A Lyon's Share (10 page)

Preoccupied with the items left to be done, Joan removed her bankbook from her handbag, slit open the envelope containing her cheque and started to slide it into the bankbook and replace both in her bag. The amount of the check seemed to jump out at her, freezing her with a start. It was nearly half as much again as it should have been.

For a moment she could only blink at it bewilderedly. Then a slow anger began to seethe. She had no doubt that Brandt had authorised it to appease his conscience. Paying her off would release him from the guilt he felt.

The fingers that gripped the cheque trembled with anger as Joan rose swiftly to her feet and stalked to the connecting door. Her sharp rap was answered immediately by Brandt's 'Come in.' His gaze darted at her for identification before it was returned to the papers in front of him.

"What is it, Miss Somers?"

Joan was too angry to speak and his uninterested voice didn't help soothe her growing temper. The squareness of her shoulders and the tilt of her chin were dictated by pride as she walked to his desk and placed the cheque in front of him on the desk top. He glanced at it and pushed it towards her absently, all without looking up.

"That's your check," he said as if she had brought it for his verification.

"I know it's made out to me," Joan responded tautly. "But the amount is incorrect. I want you to call the accounts department and have another cheque made out for my usual salary."

The barely disguised anger in her voice raised his head. There was an aloof, searching sweep of her face that noted the glittering fire in her usually velvet brown eyes.

"That is the correct amount." His eyes narrowed as the line of her mouth tightened. "However involuntarily, you did work overtime this last weekend."

"I have no intention of accepting any money for last weekend, no matter what reason you dream up, Mr. Lyon!" Quivers of rage laced the sharpness in her voice.

Brandt leaned back in his chair. "I did not dream up a reason," he responded evenly, but a polar coldness had crept into his eyes. "The fact is you put in a considerable amount of hours Friday night and Saturday on company business. Had you done nothing, I would have paid you nothing. The additional money is a compensation for your work."

If it had not been for her indomitable pride, Joan might have accepted his explanation. As it was, she couldn't and wouldn't.

"I don't believe you, and I won't accept money because you regret—"

"That will be enough." His command stopped her outburst with the silent swiftness of a rapier.

Only the slight tightening of the muscles in his jaw indicated that anything akin to anger might be aroused. "If you don't wish to accept my explanation, that is your affair, but the cheque is yours in the amount stated. What you do with it is your business."

"I'll show you what I'll do with it!" Joan declared stormily.

With surprising swiftness, she retrieved the cheque from his desk top and tore it into small pieces. Hot tears scalded her eyes as she pivoted sharply around and dashed to the door.

She was within inches of reaching it when she was caught by the arm and spun around. Uselessly Joan tried to struggle free of the iron grip on her wrist.

"My God, Joan!" Brandt ground out ominously. "I'm tempted to make you tape that check back together!"

Her head reared back so he could see the glitter of battle in her eyes. She caught her breath at the sudden clamouring of her senses at his disturbing nearness, intimidated by his height and breadth that so effectively dwarfed her. An angry exasperation was carved in his blatantly masculine features.

She grasped tightly at her own proud anger. "It wouldn't do you any good. I'd simply tear the cheque up again."

"I am not going to pretend that I don't realize you think the extra money is some form of appeasement for what happened between us on Saturday night." Brandt watched the quick rise of color in her cheeks. "I've long since discarded the notion that I needed to apologize for what happened. I found you desirable and reacted accordingly. You were as willing as I."

Joan couldn't meet his gaze. "Then don't make me feel cheap by forcing the additional money on me," she replied in a choked voice.

"I told you," Brandt responded forcefully, "it is for secretarial services rendered after normal working hours. I am not accustomed to paying for sexual pleasures."

Her lips pressed tightly together to halt the outcry of shame. The high color that had been in her cheeks was washed swiftly away, leaving her unnaturally pale.

"That was uncalled for," he sighed. "I apologize for that, Joan."

"Please." Her hand wavered weakly between them to ward off any more cutting remarks. "C-call the accounts department and have m-my normal cheque made out."

