by Janet Dailey
"Of course," agreed Joan tautly.
"He has my number, and thank you anyway."
"Not at all." It took all her willpower not to slam the receiver in the blonde's ear.
Joan didn't need anyone to explain that things were getting serious between Brandt and Angela if he had begun dining with her parents. Driven by an impotent frustration, she again attacked the contract in her typewriter and accidentally ripped a hole in the third carbon. Tearing the entire contract out of the carriage, she began again. She had it nearly completed when Brandt returned from the conference with his project superintendents.
"Do you have the Hadley contract ready?" were his first words.
"Almost," Joan replied in her angrily tight voice.
Brandt frowned tiredly. "I would have thought you'd have it finished by now."
"I was interrupted by phone calls," she told him curtly.
The messages were lying on her desk. Brandt picked them up, sifting through them. Joan saw him hesitate when he reached the note for him to call Angela.
His gaze swiftly caught her watchful look. "Miss Farr called?" he questioned sharply.
"Twenty minutes ago," Joan responded, trying to keep a professional crispness in her tone and not betray her stinging jealousy. "She was anxious to learn for which concert performance you had tickets."
Blue and probing, his gaze swept her controlled expression, then reverted brusquely to the messages in his hand as he turned to leave. "Bring that Hadley contract in as soon as you're done."
With only a third of a page to finish, Joan had the contract done, the copies separated and stapled within the space of a few minutes. She walked to the connecting door, and her hand turned the knob an instant before she started to knock. Brandt's voice reached her ears before the knock.
"Angela," he was saying forcefully, "I have to fly to Peoria tomorrow. Jake Lassiter, the engineer out of Springfield, Missouri, is meeting me there to go over the owner's changes on an interior room layout. If I could send someone else in my place, I would!"
Then there was a pause as Angela made some response to his statement. Discretion ordered Joan to close the door and wait until Brandt was off the telephone, but she disobeyed it.
"If I thought I could make it back in time, I wouldn't be canceling our plans, would I?" he asked with a thin edge of exasperation. There was another pause. "Your father is a businessman. I'm sure he'll understand" … "Angela, I'm not going to argue with you. I have other calls to make. We'll discuss it tonight."
Joan heard Brandt replace the telephone receiver on its cradle and rapped lightly on the door. When she entered his office, the receiver was again in his hand as he dialed another number. He glanced at the contract she placed on his desk and nodded a brisk approval.
"Craig Stevens, please. This is Brandt Lyon returning his call."
And Joan closed the connecting door behind her, deriving no elation from the discovery that Brandt was not meeting Angela's parents tomorrow night, because he was still seeing her this evening.
Her entire weekend was painted a melancholy blue. Not even a bright sunshiny Monday could chase away the depressing shade. Brandt spent all Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday with Dwayne Reed of his estimating staff, going over the prices and cost estimates that had to be revised because of the changes of the Peoria job. Joan couldn't decide if she was happy or sad to see so little of him. With the strange twisting of her heart, it hurt as much not to see him as it did to see him.
Joan was lazing in a bathtub full of bubbles when Kay called out that she and John were leaving. Joan wished her a good time, then felt the silence seep into the apartment. Sighing heavily, she decided it was getting to be a habit to spend New Year's Eve alone.
Kay had suggested arranging a date for this evening with one of the men John worked with, but Joan had quickly vetoed the suggestion. For once, her room-mate had not pressed her to accept. Since the office party, she knew Kay had guessed part of what was happening. Yet she refused to cry on anyone's shoulder. People had fallen in love with the wrong person before and had got over it. She would too, in time.
The silence became pressing and Joan rinsed the bubbles from her skin and stepped out of the tub. After toweling briskly dry, she slipped into the olive green culotte robe that had been her parents' Christmas gift to her. In the combined kitchen, living and dining room, she switched on the small television set that was on loan from her brother while he was in Germany. Absently she didn't bother to change channels from the football game in progress. A noise to fill the silence was mostly what she wanted.
As she fixed a huge bowl of buttered popcorn in the small kitchenette, Joan wondered idly whether Brandt and Angela were celebrating the arrival of the New Year in private or at a party. The refrigerator door banged as she tried to shut out either picture from her mind. With a glass of Coke in one hand and the bowl of popcorn balanced in the other, she walked back to the couch in front of the television.
Propping a book in her lap, she had barely settled back against the cushions when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She smiled in sympathy for whoever it was that was spending the evening alone as she was. Then she thought wistfully that it might be someone's date. It was nearly nine o'clock, but some parties didn't start until late. It took her a full second to realize that the subsequent knock she heard was at her apartment door.
Frowning her bewilderment, she laid her book on the cushion beside her and padded in her bare feet to the door. She left the chain latch hooked and opened the door the few inches permitted to view her unexpected visitor. The world spun crazily for a moment.
"Brandt?" Blinking quickly to be sure she wasn't seeing things.
"May I come in?"
He didn't disappear and the voice matched. Joan fumbled with the latch, opening the door and stepping away, still expecting him to vanish at any minute. She had seen him in evening clothes and business suits but never dressed as casually as tonight. His overcoat was hooked on his finger and hung over his shoulder. The cashmere sweater of azure blue exactly matched his eyes, disturbingly studying her rounded gaze. Dark corduroy trousers emphasized the muscular leanness that his more formal attire had only hinted at.
