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
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
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