While the Fire Rages

by Joan Hohl

  What could he say to comfort her? Coming from a happy family, Brett hadn’t the vaguest idea. So, instead of words, he comforted her with caresses. Jo didn’t cry very long.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  Jo woke to the delicious sensation of her husband’s lips exploring her face.

  Her husband! A shiver of pleasure rippled through Jo’s mind and body. Brett’s arm, bent at the elbow, made a V on her chest; his fingers combed through the tangled mass of her hair. Circling his wrist with her hand, Jo lifted it to peer at the face of the slim gold watch he’d forgotten to remove in the heat of the moment the night before. The hands stood at eleven fifteen. She had been Mrs. Brett Renninger for over twenty-four hours!

  Eleven fifteen! Good heavens! Jo stared at the watch in disbelief. She never slept past nine in the morning, not even on her days off or on holidays! Of course, that was before one very handsome man breezed into her life, and her bed, keeping her awake until the darkness of night gave sway to the pearl gray of predawn. A memory thrill tiptoed down Jo’s spine. Had any bride ever had a more ardent bridegroom? Had any bride ever experienced such consummate ecstasy? Jo very seriously doubted it. But, even so, it was time to get up! Even if she infinitely preferred to lay luxuriating in her marriage bed.

  “Brett?”

  “Hmmm?” Brett’s warm breath caressed her ear.

  “Do you know what time it is?” Gulping back a gasp, Jo managed a steady tone.

  “Time to make love to you again?” Brett responded immediately, hopefully, gently nipping at her earlobe.

  Jo tried, and failed, to suppress the laughter that bubbled into her throat. “What are you?” she demanded in a falsely stern voice. “Some kind of sex maniac?”

  “No,” Brett denied calmly, poking the tip of his tongue into her ear. “I’m every kind of sex maniac.” Raising his head, Brett gazed at her with eyes so soft with tenderness, Jo’s throat closed with emotion. “But,” he qualified seriously, “I only suffer this libido madness when in the company of one particular woman. The rest of the female population is absolutely safe from me.”

  Even Marsha Wenger? Jo cautioning herself against being stupid, ordered the question to remain silent. As far as she knew, Brett had not seen Marsha outside the office since he’d followed her to Ocean City. Marsha’s loss is my gain, Jo decided with a feeling of ruthlessness she had never before experienced. Brett is mine!

  “Have you been eating raw oysters and swallowing vitamin E capsules while I wasn’t looking?” he teased, banishing all consideration of Marsha.

  “Not necessary,” Brett murmured, the quirk at the corners of his mouth telegraphing the coming grin. “Merely touching you here—” His wrist slipped out of her hand and his fingers blazed a fiery trail from her throat to the tip of one breast. “And here—” His fingers drew a straight, tantalizing line down her body. “And especially here—”His fingers slid into the moist warmth of her. “Is all the aphrodisiac I need.” Brett moved his fingers enticingly and Jo, her breathing already erratic, arched her hips into his hand. All traces of Brett’s grin disappeared as his eyes swept down over her body.

  Jo felt the heat rising in her in reaction to his close scrutiny of her responsiveness. Watching her intently, Brett stroked a particularly sensitive spot, his eyes flaring silver with passion when her body writhed in pleasurable agony. Embarrassed by having him witness her abandoned response, Jo tensed her muscles in an attempt to withdraw from his maddening fingers.

  “Brett ... what are ... you doing?” Jo pushed the protest out between short, rasping breaths.

  “There are many ways of giving and receiving pleasure, love,” Brett said softly, continuing his mind-divorcing slow stroke. “Together you and I are going to explore most of them. Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured raspily, luring the tension out of Jo’s muscles. “Enjoy. I am.”

  Jo was beyond protest. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the moment and the clamoring demand of her body for release. Jo knew Brett was watching her every frantic move, hearing her every labored breath but, suddenly, inexplicably, she no longer cared. Instinct or unformed intelligent reason routed all shame. Brett was her husband, the man she loved more than her own life. How could she feel shame in loving his lovemaking? She couldn’t. Sighing in relief, Jo reveled in the enjoyment Brett offered her, thinking, vaguely, his turn would come.

