by Sandra Brown
When she wavered, he pressed her, “Go on, Jordan, I’m fascinated.”
“He began to court me—presents, flowers, expensive trinkets that I neither wanted nor required.”
He leered at her wickedly. “And what did Helmut get in return for these ‘expensive trinkets’?”
“Nothing!” she exclaimed. Just then the boat bumped against the pilings of the quay and she was hurled at him.
His strong arms caught her and pulled her against his chest. The hold wasn’t tender as it had been the night before. His hands were like steel talons on her upper arms and the face that lowered to hers was ugly with disgust. “Do you really think that I’m dense enough to believe that a man as rich and urbane as Helmut Eckherdt hasn’t taken advantage of this?” He thrust himself at her in a manner that left no doubt of his meaning. The implication was insulting and humiliating.
She squirmed and pushed against him. “Let me go,” she said through clenched teeth. “Don’t touch me again.”
The boatman approached them meekly and Reeves slowly disengaged his hands from her arms. She pivoted away, avoiding the boatman’s curious eyes as she picked up her purse. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Reeves sling his camera case over his shoulder.
As soon as she was helped to the quay by the boat’s pilot, Reeves leaped beside her and grabbed her arm again.
“I told you not to touch me,” she said, and tried to jerk her arm free. She could have spared herself the effort. Her strength was no match for his.
“No. I promised Helmut I’d see you to your door, and I never lie.” The veiled accusation wasn’t lost on her and she had a stinging rejoinder forming in her mind when he asked abruptly, “How in the hell do we get to your bookshop from here?”
He was determined to see her home. The best course of action was to go along with him. She nodded in the general direction and said, “Turn left at the second street.”
They walked in silence for several blocks as the streets soon narrowed and became the mazelike alleys where only foot traffic was permitted. Jordan stumbled behind his long, unfaltering strides. Her feet ached abominably, but she’d be damned before she would complain or ask him to slow down.
With relief she saw her shop as they came around the last corner. When they reached the door, Reeves let the strap of his camera case slide down his arm until the bag plopped to the ground. Before she could react, he had nailed her to the stone wall with the pressure of his own body. Her hands were held on either side of her face by his firm grip on her wrists.
“I have to hand it to you, Jordan. You’re quite an actress. Maybe you missed your calling.” His voice was deceptively soft, his breath warm and gently caressing against her cold cheeks. “Those wide gray eyes full of almost virginal timidity. Those sincere declarations that I’d been the only man since—” He broke off abruptly on a bitter note. He threw back his head and squeezed his eyes shut in an agonized expression. “God, what a fool I was,” he laughed mirthlessly.
Then his eyes were hard on her again. His face lowered until only a breath separated them. “I fell for your act hook, line, and sinker.” His eyes roamed over her face, taking in each feature, studying it. “And you’re still playing your charade,” he said huskily. “It’s really quite touching. The shine of tears in those damn gray eyes. The innocent expression. The trembling lips.”
The last words were lost as his mouth descended on hers and moved over it bruisingly. It was a blistering kiss, meant to hurt and debase. But when he felt no resistance, his plundering became persuasion. After only a heartbeat of hesitation, she parted her lips and welcomed the invasion of his tongue. Her wrists were suddenly released from their traps, but she only used that freedom to wrap her hands around his neck and delight in the feel of the hair that lay outside his collar.
He parted her cape and agilely slipped one hand inside. It caressed her waist, squeezing it slightly, appreciating its trim line. Then he moved closer, fitting his body to hers, aligning them in such a way that Jordan responded with a sensual adjustment of her own that took his breath.
Desire curled through her when she felt the strength of his virility through their clothes. Her tongue darted past his lips on a foray of its own. All the ugly accusations he had wrongly thrown at her melted under the heat of his kiss.
His hand stroked its way over her ribs and up to the curve of her breast. He kneaded it gently as his thumb lazily circled the rigid nipple under the silky fabric. He continued this heavenly torment as his lips pressed hot kisses into the curve of her shoulder left bare by her gown. His lips nibbled their way down her arm, pressed a kiss in the bend of her elbow, and then lifted her palm to receive a tribute from his mouth.
