by Joan Hohl
“Tough decision, huh?” Brett’s soft voice held a betraying thread of tension, tension that Jo now knew could quickly change to icy withdrawal.
Jo’s sigh was the harbinger of her approaching capitulation. She didn’t like it. In fact, she resented his use of coercion, especially this type of coercion, yet she knew she would yield in the end. She really hadn’t much of a choice. It was either give way or face the cold stranger. Damn! Her mother was right, Jo thought distractedly. Being in love hurt in more ways than Jo had ever thought there were ways! If Jo had once believed Gary was a manipulator, she now knew he was a piker in comparison to Brett Renninger; Brett was a master of the art!
“Jo?” Brett was losing patience. He was attempting concealment with his low tone and the tender way he brushed her forehead with his lips, but Jo could hear the warning knell of impatience loud and clear.
Jo’s face sought comfort in his sweater again. “All right, Brett.” Tightening her arms around his waist, Jo clung to his lean frame in silent, possessive desperation, facing the unpalatable truth that she would very likely do anything to keep him satisfied—and with her. “I’ll stop taking them ... if that’s what you want.”
“Yes. That is what I want”
Holding him tightly, Jo could feel the tension easing out of his body. Could feel that tension being replaced by an unmistakable quickening. Brett’s long thigh muscles tightened to press against hers in an urgent, demanding way. Moving his body suggestively, Brett made Jo excitingly aware of his arousal.
“You won’t be sorry, love.” Brett’s caressing words were every bit as enticing as his body language. “I promise, you won’t be sorry.”
Jo’s capitulation was complete. She was his, mind, body, and soul. Of course she knew it and, if his triumphant laughter as he urged her toward the bed could be used as an indicator, Brett knew it too.
* * * *
The month of February seemed even shorter than usual for Jo. Except for a few minor irritants, Jo sailed through the-cold, snowy month wrapped in a warm cocoon of marital bliss.
The one major irritant was the mere sight of Marsha Wenger. Fortunately Jo saw the New England area manager seldom, but every time she did see Marsha, Jo smiled coolly and cursed silently. That what she was experiencing was rampant jealousy, Jo readily admitted—to herself. It was a new emotion, one Jo was positive she could very well have done without She hated it and the mean way it made her feel, but there it was, all blatant and green eyed. Strangely, Jo had never felt the slightest twinge of jealousy over Gary, and the females had fluttered all over him wherever they had gone. Reluctantly, Jo faced the fact that what she had felt for Gary had been infatuation ... and a rather shallow infatuation at that. She hadn’t been in love with Gary at all, merely in love with the idea of being in love! It was a home truth Jo accepted then put from her mind. Perhaps everyone had to experience the trauma of near love to appreciate the real thing when it finally did come along.
Early in March, Brett was away for the longest five days Jo had ever lived through. Both Brett and Sean were in the Poconos, ironing out some labor union wrinkles, and while he was away Jo began to understand Casey’s attitude of the previous December, At the time, Casey had been frustrated and cranky, and all because Sean had been away. During the five days, and what seemed like twice as many nights, that Brett was away, Jo was tormented by a like frustration and crabbiness.
On the fifth night when he returned, Brett looked tired, and windblown, and cold, and absolutely beautiful. He was outfitted in dark corduroy jeans, low boots, and a thigh-length, pile-lined suede jacket, and he looked like he’d just left the project site. Jo, both surprised and delighted by his early return, opened her mouth, but before the words of welcome and question could be formed, Brett explained in three terse words.
“I missed you.”
Jo stopped breathing at the expression in Brett’s eyes as he crossed the room to where she was sitting.
Staring into his eyes, as soft as the feathers on a gray dove, Jo felt all the tension and irritation drain out of her. It was always the same. All Brett had to do was lower his voice and look at her tenderly, and she was completely his. It’s not fair! A small spark of defiance tried to make itself heard above the flutter of Jo’s pulse. It is simply not fair for him to have this much control over me, when I have no effect whatever on him. Well, that wasn’t quite true and Jo admitted it. She did have some effect. Jo could see the effect on Brett’s body and in the tiny flame beginning to leap in his eyes. Jo knew she had the power to arouse Brett’s body. There had been moments when she’d connected with his mind. Why couldn’t she touch his heart?
