While the Fire Rages (21 page)

Brunch yet! Jo smiled as she scooped coffee into the small basket.  All the while she’d been showering one worry had nagged at her mind: What would Brett’s attitude toward her be now? The morning after! His spontaneous greeting and easy grin had laid that particular worry to rest. Oh, there were other worries and considerations Jo realized she’d eventually have to deal with, but they could wait until after she had fortified herself with food.

As if he’d timed it, Brett strode into the kitchen as the coffeepot gurgled its last gurgle. Running a swift, encompassing glance over his lean frame, Jo decided he looked even sexier in jeans and a black sweater than he had in sweats. Without hesitation, Brett drew her into his arms.

“Now I can wish you a proper good morning,” he said, lowering his head to hers.

Brett’s lips touched hers gently, almost tentatively, until he felt her part her lips in response, then his kiss deepened, although not in demand, but more like a learning process. Wanting to learn more herself, Jo put every ounce of herself into the meeting of mouths. When Brett drew back to gaze down at her, his eyes shimmering like silver, Jo promptly decided she’d adore being wished a proper good morning in that fashion every morning for the rest of her life. Smothering a sigh of regret for the impossibility of foolish dreams, she smiled tremulously back at him.

“How are you feeling?” The smile changed into a frown as Brett examined Jo’s upturned face minutely. “When you left the office last week, you looked about ready to unravel. Are you feeling any better ... now?”

Jo did not miss Brett’s deliberate hesitation before the word now, and she knew he meant right now, since the night they’d spent together. Should she take a chance and tell him how deeply his lovemaking had affected her? Could she bare her soul to this man? Don’t be a complete fool, the voice of cool logic warned scathingly. Remember what happened the last time you spoke of your feelings to a man. Staring up at Brett, Jo could actually hear the echo of Gary’s taunting gibes. Gary’s ridicule had been hard enough to take; somehow Jo knew she would not be able to bear it from Brett. No, Jo cautioned herself, play it cagy, play it down, but for God’s sake, play it safe!

“I’m feeling much better.” Jo avoided the word now. “I simply needed some rest... as I told you last week.”

Brett’s sigh revealed to Jo how disappointing her reply had been. Like all men, she thought in sudden irritation, he wanted his ego stroked! Well, damn it, women had egos too! And she sure hadn’t heard any soul-baring from him!

“If you’re feeling so much better,” Brett chided gently, “why are you scowling at me in exactly the same way you were last week?”

“I’m hungry.” Jo blurted the first excuse that came to mind. “I thought you said you were going to make brunch?”

From his expression, it was obvious that Brett didn’t buy her disclaimer. But, fortunately, it immediately became obvious he was not going to push the issue. His grin back in place, if a trifle strained, he released her and stepped back.

“Okay, we’ll leave it for now.” A definite warning underlined his light tone. “Have you got anything interesting in the fridge?” Without waiting for a reply, he strode to the appliance.

“I have the usual breakfast foods, eggs, bacon, juice,” Jo enumerated, following him.

“Then I guess that will have to do.” Brett sighed dramatically. “How about a bacon omelet? You wouldn’t happen to have a green pepper and an onion, would you?”

Jo did, and the resultant meal was delicious. As she polished off the last bite of toast, Jo pondered on the hows and whys of Brett’s culinary skill. He had whipped the meal together with the panache of a professional chef—making as many dishes dirty in the bargain. How had he learned to cook like that? And, more important, why? Brett had grown up in the proverbial lap of luxury. Why would anyone born to a family of wealth learn to cook? Especially a male? And this particular male didn’t merely cook, he created!

All of a sudden Jo felt very uncomfortable. Musing on the circumstances of Brett’s culinary expertise brought home the realization of how very little she knew about him. Brett was still virtually a stranger to her, and she had shared his bed! What must he think of her? Had she been merely a convenient, easy lay? A cold shudder rippled along Jo’s spine. Unable to look at him, she lifted her cup and stared into her coffee. Oh, God! Jo thought bleakly. What had she let herself in for here? Loving Brett as she now did, Jo felt sick at the idea of him using her simply to assuage a physical need.

“Were you planning to do anything today?” Brett’s quiet voice shattered Jo’s introspection.

“No.” Jo forced herself to look at him. “There really isn’t much to do in a resort town in December.” Now she forced herself to smile. “I didn’t come here to
do
anything. Remember? I came here to rest.”

