Free While the Fire Rages by Joan Hohl

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.
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    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