While the Fire Rages Page 7

  “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.

  Being a witness to this silent hatred through her formative years had inflicted fears as well as scars on her psyche. For as long as Jo could remember, everyone told her she was her mother all over again. In one respect this pleased her, for her mother was very beautiful. But in another way it frightened her, for her mother very obviously could not relate to any man. As she grew older Jo realized intellectually that looking like her mother did not necessarily mean she was like her mother. Still, no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise, the fear of her own inability to express love for a man, either verbally or physically, would not be banished.

  During her college and hotel-management training years Jo had dated infrequently, and always disastrously. Positive she would make a shambles of the evening, she always did. In fact, she said no so often that by her third year in college she had acquired the nickname No No Jo. It was only after she’d been working for some months that she began a slow emergence from her shell of fear. In the hotel business Jo naturally came in contact with different and varied types of people. Quiet and observant by nature, she studied the hotel guests and her fellow employees closely, most particularly the interaction between men and women. Slowly, as she conducted her secret survey, she came to the conclusion that she was not all that different from anybody else.

  When, to Jo’s own delighted surprise, she was promoted to assistant to the assistant to the head of the East Coast region of the Renninger Corporation and had to move to New York City, she discovered a whole new world to contemplate. Dedicated to her subject, and also to fill the hours when she was not at work, Jo devoured all the magazine articles devoted to relationships and every article she came across that dealt with the current mores on sexuality.

  Gradually the tight bud of her self blossomed into mature young womanhood. Feeling free for the first time in her life, Jo felt ready for an adult relationship with a man. Then she met Gary Devlin. By the time their affair was over Gary had just about annihilated all of Jo’s hard-won confidence.

  In personality they were complete opposites. Gary was outgoing, gregarious, and made friends easily, with just about anybody. Jo was as susceptible to his charm as most other women were. He was also the walking prototype of the clichéd “tall, dark, and handsome.” It wasn’t until after he moved in with her that Jo realized he was also vain, shallow, and extremely immature. That Gary was unspectacular in bed as well did not immediately become apparent to her. Having had only one painful, and abortive, sexual experience while in college, Jo really had no previous knowledge upon which she could base a comparison. Gary accused her of being, if not frigid, coldly unresponsive. Jo believed him, at least for a time.

  The telling blow came when Jo was chosen for the coveted position of Wolfgang Renninger’s assistant Euphoric, soaring on a natural achievement high, Jo rushed home after work, burst into the apartment, and, flinging her arms around Gary, cried joyfully, “Guess what?”

  As Jo had been rather withdrawn for several weeks, Gary eyed her warily, his expression suspicious.

  “What?” he responded after a brief hesitation.

  “I’ve been picked to replace James Mattern!”Jo bubbled, forgetting that, as Gary never had shown the slightest interest in her job, he hadn’t the vaguest idea who James Mattern was.

  “And that’s good?”

  “Good?” Jo exclaimed, laughing as he’d never seen her laugh before. “That’s incredible! At this moment, you see before you Wolfgang Renninger’s new executive assistant!”

  Gary was obviously unimpressed. His expression said “big deal” though he didn’t voice the opinion. To her dismay Jo had learned over the eight months they had been together that, unless it was in some way connected with the world of sports, Gary’s interest in business was nonexistent. But he was interested in money.

  “Will it mean a raise in salary?”

  “Of course, silly,” Jo said teasingly. She named a figure, waiting expectantly for his whoop of delight. A chill washed all the joy out of her when he stepped back, his face stiff with outrage.

  “But that’s twice what I earn a year!” he exclaimed harshly. “Exactly what do you have to do for this Renninger?” Before she could shake herself out of her shock to answer, he added nastily, “Boy is that poor jerk in for a surprise!”

  Jo didn’t need to ask what he meant. After weeks of his verbal digs about her ineptitude as a bed partner, she knew. Still she was hurt. She was also suddenly blazingly angry.

  “Renninger’s a married man!” she defended her employer.

  “He’s a man, isn’t he?” Gary sneered. “And for the kind of money you just mentioned, he’s going to expect one hell of a lot of assistance, and not only in the office either.”

  Jo wanted very badly to believe Gary was merely jealous of her boss, but she now knew better. Although it was painful and demeaning, she finally faced the truth. Gary did not love her. Gary loved Gary. Gary also loved the image he had of himself. That image could not bear the idea of a woman who was capable of earning twice his salary a year. Jo was not surprised when he spat a command at her.

  “Tell him to shove his damn job.”

  “No,” Jo said quietly but firmly.

  Amazement gave his face a comical cast for an instant. Not in all the short time they’d been together had Jo so adamantly refused to do as he dictated. Then his expression turned ugly.

