While the Fire Rages

by Joan Hohl

  His bootheels hitting the sidewalk with a muffled thud, Brett strode purposefully in the direction of Jo’s apartment. Damned if he’d lie awake one more night, aching with the memory of how good their lovemaking had been! Damned if he’d give up on a relationship he knew would be satisfying to the both of them—if she’d give it a chance to get off the ground! And damned if he’d let her get away with closing the door in his face!

  At his destination, Brett nodded curtly to the doorman, and a moment later he dipped his head again to the security guard. Neither man attempted to impede his progress.

  At Jo’s door, Brett stabbed the button to her doorbell with quick impatient motions of his forefinger. Nothing.

  Grumbling an expletive, Brett slipped his hand into his pants pocket and withdrew his gold keyring. Detaching the large key from the others, he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  Nothing.

  “Jo?” Brett crossed the living room to the bedroom. “Where are you?” Brett’s question was answered not by a voice but by the sound of the shower in the bathroom. As he entered the room, the sound came to an abrupt stop. Standing in the middle of the room, facing the bathroom door, Brett waited. Two minutes. Five minutes. He was pulling the sweater up over his shoulders when Jo came out of the bathroom tying the sash on the striped robe she’d worn in the apartment in Ocean City.

  “Brett!” His name exploded from her lips with a gasp. “How did you get in here?”

  “I’m a second-story man in my off hours,” Brett muttered through the soft wool.

  “And what do you think you’re doing?”Jo demanded, charging across the room to stand before him, hands on hips.

  “I’m getting undressed for bed.” Staring her in the eyes, Brett tossed the sweater aside and began working on his belt buckle.

  “Like hell you are!” Jo choked in fury.

  “Like hell I’m not,” Brett corrected softly. “It seems bed is the one place you and I can communicate. And, the way I feel right now, I just might communicate through most of the night.” As he lowered the zipper on the pants, Brett watched Jo stiffen with outrage. Well, he shrugged mentally, at least when she’s furious she talks to me.

  “You know,” she finally managed through gritted teeth, “for an educated man, you certainly have a flair for crudity.”

  “Nothing crude about it,” Brett contradicted smoothly. “And you know it.” Slowly, deliberately, he let his eyes caress her body, feeling a quickness in his loins at the realization that she was wearing nothing but satiny skin underneath the classy, sexy robe. “I said we’ll talk later,” he went on softly, unselfconsciously stepping out of both pants and boxers. “And we will talk ... later.” By now Jo’s eyes were wide, her gorgeous lashes fluttering, her breath coming in short, angry puffs. God! Brett marveled. She is one beautiful woman.

  Reaching out, Brett caught the tie belt of her robe and began loosening the knot.

  “Brett!” Her throat worked spasmodically as she swallowed. “Brett, you can’t do this! I won’t let you.”

  Brett slid the loop free.

  “Brett! Stop this! “Jo demanded in an unconvincing whisper.

  The knot untied, Brett gently slid the silky material off Jo’s trembling shoulders. Dropping his arms, he stood still, drinking in the longed-for sight of her. It had been nine nights since he’d held the slim loveliness of her close to his own hardness. It seemed more like nineteen years. Stifling a groan, Brett reached out again, this time to lightly grasp her shoulders. The feel of her under his hands set off a chain reaction Brett could not have controlled had his life depended on it. Sliding his hands urgently down her back, Brett drew the warmth and softness of Jo against him, a sigh of real pain escaping his tightly constricted throat.

  “Jo... my Jo.”

  Brett, unaware he was saying it all, felt he needed to say so much, much more, yet all that came out was her name. The tips of her breasts touched his chest with the effect of electric probes, creating shock waves that spiraled wildly through his body. Brett’s arms tightened convulsively, crushing her to him. His hands, hungry to touch her everywhere at once, moved with restless abandon from her shoulders to the base of her spine and back again.

  “Oh, Brett! Oh, Brett.”

