Free While the Fire Rages by Joan Hohl Page A

was made doubly difficult simply because the selection was abundant and varied.
    Except for the kitchen and the apartment’s two bathrooms, all the walls were painted eggshell white. The living room was given life by the occasional splashes of brilliant color: the cerise cotton that draped the large window with its stunning view of the city’s towers; the vibrant shades of an obscure Matisse print; the jewel tones of the chenille scatter cushions littering the long white cotton sofa and matching club chairs, and, underfoot, the rectangular rugs in unrelenting black and white.
    No, not at all the more common homey warmth. Yet it worked, and beautifully; the room invited conversation and relaxation. On this night Jo found little relaxation. Though the cause of her confusion had departed some fifteen minutes ago, Jo was still trying to grasp what had transpired while he stood at her door.
    Was she, she wondered, so very infatuated with Brett she was beginning to imagine things? The night before she had felt certain he was on the point of kissing her before he’d turned away abruptly. Just moments ago she had received the impression that he was fighting a similar urge. Yet in both instances he had left her flat, and not very pleasantly at that! Was she reading something into Brett’s behavior that simply was not there?
    Hazel eyes cloudy with introspection, Jo walked slowly to her bedroom, switching off lights automatically as she passed them. With a featherlike touch to the dimmer switch mounted on the wall of her bedroom, different but equally resplendent colors sprang into view. Here the draperies were in a shimmering Pacific blue. The rug picked up the theme, while the quilt on the bed was a calming pattern in various shades from periwinkle to cerulean, a colorful impressionistic original was the only relief on one white wall.
    Kicking off her shoes, Jo padded to the closet and began to undress. Damn the man, she thought irritably, what was he thinking, feeling? Her distraction was evidenced by the fact that, although she was standing before the opened closet door, she dropped her clothes carelessly onto the floor. Seconds later Jo stood frowning under a hot shower. Usually the jet spray had a soothing effect. Tonight it simply was not working; in fact, nothing seemed to work for her anymore! Sighing tiredly, Jo stepped out of the tub, dripping unconcernedly onto the thick bathmat. Patting herself dry, she ignored her own reflection—no mean trick as the walls were tiled entirely in mirrors. There was not a hint of white in this room. Except for the mirror walls everything in the room was in the same soft rose shade as the mat she now dripped upon, including the roll of tissue set into the wall. The combination of mirrors and soft rose imbued the room with an innocent eroticism. The effect was not at all accidental; Jo had very carefully planned every room in the apartment.
    Hanging her sodden towel neatly on the bar mounted on the wall, Jo glanced up and found her gaze caught by the unhappy expression in the hazel eyes gazing back at her. Had Brett been on the point of making a move on her? Devoid of enlightenment, hazel eyes stared at her. If he had wanted to kiss her, why hadn’t he acted on the urge? He knew she was free. She knew he was divorced. And what did a kiss mean, anyway?
    Long lashes fluttered in a quick blink. You may attempt to fool any other person in the world, Jo Lawrence, she chided herself, but never, never try to con yourself. From any other man a kiss would not only have no meaning, it would be forcefully rejected; from Brett Renninger, it might very well mean the end of existence as you know it and the beginning of a whole new, incredibly exciting world.
    Wearing nothing but a dreamy expression on her lovely face, Jo drifted into the bedroom and slid between wickedly expensive satin sheets. The feel of satin against her naked skin ignited a fire deep inside the very core of her being. Closing her