  Jo’s vague thoughts proved correct some fifteen or twenty minutes later. When the last of his shudders had subsided, and his weight was a sweet heaviness on her seemingly boneless body, Brett lifted his head to kiss her softly. “I love—” He paused—because he was still out of breath? Jo wondered, afraid to think or even hope—then, disappointingly, he went on, “being with you, being around you, being in you.” As if, no matter how much he had, he couldn’t get enough of her, Brett kissed her again. “You love it too, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Jo admitted, swallowing the tightness in her throat that presaged tears in her eyes. “I love it too.” The sense of defeat, of disappointment, was crushing. She had known Brett was not in love with her, still Jo had dared to hope. Hope gone, Jo consoled herself with the thought that, although Brett was not in love with her, he was not in love with any other woman either.

  The very idea of Brett loving another woman made Jo tremble in fear of losing him.

  “Are you cold, love?” Brett asked at once, immediately answering for her. “Of course you are.” Carefully lifting his weight from her, Brett rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. “Come along, honey. A hot shower will warm you up.” Tilting his perfectly sculpted head, Brett slanted a teasing look at her. “Then, after you’re all nice and warm, I’ll take you skiing, and you can get cold all over again.”

  * * * *

  Although Brett extended their stay in Vermont, the days disappeared like spring snow in warm sunshine. They spent most of their afternoons skiing, Brett on the high runs, Jo with the beginners. Their nights and mornings they spent alone, usually in bed. They were sitting in bed on their last morning, sipping coffee, when Brett asked casually ... far too casually:

  “What if you’re pregnant?”

  “I’m not,” Jo answered calmly, ignoring the sudden wish that she was.

  “How do you know?” Brett persisted. “We’ve certainly tried hard enough.”

  “I’m on the pill, Brett.” Drawing a deep breath, Jo looked him straight in the eyes. What was he probing for? Jo speculated, searching his eyes for an answer. Was he hoping she was pregnant? Was he praying she wasn’t? His eyes darkened with confusion and something else Jo could not identify.

  “Since when?” Brett’s quiet voice made Jo uneasy.

  “Since the day you moved into my apartment,” Jo replied in her self-enforced calm. “I already had the prescription. All I had to do was have it refilled.” Jo grew chilled at Brett’s sudden shuttered, withdrawn expression.

  “Of course.” He smiled wryly, increasing Jo’s chill. “How stupid of me.” Moving with a swiftness that startled Jo, he slid off the bed and stood up. “I guess we’d better pack. We have a long drive ahead of us.”

  Brett remained terse and withdrawn throughout the entire drive back to New York. Both confused and hurt by his quick change in attitude, Jo gave up her frustrating, fruitless attempts to draw him into conversation forty-five minutes into the trip.

  Watching his hands control the powerful sports car with effortless ease, Jo sighed silently. This was not the first time Brett had coldly shut himself away from her without explanation. Was he opposed to her taking birth control pills? If so, why hadn’t he simply told her he was? She’d like nothing better than to flush the things down the toilet. God! Jo shivered in the warmth of the car’s heater. A good screaming match would be preferable to this freeze-out.

  Sliding down into the supple leather of the bucket seat, Jo rested her head on the comfortably curved head rest and closed her eyes. Would she ever understand this complex man she’d married? She knew his body intimatel
y and his mind not at all. What motivates him? she mused. He works like a Trojan, yet doesn’t need the money he accumulates. He laughs and teases like a carefree boy, then broods like an overburdened man. He amuses me. He confuses me. He scares me to death. Unaware of the sharp-eyed glances the object of her thoughts slanted at her periodically, Jo sighed in longing for the carefree boy who amuses.

  Jo opened her eyes briefly when she heard a clicking sound, then closed them again as Brett finished sliding a CD into the player on the dashboard. The music that filled the small interior of the car surprised her. If she’d been asked to guess what kind of music Brett enjoyed, her last guess would have been Spanish guitar, yet that’s what she was now listening to! Losing herself in the intricate beauty of the piece, Jo let her thoughts drift.

  There was a danger in allowing one’s thoughts to drift, Jo found to her chagrin. Unfettered, thoughts tended to drift in the wrong direction. Unwelcomed by Jo, the memory of her two phone calls to her mother sidled into her mind. Sighing again, she gave the memories free rein, hoping she’d then be able to put them out of her mind. Jo had made the first call to her mother the day after Brett’s wildly unorthodox proposal of marriage. Quite like Brett had done when he’d phoned his mother after the fact, Jo had not beat around the bush.

