by Joan Hohl
“Yes, of course,” she replied quietly, fully expecting him to backtrack and hand the paper to her. Brett didn’t move.
“Of course,” he repeated in a near whisper, his tone dry.
He’s going to make me go to him! The realization struck as a taunting smile feathered Brett’s lips. Standing stock still, Brett’s eyes transmitted an order for her to get up. Resentment burning like acid in her throat, Jo pushed her chair back and stood up. Suddenly she knew what this little charade was all about. With cool deliberation Brett was making it clear exactly who was the boss and who was the employee. Her restraint nearly snapped when he smiled in self-satisfaction.
“I’ve written down the phone number where I’ll be staying,” he murmured silkily. “If you have any problems, call me. Don’t, I repeat, do not even consider calling Wolf. He is in no condition to take calls from you,” Slowly, as he was speaking, his tone went rock hard.
Thoroughly confused, Jo frowned. Why in the world would he think she’d call Wolf? Had he no confidence in her ability at all? Did he believe she’d run to his brother at the first little snag she encountered? More hurt than insulted, Jo snatched the paper out of his hand, her gaze skimming the list swiftly.
“I think I can handle it,” she assured him. And anything else you can dream up, she tacked on silently.
“Do you think so?” His tone sent a chill rippling down her spine. Could the man read her mind? Releasing his grasp on the doorknob, Brett took the single step necessary to close the distance between them. “Do you really think so?” Slowly, his eyes holding hers, he lowered his head.
Jo did not have to fight to keep from stepping back; quite the contrary, she had to fight a sudden need to step into him. Holding herself tautly still, she watched his descending face, positive he’d turn away at the final moment. She was wrong. When his lips brushed hers her eyes widened in astonishment, then her long lashes fluttered and lowered. That whisper touch brushed her lips a second, then a third time. A ripple of pure delicious sensation shivered through her. Why, why was he teasing her with these almost kisses? And why didn’t he touch her, embrace her, crush her to him?
Fully conscious of what she was doing, Jo parted her lips in silent invitation. Although he still made no move to bring his body into contact with hers, Brett accepted her invitation at once. Open hard male lips fused with Jo’s, moving slowly to engulf and encompass. A soft half sigh, half moan rose in Jo’s throat, only to be muffled by the intrusion of Brett’s stiffened, searching tongue. Electrified, Jo stood, trembling violently, longing to feel her softness molded to his hard length, aching for the feel of his hands on her overheated skin. Still he did not touch her.
Jo felt rather than heard the groan that passed from Brett’s throat to hers an instant before he deepened the kiss. Revealing raw hunger, his lips consumed while his tongue made a masculine demand for active participation from hers. Jo responded to his demand without hesitation, parrying each thrust, riposting in turn, savoring the sweet male taste of him. Now the murmur that issued from his throat had more the sound of growl than moan, a feral sound that spoke to something wild deep within Jo.
And wildly sweet was the sensation of her blood rushing through her veins, converging in her head, making her legs weak and her need strong, pounding out one cry in her mind: Touch me, touch me, touch me. Still Brett did not touch her.
Brett’s plunging, scouring tongue was everywhere, learning everything about the moist interior of her mouth. Her mind spinning, her senses going crazy, desperately afraid she’d collapse at his feet any second, Jo’s lips clung to his. Growing deeper, more possessive, more demanding by each instant, his kiss went on and on, reducing Jo to a receiver of the erotic messages Brett was transmitting through the medium of his mouth. Then, suddenly, he ended it. Drawing away with obvious reluctance, he lifted his head.
There was no power on earth, certainly not her shattered will that could have prevented Jo from swaying when his anchoring lips were removed. Bereft, disoriented, she waited long seconds for the floor to stop shifting under her shaky three-inch heels before raising leaden eyelids. The gaze that met hers came very close to undoing her completely. Smokey gray with passion, Brett’s eyes bored into hers, underlining the messages his lips had sent to her. He wanted her, very badly, but for some unfathomable reason of his own, he had exerted every ounce of control he possessed to keep from laying even one finger on her body. As if his eyes were an open book, it was all there for her to read. The only pages missing were the ones explaining why. Refusing her the opportunity to ask questions, Brett straightened to his full height and stepped back, his hand grasping the doorknob.
