding her as effectively as the darkness had done.
"There's no need to panic, Miss Somers. I'm right here," Brandt Lyon's calm voice answered her.
Joan exhaled a shaky breath. "I didn't panic. I … I didn't know where you were," she answered defensively. "I called and called, but you didn't answer."
"I'm sure you didn't panic," he said dryly as he directed the blinding flashlight beam away from her face. "I imagine it's common practice to run around in thirty-degree weather with bare feet."
Instantly Joan was conscious of the cold tile floor beneath her nylon-stockinged feet. An embarrassed warmth flooded her cheeks.
"I couldn't find my shoes in the dark," she lied. "Why didn't you answer when I called?" she asked as she wondered if he had heard the slip she had made when she had called him by his Christian name and decided that he had.
"I was in the basement verifying that the power failure wasn't caused by a blown fuse in the building." His hand took hold of her elbow as he turned her back towards the offices. "The storm must have knocked down a power line."
Joan drew her coat tighter around her neck as she tried to ignore the warmth of his touch. "Why isn't the furnace working? I mean, it's powered by natural gas."
"Yes, but unfortunately the thermostat controls and the blower are electrically operated," Brandt answered grimly. "I'm afraid it's only going to get colder. Wait here a minute," he ordered.
In the next instant the light was gone as a door closed. Joan was left shivering in the dark hall, her legs turning into numb sticks as the cold of the floor crept up her feet. Then the light gleamed on her again.
"What were you doing?" Her teeth had started to chatter.
"Turning on the taps in the rest room so with luck the waterlines in the building won't freeze," he answered. His hand again took hold of her elbow as they walked the last few feet to her office.
The carpeted floor felt blissfully warm compared to the coldness of the smooth tiles in the hallway. The pressure of his hand didn't ease until they had entered Brandt's inner office. Joan walked unaided to the sofa, illuminated by the side reflection of his flashlight now shining on the sheepskin jacket in the back corner.
"What time is it?" she asked as she sat down on the cold leather cushions and curled her legs beneath her in an effort to warm her feet.
"Almost one-thirty."
"Is that all?" She shivered and snuggled deeper into her coat. "It will be below zero in here by morning with no heat. We'll freeze to death."
A heavy silence followed her statement. Then Brandt walked slowly to the sofa, stopping in front of it to look gravely at her upturned face.
"We can keep warm," he said quietly, "together. It's the only logical thing to do."
Her heart lodged somewhere in her throat as she stared at the unreadable expression in his eyes. She tried desperately to push her apprehensions aside at the thought of spending a night in his arms and make her reaction to his suggestion as normal and practical as his. But at this moment she wasn't looking at her employer; she was looking at a virally attractive man.
When she finally commanded her voice to reply, it was shaky and weak. "We can use both our coats as blankets."
"I knew I could count on you to see the practical side of it," Brandt smiled. That smile was nearly Joan's undoing.
Self-consciously she stretched out on the sofa, hugging the back cushion as much as she could while Brandt switched off the flashlight. Then he was spreading his coat over her legs. Joan rigidly held herself still as he lay down on the outer edge of the couch, turning on his side to face her. Her coat only partially covered him, but that thought was banished as the warmth of his body was pressed against her.
His arm slid around her waist to draw her closer, making her more fully aware of every muscular inch. The warmth of his breath was a soft caress against her cheek. Joan knew he could feel the rapid beating of her heart just as she felt the steady rhythm of his.
"Your feet are like ice cubes. You should have worn your shoes," he murmured softly.
Instinctively Joan drew her toes away from the heavy material of his trouser legs, his intimate comment disturbing her more than the touch of his hands.
"Leave your feet there." She felt the movement of his mouth as he spoke. "They'll be warm soon."
Since it was nearly impossible to find a place for her feet where they wouldn't touch him, Joan let them slide back to their former position as she wondered how she would ever relax enough to fall asleep.
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Chapter Three
DURING the night, their positions had shifted. Joan awoke to find her head resting on the shoulder opposite her, her face nearly buried in the fake fur collar of her coat. Her arms were curled around Brandt's middle in a careless embrace while his hands were locked behind her back to hold her there. Gradually she became conscious of his face buried in the length of her amber hair.
She tried to move into a less intimate position, only to have the pressure of his arms increase. Her corduroy skirt had inched up around her thighs, making her doubly aware of the muscles in his legs. Brandt stirred beneath her and she held her breath.
"Whoever it was," he said softly, his voice husky with sleep, "that first complained about getting out of a warm bed on a cold morning certainly knew what he was talking about."
"Yes," Joan agreed breathlessly, "b-but w-we can't stay here all day."
"Why not?" The corners of his mouth were turned upward against her hair. Then the chest beneath her head raised as he took a deep breath and loosened his hold around her. "You're right. We can't stay here all day."
Joan twisted backwards, balancing herself on one arm to allow him room to get up. Frigid air penetrated the warmth that had been generated between them. As Brandt slid from beneath the cover of their coats on to the floor, Joan resisted the impulse to snuggle into the warmth of her coat.