  “Either you refuse this job or I move out of here.” Gary flung the ultimatum at her in the tone of voice a child might use when threatening a parent with: If you won’t let me have another piece of candy, I’ll run away from home forever.

  Jo answered in much the same way a weary
parent might, “Shall I help you pack?” The difference between Jo’s query and that of a parent was Jo meant it. She had met his ultimatum with one of her own. And like the child he so obviously was, Gary resorted to verbal abuse.

  “God! Am I glad I didn’t let you talk me into marriage.”

  That was the mildest of the insults he snarled at her during the three days required for him to find another gullible woman to move in with. When, finally, he was gone for good, Jo went through a brief but stormy period of weeping. Anger had kept her tight-lipped and dry-eyed throughout Gary’s invective while removing himself from her apartment. Unfortunately his final barb came via the telephone while she was at work, in Wolf Renninger’s office.

  “Is your boss there?” he’d asked innocently.

  “Yes.” Although she’d felt a warning prickle, she walked right into his nasty-little-kid trap. “Why?”

  “You can tell the bastard I hope he gets his money’s worth from you, but that I really doubt that he will. Men expect a little heat and cooperation from their bed partners once in a while.” His derisive laugh burned Jo’s ears as he hung up his receiver.

  When the call had come through for her Wolf had pushed his chair back from the desk and walked to the window overlooking the busy avenue twenty-six floors below, thoughtfully allowing her a measure of privacy. Replacing the receiver with trembling fingers, Jo raised her eyes to the tall man at the window. Even though her chest felt tight from the pain caused by Gary’s parting insult, she had to smile. Her sight blurred by welling tears, she perused the height of him, the breadth of him, the muscularly athletic build that put Gary’s to shame. A low, choking sound, part sob, part laugh, drew Wolf’s attention. At the shattered look on her face his brows arched questioningly before coming together in a frown,

  “What’s wrong, Jo?”

  It was not the question but the concern in his voice that released the flood of tears. Gulpingly, at times incoherently, Jo blurted out the whole miserable story to him, omitting only Gary’s assertion that she was a cold, unresponsive woman. Sobbing out her unhappiness, she was hardly aware of Wolf crossing the room to take her into his arms, but she was grateful for the strong comfort of his embrace and the soothing strokes of his hand on her hair. There was nothing at all personal in his touch, and Jo was grateful for that as well. After the storm had passed he continued to hold her protectively for several minutes.

  The sudden realization of her cheek resting on his tear-dampened shirt brought Jo to her senses. Embarrassed by her outburst and the position she found herself in, she stirred restlessly against his chest. Wolf immediately released her and stepped back.

  “I-I’m sorry, I...”Jo, feeling her cheeks grow hot, bit her lip in consternation.

  Wolf’s incredible silver eyes were soft with sympathy. “You don’t need to apologize, Jo,” he said quietly. Glancing down at his damp shirt, he smiled gently. “It’ll dry.” Then his smile twisted into a grimace. “He’s not worth one of your tears, you know.”

  It was then that Jo learned that Wolf was not only kind but forthright. “I like you, Jo. I have since the first interview I gave you. You are bright and alert and ambitious, and I like that. But, like my wife, you have retained your femininity, and I like that too. Friends?”

  Soon after Jo had begun working in the New York office she had heard, via the office grapevine, of how Wolf’s wife, Micki, adored him. At that moment she understood why.

  Wolf’s brother Brett was something else entirely.

  * * * *

  Brett.

  Rolling onto her side, Jo groaned aloud in protest against the intrusive image of the object of her unwilling affections. After that shaming debacle with Gary, she had felt positive it would be a very, very long time before she’d find anything attractive in another man. Yet, here she was, a little more than a year later, sleepless, achy, and longing for the sight and touch of a man who very obviously did not like her.

  But there had been those moments when she’d sensed desire in him, desire for her. Or was she seeing emotions in him that simply were not there? Why did he dislike her so?

  “Oh, hell!”

  With the exclamation Jo turned onto her side, pounding the pillow in an attempt to vent her frustration. She was weary of the questions that buzzed incessantly inside her head, tired of searching for answers that were not there. Clutching the pillow close to her body, she shut her eyes tightly, certain she was in for another sleepless night.

  Within seconds Jo was oblivious to the world. She slept long, and deeply, her rest unmarred by remembered dreams.

  Feeling and looking better than she had in well over two weeks, Jo sailed into Brett’s office the following morning mere moments after he’d issued a rough-voiced command for her to do so. His appearance betrayed his own restless night. Though he was dressed immaculately, as usual, his eyes had a flat, dull look, faint white lines of strain edged his compressed lips, and a pallor underlay the tan on his cheeks.

