by Joan Hohl
“How do you do?”Jo murmured in a tone of complete self-containment. ‘Thank you for inviting me.”
‘The pleasure is ours, JoAnne,” Violet Renninger assured Jo. Waving her left hand, she said, “We’ll take the introductions as we sit.” Turning to her left, she said, “This is my second son, Eric.”
Jo pivoted to face the man patiently standing next to his mother and felt the breath catch in her throat. Eric Renninger was the most incredibly handsome man Jo had ever seen. Dark-haired like Wolf, Eric had sapphire-blue eyes that sparkled with good humor and a singularly endearing smile.
“I feel I know you, JoAnne,” he said warmly. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Before Jo could ask the stock question, Eric answered it. “All of it good. So good, in fact, that, if ever either one of my brothers gives you as much as an uncomfortable moment, you call me. I’ll have an office ready for you within twenty-four hours.”
Feeling the tension being drawn out of her by these warm welcoming people, Jo laughed easily. ‘Thank you, Eric. I’ll definitely keep your offer in mind.”
Releasing the hand Jo had offered to him, Eric made a half turn to his left. “And this very pregnant lady is my wife, Doris. Honey, the much raved-about JoAnne Lawrence.”
Doris Renninger was Jo’s second shock within minutes. Compared to Eric’s heart-stopping good looks, Doris was actually plain—except for the most arrestingly lustrous eyes Jo had ever gazed into. Dark brown with gold highlights, Doris’s eyes glowed with an inner beauty.
“How do you do, JoAnne?” Doris smiled. “I’m sure this must be an ordeal for you, so I’ll simply keep the ball rolling. The woman sitting next to me is the baby of this clan Diane, called Di by all.”
Di, as fair as her mother and brother Brett, had the same attractive smile that Jo was beginning to think of as pure Renninger “Hello, JoAnne,” Di chirped. “Besides you, I am the only woman in this room who is not a Renninger, and all because of this good-looking dude standing by me. JoAnne, I’d like you to meet my husband, Hank Carlton.”
“The pleasure is mine, JoAnne,” Hank assured in a rich baritone, taking Jo’s hand in a warm, solid grip.
“And mine. Thank you, Hank,” Jo replied, beginning to feel a trifle groggy. At that moment, Violet revealed how astute she was.
“You must be parched by now,” she said crisply. “Will you have a cocktail, or a glass of wine?”
“White wine would be lovely.”Jo turned to smile at her hostess. ‘Thank you.” Relieved as she was, Jo knew there was more to come. “But where are the children?”
“Having their supper in the kitchen, fortunately.” Violet’s softened eyes belied her last word. “They’ll be descending on us soon enough. Hank, would you get JoAnne a glass of wine? And you, Jo, take that chair beside Wolf. Maybe you can keep him in line.”
“Fat chance.” Wolf chuckled, echoing Jo’s exact thoughts.
“Now,” Violet went on in an aggrieved mother tone, “where is Brett?”
“Right here, sir.” Brett’s tone was deliberately insolent and drew every eye in the room to where he lounged lazily yet elegantly against the closed double doors. “I didn’t want to intrude on Jo’s ... ah ... moment of excitement.” As he spoke, he pushed his slender frame away from the doors and strolled into the room, a cynical smile playing on his chiseled lips.
Watching him, Jo felt a thrill, both of apprehension and appreciation. Why the sarcasm and cynicism? she wondered in confusion. While, at the same time, she accepted the fact that, although Brett wasn’t quite as rugged looking as Wolf or as handsome as Eric, he was the only male she really cared to gaze upon. Sighing for her own seemingly hopeless love, Jo observed Brett’s greetings to his family from beneath lowered lashes. As Brett made his way, hugging the women, shaking hands with the men, around the room, Jo registered the increased rate of her heartbeats. When Brett came to a stop in front of Micki, Jo felt a stab of pain in her chest at the softness of his eyes and the tenderness in his smile.
“And how are you, Micki?” he murmured, bending to kiss Micki’s tan cheek.
