While the Fire Rages (25 page)

“Will there be a car waiting?”

“Yes, of course.” Brett was immediately sorry for the impatience edging his tone. For God’s sake, man, he berated himself, she asked a simple, quiet question! Was it really necessary to snap at her? It’s either snap or beg, and I sure as hell cannot and will not do that!

Jo asked no further questions, nor did she make any remark whatever from the time they left the plane till the limousine drew up in front of her apartment. Brett broke the silence once, to inquire if Jo’s car had been returned to New York from Ocean City.

“Yes,” Doug replied promptly. “I drove it in myself. It’s parked in the garage at Ms. Lawrence’s apartment.”

Telling Doug to wait for him, Brett followed Jo out of the car and into the building. Traversing the hall beside her, Brett felt his lips twist in a grimace when Jo dug the large oddly shaped key from her purse. At the door to her apartment, he frowned at her trembling fingers as she stabbed at the slot in the lock.

“You’re tired.” Brett was careful to keep his tone free of inflection as he set her case inside the door. “We’ll talk later. After you’ve had some rest.” Jo’s reaction startled him in its swiftness.

“No.” Jo spun to face him. “We will not talk later.” Her eyes were no longer sad. They actually seemed to shoot sparks at him. Her voice was no longer quiet. Her tone was razor sharp with anger. “I don’t know what sort of game you think you are playing, Brett, but you can deal me out of it. I thought I could ...” Jo paused, as if to steady herself. “But I can’t...” Her breath caught then she repeated, on a sigh, “I just can’t.” Very slowly, very quietly, Jo closed the door in his face.

His body rigid, Brett stood frozen for one full minute, then, swinging around, he strode back to the elevator. What prompted him to do it, Brett had no idea yet, as he approached the security guard’s desk he paused, then stopped.

“Do you remember who I am?” Brett asked the guard arrogantly.

“Yes, Mr. Renninger. Ms. Lawrence gave you clearance to enter at will two days before Christmas.”

“That’s correct.” Brett’s lips smiled at the man. “I wanted that point quite clear. I may be back some time later this evening, and I did not want any hassle over admittance. I will not have Ms. Lawrence unnecessarily disturbed. Are we in accord?” Brett deliberately arched one brow imperiously.

“Yes, sir.”

What a bastard you are, Brett accused himself wryly as he pushed through the entrance doors. But then, if you never take a step, you never get anywhere, in
any
direction, he exonerated his rather overbearing behavior.

In the car, Brett gnawed on the wisdom of returning to see Jo later that evening. He
knew
his attitude had been less than charming throughout their stay at the farm. On reflection, he admitted he’d acted out the part of the name he’d moments ago called himself to the letter. Why couldn’t he just go to Jo and confess that he was so miserable, because he was so miserable?

On entering Wolf’s apartment, Brett set his suitcase aside, tossed his jacket onto a chair and poured himself a double shot of Scotch. Telling himself he had to be hungry since he’d eaten nothing since early that morning, he ambled into the kitchen. Opting for eggs, as he was certainly not in the mood to wax creative, he popped two slices of bread into the toaster while melting butter in a small frying pan. Breaking two eggs neatly in one hand, he dropped them, yolks intact, into the sizzling butter. A moment later he turned away from the stove to butter the toast, then, turning back, he grasped the handle of the pan to shift it gently back and forth a few times before, with a slight snap of his wrist, the eggs slid up and over, perfectly flipped. Brett waited another moment, then lifted the pan from the burner to slide the over light eggs onto a plate. He had taken three steps to the table when, spinning around, he walked to the sink to dump the combined eggs and toast into the disposal. Brett tossed back the last of his whisky as the mechanism ate his supper.

Brett returned to the living room for a second helping of his liquid meal. His second double shot tempered with ice and water, he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Between long sips at his drink he undressed slowly. He strolled into the bathroom where he brushed his teeth, shaved his face, and showered his body. He pulled on pants, a soft sweater, and ankle boots, and scooped his jacket from the chair on his way toward the door.

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, devoured! 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—”