Jo’s smile disintegrated at the memory of why she had needed to get away from everything. First there had been that disheartening visit home for Thanksgiving. Then, already feeling depressed, she had gone to Vermont, only to have Casey confirm what she had suspected about Brett and Marsha. And still, knowing they had been lovers before they came back to New York, she had not only not repulsed him, she had welcomed him into her bed, and herself. In the cold light of a winter morning, Jo told herself that loving Brett was no excuse for her self-indulgence. If she suffered later she had only herself to blame. But she could not think of it now, not with him sitting opposite her, frowning at her lengthy silence. Shaking herself out of her reverie, Jo rose and began clearing the table, deciding she’d have to think it all through later.

“What’s wrong?” Brett’s fingers closed around Jo’s wrist as she reached for his plate. “Why are you so quiet?”

“I’m always quiet.”Jo made a feeble attempt at a smile. “Didn’t you know? I have always been quiet. It comes from being an only child and being alone so much.” She was babbling, she
knew
she was babbling, but Jo hoped that by expanding on his second question, she could avoid answering the first one.

“You’re not alone now.” Brett’s tone implied a lot more than his flat statement. Jo sensed that he was telling her something that, in her emotionally confused mind, she simply wasn’t hearing. Brett didn’t give her time to ponder on his meaning. “You do realize I’m going to stay here with you, don’t you? That is, at least through the twenty-third.” The twenty-third was two days away. Two very short days, Jo thought, sighing and lowering her eyes to the long fingers lightly clasping her wrist. Two days in which to soak up the sight of him, the feel of him, and then he’d be gone until the next time he decided to add spice to his sexual life by changing bed partners. The thought hurt so badly Jo closed her eyes, blocking out the vision of implied imprisonment. An instant later Jo’s eyes flew wide at Brett’s soft pronouncement. “When I leave I’m taking you with me.”

“Taking me with you?” Jo blurted, rather stupidly, she was sure. “Where?”

‘To the farm.” Brett’s lips tightened, as if in anger. “In Florida.”

“But I can’t go ...”Jo began in protest.

“Yes, you can. And you will.” Brett’s tone indicated there’d be no arguing over the matter. “I was instructed to, and this is an exact quote, ‘Bring her with you.’“

“By whom?” Although she was positive the answer would be Wolf, Jo asked anyway. Wolf was the only person who knew her family situation. Thus Brett’s answer came as a complete surprise.

“By Madam President, herself.”

“Your mother!”

“The one and only,” Brett concurred softly.

“But why?” Oh, God, had Wolf discussed her with his mother? And, in turn, had his mother taken pity on her? Jo felt sick… and more than a little angry. Damn it, she didn’t want or need pity!

“Who knows what motivates the great minds?” Brett replied in a careless tone that was belied by the glitter of speculation in his eyes. It was patently obvious to Jo that something about his mother’s invitation had angered Brett too. The realization reinforced her decision not to go, and, shaking her head sharply, she told him so.

“I won’t go with you.”

Jo was totally unprepared for the swiftness of Brett’s reaction to her refusal to accompany him south. Rising abruptly to his feet, he gave a sharp tug on her wrist that impelled her against his hard chest. Releasing her wrist, he imprisoned her within his arms, crushing her soft breasts to the rock hardness of him.

“You will go with me,” Brett contradicted with soft menace. “When I leave here on the twenty-third, and when I fly south on the twenty-fourth.” Releasing her as abruptly as he’d caught her to him, he said briskly, “Now, let’s get this mess cleaned up.” His lips curved into a wickedly alluring smile. “I want to go back to bed.”

“You can go straight to hell!” Really angry now, Jo planted her balled fists onto her slim hips. Who the hell did he think he was talking to ... the upstairs maid? Was there an upstairs maid? Jo shrugged the irrelevant thought aside. Damn him! One night in bed and he acted as if he owned her! Well, Madam President’s fair-haired boy was about to learn that Jo Lawrence would not be owned ... by anyone! She might love him but she’d be damned if she’d pander to him! She had learned the folly of pandering to a man the hard way. Never, never again, she vowed. “If you’re feeling the need to work off the enormous breakfast you consumed,” Jo said scathingly, “go beat your feet on the beach again.” Her nastily voiced advice was followed by aloud gasp as she was immediately hauled into his arms.

