While the Fire Rages (29 page)

“I’m not at all tired of you.” Brett walked to her slowly as he made the tension-relieving statement. As he drew near, Jo could see that all his anger was gone too.

“You’re not?” Jo had to fight the urge to fling herself into his arms.

“No.” Brett shook his head, a conciliatory smile tugging at his lips. “I’m also not bored with our situation.”

“Then... why...?” Jo gazed at him in confusion, her eyes begging for an explanation.

“It was the mention of a preexisting prescription for birth control pills.” Brett shrugged, as if trying to rid himself of an unbearable weight. “No man likes to be reminded of his predecessor.” Raising his hand, he touched her hair very gently. “I’m…sorry.” Brett’s hesitation was telling; he did not make apologies often. The relief that washed through Jo was shocking in its intensity.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispered, blinking against a sudden rush of tears.

Jo gulped back a sob as she was hauled into Brett’s arms. God! It was heaven, like being ushered into a warm room after standing naked in the freezing night. Burying her face in his chest, she slid her arms beneath his jacket and around his waist.

“Honey, are you crying?” The concern in Brett’s voice was nearly Jo’s undoing.

“No.” Sniffing, Jo rubbed her face against his rough wool sweater.

Brett’s long fingers caught her chin to lift her face to his scrutiny. “You are crying. And I’m a bastard for making you cry. Honey, don’t!” He brought his other hand up to brush at the tears. His tone solemn, he said quietly, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t take the pill anymore.”

“Not take it!” Caught off guard, Jo stared at him in consternation. If things were different between them, if he loved her instead of loving to be with her, around her—-Jo shivered in memory—in her, she’d glory in conceiving, carrying, and bearing his child. But Brett did
not
love her. He did not yearn to have proof of that love expressed in the form of a child. Brett’s sole reason for asking her to discontinue the pill had more to do with pride than any other emotion. In his own words, Brett did not like being reminded of his predecessor—Gary Devlin. Still, after basking in the warmth of his arms and recent concern, Jo shuddered with the fear of having him revert back to the cold stranger he’d been all day. Could she refuse his request?

“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 enjoyed 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.”