  There was a universe of mixed-up meanings contained in the husky, defeated sound that whispered into Brett’s mind as well as his ears. His mind, totally absorbed with the overriding need to make her finally, irrevocably his, caught only the nuance of passion in her tone. Elation singing through him, Brett took her mouth with commanding force. Jo’s capitulation was immediate and frenzied. Her hands skimmed the length of his body to grasp his buttocks, fingers clenching, urging the ultimate intimacy.

  Brett literally went wild. Shuddering with the desire rocketing through his body, he began moving, backing her to the bed. Then he was on the bed, on Jo, in Jo, taking, taking, wanting more, and yet more, greedily demanding she give everything of herself, his body quivering in exultation of the primitive possession, his mind chanting: mine, mine, mine.

  It was over very quickly. His head thrown back, Brett could feel the tug of strain on the taut tendons in his neck. Striving, driving, propelling himself to the very limit of endurance, Brett gasped harshly at the intensity of near pain at his moment of culmination, reveling in the echoing gasp that was torn from Jo’s throat.

  In a state of complete collapse, Brett lay with his head against Jo’s breast, dragging in great gulps of air. Brett lay still while his body went through the process of regeneration. His mind, emerging from the fog of sensuality, began clicking away like a well-made timepiece.

  Never, never, not even that first time with Jo in Ocean City had Brett so completely lost contact with reality during the act of lovemaking. And never had he wished to remain so completely lost. Even in his exhausted condition a burst of adrenaline shot through his system at the memory of what he’d just experienced. Brett had always doubted the existence of the absolute sexual pinnacle. He doubted no longer.

  Monitoring Jo’s still-rapid heartbeat, a thrill snaked through Brett’s insides. Jo had not surrendered! The thrill changed direction to skitter up his spine. Jo had not surrendered! If he had been impatient, rough, demanding, and he had, Jo had been equally so. He had witnessed the same tautness cording her slim white neck that had tightened his with tension. He had felt the sting of her oval nails in his buttocks as her fingers flexed and gripped in a frantic effort to draw him deeper and yet deeper into her body as if in craving to absorb him totally within her being. His lips now tasted the salty flavor of her sweat-sheened skin. Joyous delight followed the path of the thrill. In no way had she surrendered!

  I love her! I love her. With my mind, with my body, with my soul! God! Why can’t she love me too?

  Brett felt an unfamiliar hot sting in his eyes and his brain went numb for an instant. He could not! He could not! He hadn’t wept since his father’s death during that stupid yacht race! Holy Mother of God! What was he going to do? The mere possibility of losing Jo now froze his heartbeats. I can’t let her go, Brett’s mind roared back to life. I cannot let her go.

  The slight stirring of Jo’s body beneath him alerted Brett to the realization that he was very likely crushing her slim frame with his weight. Easing himself from her, he stretched out beside her on the now-rumpled spread. Brett knew he should move, if only to get under the spread. Jo was so quiet. Was she sleeping? Shifting onto his side, Brett gazed down on her, a tender smile curving his lips at the sight of the dark swath of hair partially covering her face. Raising his hand to her face, he gently smoothed the swath away from her temple before trailing his fingers to her cheek. Several obstinate silky strands clung to Jo’s eyelashes. Being careful not to startle her, Brett brushed her lashes with his fingertips, then became absolutely still.

  Jo’s lashes were wet! Her face was wet! Why was she crying? Had he hurt her! But she had not cried out, had not withdrawn in any way! Quite the opposite, she had attacked, consumed, de
voured! As if, as if... A chill pervaded Brett’s body. Jo had responded to him with all the fervor of a woman with the man she ... No! Brett closed his eyes in an attempt to block out a face. He could not close his mind to the taunting whisper of a name.

  Wolf.

  Brett shook his head sharply once.

  No. No. Please, no. He didn’t want to hear it. Still, he had to know.

  “Why are you crying?” His voice was soft, but tight with strain. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No!” Jo’s lids flew up and her head moved briefly on the pillow.

  ‘Then why are you crying?” he insisted.

  “It... it’s nothing, really.” The nothing started a fresh flow trickling down her cheeks. “I’m ... being silly.”

  “Is it him?” To keep from shouting, Brett whispered. “Were you thinking of him?” Suddenly incensed, he leaned over her, his face close to hers. Teeth clenched, he rasped, “Was he in your mind ... while I was in your body?”