“You look very beautiful today,” he said softly, throwing Jo into deeper confusion with the first compliment he’d ever given her. That color is great on you. You should wear it more often.”
Then he was gone and Jo stood staring at the door he’d closed so very gently. Pulling herself together, if loosely, Jo backed up until the back of her thighs bumped her desk. Sinking onto the solid wood support, she released a long, heartfelt sigh. Well, if nothing else, one question had been erased from her mind; Gary had repeatedly accused her of being unable to physically respond to a male advance. Moments ago she had responded with every quivering particle of her being. Unashamedly she admitted to herself that, had Brett asked it of her, she’d have sunk to the floor for him without hesitation. In amazement, Jo realized that for the first time in her life she wanted, really wanted to experience a man’s physical lovemaking. A tiny, sad smile feathered her lips fleetingly. How grand! Here she was, at age twenty-eight, prepared to offer everything of herself for the first time in her life and the donee of her largess flaunts his iron control in her face.
The thought was chilling, but had to be examined. Brett’s involvement in their mouth embrace had been as total as her own, Jo was as sure of that as she was of leaves falling in autumn. But he had not touched her, had not taken advantage of the opportunity to assuage the hunger he’d revealed through his kiss. Why hadn’t he? The answer was obvious, at least to Jo. She had spent most of the last three weeks with him. She had seen the expression of disdain and often contempt on his face when in her company; Brett hadn’t made the slightest attempt to hide his feelings. For reasons known only to himself, Brett simply did not like her. So then, did a man ... a man like Brett Renninger ... make a lover of a woman he could not like personally? Jo asked herself. Not very likely, she concluded unhappily. And where does that leave me? She wondered. Absolutely nowhere.
But he does think I’m beautiful! Grasping at the thought for all she was worth, Jo glanced down at the dress she’d hastily chosen that morning. She had not known until she’d walked out of her apartment that the garment had been the perfect choice for a crisp fall day. The wool-blend material was in a vibrant russet that rivaled nature’s brilliant autumnal display. The dress was cut in simple, classic lines that did full justice to Jo’s slim yet curvaceous figure. Jo’s lips twitched wryly as she remembered the enormous price that had been discreetly printed on the little dress’s tiny price tag. At the time of purchase Jo had gasped at the cost. Now she was glad she had given in to temptation and whipped out her credit card before she’d had time to change her mind!
The buzzer on the intercom on Jo’s desk peeled the information that her secretary, Reni, was back from lunch and back to work. And, apparently, Jo decided as the number-one button on her phone began to blink, so am I.
Leaning to the end of her desk, Jo lifted the receiver and asked with a briskness she was light-years away from feeling, “Yes, Reni?”
“Mr. Renninger’s on line one, Jo,” Reni reported calmly.
For one second Jo was certain she could not manage a normal tone. Fourteen questions jumbled together into a solid mass in her head. One stood out in glaring clarity: Is he going to ask me to go with him?
“Yes, Mr. Renninger?” How in sweet heaven had she contrived that coolly professional note?
“Ms. Lawr
ence, I hope you can help me. I need some information and Brett’s secretary tells me he’s out of the office.”
Eric Renninger! Why hadn’t Reni told her the caller was Eric Renninger? Closing her eyes against a sudden, ridiculous sting, Jo drew in a deep breath before answering softly, “Yes, your brother left less than an hour ago, Mr. Renninger. I’ll be happy to help you, if I can. Exactly what do you need?”
While she was being her most businesslike self, a vision rose to play havoc with Jo’s concentration. The vision had slate-gray contemptuous eyes, a harshly unyielding countenance, and a mouth designed to make thinking women weep.
