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  "I understand," she murmured, still with a catch in her voice. Her finger touched the smooth chain of the bracelet. "From one friend to another."

  The lines around his mouth deepened into a wide smile, but something held the smile back from reaching his eyes. "Let me help you put it on." he said, and reached into the cue for the bracelet.

  Joan was beyond any protest as she offered her wrist to him. Deftly Brandt circled the bracelet around it and secured the clasp. Absently she wondered what a slave bracelet looked like, because he had just taken another portion of her heart and soul. Soon he would own all of her and she would never be free.

  Staring down at the strong hand holding hers, she wondered if it would be so very bad to be one of Brandt's possessions, then flushed at her complete lack of pride. The silence had become unnerving and Brandt's eyes seemed to be probing too deep.

  "I … I suppose we'd better go to the party," she suggested, then realized she had coupled them automatically.

  "It's Christmas, a time for rejoicing," he said cryptically. At her puzzled frown, his mouth slanted sideways in a smile that wasn't a smile. "It's a time to let your hair down, Joan-literally. It's bad enough to have the boss around to spoil the fun, but a primly proper schoolmarm is really too much of a strain."

  Her hand flew defensively to the smoothly coiled bun at the back of her neck. His gaze raked the full length of her form in critical appraisal. With a smooth swiftness that didn't allow time for a protest, he turned her around and slipped the box jacket of her green and gold tweed suit from her shoulders, revealing her curved figure.

  "What are you doing?" she asked in a breathless demand as the pressure of his hand brought her back, around to face him.

  For a brief minute, he ignored her question as his thoughtful look swept her figure again, minus the jacket. "You're going to a party," he said, and unfastened the top two buttons of her pale green silk blouse. "You should look like a woman instead of a model secretary. Will you take your hair down or shall I?"

  She didn't doubt for an instant that he would, and stepped quickly backwards to be out of his reach while her fingers fumbled with the pins in her hair. She couldn't understand why she was giving in so easily to his demands. Perhaps it was because her intuition told her there was nothing more behind his request than the reason he had stated, that and the fact that she was reluctant to argue with him.

  "Much better." His impersonal nod of approval was issued as the last hairpin was removed and the long molten gold flowed down her back.

  All Joan could see in his eyes was approval. There wasn't even a glint of admiration. What had she expected? For him to break into a speech of flowery compliments?

  Yet, strangely disappointed, she turned away. "I have a brush in my desk," she murmured.

  Her shaking limbs wouldn't carry her very fast. She had barely removed the hairbrush from the center drawer of her desk when Brandt wandered into her office. His meandering pace carried him to the window where he remained, gazing silently outside, until he heard the desk drawer close.

  "Are you ready?" he asked over his shoulder, hands clasped behind his back.

  "Yes," she agreed, then more swiftly, "No." Reaching into the side drawer of the desk, she self-consciously took out the small gift-wrapped package.

  "A present for me?" Brandt guessed, tilting his head to an angle of amusement. "From you?"

  "From all of the employees!" A pale pink rosebud appeared in each cheek. "I … I didn't personally buy you a gift."

  I didn't expect that you would." The corners of his mouth twitched briefly upwards. "If you had, I would probably have been very curious as to why you did." His gaze flicked to the package in her hand. "Did you pick it out?"

  The red foil wrapping seemed to burn Joan's hand as she visualized the very expensive pen and pencil set inside. Considering the elegant bracelet around her wrist, she wished she had chosen something less impersonal.

  "Yes." she admitted softly.

  "Then I'm sure it's a very proper and appropriate gift for a group of employees to give their boss." Laughter lurked in the recesses of his low-pitched voice. "Come on." His long strides carried him to the front of her desk. "It's time I put in my appearance."

  As she and Brandt entered the canteen, amateurishly decorated for the occasion, Joan was awkwardly aware of heads turning to stare. Brandt's hand, resting on the back of her waist, didn't ease her discomfort.

