Page 61 of Prime Time

She arched against him. “Lyon—”

The telephone rang. His vicious curse bounced off the walls. She reached for the phone.

“Don’t answer.”

“I have to, Lyon. I can’t let a telephone ring.”

He groaned, but didn’t stop her from bringing the telephone to her ear. “Hello.”

“Hi, sweet baby, whacha doin’?”

“L

es!” she exclaimed. She was too shocked by the sound of the last voice she expected to hear to notice that Lyon didn’t seemed surprised by the identity of the caller. Nor did his mouth stop its meandering caress across her stomach. “What … how … why are you calling?”

“Haven’t I always told you never to answer a question with another question? You didn’t learn one damn thing in all those years. Anyway”—he sighed resignedly—“I couldn’t reach Lyon, so I tracked you down to give him a message. Somehow I get the feeling you’ll be seeing him soon.”

She glanced down at Lyon’s dark head, which was making steady progress down her chest and taking love bites all along the route. “What mess—” She cleared her throat. Lyon was nibbling at a rib. “What message?”

“Tell him that was a helluva generous thing he did to send those tapes to the network. He forged my name on the covering letter, but I forgive him. Those tapes landed me a job! I’ll be in my new office overlooking sooty ol’ New York in two weeks, baby.”

“He did that?” she asked on a high note. She tangled her fingers in Lyon’s hair and tried to lever his head off her stomach, but despite the pain she must be causing, he refused to comply. “What was in this … ahhh … Ly … forged covering letter?”

“What was that, Andy? Say, are you all right? You sound kinda weird.”

“No, I’m fine,” she gasped out. An ardent mouth had returned to her breast. “The covering letter …?”

“Oh, it said that regrettably you weren’t available, that you were leaving the business for a while to get married, but that I would consider a post as an assistant producer for their evening news show. By God, they hired me!”

“That’s wonderful, Les. Oh, L-Lyon … that’s wonderful.” The telephone receiver fell from her hand. Lyon picked it up.

“Andy, Andy? What’s going on? Are you—”

“Congratulations on your new job, Les. Andy can’t talk anymore right now. She’s busy writhing in ecstasy. She’ll call you back—in a year or two.”

More Sandra Brown!

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TEMPEST IN EDEN

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This is a cabin in the woods?” Shay Morrison muttered to herself as she slowed her compact car to a halt in front of a two-story dwelling. Situated atop a gentle rise, the structure had a rough timber exterior but was otherwise far from rustic.

Shay pushed open the car door and got out, regarding the acreage surrounding the house with appreciation. Virginally green with the first buds of summer, the forested landscape was breathtaking. At least her mother hadn’t exaggerated about that.

Shay smiled, remembering the conversations with her mother just two days before. “But, Shay, you must come. He’s dying to meet you.”

“And I’m dying to meet the man who hustled you to the altar,” Shay had said. She hadn’t been notified of her mother’s marriage until after the fact and couldn’t keep from ribbing her mother for marrying so hastily after having been a widow for seven years. “What was the rush? You aren’t pregnant, are you?”

She heard her mother’s familiar, resigned sigh. “Shame on you, Shay. When will you learn to speak like a lady?”

“When not being one stops being so much fun.” She had laughed lightly.

“I know I should have told you about the wedding, but … well, everything happened so fast. There we were sitting in John’s son’s house, sipping coffee, and the next minute we were reciting the vows.” Her mother sighed blissfully in remembrance. “We made up our minds and acted on the decision immediately. It was so romantic.”

“I’m sure it was, and I’m glad for you,” Shay said sincerely.

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