by Joan Hohl
God, he was wonderful! A grin tugged at Jo’s lips. She was wonderful too! She was a woman! Not merely a female, but a living, breathing, sexually responsive woman! Brett had proved it to her, proved it in the most primitive way possible. He had made her his, figuratively as well as literally. Brett did not know it, and Jo prayed he never would, but with his possession of her he had earned himself a slave. Jo had been in love with him last night. This morning, what she felt for him came so close to adoration, it scared the wits out of her. Still, perhaps enslavement was worth the price for enlightenment. All her fears and insecurities concerning her ability to respond physically to a man had been swept from her mind by the pulsating rush of sexual fulfillment.
Go to hell, Gary Devlin!
Jo gulped back a gurgle of laughter and snuggled still closer to Brett. She felt terrific! She felt fantastic! She felt ... Jo compressed her lips to contain a fresh surge of laughter. She felt Brett’s hand stroking slowly up the inside of her thigh!
“Are you trying to tell me something with all your wiggling around?” Brett’s breath whispered over Jo’s temple an instant before his tongue outlined the edge of her ear.
“I—I was just thinking how cold the wind sounds, and how warm it is in here,” Jo explained, her breath catching as his hand found the apex of her thighs. The entrapped breath vibrated in her throat producing a tiny gasp when his long fingers began combing through the dark thicket.
“I have a feeling it’s going to go from warm to red hot very quickly if you continue wiggling your fanny like that.” Brett punctuated his assertion by stabbing the tip of his tongue into her ear.
Jo’s tiny gasp matured into a deep-throated moan as Brett’s fingers slid lower to explore the moist heat of her core. And it was heated! The realization was both a shock and a delight to her. She, JoAnne Lawrence, the woman who had believed herself incapable of responding physically to any man, had become meltingly hot by the simple process of snuggling closer to Brett’s warm, naked body. She was ready for him! To a sexually experienced woman that sudden arousal would not have come as a surprise. To Jo it seemed a miracle.
Go with the flow. The old buzz phrase drifted through Jo’s mind and, reacting to it, she moved her hips sensuously. Brett reacted to her movement by exploring the region in depth. Soft, inarticulate sounds she was barely aware of making tickling the back of her throat, Jo arched her body, instinctively inviting deeper penetration.
“You like that, do you?” Brett murmured into her ear.
“Yes!” Jo admitted between shallow gasps. “Oh, yes!”
“Then you might return the favor,” he chided softly.
Return the favor? For an instant Jo’s passion-clouded mind grappled with his request. What... Oh! Did Brett mean for her to ...? But, of course, what else could he mean? she thought fuzzily. Were men also turned on by having their bodies stroked and caressed? Brett answered the question for her in a low groan.
“Touch me, Jo! Please. You can’t imagine how long I’ve ached for you to touch me.”
Shyly, hesitantly, Jo lifted her hand and placed her palm against his chest. Then, slowly, she stroked, a growing sense of wonder widening her eyes at the smoothness of his skin. When her fingers brushed lightly over the flat male nipples she paused, a question rising to tantalize her mind. All too vividly Jo remembered the piercing pleasure she had experienced from the touch of Brett’s lips to her breasts. Would Brett experience a similar reaction? Intrigued by the idea, Jo shifted her body around until she was positioned almost on top of him. With a soft sign, Brett obligingly made a half turn onto his back. Lowering her head, Jo dropped a string of delicate kisses across his chest. When her lips reached the tight nipple she hesitated and a shiver rippled through Brett’s body.
“Jo, please, don’t stop now!”
His hoarse, excitement-tinged groan encouraging her on, Jo closed her lips around the taut bud and laved it gently with her tongue. Amazingly, Brett gasped and actually writhed beneath her. His response had the strangest effect on Jo. She was suddenly filled with a heady sense of power. She could make him writhe in pleasure! At the same time, Jo recognized that her own sexual tension was increasing. She’d had no idea of how exciting making love to a man could be!
All timidity forgotten, Jo continued to explore Brett’s body with her lips. By the time she dipped her tongue into his navel, Brett’s breathing had a raspy, uneven sound and his hands moved restlessly over her upper arms and shoulders. All the while her lips dropped tiny kisses her palms were absorbing the feel of his skin. At his navel she again hesitated briefly then bravely skimmed her lips down the concave of his abdomen to a hair-rough thigh. Now Brett’s hands were in her hair, stroking, tugging gently in a silent plea for her to bestow the ultimate caress.
Understanding immediately, Jo stilled for an instant. During that instant a mini-battle raged. Could she? Did she want to? No! Yes! Damn it! Was she not a woman after all? Brett’s hips thrust provocatively. The feeling of power washed over her again. Swiftly, before she could change her mind, Jo bent her head, sank her fingertips into his hard buttocks, and granted his mute request. Brett’s low groan of intense pleasure urging her on, Jo caressed him gently, finding to her amazement that the more pleasure she gave him, the more she received herself.
Brett withstood Jo’s ministrations for several moments, then he grasped her shoulders and growled softly, “Come up here and kiss my mouth, water baby, I want to feel your body covering mine.”