  Several of the girls, besides Kay, had seen Joan after work and knew how truly attractive she could be. Among themselves they had often shaken their heads over her reasons for playing down her looks. The rest, including all the men employees, had never seen her in other than her self-imposed uniform. Their stares were more at her transition than at seeing her arrive with the boss.

  After the initial stillness, there was a general gravitation towards them. Brandt's hand remained in the vicinity of her back, leaving it to shake someone's hand only to glide back before Joan could slip away. Her vague feelings of embarrassment grew as more now speculating looks were cast her way. Unable to carry on inane conversations, she was reduced to quiet "Merry Christmas and hesitantly smiling nods of greeting.

  She had completely forgotten the small package in her hand until one of the girls nudged her, saying, "Give Mr. Lyon the gift."

  Instead of delivering the little speech she was supposed to give, Joan held out the package to Brandt and murmured almost inaudibly, "This is from all of us at Lyon Construction. Merry Christmas."

  "I wondered how long you were all going to make me wait for my gift," Brandt winked broadly to the group gathered around.

  His hands were completely occupied with the bright foil wrapping and Joan used the opportunity to dip to the back of the group. Brandt seemed unaware of her departure and she wondered if he had really meant to keep her at his side or whether she had misinterpreted it.

  The pleasure he expressed to the group when he opened the present sounded quite genuine, but with the tiny jingle of the bracelet around her wrist, she didn't experience any sensation of gladness. There was regret and a hint of inner sadness in her eyes as she gazed at the back of his head, slightly turned to give her a small view of his aquiline profile.

  As if he knew where she was all the time, Brandt glanced over his shoulder. "You picked this out, didn't you, Miss Somers?" he said as if he didn't already know. The people in front of her stepped to the side as he turned to face her. "You have excellent taste."

  "I … I hope you like it," for want of any other reply.

  "You'll have to remind me not to loan them out," he smiled, complacently taking in her shattered composure at being the cynosure of everyone in the room.

  "Of course," her gaze not squarely meeting his.

  A sudden light glittered wickedly in his eyes as he glanced above her head. "I've never had a bolder invitation issued." said Brandt dryly. "I wouldn't be human if I turned it down."

  His carious statement bewildered Joan until she too, glanced up. A ball of mistletoe was hanging from the light fixture on the ceiling. Her cheeks were stained crimson when she brought her chin sharply level. In the fleeting second of her look, Brandt had moved to her side. The room was agog with amused interest.

  Helplessly Joan gazed into his bluntly carved face as her whispering plea broke the silence. "Brandt, no —"

  A taunting smile split the hard line of his mouth. "Where's your Christmas, spirit, Miss Somers?"

  Her lashes fluttered down in dismay as his fingers closed over her chin. Her pulse thudded loudly in her ears, her heart rocketing away. Then the warmth of his mouth was firmly covering hers, taking more than a chaste kiss under a mistletoe and stretching the kiss out longer than was necessary. Due notice of those facts was registered by the spectators.

  When the kiss was over, Joan reeled slightly towards him, but his hands were lightly on her shoulders, steadying her for the brief seconds until she regained control of her senses. Her eyes opened in embarrassed resentment as sh
e met his watchful gaze.

  "Ah, Miss Somers," Brandt chuckled softly and with decidedly hard mockery. "I believe you would like to slap my face." She would have liked to, if only to save her own pride. "It was only an innocent Christmas kiss."

  The feelings he had aroused weren't innocent, but Joan couldn't say that. There was very little she could say, so she opted for the easiest.

  "Merry Christmas, Mr. Lyon," inclining her head as she moved her mouth into a false smile.

  Then Brandt turned to one of the men in his estimating staff, subtly distracting the attention from Joan. Kay appeared at her side, took one look at Joan's strained expression, and began some non-sensible chatter, maintaining the monologue until Joan was able to respond. Slowly Brandt filtered through the groups, ending up on the opposite end of the room from her. The distance wasn't great enough to remove her intense awareness of his presence.