Brett’s lips twitched in the quirky smile that had become so very endearing to Jo. “I’ve slept alone for four nights.” The quirk progressed at its usual rate into a grin. “Let me rephrase that statement. I tried to sleep alone for four nights. I did not succeed very well. I missed you like hell, Jo.” By the time Brett had finished speaking the grin was gone.
Jo was long past deciphering Brett’s intricately simplistic admission. Merely knowing he had missed her was enough, for now. “I—I missed you too, Brett. I didn’t know what to do without you here.” The murmured confession escaped through Jo’s unguarded mental barriers while she was otherwise occupied by becoming lost inside the gray prison of Brett’s eyes. Vaguely, Jo wondered why the flame in those gray depths suddenly leaped wildly. As it was where Jo had wanted to be since he’d walked into the room, she never entertained the thought of resistance when Brett drew her into his arms. Home. Jo sighed with relief. The scent of him, his aftershave, even the faint, woolly odor of his sweater, all were now the scents of home to Jo.
“I was going to suggest we go the usual route in our learning process of getting to know each other better.” Brett’s lips skimmed her forehead. “You know, open a bottle of wine, get comfortable on the sofa, and talk until we run out of words.” As if drawn by a lure too enticing to resist, his lips made a direct path down her small nose to her mouth. “But, on consideration, four days without you is three and a half days too long. We’ll still have a bottle of wine, but I think we’ll drink it in bed.” Brett’s lips teased Jo’s for mind-bending seconds. “After we’ve communicated in a more basic language,” he whispered into her mouth.
Brett proceeded to converse very fluently without speaking a syllable. He began the dialogue with his lips, and his tongue, and his hands. Then, with his body, Brett presented a brilliant dissertation on communication. Distracted by sensations seemingly tripping over each other as they raced crazily through her body, Jo was ignorant of the fact that her own silent thesis was being presented with equal eloquence.
Brett eventually did get around to opening a bottle of wine, but only after they had both had a short, reviving nap and a long, revitalizing shower. Brett went to the kitchen while Jo remade the thoroughly disordered bed. Clad in the striped silk robe, she was reclining against the headboard when Brett strolled into the bedroom, a bottle of white wine and two glasses in one hand and a tray of sandwiches in the other.
“It’s a good thing this is Friday night,” he observed dryly. “As I’m planning to lay siege to your mind, and your body, through most of it.”
“Actually, I was thinking of going into the office tomorrow, “Jo lied unconvincingly. In truth, she had glumly looked forward to pacing the apartment till he came home. “There’s a report I should finish to have ready for Monday.”
Placing the tray of sandwiches on her legs, Brett slid onto the bed beside Jo and poured wine for the both of them.
“I don’t know anyone else who can make me feel like you can.” He leaned to her to gently bestow a kiss on her. “It feels good to laugh with you.” When Brett lifted his head he was smiling. “Come to that, practically everything we do together makes me feel good. How about you?” he probed blatantly.
Jo’s smile was a reflection of Brett’s. “Makes me feel good too,” she offered softly. “For the most part, I’ve enjoy
ed our being together.”
“For the most part,” Brett repeated quietly. “Well, that’s a start” Picking up a piece of sandwich, he examined the ham-and-cheese filling as if he’d never seen it before. ‘Time for the learning process to begin, I think.” Taking a tentative bite, he chewed it thoroughly and washed it down with a healthy swallow of wine. “I already know you are terrific at your job and can’t cook worth a damn,” Brett finally continued. “What other talents, or lack thereof, are contained within the beautiful package you call yourself?”
“I’m great in bed.” It was not a declaration but a question, if a teasing one. Although Brett obviously understood, he chose to treat Jo’s query as a statement of fact.