"Don't get up." His hand pushed her back on the sofa when she started to rise. "Stay there and keep warm as long as you can."
"What are you going to do?" she frowned.
The freezing temperature of the room was biting her face and nose, but Brandt seemed impervious to it as he stood above her in his rumpled suit, an aura of charged vitality about him that wasn't easy to dismiss.
"If I remember correctly there's a catalytic heater at the shack in the equipment yard," he replied in his take-charge voice.
Joan glanced towards the window, white frost covering the panes, but the wind growled fiercely on the other side. If it had stopped snowing in the night, the wind would still be blowing the fallen snow-reducing visibility to near zero.
"Do you have to go out?" she asked anxiously.
His mouth moved into a lazy smile, making it difficult to breathe properly. "I'll follow the fence to the shack. I won't get lost."
No, Joan thought shakily, he wouldn't get lost. Even in a battle with the elements, Brandt Lyon would probably come out the victor. But she had been brought up in the north. She knew how dangerous it could be to venture out in a storm of this magnitude. People had been known to become lost within a few feet of safety. The velvet depths of her eyes shimmered with her fear.
Instantly the smile vanished from Brandt's face
and there was a hard, purposeful set to his strong jaw. "Don't get carried away by your imagination," he said a shade curtly. "I'll need my coat, so you'll have to curl up in your own until I get back."
As he reached for his sheepskin jacket, Joan tried to draw her legs beneath her coat, but it was too short. Before she could shift into a half-sitting position with her legs curled beneath her, Brandt had removed his coat, revealing the bareness of her legs where her skirt had ridden up. She flushed uncomfortably as she quickly hid them under her coat.
"Don't be embarrassed," Brandt drawled in mockery. "You have very nice legs."
"Y-You'd better … t-take my scarf," Joan stammered sneaking a hand from under her coat to brush the hair from her cheek, wishing he didn't have the ability to disconcert her so easily.
The grey wool scarf was sticking out of the pocket of her coat. Brandt removed it, then reached over and crooked a finger under her chin to raise it.
"Stop worrying," he commanded firmly. "I'll be back before you have a chance to miss me."
Joan doubted that. The instant the office door closed, a frightening sense of desertion spread over her. It was this aloneness that made her huddle deeper into her coat and not the biting nip of the air stinging her nose. The minutes passed with interminable slowness as she listened intently for some slight sound signifying his return. The impulse was there to wait for him by the rear door, but her practical nature wouldn't let her give in to it. Without the benefit of his body heat, she was already beginning to feel the cold stealing in. With no cover for her legs, she would rapidly succumb to the chilling temperature if she strayed from the sofa.
Twenty minutes went by before she heard his footsteps in the outer corridor. Her lashes fluttered down in relief, only to fly open when the human snowman walked into the office. Snow caked the trouser legs and only patches of brown could be seen on the sheepskin of his jacket. The brown thickness of his hair was capped with white flakes, the same flakes that clung to his brows and lashes. His hoary breath filled the room with billowing clouds.
The determined set of his rugged features had been molded by the storm. They didn't vary, but his blue eyes smiled at her brightly in triumph as he sat the small heater on the floor.
"You found it," Joan murmured, finding she couldn't voice her relief at his safe return.
His broad shoulders blocked her view of the heater as he knelt beside it. Within a few minutes, Joan felt the first emanations of heat. The snow on his clothes began to melt, puddles forming on the carpet.
"You're going to catch pneumonia in those wet things," she said anxiously.
"That's an old wives' tale," Brandt declared, shrugging out of his jacket like a giant grizzly bear coming out of hibernation. "Pneumonia is caused by a germ, not wet clothes. It'll be uncomfortable for a while, but they'll soon dry." He walked to the sofa, picked up her shoes sitting on the floor beside it, and carried them back to the heater. "We'll get them warm before you have to put them on," he explained.
His thoughtfulness sent a warm glow of pleasure through her veins. That combination of indomitable strength and tender consideration was rare. Perhaps, Joan decided, when someone was as self-assured as Brandt Lyon, they could afford to show such kindness without fearing damage to their male ego.
Her eyes followed his movements as he used her scarf to rub most of the snow from his hair and carelessly brushed the flakes that hadn't melted from his slacks. Before she could conceal her silent study of him, his gaze glittered over her.
"This heater isn't going to be able to keep both rooms warm. We'll have to decide which office we're going to use," he stated.
"I won't be able to type those letters you dictated since there isn't any electricity, but I had thought I would take out the inactive folders from the filing cabinet," Joan offered hesitantly. The prospect of sitting idle the entire day with Brandt Lyon's dominating presence was too daunting to contemplate.
"It's settled. We'll move the heater into your office." He reached down for her shoes and handed them to her. "I'll go open a window."
"A window?" she blinked in confusion.
His gaze trailed over while she slipped on her warmed shoes. "The heater burns the oxygen in the air. We'll need some ventilation if we don't want to suffocate."