  “I’m leaving for Vermont after lunch,” he said bluntly the minute she’d closed the door behind her. “I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. It may be days, it may be weeks. Can you handle things here in my absence?”

  “I have before.” Jo was sorry for the arrogant-sounding assertion the minute it was out of her mouth. Would he think her statement too confident? The way his lids narrowed convinced her that he did. But, damn it, Brett knew her capabilities by now, didn’t he? Brett gave further proof of his tiredness by shrugging instead of snapping at her.

  “I’m relieved,” he muttered irritably, tossing the folder that contained Wolf’s project across the desk to her. “Okay, let’s get at this. There’s a lot to cover and I’m pressed for time.”

  Several times during the following hour and a half Jo had to fight back the urge to scream at him. Brett fired questions at her with the rapidity of a machine gun, merely grunting when she knew an answer, grating “why not?” when she didn’t Finally, after about his tenth “why not?” Jo’s tenuous hold on her temper snapped.

  “I don’t know because your brother chose to keep this project to himself!” Feeling as though her back was to the wall, Jo lashed out at him. “You know I believed this project had been scrapped. You know, and yet you persist in badgering me with questions I can’t possibly be expected to know the answers to. Don’t play games with me,”

  For an instant the flatness fled from his eyes and they glittered like sunlight on gun metal, then the light was gone and Brett lowered his eyes to the slim gold watch on his wrist. “I have a lunch appointment,” he droned without inflection. “Take the folder back to your office and familiarize yourself with the contents. I’ll stop by and pick it up before I leave for Vermont.” Raising his head he stared at her, his expression remote, his eyes again dull gray with disinterest. “You may go now.”

  Dismissed! She had been dismissed like a bothersome child! Jo had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in protest. Both chilled and subdued by his manner, Jo withdrew into herself before rising to her feet, her composure her only shield against Brett’s attitude. “I’ll see you in a while,” Jo was amazed at the degree of coolness her tone conveyed, for inside she was anything but cool. Actually, she wanted to run back to her office and weep with frustration. Moving with calculated slowness, she walked out of his office, closed the door carefully, then, her composure slipping, ran along the hall to her own office.

  * * * *

  You must have masochistic tendencies. Jo made the silent observation while sitting slumped in her high-backed desk chair. It was over an hour since she’d beat a hasty retreat from Brett’s office. In that time she had done nothing but stare at the walnut paneling that covered the wall facing her desk. She had not found a single solution to her emotional condition on the beautifully grained wood. Why was she putting herself through all this? Hadn’t she had enough pain with Gary? Why couldn’t she simply dismiss Brett from her mind as ruthlessly as he’d dismissed her from his sight? The questions rep
eated themselves with boring insistency. The answer was always the same: I love him.

  Love. What the emotion did to a woman should be against the law of both God and man! What unadulterated fools it makes of us, Jo decided sadly. Who needs it, anyway? she railed at herself. You do, her self mocked smugly. I’m losing my mind! Am I actually arguing ... with myself? Tearing her gaze from the wall, Jo jumped to her feet and stalked to the oversized window behind her desk. Yes, I am actually arguing with myself. It seems that love does that to us too. It makes us irrational.’ Who but an irrational being would invite pain into her heart?

  Staring at the minuscule pedestrian and vehicular traffic on the avenue far below, Jo sighed in exasperation. How many, she wondered, out of the millions that jammed this greatest of all cities, how many people have indulged in a like self-analysis? And how many have reached any concrete conclusions? Probably none. A wry smile twisted Jo’s soft lips. Don’t feel like the Lone Ranger, girl, the odds are that you have plenty of company. So why don’t I feel reassured ? The smile growing into a grimace, Jo turned and walked slowly back to her desk. Forget it. Forget him, she advised herself. Sliding onto her chair, Jo picked up the now-hated folder. As she opened the cover Brett strode into her office.

  “Hard at it, I see,” he observed complacently.

  Jo didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She did neither. Instead, she held his strangely intent gaze steadily, silently challenging him to do or say anything clever or smart. Fortunately, perhaps for both of them, he read her mood correctly. His expression wary, he arched an attractive eyebrow at her.

  “Any questions?”

  At least a hundred, Jo thought. “None,” she answered,

  “Good.” Turning abruptly, he walked to the door, then paused, his hand on the knob, in much the same way he had weeks before. “Oh, yes,” he said softly, “I’ve made up a list of things to do while I’m gone.” Sliding his left hand into his jacket pocket, he withdrew a sheet of paper. Even from across the room Jo could see the list was lengthy. Holding the paper between thumb and forefinger, Brett waved it languidly in the air. “You’ll take care of everything”—the brow inched higher—”won’t you?”