“Granted.” Brett’s concurrence was made in all seriousness. “What else? And please feel free to elaborate.”
Jo hesitated briefly, then, thinking—what have I got to lose?—opened her mind, if not her heart, to him. “I am, by nature, quiet. But I think I told you that before?” Jo arched a brow at him in question; Brett nodded. “I like almost all kinds of music, from classical to country western. I love movies, especially science fiction. I have a passion for clothes that by far exceed my budget.”
“No longer,” Brett inserted at this point of her litany. “I’ll take care of your clothing bills.”
Jo stiffened noticeably. She didn’t want him paying her bills. Why having Brett assume financial responsibility for her should make her feel like a kept woman, Jo didn’t know, unless it had something to do with Brett not loving her. Jo had conscious knowledge of being his wife; the emotional impact was missing. She would much prefer to pay her own bills. Now, for Jo, the problem was how to convey her feelings to him. Brett was way ahead of her.
“Don’t say it, Jo,” he warned softly. “We’ve got the beginnings of a good picnic going here.” Jo was well aware Brett was not referring to the impromptu supper he’d put together. “Don’t rain on it.”
“Brett... I” Jo faltered. Was her independence really worth the price of this tenuous reaching out they had embarked on? She was Brett’s wife, all legal and binding—or at least as binding as any marriage could be in this enlightened age. Leave it, her common sense advised. Meet him halfway, see what develops. You have nothing to lose and the world to gain. “I play a fair hand of poker.”
Brett stared at her blandly for an instant, then a grin of mixed delight and relief instilled animation; he grinned like a summertime-happy boy. As if he were suddenly starving, Brett wolfed down another sandwich. Waving his hand at the depleted plate, he ordered her to follow suit. “Dig in, honey.” Brett’s grin removed the sting from the barb that trailed his invitation. I do know how to put a sandwich together.”
They ate and drank in silence until the plate and bottle were both empty, then Brett made himself comfortable by stretching his long length out full and throwing his arms over his head.
“I’m going to toss another responsibility at you next week,” he told her lazily.
Busy brushing bits of breadcrumbs off the sheet, Jo didn’t even look up. “Really?” she replied idly. “What sort of responsibility?”
“I’m going to put you to interviewing applicants.” He yawned. The job bores the hell out of me.”
“Applicants?” Jo glanced up to frown at him. The only applicants Brett ever personally interviewed were for managerial positions, and, to Jo’s knowledge, there were no positions of that type open. “Applicants for what?”
“New England area manager.” Brett exhaled in exasperation. “We’ve got less than a month to replace Marsha, Jo.”
Marsha! Jo froze. Marsha was leaving the firm? At first the news thrilled Jo. Then the thrill was chased by apprehension. Why was Marsha leaving? And why hadn’t Jo known about it? Had Brett deliberately kept the information from her for reasons of his own? Jo could think of only one reason Brett would have for keeping silent, and that reason did not bear thinking about. Pushing a sudden, explicit image of Brett and Marsha together in much the same way Jo and he were now, Jo made a production out of finding the last, tiniest crumb.
“Why is Marsha quitting?” Jo directed her question at the smooth sheet.
Brett hesitated for seconds that were pure agony for Jo. “Well,” he began slowly, “I know all she’d say was her reason was persona] but—” Again he hesitated, drawing Jo’s nerves to quivering tautness. “What the hell, you are not only my assistant but my wife. Marsha’s going to follow her husband.”
Jo could not have been more stunned if Brett had told her Marsha was going to have a sex-change operation! Added to Jo’s bafflement at Brett’s seeming assumption that she’d known of Marsha’s intention to leave the company, Brett’s revelation of a heretofore unheard of husband left Jo totally speechless. Had she been beating her emotions to death since December for nothing? Had there ever been anything personal between Brett and Marsha? And does being in love make jackasses of everybody? This last consideration jolted Jo out of contemplation and into speech.
