A Lyon's Share (14 page)

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 sports 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.

"I … I'll fi-fix some coffee," she stammered.

She never made it to the kitchen counter. The hands sliding firmly around her waist brought her to an abrupt stop. She inhaled sharply as Brandt buried his head in the side of her neck. Her fingers closed over his wrists, but she didn't attempt to remove his hands from her waist.

"I don't want coffee," Brandt muttered huskily as his lips followed the route of her hammering pulse down the side of her neck. "I don't want tea or Coke or any of that. All I want is to make love to you. Is that wrong?"

"Brandt," she whispered. It wasn't a protest or an acceptance, but a strangely confused uncertainty that was partly "yes" and partly "no".

The pressure of his hands turned her around, molding her against the length of his body, ascertaining his need of her. Of their own volition, her hands slipped around his neck, the wild singing in her ears blocking out any other sound, and she was caught in the dangerous undertow of her love and swept along by the masterful tide of his kiss.

A key turned in the lock and the door was opened. A tiny, startled "Oh!" was magnified a thousand times louder as it penetrated Joan's consciousness a second after Brandt.

Her hands were pulled from around his neck and she felt the ragged beating of his heart as her fingers trailed over his chest. She still hadn't guessed the cause of the sound, her tremulously happy gaze rushing to his face. The cold, nearly angry glare of his eyes was directed at the door. Joan turned in bewilderment.

A red-faced Kay and John looked back, poised just inside the door. Like a child caught playing with matches, Joan stepped hastily the rest of the way out of Brandt's embrace, her hands behind her back as if to hide the evidence.

"I'm sorry, Joan," Kay murmured fervently. "I didn't guess that—that anyone would be here."