"I saw the light in your apartment from the street, and wondered if you were home," he said, stopping just inside and closing the door.
"Yes, I am," Joan answered foolishly, since it was obvious that she was. She couldn't quite take it in that he was actually here. There had to be some logical reason. "Is there some problem … at the office?"
There was a strange brooding quality to his expression. "No," he responded, and slowly wandered past her to stand in front of the television. "Is it a good game?"
"I … I don't know." It all seemed like a dream to Joan. "I just turned it on a couple of minutes ago."
His gaze flickered remotely to her in recognition of her reply, then he tossed his coat over the back of the couch. "Do you mind if I watch it with you?"
She had an absurd desire to laugh. "No, I don't mind." The words were barely out of her mouth when he was sitting down.
Her emotions muddled and confused, Joan uncertainly resumed her seat on the opposite end of the couch. Had he and Angela quarreled? It seemed he would not show up at her apartment if they had not, yet she could think of no other explanation for his presence. Covertly she glanced at him through the veil of her lashes. He was staring at the television, virtually ignoring her.
"Would you like some popcorn and a Coke?" she offered belatedly.
Brandt seemed to rouse himself from some distant place. "Yes, I would." His gaze slid to her in acknowledgement for a brief instant.
"I'm sorry, but we don't have anything stronger in the house to drink." The apology was offered as an afterthought when Joan realized that the refreshment of popcorn and Coke was more in the juvenile class than the sophisticated group he was accustomed to.
"I didn't expect you would." His dry answer was raised to be heard over the television's sp
orts announcer as Joan retrieved the ice cubes from the freezer section and another Coke from the regular part of the refrigerator.
When she returned to the couch with his glass of Coke, Brandt was already helping himself to the popcorn. His quiet thanks left her with little recourse except to seat herself again. He seemed disinclined to take part in idle conversation. She couldn't guess with any certainty whether his silence was due to his interest in the game or was brought on by some unknown happening prior to his arrival at her apartment. She was more inclined to think it was the latter. She tried to pretend an interest in the game, but her senses vibrated at Brandt's presence.
"Did you enjoy the visit with your family on Christmas?" he asked suddenly.
Her wits had scattered, and it took her a moment to gather them back. "Yes, very much," she answered, nervously plucking at the corners of the book beside her. "My brother called from Germany on Christmas morning. I think that was the best present he could have given my mother."
"Was this the first Christmas your family hasn't all been together?"
"Yes." She glanced at him in surprise. "How did you guess?"
"That fervent note in your voice. You were nearly as happy to hear his voice as your mother. You must be close to your brother," Brandt observed, a suggestion of a smile in the otherwise expressionless face.
"I am," she admitted. "We always were except for a few years when Keith was entering his teens. Then girls, and especially sisters, weren't tolerated. It didn't last long, though." She hesitated, unwilling to let the conversation die. "I suppose you spent Christmas with your parents."
"Yes. My sister Venetia wasn't able to make it home. She did telephone as well, but unfortunately before I arrived at my parents' home for the traditional family feed."
"My mother made fudge and cookies and all that." Joan leaned her head against the back of the couch. "I probably gained five pounds in one day!"
"Wasn't Ed able to fly in for New Year's Eve?"
"No." Joan hadn't asked Ed to come and he hadn't suggested it. In fact, he had made no firm commitment as to when he would be back.
"Still you chose to stay at home on New Year's Eve rather than celebrate with someone else." It was a statement, but his brow quirked upwards in question.
"Not exactly. I had no other offers that I wanted to accept," she answered truthfully. "What about you? I would have thought you and Miss Farr would have plans for this evening."
Brandt reached for a handful of popcorn, an enigmatic expression in his darting glance. She held her breath and waited for his reply, wondering if she should have asked, but somehow she just had to know why Brandt had come.
"Would you mind if we didn't discuss Angela tonight?" he asked.
So they had had an argument, Joan concluded, drawing a deep breath. "I didn't particularly want to discuss her. I was merely curious why you were here instead of attending some party," she explained rather than have Brandt think she was prying.
"I discovered I wanted your company." His dark blue gaze pinned hers. The lines around his mouth deepened into smiling grooves at the disbelieving look in her brown eyes. "Don't look so surprised, Joan."
"I can't help it I am," she swallowed tightly and averted her eyes with great effort.
He chuckled softly with a suggestion of hard mockery. "If it isn't to see you, why else would I be here?"
There wasn't any other reason that Joan could think of, especially since it was plain that Brandt wasn't here to discuss business. So she made no response, her silence an effective reply.
Yet she couldn't shake off the feeling that an argument with Angela was the indirect reason for Brandt coming to her apartment. She didn't think she liked being used as a means of solace or revenge or whatever his true reason was.
The ensuing silence, broken by Brandt's or Joan's comments on the televised game, couldn't be classified as companionable. One seat cushion separated them, but for Joan's static nerves, that wasn't nearly enough. When the delayed newscast came on, she sat through the world and local news and the weather, but rose to her feet as the sports came on.
