While the Fire Rages (8 page)

As one month dragged into another, Brett spent longer and yet longer hours in the office, more and more days on the road. He was fully cognizant of the audacious, unfettered life style Sondra was pursuing. At the dawn of their third anniversary he no longer cared; at least he thought he didn’t.

His own personal breaking point came less than a week before their third anniversary. Brett had been in Philadelphia the previous week supervising the final details of a twin hotel-condominium complex the company was planning to build there. Although he was tired, he felt good, for he had successfully ironed out all the knots and twists that accompany a project the size and cost of the one in Philadelphia.

His mood soured slightly on entering the lavish condo Sondra had insisted on being installed in. Brett loathed everything about the place.

Ignoring his surroundings with single-minded concentration, Brett cut a direct path to the bedroom, his one desire being a hot shower and clean, cool, lightweight clothing. At the doorway to the bedroom he came to a jarring halt.

It was the middle of the afternoon and Sondra was in bed. She was not alone. The fact that she was in the act of defiling both him and his bed with another man was bad enough. That the other man had been a friend of Brett’s since their college days was like receiving a kick in the teeth.

The other man was a very elite member of the old guard, old-money aristocracy, a prominent banker, and loaded—in more ways than one.

At sight of the writhing, moaning couple, Brett’s feeling of well-being drowned in the anger that erupted at his core and surged hotly through him.

At sight of the nearly empty champagne bottle and forgotten glasses on the nightstand by the bed, his anger reached the boiling point.

But it was the sight of the small sugar bowl half full of cocaine that ignited the furious explosion that propelled him into the room.

Though his blood was running hot, Brett’s mind remained icy cold. Fully aware of his actions, Brett strode across the white carpet. Grasping his former friend by arm and thigh, Brett lifted the smaller man and tossed him to the floor.

“What the ...” The squeak slurred from the other man’s throat an instant before he found himself flying through space.

“Brett! Stop this at—” Sondra’s shrill command died on her bruised lips at the face of cold hauteur Brett turned to her.

“You made your bed. Now you can lie in it.” Not bothering to glance at the man just regaining consciousness, Brett whipped around and strode to the door.

“It’ll cost you a bundle to get rid of me,” Sondra shrieked after him.

Pausing in the doorway, Brett slowly turned to face her, his expression amused, his smile relieved.

“And worth every dollar of it.”

It had required six months, and every dollar of that bundle, but Brett had reclaimed his self-respect and his freedom.

Now, eighteen freedom months later, Brett derided himself for once again finding himself a slave to his own emotions. Though he would not have thought it possible, he felt a crushing need for another, if totally different, type of woman.

They are really sisters under the skin, Brett warned himself wryly.

What I’m going to do is get the hell out of her vicinity for a while and cool off. Vermont, here I come.

His lips curving in self-derision, Brett flung his arms over his head and went to sleep.

Chapter 4

For Jo, besieged by a barrage of questions and memories, escape into unconsciousness was not difficult to achieve; it was impossible.

Wandering restlessly, purposelessly through the large, roomy apartment, her distracted gaze skimmed sightlessly over the material rewards of her work effort.

The apartment itself was a reflection of Jo’s success in her chosen career. The fact that she did not actually own it yet, or that the monthly payments were staggering, was immaterial. Jo was confident of her ability to meet those monthly payments. At least she had been before Wolf’s horrible accident and the subsequent arrival of the disapproving Brett.

The furnishings, a reflection of Jo’s personality, had been selected carefully, at her leisure, with little regard for cost. As yet the furnishings and bits and pieces of enhancing decor were sparse. It was less than six months since she’d taken possession of the apartment. Besides, Jo felt no driving compulsion to have the decorating chore finished. She had savored the purchase of each and every piece.

As Jo’s chosen style of decor leaned from classic to ultra modern, her task was made doubly difficult simply because the selection was abundant and varied.

Except for the kitchen and the apartment’s two bathrooms, all the walls were painted eggshell white. The living room was given life by the occasional splashes of brilliant color: the cerise cotton that draped the large window with its stunning view of the city’s towers; the vibrant shades of an obscure Matisse print; the jewel tones of the chenille scatter cushions littering the long white cotton sofa and matching club chairs, and, underfoot, the rectangular rugs in unrelenting black and white.