An hour later the temperature in Joan's office had increased to the point where she no longer needed to wear her heavy coat to be comfortable. Brandt had disappeared again on an undisclosed errand after setting up the portable typing table in her office. Pausing for a moment beside the heater to warm her fingers, Joan wondered how she would have fared if she had been stranded alone, dependent on her own resourcefulness.
The door to the hall opened and closed quickly, a cold draught accompanying Brandt. She glanced curiously at the tray in his hands.
"Without electricity, we can't have coffee, but when this thaws, we'll have sweet rolls and juice, courtesy of the canteen," he announced.
"I wish you hadn't mentioned coffee," Joan grimaced, walking around her desk to rummage through the center drawer for her comb. "I never feel myself in the mornings until I've had my first cup.
"Yourself being the cool efficient paragon who rules the office?" Brandt questioned, a brow arching with complacent amusement.
The comb in her hand faltered in mid-stroke through the slightly tangled locks of her long hair.
"I don't rule the office," Joan asserted feeling more like a schoolgirl than an efficient secretary as her cheekbones gleamed with a rosy hue of embarrassment.
"You blush very easily, don't you?"
The color intensified. "It has something to do with being fair-skinned, I think." She kept her head averted from his discerning eyes as she began winding her hair into its prim coil at the nape of her neck.
"Leave your hair down." he commanded huskily, covering the distance, between them when she wasn't looking. "It'll keep your ears warm. Besides —" His fingers pulled part of her hair free from her unresisting hold, and Joan was too startled by his sudden nearness to protest. "The color of your hair is much too attractive to be concealed in that severe style. It's like spun gold when it's loose."
"It's naturally that color," she stated as if he had accused her of achieving the color from a bottle.
He laughed softly. "I guessed that."
Joan fought back the clamoring of her senses. "It's too unpractical to wear it down. It keeps getting in the way."
"Does it?" Disbelief was in his question as he tucked her hair behind her ears and turned away. "You never wear it down so how can you be sure?"
"You'll see," she declared, shaking the rest of her hair free in frustration and dumping the pins, on top of the desk.
The instant she surrendered to his stronger will, she knew she had made an irretrievable mistake. The cloud of hair about her shoulders made her feel instinctively feminine and vulnerable, the very sensations she needed to avoid or she would fall completely under the power of his magnetism. The invisible barrier between employer and employee had been breached last night when she had lain in his arms. She desperately needed to repair her defenses.
With cold deliberateness, she ignored him the rest of the morning, completing the filing from the wire basket on her desk. On the surface, Joan was successful, but an inner radar kept her apprised of every movement Brandt made as he pored over the blueprint spread out on the drafting table.
"I'm hungry." His low voice shattered the silence, causing Joan to spin abruptly around. "What are we having for lunch?"
The blue depths of his eyes seemed to pull her into a whirlpool of emotional chaos. This strange intimacy that had crept between them made it nearly impossible for her to react naturally. Bells rang, warning her that she was becoming much too susceptible to his attraction but she couldn't think of what she might do to prevent it.
"I don't know," she answered quickly, turning back to the file drawers before she succumbed to despair at her own vulnerability.
"I'll see what the canteen has to
offer."
As she nibbled the cold sandwich later, Joan realized it was this constant sharing that was destroying her peace of mind. A business aloofness couldn't be maintained in these circumstances. She was conscious of his stirring interest in her or maybe it was curiosity as Brandt regarded her in a new light discovering the humanness behind her facade of efficiency.
But wasn't she making too much of his new interest? What harm would there be in a friendship being developed between them? What was there to fear? If Brandt Lyon did begin to regard her as a woman, that didn't mean he was suddenly going to be overwhelmed by her average looks — not when someone like Angela lurked in his memory.
"A penny for your thoughts," Brandt's voice snapped the thread of her musings.
"They aren't worth it." Joan protested self-consciously.
"Anything that can keep a woman quiet for fifteen minutes must be worth at least a penny," he mocked.
"If you must know." She glanced up from her sandwich into the vivid blue of his eyes, now lazily veiled by thick lashes. "I was wondering how much longer the storm would last."
"Getting tired of my company already?"
"Not as tired as you must be of mine," Joan retorted, not able to match the lightness in his voice.
"On the contrary." There was an eloquent shrug of his broad shoulders. "As a matter of fact I was just wondering how an attractive girl like you has avoided the altar."
"It's more a case of the altar avoiding me."
"Then you aren't a career girl." The smoothly firm line of his mouth was pulled into a wry smile. "That means some day I'll have to find myself another secretary, and just when I was becoming used to you, too."
"I haven't handed in my notice yet, Mr. Lyon." Joan said stiffly.
"It was Brandt last night," he reminded her with a wicked light in his eyes. Their dancing gleam was disturbing and Joan looked away. "Surely there's someone special in your life, isn't there? Or would you have me believe that you dress sexily for a maiden aunt?"