She reclined against the wall and sighed, touching his hair affectionately. Smiling up at him slumberously, she watched him as he turned her hand over. He looked at the diamond ring.
In a voice as hard and cold as the jewel he said, “You see, Jordan. The only thing that separates you from the girls who sell their wares on street corners is the price you demand.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. They were so out of context with the soft caresses and the soothing voice that their meaning eluded her. When it registered with her passion-fogged mind, she thought the pain in her chest would surely kill her. She would die with his scathing insult as her eulogy.
But the cold reality of what he had said jolted her out of her lethargy like an icy bath. He was still holding her left hand as he smiled down at her smugly. Her right hand arced and met his cheek in a resounding slap.
For a moment he was stunned. There was no reaction. Then the fury filled his face with such terrible intent that Jordan thought he might very well murder her. Instead, he flung himself away.
Without a backward glance or another word, he hoisted the camera case over his shoulder and stalked away into the night shadows.
“English newsstand,” Jordan answered the telephone the next day at midmorning.
“Hello, darling,” Helmut said with his smooth, cultured voice. “How are you this morning? Did you enjoy the party held in your honor last night?”
“Hello, Helmut,” she said. “I can only talk for a minute. I have some customers. Yes, I enjoyed the party very much. I only wish we had had time to discuss—”
“I know what you’re going to say, and I apologize for taking matters into my own hands. I have discovered through my business dealings that when one is faced with a reluctant client one sometimes has to force the issue. Usually with rewarding results, as in this instance.”
“No, Helmut. We need to—”
“Just a moment, dear. What was that, Reeves?”
Reeves was with Helmut and listening to their conversation! Anger made her hand tremble. The man was impossible. “Jordan, Reeves says ‘good morning’ and hopes that your feet aren’t still hurting you.” Helmut chuckled into the receiver.
Reeves had known that her feet were hurting her last night as he practically ran her home. “My feet are fine,” she grated. “I really have to go now, Helmut.” She wasn’t about to discuss personal matters over the telephone with Helmut while she knew Reeves was listening avidly to every word with that knowing, derisive expression on his face.
“One more thing, darling, before you hang up. Reeves is going to follow me around most of the day, taking pictures in the office and at the board meeting this afternoon. Tonight he wants to take pictures of us in a relaxed, typically Swiss setting. I thought we’d take him to Stadtkeller. It’s for tourists, I know, but it’s certainly Swiss!”
“That sounds marvelous and I’m sure Mr. Grant will enjoy it, but I must decline. I—”
“Nonsense. He specifically asked that you go with us. He wants you in most of the pictures since you will soon be my wife.”
Damn! Reeves was instigating a farcical situation. He must adore Neil Simon plays. She and Helmut were now the unwilling players in such a comedy. “Helmut, please. I—”
“Is there some
thing wrong, Jordan?” Helmut’s cheerful voice changed to one of concern. “You sound distressed this morning. Aren’t you well? Perhaps I should come over and—”
“No!” she said sharply. The last thing she wanted was for Reeves to know that he had upset her. And she didn’t want Helmut to see the violet shadows under her eyes that testified to a sleepless night. He might jump to all the wrong conclusions. He would demand an explanation for her obvious depression. He would never understand that she only wished to be left alone. But he would understand a simpering female, which she knew he thought her to be.
“No, nothing’s really wrong,” she said, softening her voice to a childish whimper. “It’s just that I was deliberating on what to wear tonight. I’ve never had my picture taken by a photographer with a reputation as renowned as Mr. Grant’s.” She virtually choked on the ridiculous words, but Helmut laughed into the phone.
“She’s worried over what to wear,” she heard him say to Reeves. Her slender fingers around the old-fashioned telephone tightened in agitation. “Darling, you’ll look beautiful in anything, but keep it casual tonight. We’ll be by to pick you up around eight. Things won’t really be jumping at Stadkeller until then. Good-bye for now.” He hung up before she could reply. As was Helmut’s habit, when he finished speaking he considered the conversation to be concluded.