  “Brett!” Wide-eyed, Jo stared at him. “I don’t...”

  “Was he?” Brett’s shout cut across her voice.

  “NO!” Jo shouted back at him. “It’s over, Brett. I swear it’s over. It’s been ...”

  “All right!” Brett again cut her off harshly. “I don’t want a blow by blow of the ending.” He leaned even closer to her. “As long as it is completely over. I want your word on that, Jo. I won’t allow you to use my body to appease a hunger for another man.”

  “Use you?” Jo exclaimed on a shriek. “How—”

  “Your word, Jo,” Brett inserted quietly, ominously.

  “You have it!” Jo actually snarled at him. “And don’t you ever, ever again accuse me of using you. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly.” Brett’s teeth snapped together. Now what? Brett wondered, returning her glare fiercely. Well, when in doubt…kiss her! Closing the inches that separated them, Brett covered her mouth with his own.

  At first Jo’s lips remained stiff and tightly closed. Then they softened. Then they parted. Then they grew warm. The warmth quickly turned to heat. Heat burst into flames. Instant replay; another conflagration. Tongues pierced, hands searched, bodies melded, one into the other. Who owned whom?

  Normal breathing restored, Brett drew Jo’s sleep-heavy body close to his own. Already half asleep himself, the thought wafted through his mind again. Who owned whom? Beginning to drift, Brett lifted a hand to smother a yawn.

  Who owned whom? Who cares?

  The automatic alarm that jangled inside Brett’s head every working morning at seven fifteen pried his eyes open the next morning. His eyes wide open, he frowned. When, he asked himself, had he and Jo made the move from on top of the comforter to beneath the covers? Memory stirred and Brett vaguely recalled waking in the night feeling chilled. Rousing Jo, he had coaxed her up enough to allow him to pull the covers down. She was back to sleep before he’d finished tucking the comforter around the two of them.

  Throwing his arms over his head, Brett stretched his body awake. Lord, he was hungry. He needed some food. He needed a shower. But, first, he needed a kiss. Turning onto his side, he propped his head up on one hand. His expression soft, Brett studied the woman he loved. In sleep, Jo was even more beautiful, but in a different way. She looked younger than her twenty-eight years, defenseless, more vulnerable. Staring at Jo’s sleep-flushed cheeks, her tender mouth, and her wildly disordered hair, Brett felt his throat constrict with emotion.

  Frowning in concentration, Brett raked his mind for a single memory, a single instance when he’d ever felt so very strongly about another woman. His mind came up blank. Oh, he’d experienced the usual instinctive protectiveness for Sondra. Sondra had been his wife and as his wife she deserved his protection. Brett smiled. What he’d felt for Sondra paled to transparent in comparison to what he was feeling now for Jo. Brett’s smile broadened in self-derision. Of course, he had faced the fact long ago that what he’d felt for Sondra had more to do with self-indulgence and infatuation than love. The woman he gazed upon now Brett loved with every fiber of his being. Brett’s smile vanished.

  On consideration, the whole concept was pretty damned scary!

  Brett lowered his head but caught himself up short less than an inch from her lips. Don’t wake her, let her sleep, his conscience advised. She gave you infinite pleasure during the night, not once but several times. Let her sleep, she has earned it. His smile back in place, Brett eased his body away from Jo’s and off the bed.

  Twenty-odd minutes later Brett was tugging his crumpled sweater over his head when a slight movement on the bed caught his attention. Pulling the garment into place, he glanced up to find Jo watching him guardedly.

  “Good morning.” Brett offered the greeting in a neutral tone.

  Jo continued to watch him unblinkingly, her expression wary. “Good morning,” she responded in a sleep-husky murmur. “Have you eaten?”

  “Not yet.” Brett stood still, his hands at his sides, regarding her closely. What was she thinking? The alert, somewhat fearful expression in her eyes puzzled him. It was almost as if she was waiting for an inevitable blow to fall. Why? Unable to come up with an answer, Brett shrugged. “I thought I’d stop for something to eat on my way back to the apartment.”

  “I see,” Jo replied tonelessly.

