A Lyon's Share Read Online Free PDF

himself upright, flexing his shoulders as if he, too, felt the strain of a long day's work. Through her lashes, Joan studied the leanness of his build. His height, easily two inches over six feet, deceptively made the breadth of his chest seem not so intimidating as it really was.
    In the summer months, Brandt Lyon spent few hours in his office and the long winter months didn't lessen the dark tan he had gained from long hours outdoors on various construction sites. The stamp of pride and quiet authority was in the chiseled, angular planes of his face, strikingly compelling like the piercing sharpness of an eagle.
    As if sensing her surreptitious gaze, his head swung around to her, one eyebrow rising a fraction of an inch. Her pulse fluttered erratically under his disturbing look. To cover her confusion, she began flipping the pages back on her shorthand pad to the first of his dictation.
    "What are you doing, Miss Somers?"
    She swallowed back the lump of nervousness to respond coolly. "I'm going over these letters while they're still fresh in my mind."
    "Let them go until morning." His hand waved the air in dismissal. "If you have trouble deciphering them, you can ask me then. Besides," one corner of his mouth was pulled upward, "you know you can't read your notes without those glasses that are still on your lap."
    A furious rush of heat suffused her face as Joan quickly snapped the pad shut. The sudden movement sent her spare pencil flying across the room to land at his feet. Feeling like a gauche schoolgirl, she walked over to retrieve it from his outstretched hand, unable to meet the laughter she knew was in his eyes. As she bolted for the connecting door, the telephone rang.
    "I'll answer it, Miss Somers," he stated. His low voice was liberally laced with indulgent amusement.
    The door between the two offices didn't latch securely after Joan had darted through it. The absence of any other sound in the building allowed his voice to carry clearly into the adjoining room.
    After an initial impersonal greeting, the tone of his voice changed subtly to a more caressing sound as she heard him say: "I should have thought it was obvious that I wouldn't keep our date tonight, Angela. Not that I wouldn't prefer being snowbound at your apartment for the weekend."
    The image of the petite blonde immediately danced into Joan's mind. The muscles of her stomach constricted painfully as she thought how aptly named the fragilely dainty girl was. There was a seductive pitch in the soft laughter that followed the pause after his statement. Swiftly Joan walked back and closed the door tightly between the two offices before she succumbed to the pangs of envy.
    She busied her hands with emptying ashtrays and re-straightening her already orderly desk until the light on her extension phone went out, signaling the end of the conversation. Within the span of a few seconds, the connecting door was opened and Brandt Lyon walked in.
    "My office is yours, Miss Somers," he said with a mocking sweep of his hand. "You might want to use your coat as a pillow since the sofa doesn't have any."
    With a self-conscious nod of agreement, Joan walked around her desk to the coat tree, removed the three-quarter-length fun-fur coat and folded it in front of her like a shield. Even as she did it, she knew the gesture was silly, since Brandt Lyon had made it plain she had no cause to protect herself from him.
    When she reached the open door, she glanced awkwardly over her shoulder. He held the troubled brown light in her eyes for an instant before walking behind her desk and settling his long form in the visitor's armchair.
    "Goodnight, Miss Somers," he said firmly, quenching any argument that might have been forming in her mind over their sleeping arrangements.
    "Goodnight," Joan answered in a voice that lacked conviction.
    With the door closed behind her, she walked hesitantly to the long leather sofa. Drawing a deep breath, she arranged her coat in a plump square