She replaced the telephone under the counter and tallied up the purchases of the middle-aged couple from Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The lady was buying two Agatha Christie mysteries and a copy of The Sensuous Woman. He had a James Bond book, a Mad magazine, and yesterday’s Chicago Tribune. Would wonders never cease?
Desultorily, Jordan went through the day. Business was steady if not heavy. This was the end of September and the summer tourist season was waning. It wouldn’t pick up again until those who came for winter sports passed through Lucerne. She sold newspapers, maps, paperbacks, magazines, and journals. She listened to tales of woe about the shortage of ice in virtually all of Europe, the taste and gastric dangers of the drinking water, the narrow roads (where were the interstate highways?), and the crazy way these “foreigners” drove an automobile. Sometimes Jordan hated to acknowledge her fellow countrymen. Too often they were brash, rude, critical, and ignorant to the point of hilarity.
At six o’clock she locked the door, put her CLOSED sign in the window, and pulled down the shade on the glass door. Wearily she trudged upstairs. She had two hours to prepare herself for the ordeal of the evening ahead but wasn’t sure she would ever be ready for it.
She soaked in the deep, narrow tub. Unconsciously, she wondered how Reeves managed to fit his broad shoulders in most of the bath tubs in Europe and then decided that he probably took showers.
Impatiently she jerked her mind away from him and ticked off her wardrobe in her mind. What should she wear? She finally decided on a soft teal wool skirt and sweater. The skirt was full and fashionably hemmed and went well with her black suede boots. The outfit would be nothing spectacular without the triangular plaid woolen shawl that went with it. Six-inch fringe hung luxuriantly around the bottom. She put it over one shoulder and belted it at her waist with a wide gold belt. The corners of it almost reached the edge of her skirt. The prim “shopkeeper,” as Reeves had called her, looked more like a high-fashion model. Indeed, she had bought the Laurent copy last year in a Paris boutique.
She shook her hair free of its confining bun and fluffed it around her face, letting it settle softly on her shoulders. She was misting Norell around her head when she heard the knock on the door. Hastily she grabbed her gray suede coat and the purse that matched her boots and went downstairs.
The door rattled slightly as she pulled it open. “Hello, darling. I was just telling Reeves that I wish I could persuade you to come live with me in the château and give up this dismal little shop and apartment.” Helmut kissed her on the cheek and took both her hands in his, making note that she wore his ring. “Alas, Reeves, she’s a morally stubborn woman. She refuses to engage in such goings on until after we are married.”
Despite her determination to remain aloof, Jordan flushed hotly. It was true that Helmut had argued with her over her scruples against living with him until they were married. She had claimed that her need for independence was the reason. The fact was that she was in no hurry to sleep with Helmut. She had enjoyed his tender, passionate embraces, but they hadn’t made her heart sing. Not like …
She swiftly looked at Reeves and saw his eyebrows cocked in incredulity. Think what you want, she longed to fling at him. It’s true. I haven’t slept with Helmut.
She had always imagined that Helmut would make love with the same economy of words and deeds with which he transacted a business deal. He would get straight to the point, waste no unnecessary time. It wouldn’t be lingering and leisurely. He wouldn’t stroke, and caress, and kiss, and tease just as much afterward as before. He wouldn’t …
She pulled herself upright and said calmly, “Hello, Helmut.” Rising on tiptoes, she kissed him softly on the mouth. Then, with a triumphant look, she turned to Reeves. “Good evening, Mr. Grant.”
He stepped forward and took her hand. Helmut couldn’t know, unless he read the shocked expression on Jordan’s face, that Reeves’s thumb was stroking her palm. “Under the circumstances, I think you should call me by my first name, don’t you, Jordan?”
CHAPTER 4
His words stunned her speechless and she could only stare, marveling at his daring. Then she realized that only he and she were cognizant of the “circumstances” to which he was referring.
To confirm her deduction, Helmut said heartily, “He’s right, Jordan. Reeves will be with us constantly, for the next several days. Indeed, he may want to photograph you alone. By all means, let’s be on a first-name basis.”