“I’m fine ... now, Brett,” Micki murmured back. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you.” He held her hand a moment longer, then he cocked his head at Wolf, his eyes sharply assessing. “Well, big prowler, you look like you might just make it,” he drawled in the same insolent tone he’d used earlier.
“You can bet your Porsche I’ll make it, baby brother,” Wolf retorted, every bit as insolently. “If only for the pleasure it will give me to boot your ass out of my office.”
Everyone in the room, including Brett, laughed, except for Jo, as Violet gently chided her eldest. “Behave yourself, Wolfgang!”
Jo’s initial foray into the Renninger stronghold presaged the entire visit. The children were children. Delightful in their excitement of the day to come. Christmas day dawned, not cold and bright as Jo was accustomed to but mild and rainy, as Elania and Josh had predicted.
The day, as all happy days are wont to do, seemed to flash by in a continuous din of laughter and family camaraderie. Though Jo had been fearful of receiving gifts proffered by people she had just met, the Renningers displayed both breeding and tact by offering none.
* * * *
The following week, by the time the small jet with Jo and Brett ensconced inside soared again into the blue sky, its nose pointed north, Jo’s mind was a seething mass of emotions and impressions, some good, some bad. The good impressions derived from eight days spent in the company of a truly “together” family whom, in the security of their affections for one another, had unhesitatingly included Jo within their circle of bantering communion. Savoring the memories of each day, most of which were rainy or gray outside, all of which were sun-bright inside, Jo tucked them away in a safe corner of her mind, to be taken out and enjoyed whenever she felt down.
Every one of Jo’s bad impressions had been instilled by Brett. Though he had appeared to be relaxed and every bit as holiday-spirited as the rest of his family, Jo had seen through his lighthearted facade, possibly because she had come to know him so intimately. Throughout their entire visit, Brett had treated Jo with unfailing politeness. In fact, so very polite had he been, Jo had been repeatedly tempted to smack his face!
Now, sitting beside him as stiffly as she had on the flight south, Jo tried, as she had continuously over the past eight days, to equate this silent, hostile man with the ardent, laughing lover she’d come to know in the apartment in Ocean City.
Failing miserably in her attempt to understand Brett, Jo spent every quiet mile of the flight preparing herself for his leave-taking. A mask of cool composure blanking her face, Jo writhed with pain inside, knowing the pain was only a tiny measure of the agony that would strike her with Brett’s final good-bye.
* * *
Chapter 9
Seated next to her, his facial muscles beginning to ache from being kept under rigid control, Brett curled his long fingers inward and grasped the arms of the seat to keep himself from reaching out to pull Jo into a hard embrace. Smothering a sigh, Brett faced the ills tormenting him. His arms ached to hold Jo’s softness close. His lips burned with the need to crush her mouth. His body screamed to lose itself in the velvety warmth of hers.
Damn. And damn. And double damn! Brett had been mentally swearing, sometimes mildly, other times violently, for the better part of nine days. There was a knot in his stomach that felt like a rock. His neck was stiff from tension. And, after eight days of celibacy, he felt mean with frustration. Exerting every ounce of control he possessed, Brett sat statue still, staring straight ahead, positive that if he moved he’d explode, his bitterness and incrimination destroying the woman he both loved and hated.
You need help!
Right.
A muscle twitched at the corner of Brett’s jaw. What the hell can a man do when he finds himself involved with a woman who belongs to another man? Another man who just happens to be his own brother. Resting his head against the seat
back, Brett closed his eyes.
There has to be some way, some answer.
Sure, there’s an answer to everything. All you have to do is find it! The problem teased and tormented Brett as the jet streaked through the winter sky. One by one he rejected each solution that his mind presented for inspection.
The most obvious solution was, of course, to simply walk away from her. To do what? Brett wondered. Merely asking himself the question was enlightening. Always before, through any kind of personal upheaval, including the last months he’d been with Sondra, Brett had invariably found surcease in his work. The business of speculating on real estate had excited him from the first time he’d ventured into his mother’s office at the advanced age of ten. Now the very thought of the work waiting for him in his office merely added to the weariness Brett was experiencing.