His grip on her wrist slackened to a less punishing hold, but Brandt didn't release her. Instead he turned back towards his desk, nearly dragging her with him.

"I will call the accounts department," he agreed smoothly as he stopped by the chair in front of his desk and motioned for Joan to sit down.

The nearly abrupt withdrawal of his hand drained her strength, her limbs trembling beneath her. Joan sank willingly into the chair, surprised by his unexpected capitulation to her wishes. Brandt Lyon was not a man to give in once he had taken a stand. Conscious of her quick heartbeats, she watched him dial the inter-office numbers of the accounts and wages department.

His bland gaze flicked over her as if to make sure she was still there before he spoke into the phone. "Connelly? Brandt Lyon here," he said in his quietly authoritative voice. "Miss Somers inadvertently destroyed her salary cheque. Would you draw another for her and bring it in for my signature?"

There was a pause during which Brandt looked at Joan, who was holding her breath under his pinning gaze. "In exactly the same amount as before," he added firmly.

Resentment flared immediately as Joan realized he had tricked her into believing he had agreed to her request. She bounded to her feet and raced from the room, flagrantly disobeying his order to come back. She didn't waste any time straightening her desk as she grabbed for her purse and dashed to the stand where her coat was hanging. Her hand was reaching for the doorknob to the outer hallway when Brandt appeared in the inner office doorway.

"Joan, you get back in here!" he demanded curtly.

She flashed him a fiery glance. "I'm leaving early today. Don't forget to dock me on next week's pay cheque." With her sarcastic rejoinder ringing in the air, she stepped into the hallway, slamming the door behind her.

Although secure in the knowledge that Brandt wasn't about to chase her through the hallways, Joan still hurried her steps to the front door. She cast one apprehensive glance behind her as she walked quickly out of the building. Except for the curious receptionist, there was no one about. She arrived at the bus stop just as her bus pulled to the curb and she quickly hopped aboard.

Kay arrived at their apartment more than an hour and a half later, stopping on her way home to cash her pay-cheque and pick up a trouser suit on which she had left a deposit. Therefore she was not at all surprised to find Joan in the apartment ahead of her.

"T.G.I.F.—Thank goodness it's Friday," Kay translated as she flung herself and her packages on to the couch. "Although I don't really know why I feel this sensation of relief. John is going to be here in an hour to take me to the movies and I have to be up bright and early in the morning so he and I can pick up Ed at the airport. Are you going with us?"

"I thought I would," Joan admitted, finding she could not summon much enthusiasm for Ed's arrival—she had looked forward to until last weekend. She briskly turned away before Kay could see her hesitation and resumed setting the small dinette table for their evening meal. "The goulash is warming on the stove. We can eat whenever you want."

"Goulash!" Kay moaned. I wish we could afford steaks. I wish John could afford to take me out for steaks, but he can't, not yet." She sighed and pushed her small frame into an upright position. "Lead me to the goulash. I'll eat and then shower."

For all her disparaging remarks, Kay did full justice to the goulash and green salad Joan had prepared. Never one to shirk her share of the housework, Kay helped with the clearing away of the dirty dishes, leaving the actual washing to Joan when she insisted she didn't mind.

After filling the sink with soapy water, Joan put the dishes in to soak while she straightened the front room. Kay was out of the shower and dressing by the time Joan got back to the sink to do the washing up. At the quick rap on the apartment door, Kay bounded from the bedroom.

"John's here already and I don't even have my hair combed!" she yelped frantically to Joan as she raced to the door.

"He won't mind waiting a few extra minutes," Joan smiled over her shoulder before rinsing a plate off under the tap and stacking it in the draining rack.

She heard Kay open the door, but she didn't turn around until she heard her room-mate's breathless "Oh, hello." The door was ajar, but its wooden bulk blocked her view of their visitor, who was obviously not John.

"Is Miss Somers in?"

Joan's stomach churned at the sound of Brandt Lyon's voice. A crazy surge of heat rushed up her body, threatening to suffocate her with its warmth. She averted her attention to the bubbling dishwater in the sink as if to pretend that she hadn't heard his voice carrying across the small room.

"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.