Her movement brought an immediate, questioning look from Brandt. "I thought I'd wash the Popcorn popper and butter pan," she explained hastily. Glancing at his nearly empty glass, she added, "Would you like some more Coke?"
"Please," he nodded and handed her the glass.
While the dishwater was running in the sink, she refilled his glass and carried it back to him, then returned to shut off the water, wishing she had a sinkful of dishes to wash instead of just a few. All too soon there was only the popcorn popper left. As Joan reached for it, Brandt had crossed the room with catlike quietness and was handing it to her. She nearly dropped it in surprise.
"I … I thought you were on the couch," she laughed shakily.
"Would you like some help?"
"No," refused Joan self-consciously. "This is the last."
Brandt didn't return to the couch, but remained near the counter sink. Her hands trembled slightly under his watchful gaze as she thoroughly cleaned the popper.
"Have you lived here in this apartment long?" he asked.
"Nearly three years. Kay and I moved in shortly after I came to work for you. We both were living in furnished flats that neither of us could afford and that were much too far from work. When we saw this one advertised, we pooled our family's discards and moved in," she answered with forced calm.
"When is — Kay getting married?"
"Oh, she," Joan darted him a smile, "is going to be the traditional June bride."
"What are you going to do?"
"I expect I'll have to find another room-mate," she replied as she rinsed the suds from the sink. "Although I doubt if I'll find anyone as easy to live with as Kay."
"Not even your boy-friend?" His mouth quirked in amusement at her look of indignant surprise. "I was referring to marriage with this Ed fellow. Surely it's a possibility, isn't it?"
Joan swallowed the burst of outrage that sprang to her throat at her initial interpretation of his question. "It's an unlikely one."
"So he isn't Mr. Right," Brandt stated.
There was a trace of temper in her eyes as she turned to face him. "Would you mind if we didn't discuss Ed?" deliberately using his wording when he had refused any conversation relating to Angela, and the bright gleam in his eyes indicated that he had noticed that.
With the dishes done and the sink cleaned, Joan would have returned to the couch, but his hand lightly touched the long sleeve of her robe, halting her as effectively as a high voltage wire.
"I like your robe. A Christmas gift?" A blue fire look burned the length of her body, sharply reminding her of her lack of attire beneath the warm olive velvet.
"From my parents," she admitted with an odd, breathless note in her voice.
His hand fell away, but her breathing didn't return to normal. She directed her unwilling feet to the television and changed the channel away from the New Year's celebration to one carrying an old Humphrey Bogart movie. As she turned from the television. Brandt was standing there blocking her path to the couch, a serious, watchful look in his eyes.
"Do you want me to leave, Joan?"
Oh, God, she never wanted him to leave, she thought wildly. It was a totally unfair question.
Striving for an offhand answer, she replied, "You're welcome to stay as long as you like."
"You'd better rephrase that," Brandt suggested dryly.
Her pulse jerked in her throat and a wave of heat swept over her cheeks. She swiftly lowered her gaze from the disturbing intensity of his.
"I only meant that you could stay for a while longer if you wanted to, but it doesn't place you under any obligation to do so," she said stiffly.
"Don't be so enthusiastic." he chided in a grim voice.
"Well, what do you want me to say?" Her demand was small and tight as she darted him a resentful look.
"It depends on who you're addressing the question to," Brandt answered
cryptically.
"I don't know what you mean." Her eyes were directed anywhere but at his guardedly unmoving form.
"If you're asking the President of Lyon Construction then his answer would be to leave now. On the other hand, Brandt Lyon would stay — for as long as you would allow. Now do you understand what I mean?" Brandt asked quietly.
"No. No, I don't know what you mean!" She shook her head angrily. "You're talking in riddles, and I was never any good at solving riddles!"
She walked swiftly around him, afraid the confused state of her heart would have her read more into his words than he meant. His hand shot out to capture her wrist and pull her back to him.
"Then let me give you a clue," he murmured.
His other hand slid beneath her long hair, tilting her head back to receive his kiss. A helpless victim of her love, Joan returned the hunger of his exploring mouth. The shooting fire in her veins made her boneless and malleable to the caress of his hands. She was without a self-directed thought as he released her mouth and drew her gently to the couch, where he cradled her across his lap.
Mesmerized by the unfathomable light in his eyes, Joan stared at him, breathlessly waiting for the touch of his mouth and not being disappointed when it possessively covered her lips. Her pride was forfeited. Physical desire hadn't destroyed her defenses, but the golden flame of her love, that stretched to every sensitive nerve end, had.
Time was without measurement as she lay in his arms, pliant and responsive to his efforts to transcend the physical restrictions. The desire for total surrender mounted with each drum roll of her heart. The will to succumb to his unspoken demand for physical possession was strong to capture for all eternity the one moment in her life when she would be completely his. But the remembrance of his previous rejection was stronger.
Brandt's senses were drugged by the passions aroused. Her submission to his kisses had been too complete for him to guess that the reason for her movements was to be free of his arms. Her trembling limbs threatened not to support her as she stood beside the couch, her brown eyes misting with love as she turned away.