Weariness, and frustration, and anger. Three very debilitating emotions. Brett’s nervous system had become ragged from those emotions, and others, during the last nine days. You had better get your head together, pal, Brett advised himself wryly. If you’re not careful, your blood pressure is going to go up and your natural resistance is going to go down. God! What an unholy mess!
Wolf.
Brett exhaled a long, drawn-out sigh, no longer caring if the woman sitting beside him heard or not. Never, never would he forget the joyful expression that had momentarily set Jo’s face aglow at her first sight of Wolf. Brett was positive none of the others in the room had seen that fleeting, betraying look of love on Jo’s face— with the possible exception of Wolf himself. But then, Wolf’s rugged features had worn a like expression.
Moving restlessly in his seat, Brett could see again Wolf’s outstretched arm, could hear the emotion in his brother’s voice as Wolf growled, “There you are.” Brett’s teeth clamped together in much the same way they had on Christmas Eve. And that had only been the beginning of a week full of instances when Brett had not only wanted to snarl but to lash out both verbally and physically.
They had all fallen in love with her, every one of them. His mother; Eric, Doris, Di, Hank, all the kids, Elania, and even, before Jo had been there two full days, Micki. Brett sighed again. If nothing else, he could congratulate himself on a job well done in convincing Micki of Wolf’s fidelity!
Jo was depressed now. Brett felt he could actually feel the vibrations of sadness that enveloped her. Yet, up until the moment he had handed her into the car to leave for the airfield, she had been lighthearted and carefree, seemingly content simply to be within the radius of Wolf, Micki or no Micki.
How many times during their visit had he conquered the urge to grab hold of her to shake some sense into her? Brett smiled in derision. About as many times as he’d conquered the need to go to her room during the night to restake her and his claim.
What the hell had they talked about? The question stabbed at Brett’s mind at regular intervals. On the three separate occasions Wolf and Jo had been closeted together in Wolf’s bedroom, of all places, what had they discussed? It sure as hell had not been one Brett Renninger, for Jo had emerged from those meetings flushed and laughing! She wasn’t laughing now. In fact, Brett had the distinct impression Jo was within a hairsbreadth of breaking into sobs.
Brett shifted position, as if unable to find comfort in the confining seat. The discomfort was in his head, not his butt, and Brett knew it. He also knew that were she to lose a single tear, he would haul her into his arms, promising anything, anything in an effort to stem the flow.
Brett felt a rising flood of despair. What could he do?
Exactly what in hell could he do? Perhaps if they talked about it. But what would he say? Could I stand to hear Jo say she loves Wolf and could never give him up, even if it meant ending her relationship with me? Brett asked himself. No, I could not stand it, he replied honestly. Could not. As far as Brett could see he had two choices. He could accept the status quo, or he could take a walk.
Jo was too close. How could he think clearly with her sitting less than a foot away? It had been over a week since he’d held her in his arms. And, damn it, it had been the same length of time since she’d held him.
Brett was a proud man and he knew it. Now, although the taste was vile, he swallowed that pride. He wanted the feel of Jo’s arms holding him close to her softness. He yearned for the touch of her fingers stroking through his hair. He longed for the sound of her voice whispering love words against his lips. Walking away would not erase the wanting, the yearning, the longing, and Brett knew it. He would just have to learn to live with the status quo.
“Brett.”
Brett came slowly, reluctantly out of a half sleep in which he was reliving the days spent along the shore with Jo. Turning his head, he opened his eyes to stare into hazel depths darkened by disillusionment. God! He’d give his soul to be able to set those amber flecks glimmering like gold in happiness.
“It’s time to fasten your seat belt for landing.”
Brett nodded in answer and, straightening his cramped body, turned away. Even her voice has a dead, toneless sound, Brett thought tiredly, automatically engaging his belt. Taking Jo to the farm had been a mistake, just as he’d known it would be. What arrogance had led him to hope that three days and four nights with him would be enough to wipe the memory of Wolf out of her mind? For, in truth, that was what he had hoped for. But they had been such wonderfully contented days, and such satisfyingly ecstatic nights. Brett had convinced himself Jo had become as lost in him as he was in her. At any rate, he qualified mentally, he had tried to convince himself. Yet, even before they’d boarded the plane the tightness had begun in his insides, and it had continued unabated until now he had the sensation of carrying a rock around in his gut.