  It was as though she couldn't take an unrestricted breath until Brandt left the party nearly half an hour later. She would have preferred to leave immediately after he did, but circumstances dictated her remaining a discreet amount of time longer. Suspicion had surfaced again within the ranks of Lyon Construction that something was going on between Joan and Brandt.

  At his departure, the eligible male employees began drifting to her side. Joan couldn't tell whether they were attracted by her looks or curious to find out if she really was the boss's private stock. None of them had ever appealed to her, and their slightly leering looks did not improve her opinion.

  Tom Evers was the one whose advances were the most persistent. He gave the impression that Joan should be rejoicing that he was favoring her with his undivided attention. He was still clinging tenaciously to her side an hour later. She flashed a silent signal for help to Kay, who responded promptly, diverting him long enough for Joan to slip away.

  Her bus would depart in an hour and a half for her home town. She would just have time to pick up her overnight case and gifts at her apartment and catch a taxi to the bus terminal. The last thing she wanted was for Tom Evers to offer her a ride. In order for him to accept her refusal, she would have to be blatantly rude. This was not the time to make an enemy of one of her fellow employees.

  Her suit jacket Brandt had laid over the back of one of the straight chairs in her office. She quickly slipped it on and retrieved her bag from the desk drawer, taking a precious few seconds to get the correct change for the transit bus from her purse. As she started around the desk, Tom Evers appeared in the doorway. His stocky but well-muscled build blocked her escape.

  "So this is where you ran off to," he said, smiling at her suggestively. "You could have told me you wanted to go somewhere alone. I know a more comfortable place than this."

  Joan hesitated for a fraction of a second, too aware of the length of empty hall that separated her office from the canteen. Then she walked determinedly to the coat-stand.

  "I wasn't seeking a place to be alone. I'm leaving," she told him sharply. "I'm spending Christmas with my parents and I have a bus to catch."

  He sidled closer. "I'll give you a ride home."

  "No, thank you," responded Joan firmly.

  "Don't come on with that cold act with me," he jeered.

  Her eyes blazed for an angry second, but she swallowed the cutting retort and tried to step around him. Tom Evers had no intention of letting her get by.

  "Don't I get a Christmas kiss, too?" he mocked.

  If Joan had believed he would settle for one kiss, she would have gladly given him one just to get rid of him. But she knew he would interpret her agreement as a signal that she wanted more. His ego was simply too large.

  "Let me pass." There was cool hauteur in her order.

  "You like to play hard to get, don't you? I don't mind." Before she could guess his intentions, his hands shot out to grip her shoulders.

  He was only a couple of inches taller than Joan, but decidedly stronger as he pulled her against him. She struggled desperately to get free, averting her face from his hot breath reeking with liquor.

  "Let me go!"

  Her angry cry had barely left her lips when the connecting office door burst open. Before she could gasp her relief at the sight of Brandt, he was pulling her free of the disgusting embrace and nearly bouncing Tom Evers off the wall in the process. The wind had not entirely been knocked out of Evers's sails, and his malevolent gaze darted from Brandt to Joan.

  "I didn't realize she carried your label, Mr. Lyon," he said softly as he straightened away from the wall.

  "Get out, Evers!" Brandt ordered in an ominously low voice. "Before I realize how dispensable you are!"

  "It was a little innocent fun, that's all," was Evers's parting shot as he walked stiffly out the door.

  Quaking shivers chased themselves over Joan's skin and she wrapped her arms about her to ward off the chill. The memory of his hot breath was churning her stomach. The areas where he had touched her felt contaminated and dirty.

  Fingers touched the flaming heat in her cheeks and she automatically pulled away from them. Then she realized it was Brandt standing in front of her. His broad chest seemed to offer such safety that she swayed against it without conscious direction.

  "Are you all right, Joan?" His arms were lightly encircling her.

  "Yes," she breathed, feeling infinitely better in his comforting embrace.

  Gently he smoothed the hair on her head. "I should have known that suddenly producing the Cinderella in our midst would bring the lechers out of hiding."

