While the Fire Rages

by Joan Hohl

  * * * *

  Anger tightened his frame, simmered in his eyes as Brett strode along the boarding ramp to the plane.

  Damned incompetents! If I performed my duties with the laxity of some of these airline baggage handlers, I’d be tossed out on my ear, Madam President’s son or not.

  The recipients of Brett’s ire were the faceless airline employees who had somehow managed to mislay his bags between San Diego and Chicago. The mishandling in itself was bad enough but, on his second day in the windy city, he had been informed his bags had been sent on to Atlanta and were awaiting him there. Thus Brett had been forced into an unscheduled shopping expedition. Brett detested shopping in general and clothes shopping in particular; he had remained furious over the incident throughout his entire five-day stay in the city. Nothing, not the fact that his exhausting back-to-back twelve-hour-day meetings had gone so smoothly or the congratulatory phone call from his mother, had soothed his abraded temper. That is, not until he’d caught a flash of flaming red hair as he approached the entrance to the plane.

  God, she’s fantastic!

  Anger forgotten, Brett increased his gait, plunging ahead for a closer inspection of the passenger-greeting flight attendant.

  “Good afternoon,” Sondra flashed perfect white teeth. “Your seat is lo—”

  “Do you have a layover in Atlanta?” Brett interrupted softly, insinuatingly, his thumb and forefinger dipping into his breast pocket.

  “Yes, but...”

  “If you feel the need of companionship,” he again cut her off, pressing his embossed business card into her hand, “give me a call.” Giving her no time to respond or attempt to hand his card back, Brett strode into the plane.

  Later, while delivering a drink to him, Sondra slid his card into his breast pocket with a whispered, “If you care to wait, I’ll meet you in the departure lounge after we land.”

  If he cared to? Brett was grateful for the briefcase resting on his thighs, concealing the evidence of how very much he cared to wait. For the previous two weeks his body had been sending him signals of its need for release of sexual tension. Suddenly his need was centered on the tantalizing redhead.

  Upon landing in Atlanta, Brett positioned himself at the long window in the departure lounge, his impatience camouflaged with cool composure, prepared to endure hours of waiting if necessary. The necessity did not arise as within a relatively short amount of time Sondra joined him at his sentry post.

  “You’re free to leave already?” Brett made no attempt to hide his pleasure at the sight of her.

  “Free for three full days.” Sondra smiled back at him.

  ‘Three days!” Brett repeated, unabashedly delighted at the prospect. “Is that the norm for a layover?”

  “No,” Sondra admitted blithely.

  “Then how did you manage it?” Brett grinned in anticipation.

  “Wheedling, coaxing, and practically promising my firstborn to the girl who was due this layover.”

  Securing her elbow with his long-fingered hand, Brett steered her from the lounge. “Then let’s get out of here before she changes her mind.”

  Smiling conspiratorially at each other, they hurried out of the terminal and into a cab.

  Before the end of their first twenty-four hours together, Brett was thoroughly besotted with Sondra. She was not only gorgeous; she was bright, vivacious, and witty,

  By the end of their second twenty-four hours, Brett decided Sondra was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. He was so besotted he was beyond realizing that Sondra made a career out of being everything every man ever wanted in a woman.

  Sondra’s vacation never did end. The flight from Chicago to Atlanta was her last. After one particularly satisfying bedroom romp during their third twenty-four hours, Brett, positive he’d at last found a soul mate, proposed to her. They were married one week later at his mother’s horse farm in Florida.

  Brett, though not a confirmed workaholic, ran a close second in the energy and diligence he afforded the company. Sondra was a lotus eater to the marrow of her bones. The moment his diamond-encrusted wedding ring firmly encircled her finger, she prevailed upon him to come and play with her.

  In truth, Brett needed very little coaxing to abandon duty for the intoxicating delights to be explored on the playground of her luscious body. For almost two years he was little more than a figurehead in his Atlanta office. It was only later that Brett would give thanks for whatever guidance had prompted him to hire Richard Colby as his assistant. For Richard not only held down the fort competently, he covered Brett’s tracks completely.

  The good life began to pall as their second anniversary crept over the horizon. Unnaturally tired, jaded, bored with it all, Brett announced his intention of going back to work one hungover midmorning.

  At first, Sondra pouted prettily and coaxed beguilingly. When those tactics had no effect on Brett’s determination, she turned on the waterworks. It was when the tears failed to dissuade him that she revealed the first glimpse of her true colors.

  “God damn you,” Sondra screamed at him. “What the hell do you expect me to do while you play at being the big corporate executive? Join a club of silly damned women who talk of nothing but their brats and redecorating the houses their husbands keep them chained to?”

  Startled speechless, Brett had stared at her, unwilling to believe what he was hearing. Shock followed amazement as the tirade Sondra flung at him came straight from the gutter.

  Though wealthy from birth, Brett had not led a sheltered existence. He had been all over the world. It would have been polite to say some of the places he’d been in were a mite unsavory. Yet he’d never encountered a female with Sondra’s command of filthy language.

  His head pounding from the effects of months of too much Scotch, too many late nights, and total abandonment to the physical senses, Brett, calmly walking away from her in mid-spate, strode from the room.

  From that point the marriage that never really was deteriorated rapidly. The twelve months that followed were sheer hell for Brett. Sondra, no longer concerned about his opinion of her, flaunted her true personality. She was just as bright, if bitingly so. She was still vivacious, if frantically so. She was still witty, if sarcastically so. She continually turned Brett’s stomach.

  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.