She couldn’t meet Reeves’s mocking grin.
Helmut draped her coat around her shoulders, for even this early in the season the nights could be quite cold. They strolled through the alleyways until they reached a thoroughfare where Helmut’s chauffeur was waiting with the silver Mercedes limousine.
Jordan found herself ensconced between the two men on the black velour seat. Though Helmut held her hand as it rested on his thigh, it was the other man she was painfully aware of.
Reeves was wearing jeans again, but this pair was creased and starched. A caramel-colored Cardin sport coat over a beige shirt molded to the breadth of his chest and shoulders. He had on highly polished cowboy boots. Perversely, he didn’t look out of place, for jeans and Western boots were almost a uniform all over Europe these days for men and women alike.
When he leaned across her to speak to Helmut, she caught the brisk, clean-smelling fragrance of his shaving soap and cologne. It was pungent and potent, but not cloying, perfect for the man who was wearing it.
While the two men discussed some facet of Helmut’s enterprises that Reeves found interesting, Jordan remained quiet and listened only to the inflection of Reeves’s voice. He spoke with conviction and intelligence. Somehow her right shoulder had become sheltered beneath his left one, where it felt warmly secure. When he brought his arm back after making a gesture with his left hand, it skated across her breast.
Holding her breath, she slid her eyes toward him and met a gaze as alarmed and electrified as her own. Gratefully she felt the car slow down as they reached their destination.
Stadtkeller was a popular restaurant-nightclub in the city of Lucerne. An evening there was included in virtually every organized tour. The rustic tavern was loud, raucous, friendly. The specialty of the house was fondue, and while patrons gorged on the hard bread dipped in chafing dishes of melted cheese, they were entertained by performers in native costume.
The men wore lederhosen of gray suede trimmed with dark green leather with white, full-sleeved shirts. Knee-high socks with red tassels covered their legs, made muscular by mountain climbing. The women wore blouses embroidered in bright colors, black velvet basques laced tightly over their bosoms,
and full skirts.
They sang, yodeled, danced folk dances, played the massive and unique alpenhorns—all to the enthusiastic endorsement of the crowd. Reeves snapped the shutter of his camera with a speed that awed Jordan. He changed lenses, filters, and film with machinelike accuracy. His film captured a toddling little girl with rosy cheeks and blond curly hair. She alternately stuffed bread or chocolate into her cherub mouth while clapping her hands excitedly in rhythm with the wheezing oomp-pa music.
“Who knows,” Reeves said when he returned to the table and Helmut teased about his interest in the child, “I may sell an Alpine piece to National Geographic. Or she’s pretty enough to go on a poster. I’ll see how the pictures turn out. Anyway, I love kids. They’re great photographic subjects in any culture.”
He rubbed his hands together eagerly after he closed up his camera for the night and dug into the stringy, chewy cheese and hard bread with a healthy appetite.
Helmut poured white wine into their chafing dish and mixed it with the cheese. Soon all three of them were feeling mellow and laughing at the adventurous stories Reeves regaled them with.
“Would you like coffee before we take Jordan home?” Helmut asked when they left the noisy nightclub.
“Sounds great.”
Helmut signaled his chauffeur to follow them with the car and they walked a few blocks to a restaurant across the street from the lake shore. They sacrificed sitting outside because of the cold and went inside to the quiet, elegant ambiance of the restaurant, where Helmut and Jordan were formally greeted by the maître d’.
“I know Jordan wants hot chocolate. Reeves?” Helmut asked.
“Coffee,” he said.
When their waiter brought back their order, Jordan sipped at the steamy mug topped with foamy whipped cream. Never had she enjoyed dairy products so much until she came to Switzerland. They were unsurpassed anyplace in the world.
She ran the tip of her tongue along her foam-flecked lips, but when she sat back Reeves saw a drop of the whipped cream in the corner of her mouth. Without even thinking on it, he reached toward it and flicked it away, then licked the cream off his finger. They smiled, caught up in a private, intimate moment that hadn’t been planned, but had happened on its own and for no other reason, than that they had looked at each other.
