While the Fire Rages (26 page)

“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 see 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.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” The wariness was back in Jo’s expression and her voice cracked with uncertainty.

“I’m thinking about having you for breakfast,” Brett answered softly, his elation soaring again as her wariness and uncertainty were washed away by a look of surprised delight.

“I think you’d probably work a lot better on bacon and eggs,” Jo replied, straight-faced.

This time Brett made no effort to contain his laughter. “I’d say you are probably right,” he agreed, grinning. “Even though it won’t be near as much fun.” Brett held his breath. Was the tension gone for good? Was the easiness between them back to stay?

“Perhaps not,” Jo murmured. Then, to Brett’s delight, she fluttered her long lashes at him coyly. “You could always plan on having me for dessert. Anticipation sharpens the appetite, you know.”

Brett took another step toward her. “If my appetite gets any sharper,” he growled, “I’ll slash myself on it and bleed to death.” Brett had no qualms whatever about admitting to Jo how very much he desired her. Hadn’t he admitted as much silently, with his body, throughout the long night?

Sheer enjoyment of her tempered Brett’s arousal. Laughing softly, he strode to the bed. Bending to her, he brushed her mouth with his lips, afraid to allow himself a deeper taste of her. He
had
to get to work!

Brett spun away from the bed to stride across the room. Scooping his jacket off the chair he’d tossed it onto the night before, he slanted a devilish glance at Jo.

“Move it, water baby,” he ordered gently. “I want to see you in my office at nine thirty.” Still grinning, he sauntered out of the bedroom.

That evening, as promised, Brett transferred his clothing and few personal belongings to Jo’s place, ignoring the taunting thought that he was moving out of Wolf’s apartment into Wolf’s apartment. As he stowed his shaving gear onto the medicine cabinet shelf Jo had cleared for him, Brett decided to contact a real estate agent about finding another place for them.

Surprisingly, they made the adjustment of living together very quickly and, within two weeks Brett wondered how he’d ever thought he was content living alone. They learned and accepted each other’s faults—in Jo’s case, her habit of kicking her shoes off the moment she entered the apartment and forgetting to pick them up again; Brett did it for her. In Brett’s case, his failure to snap the cap on the toothpaste tube; Jo did that for him. They worked together well. They played together joyously. They laughed together often.

Near the end of January Brett asked Jo if she’d like to go skiing. Jo’s response was less than enthusiastic.

“I don’t know how to ski, Brett.  And, to be honest, I’m not all that eager to learn how.”

“You could give it a try, honey,” Brett coaxed, itching to get on the slopes again. “If you don’t like it, you could always relax by the fire with a hot toddy while I attempt to break a leg.”

Jo hesitated but Brett gave her such a woebegone expression she laughingly relented and agreed to go with him, exactly as he’d hoped she would.

Terrific!” Brett exclaimed as eagerly as a kid might have. Jumping out of his chair, he walked restlessly around the living room, unaware of the gentle smile curving Jo’s lips as she watched him. “Let’s see now.” He began making plans aloud. “Accommodations are no problem. I’ve retained the room at that motel up in Vermont for office space in case I needed it.” Brett was equally unaware of the slight tightening of Jo’s lips. “I have that meeting in Atlanta next week.” Jo had absolutely refused to go to Atlanta with him. Brett was still not completely reconciled to her stand on Atlanta but, with this new victory, he decided to stop badgering her about it. “Suppose we say the week after next?” One brow lifted quizzically, he swung to face her. “Okay?”

“You love skiing that much?” Jo laughed.

“Yes,” Brett answered simply. “And I haven’t stepped into boots once this winter.”

This time Brett was fully aware of Jo’s gentle smile. “Okay,” she agreed softly. ‘The week after next.”

Brett thanked Jo, twice, after they’d turned out the light in the bedroom that night.

Atlanta was a drag for Brett, even though the meeting he’d set up with a local realtor proved satisfying to both of them. Brett missed Jo as much as he would have the loss of his right arm. His impatience to get all existing details cleared up did not go unnoticed by Richard Colby.

“Is she beautiful?” Richard asked out of the blue while they were discussing swamp drainage, of all things, the day before Brett’s departure.

“Very,” Brett responded immediately. Then, his tone dangerous, Brett retorted, “Why?”

“No reason.” Richard, unperturbed by Brett’s tone, smiled easily. “It’s obvious you can’t wait to get back to her. Why wait till tomorrow? We can clean this drainage thing up by dinnertime. I can handle all the nitpicking details myself. There’s no reason you could not fly back to New York tonight.” His smile broadened. “Unless, that is, you’re enthralled with my company.”

Brett’s smile was as broad as Richard’s. “Thanks, buddy. Remind me to give you a raise.”

“Why do you think I made the suggestion?” Richard drawled dryly.

It was late by the time Brett let himself into the dark, silent apartment. Moving cautiously but unerringly, he made his way through the living room to the bedroom. Inside the bedroom he placed his case carefully out of the way, standing still to allow his eyes to adjust to the unrelenting darkness. When he had his bearings, Brett walked softly to the side of the room’s one large window to tug gently on the cord that worked the draperies. The heavy, lined drapes slid silently apart giving access to a pale shaft of moonlight. A low moaning sound froze Brett in his tracks as he turned from the window. Every sense alerted, he focused his gaze on the moonlight-washed figure lying on the bed.