  It was getting too comfortable in his arms. Her hands pushed lightly against his chest and Brandt let her stand free. She darted him a grateful glance.

  "I'm all right now. Thank you."

  His mouth was pulled into a smile that didn't extend to the guarded, dark blue eyes. "I was in my office. I couldn't help overhearing."

  "I'm glad you were," breathed Joan, picking up the coat and handbag that she had dropped on the floor during her struggles.

  "Do you have a bus to catch, or was that part of an excuse to get rid of Evers?" Brandt asked.

  "No, I am going home for Christmas. My parents are expecting me." She glanced at her watch. "I have plenty of time to pick up my things at the apartment and make the bus."

  "It might be difficult to get a taxi." His head was tilted to the side in an inquiring pose. "I was just leaving myself. May I offer you a ride to the terminal?"

  "I —" Joan was about to refuse, then perversely she found herself saying, "Yes."

  The traffic was heavy, everyone rushing from one end of town to the other in the annual Christmas chaos of parties and family gatherings. Joan had only ten minutes to spare when they arrived at the terminal. Brandt accompanied her to the gate, arranging with a porter to take care of her luggage and packages.

  "Merry Christmas, Joan," he said, offering his hand in goodbye as the boarding call was issued.

  "Merry Christmas, Brandt."

  She would have liked to linger a bit longer, but she knew she couldn't. Reluctantly she released his hand, tears filling her eyes as she lost herself in the throng of holiday travelers.

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  Chapter Seven

  THE Christmas spent with her family had been one of blissful contentment. The traditional placing of the star on top of the tree on Christmas Eve had been saved until Joan arrived. Then her mother had paraded out the home-made eggnog, fudge, popcorn balls, and Christmas cookies for everyone to gorge themselves on. It had been a happy reunion with all of them staying up until well after midnight, laughing and talking and reminiscing.

  Santa Claus still visited the Somers home. Even though the children were grown up, there was still a silly toy in their stockings on Christmas morning. Joan's father insisted that there would always be a little bit of a child in everyone and maintained Santa's mysterious night-time visit.

  The best present of all had been when her older brother Keith had called from Germany on Christmas morning. Of course, there
it had been Christmas afternoon. Only once had Joan allowed herself to wonder how Brandt was spending the holiday — probably, like her, with his parents.

  With Christmas falling on a Wednesday, it was back to work on Thursday. Except for an offhand "Did you enjoy your Christmas?" Brandt's manner was business as usual. Not truly as usual, Joan reconsidered, since he seemed bent on making up for that lost holiday time.

  By late Friday afternoon, she felt as if she had worked an entire week in the span of two days. Yet she wasn't looking forward to the weekend. There would be too much idle time to think and she would rather work herself to exhaustion than bemoan the late of unrequited love.

  The loss of concentration had been brief, but it had only taken that minutes loss for Joan to invert the spelling of a word in the contract she was typing. With a tired sigh, she set about correcting the original and the three carbons behind it.

  While she was correcting the third, the telephone rang. "Brandt Lyon, please?" a sweetly low feminine voice requested.

  Joan cradled the receiver under her chin as she continued her correction. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Lyon is in conference. May I have him return the call?"

  "Are you his private secretary?"

  "Yes, I am," Joan confirmed.

  "Perhaps you could help me," the voice suggested. "This is Angela Farr." Joan's eraser froze on the paper. "Brandt has tickets for a concert tomorrow evening. Would you know which performance they're for? My parents are anxious for Brandt to join us for dinner and I don't know whether it would be best to dine before or after the concert."

  The question and implication penetrated Joan's consciousness, but she was incapable to replying immediately. There was a cold deadening of her senses as she thought how aptly the delicately melodious voice matched the fragile blonde.

  "I'm sorry, Miss Farr." Her voice trembled slightly with envy and resentment. "Mr. Lyon handles any personal arrangements himself. I wouldn't have the information you want."

  There was a regretful sigh. "Would you tell Brandt that I called and ask him to get in touch with me when he's free?"