“Brett, let’s clarify a few details here.” Jo’s voice contained a harsh undertone. She was fed up. She never had liked playing games, and this love game was starting to get to her. As Jo had never particularly liked mysteries either, she wasn’t about to tolerate Marsha’s. “Detail one,” she said flatly. “I knew nothing about Marsha’s resignation. Detail two: I knew nothing about a husband.”
“Former husband,” Brett inserted.
“Former or otherwise,” Jo bit angrily. “Which brings about detail three: I was under the impression that you and she had indulged in a flaming affair last October in Vermont.” Sitting up straight, Jo stared Brett directly in the eyes, defying him to deny an alliance with Marsha. When Brett didn’t respond immediately, Jo added, “And what the hell do you mean, former husband? If they are no longer married, why is she leaving an excellent job to follow him?”
“Are you finished?” Brett asked softly. “Or are there more details on your list?”
“I’m finished.” And very likely in more ways than one, she added silently. But, good grief, how long could she go on living with this silliness? Jo demanded of herself. Sex, in itself, was not a panacea, the be-all and end-all of any relationship ... let alone marriage! There had to be more or, if there was not, then her mother was right!
“Detail one.” Brett’s quietly controlled voice intruded on Jo’s introspection and riveted her attention. “I honestly believed you did know of Marsha’s resignation. She tendered it this past Monday.” He regarded her steadily. “I thought I’d mentioned it before I left for the mountains. I’m sorry, but I was rushed. Okay?”
Jo let a nod suffice for reply. If he was on a roll, she certainly wasn’t going to call a halt now.
“Detail number two is a little more involved. Marsha has been unhappily divorced for over a year. The marriage fell apart because Marsha, admittedly, neglected it in favor of her career.” Brett shrugged. “Apparently, like most men, Marsha’s husband labored under the illusion that he should come first. When he discovered he didn’t, he sought comfort elsewhere.”
“How delightful!” Jo exclaimed. “He sounds like a real charmer. And Marsha is going to repress her ambition to chase him?” Incensed at the very idea of what Marsha was doing, Jo momentarily forgot how relieved she’d felt on hearing of the woman’s intentions mere moments ago.
She was angry, really angry, and yet she was trembling with excitement. She was actually loving every minute of this argument! Geared for mental battle, Jo missed the significance of her enjoyment, and that was that the lines of communication were wide open!
“Jo!” Brett shouted in exasperation. “Marsha loves the man. She has been miserable for over a year! But she has decided to meet him halfway ... no more. Can you honestly sit there and insist she’s wrong?”
“Brett, how can you insist she is only meeting him halfway?” Jo argued heatedly. “She’s giving up her job. She’s going to him. What, exactly, is he doing? No! Don’t tell me, I know. He is wa
iting for her to come to her senses! Right?”
“I don’t believe this! I positively do not believe this.” Brett glanced around the room as if seeking guidance. “We are actually fighting over another couple’s marital problems!”
“Yes,” Jo responded impulsively. “Isn’t it fun?”
Brett grinned then sobered almost at once. “It would be, if we didn’t have a few problems of our own.” Brett met Jo’s glance and held it. “There was no affair in October.” He hesitated, then went on determinedly, “But not for lack of trying on my part.”
Jo sat perfectly still, staring at him, while her conscience went to work on her. She longed to dissect his last statement, but did she have the right? No, she did not, her conscience advised. In actual fact, she’d had no right to ask him about October in the first place. Obviously Brett had assumed she’d pounce on his admission.
“No questions?” he probed, a strange note of disappointment edging his voice. “Aren’t you curious ... at all?”
Jo sighed. “Yes, I’m curious. But it really is none of my business. Is it?” After the effervescence of their argument, Jo felt flat “What you did, and who you did it with, before we married, is, in fact, none of my business.” Jo broke the hold his eyes attempted to maintain.
“And so, of course, I have no right to ask you about your previous affair.” Brett’s tone had a corresponding flatness, tinged with accusation.
So he did know about Gary! Jo raised her eyes to encounter a blank wall. Brett had withdrawn. The lines of communication had snapped. Following Brett’s example, Jo mentally withdrew.
