running the Los Angeles office, isn’t he.’ It was a statement, not a question, the deep purple of her eyes her only show of emotion now.
‘Shay—’
‘Isn’t he?’ she directed the question at Lyon, ignoring Matthew’s attempt to reason with her. ‘Answer me, damn you!’
Tawny eyes darkened furiously at her dictatorial tone. ‘Yes, he is—’
‘You bastard!’ Her hand unclenched long enough to move up and slap him hard across one arrogant cheek, the white fingermarks she left livid against his tanned flesh as he remained immobile after the attack.
‘Shay!’
‘You replaced Ricky with him,’ she accused disgustedly, once again ignoring Matthew. ‘One brother is dead, never mind, I have two more I can send in his place!’ she said heatedly, bright spots of colour in her otherwise pale cheeks.
‘Shay—’
‘Excuse me,’ she at last acknowledged Matthew’s efforts to speak to her, ‘I have to get out of here before I’m sick all over the Persian rug!’ She swallowed convulsively, breathing deeply in an effort to hold in the nausea. ‘I take it I’ve been given the suite I once shared with Ricky?’ Her eyes flashed warningly at Matthew.
‘It’s always kept prepared in case you or Ricky came home for a visit,’ he frowned. ‘But I thought this time you might prefer—’
‘I prefer the suite I shared with Ricky,’ she told Matthew forcefully. ‘It’s one of the rare places in this house that holds no bad memories for me!’ She hurried from the room, her head held high.
‘LET HER GO,’ Lyon instructed his brother as he would have followed her, his lips barely moving as he stood rigidly still, shifting suddenly, throwing the contents of the glass to the back of his throat before refilling it, welcoming the burning sensation as the alcohol hit his empty stomach.
‘Haven’t you had enough of that for one day?’ Matthew watched him concernedly.
‘Not nearly enough.’ Lyon grimly drank the second glass straight down too.
‘Getting drunk isn’t going to help the situation,’ his brother spoke soothingly, his hazel eyes troubled. ‘And it’s going to give you one hell of a headache in the morning!’ he added derisively.
Lyon scowled. ‘I’ll worry about that then,’ he bit out.
‘Worry about it now, Lyon, and tell me what happened on the flight here; Shay was as taut as a violin string when she arrived.’ Matthew shook his head.
‘Nothing happened.’ Lyon achingly recalled the hours he had sat feet away from Shay, only a thin door separating them physically; mentally it might as well have still been the Atlantic!
‘Nothing?’
‘No,’ he confirmed abruptly. ‘We barely talked to each other.’
‘Then why was she—like that?’ Matthew looked puzzled.
‘Doesn’t she have the right?’ Lyon groaned. ‘I have sent Neil to Los Angeles to replace Ricky—’
‘What else could you do?’ Matthew said impatiently. ‘Shay is going to realise, once she calms down, that you had to send someone in his place to run the Los Angeles office.’
Lyon stared up the stairs Shay had so recently ascended, the scent of her elusive perfume still in the air. ‘Someone, yes,’ he acknowledged bitterly. ‘But it didn’t have to be another Falconer.’
‘You make us sound like something contagious,’ Matthew derided dryly.
‘I think to Shay we are,’ Lyon nodded, wondering if he would ever be able to shut out the agony of knowing Shay considered him to be the lowest creature on earth. It was there in her voice every time she spoke to him, in every glance she gave, and there was nothing, nothing, he could ever do to vindicate himself in her eyes. ‘All except Ricky, of course,’ he acknowledged tightly.
Ricky was dead, his own dear brother, although the twelve years’ difference in their ages had meant they were never really as close as he and Matthew had always been. Still, Ricky had been his brother, and the only thing he could think of right now was that Shay was no longer married.
He had to be sick, or drunk, or both. Probably both. He would never have admitted these feelings, even to himself, if his defences hadn’t been down. A man was dead, a brother he had loved, and all he could think about was how good it had once been to make love to the woman who was now his widow!
‘Lyon?’
His tormented gaze focused on Matthew. ‘She’s more beautiful than ever!’ he rasped.
‘Yes,’ Matthew agreed softly.
His mouth twisted with self-derision. ‘I’d hoped that she wouldn’t be.’
‘Gypsy was destined to be always beautiful,’ Matthew remarked thoughtfully. ‘She’s like a pure-bred racehorse; long supple lines and a glossy coat.’ He grimaced at the description. ‘Only Shay has ever been able to make me wax lyrical like that; I wonder if we have any Irish in us?’
‘Shay brings out uncharacteristic emotions in most men,’ Lyon remarked with bitterness.
Matthew’s expression was mocking as he arched dark blond brows. ‘What emotions does she still bring out in you, big brother?’
‘None of your damned business!’ Lyon scowled, not willing to admit to anyone the torment of knowing Shay was so close to him once again. He found himself wanting to keep reaching out and touching her just to see if she were real or a figment of his tortured imagination. And then those purple eyes would rake over him contemptuously, and he would know it wasn’t all a dream!
‘I had a feeling it wouldn’t be,’ his brother drawled derisively.
Damn Matthew, he always had been able to see and guess too much. Being in a wheelchair might have physically incapacitated him but his other senses worked overtime. Matthew saw, and understood, too much!
‘Isn’t it time you told me exactly what happened to your arm?’ prompted Lyon determinedly.
Now it was Matthew’s turn to scowl, his humour fading completely. ‘I don’t need reminding of the embarrassing episode,’ he snapped. ‘One of the maids found me sprawled out in the study, and I had to suffer the humiliation of being dragged back into my chair by Hopkins! I’d really rather not talk about it right now.’
Lyon could understand his brother’s feeling of helplessness at having their butler haul him back into his chair; Matthew had never accepted the restrictions of his incapacity well, had mastered everything for himself so that he never had to rely on other people. Lyon had no doubt that if it weren’t for Matthew’s injured wrist he would have managed to get himself back into the chair and wouldn’t have mentioned the incident to anyone.
He walked to Matthew’s side. ‘Okay, we’ll discuss the progress you’ve made on the Thorpe contract this last week—then we’ll talk about your fall.’
