A Lyon's Share

by Janet Dailey

  "Yes, of course." Kay answered, her voice still dazed with surprise. Hinges squeaked as the door was opened wider to admit him. "Joan?"

  The curiously confused voice forced Joan to turn around. Her mouth quirked nervously in a false smile of surprise at Brandt's presence. He seemed to dwarf the room, making it appear smaller than it was already.

  "Mr. Lyon, what are you doing here?" Her voice thinned to a quivering note as he failed to stop inside the door but continued across the room to stand in front of her. She was unable to sustain the gaze that was rampant with ironic amusement.

  "As if you didn't know," Brandt murmured for her ears alone.

  Joan flushed uncomfortably and darted a quick look at Kay. The small brunette had been watching them in stunned silence, but at Joan's glance, she hastily retreated to the bedroom. The closing door only increased the sensation of intimacy, and Joan wished she could call Kay back. She turned to the sink, deliberately immersing her hands in the water to hide their trembling.

  Brandt moved quietly to the cabinets, resting an elbow on the draining board as he leaned back, effectively filling her side vision. His gaze seemed locked on the pulsing vein in her neck that betrayed her intense awareness of him. Joan started as his hand raised, only to flush guiltily as it moved into the inner pocket of the expensive suit jacket he was wearing.

  "You forgot your cheque this afternoon." The amused inflection of his voice mocked her as he set an envelope on the draining board beside the sink.

  Joan swallowed. "Is it made out correctly?"

  "Yes," Brandt responded with infuriating calm. "It's made out correctly."

  "You know very well what I mean," accused Joan sharply, but in an undertone.

  In that lazy withdrawn way of his, Brandt studied her profile, lingering over each feature. "After three years of working for me, Joan, you should know that I always have my own way."

  "Not in this." Stubbornly she tilted her chin to a forceful angle that accented the graceful curve of her throat.

  The lines around his mouth deepened with thinning patience. "Why can't you accept the cheque instead of making an issue of it?"

  There was another knock on the door and Joan quickly turned away from Brandt, self-consciously wiping her hands on her Levis. She didn't care that Kay was already emerging from the bedroom to answer it. She needed a few moments respite from Brandt's unnerving presence, however brief.

  Her eyes pleaded with Kay not to rush off with John, but John, for once, had his own ideas and insisted that they leave immediately so they wouldn't miss the beginning of the film. Brandt didn't miss her agitation when Kay and John left and they were alone.

  During the interim in which Joan had studiously focused her attention on John and Kay, Brandt had removed his outer coat. The physical impact of his darkly elegant looks stole her breath. His evening finery made it difficult to associate the stranger before her with the man she worked with daily.

  "Aren't you going out this evening?" he inquired idly.

  His question struck a raw nerve. "Isn't it obvious?" Joan looked pointedly at the cast-off sweatshirt of her brother's, then tugged the bottom over the hips of her snug-fitting levis. She felt gauche and ill-dressed beside him. "I'm hardly dressed for a date."

  "With some girls now, it's hard to tell. There's a decided lack of pride in appearance — in public, that is," Brandt added, an eyebrow quirking as if to indicate that he was not disapproving of the way Joan dressed in the privacy of her apartment.

  But his criticism smarted just the same. "I'm sure your dates are as impeccably dressed as you are," she retorted.

  Brandt was no longer leaning against the counter, but standing a few feet away. Joan brushed past him to return to the pots sitting beside the sink.

  "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.

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  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.

  "I hope you like it," Brandt prompted, twisting his head to the side to get a better angle at her face.

  Joan pressed her lips tightly together, foolish tears of happiness filling her eyes. His gift touched her heart more than she wanted to admit. Since the very first day she had entered his office, the filing cabinet had been a private thing between them, sometimes the subject of disagreements when Brandt would mis-filed something in her absence or create an uproar when he was unable to fathom the system, but it had always subtly been there.

  "It's perfect," she assured him in a choked trying to blink back the tears as she smiled tremulously at him. "Thank you."

  A solitary tear slipped from her lashes. Brandt reached out and gently wiped it away with his thumb, letting his hand remain on the soft curve of her neck.

  "You aren't going to misunderstand my motives for giving it to you, are you?" he mocked lightly. "You're still receiving your regular Christmas bonus the same as everyone else who works for Lyon Construction. This gift is from Brandt Lyon to Joan Somers, with only the Christmas spirit involved."

  For a frightened moment, Joan thought he was warning her that the gift did not imply that his emotions were of a more serious nature. Then she realized he was referring to the scene she had made when he had paid her for the weekend they were stranded at the office.