“Oh, but I’d much prefer working off my ‘enormous’ meal by beating my body against yours,” Brett purred with deliberate crudity. “Are you going to fight me?” One pale eyebrow arched elegantly. “Make me subdue you?” His lips twitched into a devilish smile. “How very intriguing.”

“Let me go, Brett,” Jo gritted warningly. “You’ll get nothing from me by force.”Jo groaned silently. If he didn’t release her at once she’d be a goner! Already the melting process had begun, and she could feel the effects in the lower part of her body. Oh, God! Maybe the transition from female to woman had not been so wonderful after all. She was vulnerable to him now, much too vulnerable.

“Force!” Brett exclaimed on a soft burst of laughter. “Oh, honey, there’ll be no need for me to use force.” His liquid silver gaze seared her face. “Whether you realize it or not, your eyes are soft with desire. Your lips are parted, ready for mine. And”—his hands slid down her back to cup her derriere—”your hips are moving against mine very invitingly.” Slowly, inexorably, he drew her against the hardness of his thighs and aroused manhood. “I accept your invitation,” he murmured lowering his head. ‘Just as you are going to accept my mother’s.”

Jo wanted to scream a denial, and she would have if Brett’s mouth had not taken hers so sweetly. Damn him, she sighed, mingling her breath with his. Damn him for being the only man able to ignite her physical fire! Fully cognizant of what she was doing, hating and loving it at one and the same time, Jo coiled her arms around Brett’s strong neck and gave herself up to the moment

The moment stretched into most of the afternoon! By the time Brett allowed Jo to drift into sleep, she was completely fulfilled and thoroughly exhausted. This man, she thought groggily, swiftly losing her hold on consciousness, has more than enough stamina to accommodate two women! Jo should have been upset by the observation, and she would have been if she had not drifted so far along the path to slumber.

The third time Jo woke it was to an oddly familiar stillness that was in no way connected to the fact that she was alone in the bed. Frowning as her mind groped for an explanation, Jo stared at the darkened bedroom window. A faint splat against the pane brought instant recognition. It was snowing!

Snow. Jo’s pulses leaped with a ray of hope. If it were to snow long enough and hard enough, maybe she and Brett would be stranded through Christmas! Savoring the possibility for more reasons than she cared to examine too closely, Jo snuggled deeper under the covers. She really should get up, she supposed vaguely. But then, she yawned, why should she? She was here to rest, wasn’t she? And she certainly hadn’t had a great amount of rest since Brett’s arrival. The man was a sexual dynamo!

Groaning aloud, Jo rolled onto her side. Oh, damn! Jo was reminded of the last observation she’d made about him before falling asleep. Damn! Damn! Damn! Why had she gone to Vermont? Why had she gone home for Thanksgiving? Why had she ever been born? She didn’t want to think about Vermont. She didn’t want to think about Thanksgiving. She didn’t want to think, period. The room was too quiet. Quiet was conducive to contemplation. Sighing in defeat, Jo flopped onto her back and let memory have its way.

* * * *

On arriving in Brookhaven, the small southeastern Pennsylvania town Jo had grown up in, she had been greeted warmly, if separately, by her parents. The evening before Thanksgiving had gone rather smoothly, Jo thought. But then, of course, there were church services to attend and a united false front to maintain for the benefit of her parents’ fellow church members. Thanksgiving morning had not been too bad either, as her father had gone fishing, which put her mother into a good mood. That is, except for the note Jo’s father had left on the kitchen table for her.

Her eyes beginning to sting, Jo lowered her lids and bit on her lip. If she lived forever she would never forget that note! How very like her father it had been, and all over an early phone call from Marybeth, a friend of Jo’s from their high school days.

He’d written:

My dear successful and independent daughter,

Marybeth will call you about nine thirty. She called earlier (would you believe seven thirty?) but I told her that, like most normal people on a holiday, you were still in bed. As you were still asleep, you could not answer the phone. Inasmuch as you could not answer the phone, Marybeth could not talk to you. I told her to call again somewhere in the neighborhood of nine thirty, because I doubted you’d be up much before then. If you were to sleep till ten, and Marybeth calls at nine thirty, she still would not be able to speak to you. Anyway, if the phone rings at nine thirty, and you are awake to hear it, it will probably be Marybeth. Happy Thanksgiving, darling,