No, not at all the more common homey warmth. Yet it worked, and beautifully; the room invited conversation and relaxation. On this night Jo found little relaxation. Though the cause of her confusion had departed some fifteen minutes ago, Jo was still trying to grasp what had transpired while he stood at her door.

Was she, she wondered, so very infatuated with Brett she was beginning to imagine things? The night before she had felt certain he was on the point of kissing her before he’d turned away abruptly. Just moments ago she had received the impression that he was fighting a similar urge. Yet in both instances he had left her flat, and not very pleasantly at that! Was she reading something into Brett’s behavior that simply was not there?

Hazel eyes cloudy with introspection, Jo walked slowly to her bedroom, switching off lights automatically as she passed them. With a featherlike touch to the dimmer switch mounted on the wall of her bedroom, different but equally resplendent colors sprang into view. Here the draperies were in a shimmering Pacific blue. The rug picked up the theme, while the quilt on the bed was a calming pattern in various shades from periwinkle to cerulean, a colorful impressionistic original was the only relief on one white wall.

Kicking off her shoes, Jo padded to the closet and began to undress. Damn the man, she thought irritably, what was he thinking, feeling? Her distraction was evidenced by the fact that, although she was standing before the opened closet door, she dropped her clothes carelessly onto the floor. Seconds later Jo stood frowning under a hot shower. Usually the jet spray had a soothing effect. Tonight it simply was not working; in fact, nothing seemed to work for her anymore! Sighing tiredly, Jo stepped out of the tub, dripping unconcernedly onto the thick bathmat. Patting herself dry, she ignored her own reflection—no mean trick as the walls were tiled entirely in mirrors. There was not a hint of white in this room. Except for the mirror walls everything in the room was in the same soft rose shade as the mat she now dripped upon, including the roll of tissue set into the wall. The combination of mirrors and soft rose imbued the room with an innocent eroticism. The effect was not at all accidental; Jo had very carefully planned every room in the apartment.

Hanging her sodden towel neatly on the bar mounted on the wall, Jo glanced up and found her gaze caught by the unhappy expression in the hazel eyes gazing back at her. Had Brett been on the point of making a move on her? Devoid of enlightenment, hazel eyes stared at her. If he had wanted to kiss her, why hadn’t he acted on the urge? He knew she was free. She knew he was divorced. And what did a kiss mean, anyway?

Long lashes fluttered in a quick blink. You may attempt to fool any other person in the world, Jo Lawrence, she chided herself, but never, never try to con yourself. From any other man a kiss would not only have no meaning, it would be forcefully rejected; from Brett Renninger, it might very well mean the end of existence as you know it and the beginning of a whole new, incredibly exciting world.

Wearing nothing but a dreamy expression on her lovely face, Jo drifted into the bedroom and slid between wickedly expensive satin sheets. The feel of satin against her naked skin ignited a fire deep inside the very core of her being. Closing her eyes, Jo moved sensuously, her body growing vibrantly alive from the caressing touch of the cool, smooth material, her mind imagining that touch belonging to Brett’s long, slim hands. Heat radiated from her now fiery core to lick hungrily through her veins, and Jo’s trembling thighs parted in silent invitation. The low whimper that whispered through her dry lips alerted Jo to the folly she was indulging in. Moaning in frustration, she rolled onto her stomach and forced herself to lie perfectly still.

“Oh, God, why Brett?”Jo’s cry was muffled by the silky pillowcase. “Of all the men in the world, why inflict me with the one who feels nothing but disdain for me?”

Jo grew still at the sound of her own voice, the context of her outcry. Why did Brett hold her in contempt? There were few people who knew her personal history. Still, could it be possible Brett had heard her rather pathetic story from one of them? Had he heard of her miserable attempt at playing mistress and dismissed her as a failure as a woman because she had failed? Gary Devlin had made sure she’d been aware of exactly how badly she’d fared in the male-female stakes.