Her eyes foraging over the desk in an effort to escape the taunting image, Jo’s glance settled on the cream-colored folder. Perhaps he hadn’t found it all that easy to control himself. The austere Brett Renninger had forgotten what he’d originally come into her office for!
* * *
Chapter 5
Purring like a sleek, well-fed cat, the Porsche hugged the highway that unwound like a ribbon into the magnificent mountains of New England. Though now past the peak of brilliance, the world-famous foliage blazed in the waning afternoon sunlight, a spectacular free show for anyone with the eyes to see. Brett’s awareness of fall’s breathtaking display of colors was at a shallow surface level. His glance noted the panorama his mind didn’t register the glory of it at all. The tiny, picturesque villages tucked into the folds of Vermont’s sun-kissed mountains went virtually unnoticed by gray eyes bleak with introspection. Grappling with his own conflicting emotions, he was immune to summer’s fiery exit.
Why, Brett berated himself scathingly, in the name of peace of body if not mind, why didn’t you take her right there in her office? She was willing. Hell, she was more than willing, she was eager! And you were damned near incinerated! The memory of the blast furnace created by the simple method of placing his lips to Jo’s ignited a fresh burst of fire inside Brett’s already overheated body. Lord! How many females had he kissed since he’d discovered how exciting the fusing of two mouths could be… somewhere around his fifteenth birthday? A lot more then he cared to remember. Yet never before had he experienced the instantaneous, electrified arousal Jo’s sweet lips had sent crashing through him. Even now, hours later, every living cell in his body cried more, more, more.
You are very definitely losing your grip, buddy!
Slicing a glance to the rearview mirror, Brett grimaced at the unnaturally pale visage momentarily reflected in the small rectangular of silvered glass. Without even trying, you win the “big stupe” award! There’s a blotch on your psychological makeup. Only a true glutton for punishment would go panting after the wrong type of woman twice!
Yet, against all the rationale he could muster, Brett wanted to possess Jo Lawrence with an intensity that shook his so recently well-ordered existence. The emotional hold she was beginning to have on him had been the very element that had induced his exertion on his control. The knowledge of how perilously close he’d come to losing restraint still had his hands trembling as they gripped the steering wheel. With sardonic humor directed at himself, Brett relived his hasty departure from Jo’s office.
His arms aching with the need to hold her against his hardened body, his body screaming with the need to invade hers, Brett had literally run after he’d closed the office door between them. Never before in his life had he been so sorely tempted to throw all caution, propriety, and plain common sense to the wind! The battle that had raged inside his most sexual of organs, the one he formally called his rational mind, had been of mammoth proportions. The fact that reason had won imbued an intellectual satisfaction that in no way appeased the physical hunger. Against all the arguments he could manufacture, he wanted her, all of her, last night, this afternoon, tonight, and, the most sobering, frightening thought of all, for every one of the forever days and nights to come.
Brett’s fingers worked spasmodically on the wheel.
Frowning at his reflexive response to the mere thought of touching Jo, he advised himself to stop the lustful window wishing and concentrate on the job of work that was growing closer with each passing mile. He had things to do, and people to see, and he needed a clear mind and steady hand to accomplish the task he’d set for himself. Now, more than ever, he was determined to at least get the ball rolling on this project Wolf wanted.
One of the people he had to see was a Casey Delheny, the architect Wolf had chosen for the multi-unit. That Brett had never heard of Delheny before was not at all unusual. He was kept doubly busy looking after his own bailiwick. He rarely ever poked his nose into either of his brother’s domains. Besides, were he inclined in that direction, Wolf would probably tell him to butt out. Brett smiled at the realization that their mother would very likely back Wolf. Violet Renninger had worked diligently at raising strong, independent sons!
That morning Brett had had his secretary call the architect to arrange a conference meeting. She had reported back to him that Delheny had a full schedule for the next day but would be happy to join Brett for dinner at the restaurant in the motel where he’d reserved a room.