“Will there be a car waiting?”
“Yes, of course.” Brett was immediately sorry for the impatience edging his tone. For God’s sake, man, he berated himself, she asked a simple, quiet question! Was it really necessary to snap at her? It’s either snap or beg, and I sure as hell cannot and will not do that!
Jo asked no further questions, nor did she make any remark whatever from the time they left the plane till the limousine drew up in front of her apartment. Brett broke the silence once, to inquire if Jo’s car had been returned to New York from Ocean City.
“Yes,” Doug replied promptly. “I drove it in myself. It’s parked in the garage at Ms. Lawrence’s apartment.”
Telling Doug to wait for him, Brett followed Jo out of the car and into the building. Traversing the hall beside her, Brett felt his lips twist in a grimace when Jo dug the large oddly shaped key from her purse. At the door to her apartment, he frowned at her trembling fingers as she stabbed at the slot in the lock.
“You’re tired.” Brett was careful to keep his tone free of inflection as he set her case inside the door. “We’ll talk later. After you’ve had some rest.” Jo’s reaction startled him in its swiftness.
“No.” Jo spun to face him. “We will not talk later.” Her eyes were no longer sad. They actually seemed to shoot sparks at him. Her voice was no longer quiet. Her tone was razor sharp with anger. “I don’t know what sort of game you think you are playing, Brett, but you can deal me out of it. I thought I could ...” Jo paused, as if to steady herself. “But I can’t...” Her breath caught then she repeated, on a sigh, “I just can’t.” Very slowly, very quietly, Jo closed the door in his face.
His body rigid, Brett stood frozen for one full minute, then, swinging around, he strode back to the elevator. What prompted him to do it, Brett had no idea yet, as he approached the security guard’s desk he paused, then stopped.
“Do you remember who I am?” Brett asked the guard arrogantly.
“Yes, Mr. Renninger. Ms. Lawrence gave you clearance to enter at will two days before Christmas.”
“That’s correct.” Brett’s lips smiled at the man. “I wanted that point quite clear. I may be back some time later this evening, and I did not want any hassle over admittance. I will not have Ms. Lawr
ence unnecessarily disturbed. Are we in accord?” Brett deliberately arched one brow imperiously.
“Yes, sir.”
What a bastard you are, Brett accused himself wryly as he pushed through the entrance doors. But then, if you never take a step, you never get anywhere, in any direction, he exonerated his rather overbearing behavior.
In the car, Brett gnawed on the wisdom of returning to see Jo later that evening. He knew his attitude had been less than charming throughout their stay at the farm. On reflection, he admitted he’d acted out the part of the name he’d moments ago called himself to the letter. Why couldn’t he just go to Jo and confess that he was so miserable, because he was so miserable?
On entering Wolf’s apartment, Brett set his suitcase aside, tossed his jacket onto a chair and poured himself a double shot of Scotch. Telling himself he had to be hungry since he’d eaten nothing since early that morning, he ambled into the kitchen. Opting for eggs, as he was certainly not in the mood to wax creative, he popped two slices of bread into the toaster while melting butter in a small frying pan. Breaking two eggs neatly in one hand, he dropped them, yolks intact, into the sizzling butter. A moment later he turned away from the stove to butter the toast, then, turning back, he grasped the handle of the pan to shift it gently back and forth a few times before, with a slight snap of his wrist, the eggs slid up and over, perfectly flipped. Brett waited another moment, then lifted the pan from the burner to slide the over light eggs onto a plate. He had taken three steps to the table when, spinning around, he walked to the sink to dump the combined eggs and toast into the disposal. Brett tossed back the last of his whisky as the mechanism ate his supper.
Brett returned to the living room for a second helping of his liquid meal. His second double shot tempered with ice and water, he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Between long sips at his drink he undressed slowly. He strolled into the bathroom where he brushed his teeth, shaved his face, and showered his body. He pulled on pants, a soft sweater, and ankle boots, and scooped his jacket from the chair on his way toward the door.