The heat was gone, replaced by the chill of memory, Jo definitely did not want to think about Gary. Jo never wanted to think about Gary again for as long as she lived. But, given a choice between burning in the hell of desire’s fire and reliving the hell she’d endured with Gary, she thought it prudent to think about him. Thoughts of him should not only keep her cool, they would very likely freeze her soul.

Gary. Had she really considered the possibility of spending the rest of her life with him? Yes, Jo admitted. At the beginning she had actually wanted marriage. Thank heaven Gary had hedged, opting for a trial, live-together period. That trial period had lasted a very short time. Jo shivered with the memory. She had not been able to hold Gary’s interest for one full year! And, if he was to be believed, she had practically emasculated him as well!

Did all women who had reached a measure of success in their careers have this trouble in their relationships with men? Were all men intimidated by even the most mildly successful women? Jo didn’t know the answers, and she was too private a person to ask the opinion of other professional women she knew.

Cool now, in body and mind, Jo rolled onto her back and stared into the darkness of her room. If their time together had emasculated Gary, she couldn’t define what it had done to her. But she knew she was now afraid of any deep involvement with a man, and the very thought of making a commitment gave her the shakes. It’s unbelievable, she mused sadly, how much damage two people can inflict on each other in such a short span of time. And it had begun so sweetly too.

She had met Gary while shopping one bright, warm morning in April in, of all places, a stalled elevator. Everyone on the car had become nervous immediately, including Jo. Gary had not. His tall, muscular frame propped lazily against the car’s wall, he had coolly advised them to relax.

“This is at least the third time this has happened to me in this very car.” Gary, a dry smile curving his lips, had offered the information in an attempt to calm a rather hysterical older woman. “We’ll be moving again shortly.”

Within seconds of his promise the mechanism clanked into motion then glided to a smooth stop at the next floor. Inside those seconds, his laughing eyes had captured Jo’s and he’d winked conspiratorially. Acting completely out of character, Jo had winked back. As she stepped from the car he caught her arm in a gentle grasp.

“Now that our crisis is over,” he’d whispered dramatically, “how about joining me in a celebratory cup of coffee?”

Jo couldn’t help herself, she’d laughed aloud. “What, exactly, would we be celebrating?”

“Why, our very survival, what else?” He blinked owlishly at her, making her aware of the summer-sky blue of his eyes.

Completely charmed by his boyish smile, his dark, clean-cut attractiveness, and his engaging manner, Jo, flinging caution to the winds, went with him for coffee. Six months later she gave in to his plea to allow him to move in with her.

Less than a week after Gary had lugged his belongings up the three flights of stairs to her cramped, one-bedroom flat, Jo knew the arrangement had been a mistake. He was carelessly sloppy with his clothes, she soon discovered, leaving them lying in rumpled heaps all over the place. To someone as neat as Jo, the mere sight of the piles of soiled clothing induced a shudder. But even that irritating habit might have been bearable if it had not been combined with Gary’s absolute refusal to help with the everyday household chores, claiming he wouldn’t be caught dead doing “women’s” work. But, by far, Jo’s biggest disillusionment came on their very first night together.

Jo had been to bed with Gary before he’d moved in with her, of course, but always at his apartment, which he shared with a young accountant. Their sexual activity had therefore been less than satisfactory due, Gary had assured her, to the fact that his roommate might walk in on them at any given moment. Yet, for some reason Jo could not explain even to herself, she had held firm in her refusal to having him spend time in her bed. When her capitulation came Jo had been every bit as surprised as Gary was.

In the darkness of a much more luxurious bedroom, Jo groaned in sympathy for the inhibited woman she’d been a few years ago.

Growing up in a home where her parents never displayed affection for each other, in fact rarely even spoke to each other except when absolutely necessary, Jo, harboring a wariness for the male-female relationship, had single-mindedly pursued first her studies, then her career. An only child, she had received an abundance of love from her parents, but always in separate doses. Jo was not yet ten years old when she realized her parents silently hated each other. Why they hated each other remained a mystery to Jo to this day. They never told her, she never asked.