If the man was that busy he was probably an excellent architect, Brett decided as he neared his destination less than fifty miles from the New Hampshire state line. Not at all disgruntled at having to wait on Delheny’s convenience, Brett planned on spending the day checking out the building site and surrounding terrain. Wolf had delineated the proposed project with his usual painstaking care. Though Brett fully expected to find everything exactly as Wolf had described, still, he had to see for himself.
The motel was one of a large chain, fairly new, and decorated to blend in with the locale in an elegant early American motif. Thinking the early Americans never had it so good, Brett found his own way to the large, comfortable room assigned to him. He was tired but, having eaten nothing since lunch, he was also hungry. After depositing his case on the luggage rack, he washed his hands, splashed cold water on his face, then strode out of the room again in search of sustenance, preferably in the form of a two-inch thick steak with a side order of Scotch.
On entering the motel lobby, Brett had noticed a sign advertising a restaurant lounge. Back in the lobby, he followed the direction marker on the sign to a dimly lit room. As he neared the lounge entrance the melodic sound of an expertly played piano assailed his ears, along with the slightly off-key blending of several voices. Over half the tables in the large room were occupied with quietly conversing patrons. Every one of the high stools around the piano held a would-be soloist. The combined strains of an old Billy Joel hit was not at all unpleasant.
Settling his elongated frame into a well-padded chair at a table in a far corner of the room, Brett smiled when a discordant note rose above the harmonizing voices. His smile broadened as, undaunted, the man who had hit the sour note continued, still slightly out of tune, till the end. And he joined in with his fellow patrons when they offered a round of applause for the impromptu rendition.
The atmosphere in the lounge encouraged relaxation and conviviality, and Brett felt the tensions of the day ease out of his taut body. With conscious determination he relegated the disturbing thoughts that had traveled north with him to the farthest corner of his mind. The ambiance of the lounge imbued a feeling of well-being. Brett convinced himself good food would fill the emptiness inside.
The menu presented to him by a soft-spoken waiter was limited but included an open steak sandwich that Brett promptly ordered, medium rare, with French fries and a small salad. He also ordered Scotch but, remembering his foolishness of the night before, requested both ice and water in it He had consumed the steak and salad and was putting the finishing touches to his fries when a young woman entered the lounge, glanced around, then, straightening her shoulders, walked directly to his table.
“Mr. Renninger?” she asked with just the tiniest bit of hesitation.
“Yes.” Brett eyed her interestedly but discreetly. Small, well rounded without being at all heavy, the woman was
not actually pretty. Her looks were too strong to be defined as anything but striking. Her features were almost sharp. Her eyes were almost slanted. Her mouth was almost too full. Yet the combination was appealing. Hair as fair as Brett’s own was styled into a shining cap that framed her face to advantage. His perusal completed in seconds, Brett smiled in welcome of the diversion she presented. “What can I do for you?”
“May I sit down?” Interpreting his smile correctly, the hesitation disappeared from her voice.
Was she trying to pick him up? The idea intrigued Brett. Besides, he was curious as to how she’d known his name. “Please do,” he invited softly, rising to pull a chair away from the table for her. Brett didn’t get the chance to question her identity for she launched into an explanation as he reseated himself.
“My name is Marsha Wenger,” she said quietly. “Casey Delheny told me you were booked into this motel.” When this statement drew one pale brow into an arch, she clarified. “I asked for you at the desk. The clerk told me you were in here.”
“I see.” Of course, he didn’t, but, what the hell. He shrugged mentally. He wasn’t going anywhere, and she was attractive. “May I order you a drink?”
“Yes, please.” She paused, eyeing his empty glass. “That is, if you’re having another.”
Brett’s smile was unknowingly sardonic. “Oh, I was planning to have several others.”
“All right then, I’ll have white wine.” Although her smooth tone had not altered, it was obvious his smile had confused her, for a tiny frown appeared momentarily between her perfectly arched blond eyebrows.