  “I’m getting married next week,” Jo had said starkly, wincing at her mother’s gasp of dismay.

  “You’re out of your mind!” Ellen had exclaimed angrily. Not “do you love him?” Or even “to whom?” Just “You’re out of your mind.”

  Jo had dug her nails into her palm in reaction to the scorn in her mother’s voice. Controlling her tone with sheer will, Jo had replied, “Perhaps so but, nevertheless, I’m getting married.” Then, though unasked, she offered the name of the groom. “I’m going to marry Brett Renninger.”

  “Your boss?” Ellen asked with sudden interest.

  “Yes.”Jo had been totally unprepared for her mother’s next words.

  “Well, when the bubble bursts, at least you’ll have money to fall back on.”

  “I’d never accept money from Brett like that, Mother,” Jo had said with quiet determination.

  “Now I’m convinced you’re crazy,” Ellen had retorted disgustedly. “Well, I won’t waste my time wishing you happiness. The rich ones are even worse than the men without money. They can always buy their way out, and they know it. What I do wish is that you’ll change your mind before it’s too late. Live with him, if you must but think twice before you commit yourself.”

  “Are you hungry?” Brett’s voice was soft but the unexpected sound of it startled Jo into opening her eyes.

  “No.” Thinking the denial too uncompromising, Jo added quietly, “Are you?”

  “No.”

  Closing her eyes again, Jo deliberately dredged up the memory of her second phone call to her mother. Knowing Brett was listening to her side of the conversation, Jo had chosen her words very carefully.

  “It’s Jo, Mother,” she’d said with all the lightness she could muster. “I’m calling from Vermont to tell you Brett and I were married this morning.”

  “You have my deepest sympathy.” Ellen sighed before adding, “Is he there with you now?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Jo had fought to keep her tone even.

  “Tell him I said he’s to take good care of you, even though I know he probably won’t.” There’d been a pause then her mother had gone on in a muffled tone, “I love you, honey. I wish ... I wish ... well, it doesn’t matter what I wish. I do hope you’ll be happy, but…” Her voice trailed away.

  Feeling the hot sting of tears behind her lashes, Jo opened her eyes and sat up abruptly, shaking her head sharply to dislodge the sound of her mother’s sad voice.

  “What the hell?” Brett sliced a frown at her. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing. I got a cramp in my neck from my awkward position, “Jo improvised, lifting her hand to rub the side of her neck. “It’s fine now.”

  Brett returned his attention to the highway but his frown remained in place. “Even so, I think it’s time we stopped to stretch and, while we’re doing it, we might as well eat something.”

  The restaurant Brett found was unpretentious but clean and the food was delicious. Jo ate less than half her dinner. When Brett motioned the waiter to indicate he’d like a second beer, Jo reached out impulsively to grasp his hand.

  “Brett! You’ve got quite a distance to drive. If you expect me to get into the car with you, don’t have another drink.”

  Brett Renninger was not at all used to being told what to do, and Jo knew it. She also knew there was no way she’d ride in a car with a driver who was not only in a foul mood, but three sheets to the wind as well. Her resolve rock hard, Jo stared defiantly into Brett’s icy, narrow-lidded eyes. Amazingly, Brett relented first, albeit angrily.

  “A wife of little more than a week,” he sneered, waving the waiter away. “And already you’re issuing ultimatums.” Brett extracted several bills from his wallet and tossed them on top of the check the waiter slid discreetly onto the table. Glancing back at Jo, he pinned her to her seat with eyes the color of cold steel. “This is the second time I’ve backed down to an ultimatum from you.” Brett’s voice was as steely as his eyes. Jo, her spine tingling with apprehension, had a memory flash of their confrontation in his office the day she’d lifted the phone to call Wolf in Florida. Raising her chin, Jo managed, just, to meet his stare unflinchingly. “Three strikes and you’re out, babe,” Brett said grittily. “Don’t push your luck ... or me too damn far.”