  What does she see? Brett felt a stirring of anger. What the hell was going on in that beautiful head of hers? Jo ended his fruitless search for answers.

  “You were going to leave without waking me?”

  The mild reproach in her voice put a spur to his anger. “Of course not!” Brett was barely aware of his fingers curling into his palms. Cool it, he cautioned himself. Make haste slowly here. What had he expected from her this morning? The query was rhetorical, and Brett knew it. He’d expected Jo to be as she’d been on the mornings they’d wakened together in Ocean City ... warm, responsive, smiling. The disappointment that lanced through Brett robbed him of a portion of the energy he’d felt on awakening. Choosing his words carefully, Brett went on, “I had every intention of waking you. I put the coffee on to brew. It should be ready in a few minutes.” A small smile Brett didn’t particularly like shadowed Jo’s lips.

  “The holidays are over,” she said flatly.

  “Jo, what. ..”

  “You’d better go,” she interrupted impatiently. “You’ll be late. And so will I.”

  Now what in hell... ? Brett frowned. Was she throwing him out? After last night? Oh, no! No way! Brett’s balled hands tightened into hard fists. “I was going to suggest you take an extra day off.”

  “Why?” Jo shot the word at him.

  Why? Brett was hard put not to laugh. God! He’d have thought it was obvious. He had loved her to a standstill; she’d been exhausted when he’d finally allowed her to rest. Come to that, so had he ... and he felt, or at least he had felt, like he could fight his weight in wildcats. An unknowing, sardonic smile played on his lips. Hell! He was having trouble fighting his weight in JoAnne Lawrences! Exasperation serrated the edge of Brett’s tone.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to stay home!”

  ‘Then don’t!” Brett snapped. Immediately regretting his loss of patience, Brett drew a deep calming breath. Jo was still lying flat on the bed, the covers up to her chin. Very probably, Brett decided, because she was naked. He didn’t like the connotations to that consideration. During their time together by the ocean, Jo had been completely unselfconscious with him. An uncomfortable sensation of defeat crawled along the floor of his stomach. Hanging on to his temper, Brett explained calmly, “You had requested a leave to rest. What with one thing and another”—he shrugged—”you’ve had very little of it. I thought you could take the day to just. .. catch up.”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him quietly.

  “Okay, then I’ll see you in the office?” Brett lifted one eyebrow slightly.

  “Yes.”

  Brett didn’t move. Staring into her eyes, he waited to s
ee if Jo would say anything else. She didn’t. She stared back at him, her expression also one of waiting. Say it. Now. The command flashed from Brett’s brain to hrs lips.

  “I’ll transfer my things tonight.” Barely breathing, Brett watched Jo’s eyes flicker and widen, observed the sudden rigidity of her body.

  “W-what...”Jo stopped to clear her throat before continuing in a husky whisper, “What are you saying?”

  “I’m moving in with you.” Brett heard the steel underlining his soft statement. From her expression of shock, it was obvious Jo heard it too.

  “Brett, is…” Jo paused to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Is that wise?” Grasping the covers in one hand, she sat up to stare at him in consternation. “I mean, word of it will zing through the office grapevine within a week!”

  Brett had to put a clamp on the elation that was dancing wildly through his system. He had won! Hot damn! He had won! Jo had not denied him the right to share her world or her body! She was simply concerned about propriety! He swallowed a whoop of laughter.

  “Need I tell you what the office gossips can do to, and with, themselves?” he drawled. The amusement swelled at Jo’s expression of censure. How in hell, after being Wolf’s mistress, had she retained her naïveté? The query killed Brett’s amusement. Why had he had to think of Wolf, and the role he’d played in Jo’s life, now? A fresh spurt of anger threatened to swamp his elation. Had played, Brett repeated in an effort to contain his emotions. The operative word here is had. While calming himself, Brett let his eyes feast on Jo’s invitingly disheveled appearance. Taking one step toward her, Brett caught himself up short. You’ve got to go to work, Renninger, he cautioned in an attempt to quell the sudden need to hold Jo in his arms. Get started on the day, he advised himself. The night will come more swiftly if you keep busy in the interim.