Slowly, tormentingly, pausing at strategic spots to kiss teasingly, Jo sinuously slid up his body, unashamedly reveling in Brett’s raspingly uttered words of praise.
“You’re fantastic, do you know that? You’ve made me want you so badly I’m trembling all over.” Then, when her mouth lightly touched his: “God! The scent of you! The feel of you! The taste of you!” Digging his fingers into her hair, he pulled her head to his, his mouth taking hers hungrily, his tongue a hot spear branding her mouth as his own. Brett’s lips locked onto hers, he grasped her by the hips and lifted her up, then settled her onto his body, branding her again with another spear.
Gasping aloud at the depth of his penetration, Jo let her head drop back and began to move her body in a slow, undulating motion.
“Yes, Yes,” Brett crooned unevenly. “Perfect. God! You’re perfect.”
The lazy tempo was maintained for several minutes during which Jo felt the tension twisting into a wildness inside. She moaned as Brett’s hands stroked lovingly over her tautly arched neck to her shoulders and then to her aching breasts before settling firmly on her hips. Slowly, directing her with his hands, Brett increased the tempo, his own body arching to meet hers. His action fed the wildness growing in her, and, grasping his wrists with her hands, Jo accelerated the tempo to a frenzied crescendo. Brett exploded under her. There was no holding back for him this time. Jo sensed his loss of control and gloried in the realization of having been the instrument of his loss. Reality receding, Jo had the uncanny sensation of soaring through space, and then simultaneously they went crashing through the time barrier. For sweet, pulsating seconds time stood still while their entire beings experienced the highest of the highs. Then, slowly, gently, they drifted back to earth together.
Jo opened her eyes to the awareness of her head resting on Brett’s shoulder, her face pressed to the curve of his neck. In gratitude and unspoken love she placed a kiss on his moist skin. Brett’s arms tightened around her momentarily, then relaxed.
“Are you uncomfortable, sweetheart?”
Wanting to lock the sound of it in her mind and heart, Jo closed her eyes at the endearment. Uncomfortable? How could she possibly tell him that, at this moment, she desired nothing more than to remain coupled to him forever? Dreamily, she murmured something unintelligible and allowed him to disengage her body from his.
“Are you going to sleep again?” Brett teased, lightly caressing her thighs with one hand.
“I hope so,” Jo murmured drowsily, lifting a lazy h
and to cover a yawn.
“Self-indulgent wench,” Brett chided. “I was hoping you’d come with me.”
“With you?”Jo forced her heavy eyelids up. “Where are you going?”
“I thought I’d run on the beach.” That quirky smile twitched his lips. ‘That is, after I’ve rested a bit. You do take it out of a guy.”
“Run on the beach!” Jo exclaimed, choosing to ignore the double meaning attached to his assertion. “Are you mad? It’s cold out there! And windy! Don’t you hear it screaming around the building?”
“I’d have to be stone deaf not to.” He laughed. “I’m not afraid of the wind.”
“I’m not either,” Jo assured him around another yawn. “But that doesn’t mean I want to run in it. Good night, Brett.”
Brett’s laughter grew stronger. “But it’s morning, honey. See? It’s broad daylight.”
Casting a narrowed glance at the window, Jo obligingly observed the broad daylight. Yawning again she pulled the covers up to her chin and closed her eyes. “So it is,” she agreed. “Good night, Brett.” Inside her mind, Jo was savoring the taste of his “honey.”
“It is cold out there.” The statement was made through lips that moved against Jo’s ear. “And you are so nice and warm.” His hand wove an erotic pattern up her thigh to cup the tightly curled thicket. “Wonderfully warm.” With his other hand Brett drew her head back into the curve of his neck. “Maybe I’ll sleep awhile with you. Then I’ll run on the beach.”
The second time Jo woke that morning she noticed three things at once. The wind had died down; the sun was shining brightly; and she was alone in the bed. Apparently Brett had decided to run on the beach. In Jo’s opinion, anybody who would even consider running on the beach, or anywhere else, on a cold December morning was slightly nuts, but, she thought shrugging, each to his own brand of self-torture. For Jo, the torture would come in the form of the first meal of the day. Jo was a lousy cook. Turn her loose in the kitchen and within minutes it was a disaster area.
After a warm, revitalizing shower, Jo tugged skin-tight jeans over her slender hips and pulled a thigh-length, baggy sweatshirt over her head, then winced as she stroked a brush through her mass of tangled hair. When the dark mop had been beaten into submission, Jo tossed the brush aside and padded barefoot out of the bedroom. She was standing at the kitchen sink, filling the coffeemaker with cold water, when Brett swung into the apartment, out of breath, sweaty, and looking sexy as hell in a windbreaker and sweatpants.
“Hi,” he panted, flashing her an ice-melting grin. “If you give me ten minutes to jump in and out of the shower, I’ll prepare brunch.” Not waiting for a response, he loped across the living room and disappeared down the short hall to the bedroom.
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.