  Jo’s gasp burst into the tension hovering in the air between them. Was Brett threatening her? Well, of course he was! Jo swallowed the taste of panic. What, exactly, was he threatening her with? What form would his retaliation take? The answer that stole into Jo’s mind was accompanied by a choking nausea in her throat. He’d said “three strikes and you’re out.” Out as in: out of a job? Out of his life? Out of his sight? Out of a husband? Jo was very much afraid Brett meant every one of the outs that marched through her rattled brain.

  The nausea lasted only a moment, fleeing before the onslaught of fury. If Brett Renninger thought he could frighten her into quivering submission, he was in for a very rude awakening! Gritting her teeth, Jo leaned across the table to enable him to hear the rage in her soft voice.

  “Don’t you ever threaten me again. You are the one who followed me to Ocean City. You are the one who moved into my apartment. You are the one who insisted on marriage.” Jo paused to gulp air into her constricted lungs, then, forcing her teeth apart, made a threat of her own ... or at least attempted to do so.

  “If you ever threaten me again, I’ll... I’ll...”

  “You’ll what?” Brett inserted in a quiet tone that in no way concealed his own fury. “Call the big prowler?”

  “I don’t need Wolf to protect me from you,” Jo retorted. “Now, if you are tired of me, or bored with this situation you forced the both of us into, take a hike!” Pushing her chair back, Jo jumped to her feet, grabbed her coat, and, still glaring at Brett, underlined her position. “I don’t need you, Brett,” she lied convincingly. “I don’t need any of the Renningers.” Sliding the coat around her shoulders, Jo strode out of the restaurant.

  For the remainder of the drive to New York the sports car took on the qualities of an abandoned tomb. There were moments when Jo was certain the silence would shatter her ear-drums.

  It was early evening when they arrived at the apartment. Jo’s fury had long since burned itself out. By the time she walked into her bedroom, Jo was combating an overwhelming feeling of loss. Disregarding Brett’s warning, she had issued one final ultimatum. She had figuratively pointed out the direction of the door. Now Jo was terrified Brett would literally walk out of it. Throwing her coat at the chair she had spent weeks shopping for, Jo stood in the middle of the room, stiff as a board and scared witless.

  “Jo?” As soft as it was, Brett’s voice jerked Jo around
to face him.

  “What?”Jo was amazed at the steadiness she’d managed to convey. In actuality, she was afraid to hear whatever he was about to say.

  “I’m not at all tired of you.” Brett walked to her slowly as he made the tension-relieving statement. As he drew near, Jo could see that all his anger was gone too.

  “You’re not?” Jo had to fight the urge to fling herself into his arms.

  “No.” Brett shook his head, a conciliatory smile tugging at his lips. “I’m also not bored with our situation.”

  “Then... why...?” Jo gazed at him in confusion, her eyes begging for an explanation.

  “It was the mention of a preexisting prescription for birth control pills.” Brett shrugged, as if trying to rid himself of an unbearable weight. “No man likes to be reminded of his predecessor.” Raising his hand, he touched her hair very gently. “I’m…sorry.” Brett’s hesitation was telling; he did not make apologies often. The relief that washed through Jo was shocking in its intensity.

  “I’m sorry too,” she whispered, blinking against a sudden rush of tears.

  Jo gulped back a sob as she was hauled into Brett’s arms. God! It was heaven, like being ushered into a warm room after standing naked in the freezing night. Burying her face in his chest, she slid her arms beneath his jacket and around his waist.

  “Honey, are you crying?” The concern in Brett’s voice was nearly Jo’s undoing.

  “No.” Sniffing, Jo rubbed her face against his rough wool sweater.

  Brett’s long fingers caught her chin to lift her face to his scrutiny. “You are crying. And I’m a bastard for making you cry. Honey, don’t!” He brought his other hand up to brush at the tears. His tone solemn, he said quietly, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t take the pill anymore.”

  “Not take it!” Caught off guard, Jo stared at him in consternation. If things were different between them, if he loved her instead of loving to be with her, around her—-Jo shivered in memory—in her, she’d glory in conceiving, carrying, and bearing his child. But Brett did not love her. He did not yearn to have proof of that love expressed in the form of a child. Brett’s sole reason for asking her to discontinue the pill had more to do with pride than any other emotion. In his own words, Brett did not like being reminded of his predecessor—Gary Devlin. Still, after basking in the warmth of his arms and recent concern, Jo shuddered with the fear of having him revert back to the cold stranger he’d been all day. Could she refuse his request?