Not Even for Love

by Sandra Brown

  Helmut, who had been lighting a cigarette, didn’t see the reason for the silence he interrupted by saying, “Jordan has one vice, I’ve found. She has a penchant for our Swiss chocolate. I fear that in her old age she’ll grow quite fat.”

  “I will not!” Jordan exclaimed heatedly, and they laughed at her vehemence. Embarrassed, she went back to her cup of chocolate and drained it while they lingered over their coffee.

  “Why don’t you take Reeves across the bridge,” Helmut suggested.

  “What?” she asked too quickly, startled.

  “By now you know the history of it as well as I,” Helmut said. “I’ll sit here and drink another cup of coffee and smoke another cigarette while you take Reeves across the bridge and back. You haven’t yet seen it, have you, Reeves?”

  Reeves wasn’t looking at Helmut. He was staring at Jordan. Finally he answered, “No, I haven’t seen it except at a distance. I’d love to know everything about it.”

  Jordan shot him a quelling look. “We can wait until you’re finished, then we’ll all go,” she said to Helmut.

  “Darling, you know that I despise sight-seeing in general. Be hospitable to our guest for me.”

  “Very well,” she said, standing up abruptly. Better to get it over with. “Let’s go,” she said as ungraciously as she could without raising Helmut’s suspicions.

  She reached for her coat, but Reeves was too quick and grabbed it out of the vacant chair. He held it for her as she slipped into the sleeves. “We’ll be back shortly, Helmut,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “Take your time.” He reached up and patted her hand. “I may have two cigarettes.”

  As Reeves held the door of the restaurant open for her, she hurried past him, cramming her hands deep into her coat pockets and hunching her shoulders against the chill. She stepped out into the street, daringly crossed it in front of a honking tourist bus, and reached the other side almost at a run.

  Reeves pulled up beside her and clasped her elbow. “Is this to be the whirlwind tour?”

  “Don’t you dare try to be cute with me after the things you said last night.”

  “You’re not being hospitable,” he chided in a singsong voice.

  She ground her teeth. “You wanted to see the bridge, so okay, I’ll show you the damn bridge,” she said unreasonably. “Why didn’t you just decline Helmut’s offer and sit there and smoke a cigarette with him?”

  “I’ve quit smoking again.” He grinned. “Besides, I really want to see the bridge.”

  By now they had reached one of the two covered bridges that spanned the Reuss River. The river divided the city into the modern town on the west and the old town on the east. The clear water gurgled and rushed under their feet as they stepped onto the ancient wooden bridge.

  In a bored, flat, tourist-guide voice, Jordan said, “The bridge dates back to the Middle Ages. As you will see overhead there are myriad panels. Each panel has two paintings, one on each side, that depict an event of regional history. The paintings date back to the early sixteen hundreds.”

  “Very interesting,” he said dryly.

  “The Lake of Lucerne covers over forty square miles. Four Swiss cantons, or states, border it. It—”

  “Jordan,” he said harshly, and jerked her around to face him. “Why aren’t you living with Helmut?”

  “None of your business,” she shouted. When her voice reverberated loudly from the ceiling of the covered bridge, she lowered it. “None of your business.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “No it isn’t.”

  “Yes it is, dammit.”

  His hands were digging into the flesh of her upper arms and, in spite of her heavy clothing, his grip was painful. When she flinched, he realized how hard he was holding her and let her go immediately. She continued walking as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “Why?” he persisted.

  She spun around to face him, glad that there was no one else on the bridge at the moment. “Because I don’t want to. I don’t believe in living with someone without being married to him.” That expressive eyebrow rose in disbelief. Frustrated, she said, “The other night was an…an accident. I didn’t plan it, nor did you. It just… happened.” She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t move away either. He seemed to hold her like a magnet. She could feel his eyes boring into the top of her head as she stared at the toes of his boots. “I told you then that I don’t … don’t sleep around. If you didn’t believe me then, you won’t now either. I don’t care if you do or not.” But she did.

  “Do you love him?”

  “Helmut?”

  “Are there others?”

  She sighed in exasperation. “No. There are no others.” He completely disoriented her. She couldn’t think clearly, especially with him standing so close. Trembling fingers rubbed her forehead, which had begun to pound with the tension from within.

  “I don’t love Helmut. At least, not in that way. He’s fun, he’s charming, polite, and, yes, rich. I can’t deny that I was flattered when he began seeing me. I was. Any woman would be. But don’t you see, Reeves?” Now she looked up at him imploringly. “I’m a novelty. He has everything in the world he could possibly want. He plays. He goes on lavish vacations. He buys impulsively and compulsively. Right now I’m like a new toy. I’m not rich, not a jet-setter, not a socialite. When he tires of me, that will be it.”

  “If that’s true, why did you consent to marry him?”

  “I haven’t ever exactly consented—I just haven’t adamantly refused. Since I realize I’m a temporary fascination, I haven’t pressed the point. My constant arguing to the contrary would only increase his determination to have me. Understand? Helmut, despite his Old World charm, is over-bearing when he wants something. He only hears what he wants to. He hasn’t given me a chance to tell him how I feel.”

  “And how do you feel? I mean, if the novelty should wear off tomorrow, how would you feel if he did as you predict and dropped you?”

  “I told you, I’ve never intended to marry him. I never intend to marry anyone.”

  “Why? Because of Charles?”

  “Yes, partially.”

  “Partially? Do you have something against the institution of marriage?”

  His pious tone stung. “No. Do you?” she snapped. “You’re not married either.” Then a thunderbolt struck her. She looked up at him with remorseful eyes. “Are you?” she asked timorously.

  “No. I was once. A long time ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “Would I get clouted if I said, ‘None of your business’?”

  She laughed. “Probably.”

  He chuckled, then said seriously, “She didn’t understand why I wanted to go to Vietnam ‘to take pictures,’ as she put it. She filed for divorce soon after I left. We had been married less than a year.”

  “Oh.” Jordan turned away from him and walked to the railing of the bridge, listening to the water that churned under it.

  “Jordan.” When he spoke he was standing close behind her. He was as close as he could get without touching her. “Jordan,” he repeated.

  “Yes?”

  “Look at me.”

  No! She knew that if she did she would want to be held tight against him. Just as she had feared touching his hand that first night for no reason other than a friendly handshake, she feared looking at him now. It had been wrong for them then and it still was. He had his work, his ambition, which literally went worldwide. She had her tiny space on the planet and guarded it jealously, afraid of letting anyone disturb the equanimity she had so carefully constructed.

  His hands were on her shoulders and he was turning her toward him. With a now familiar gesture, he lifted her chin with his finger. “I like what you’re wearing.”

  That was the last thing she had expected him to say. “Thank you,” was all she could think of to respond.

  “You look great in clothes,” he said. “This, however, is a trifle bulky. I can’t see yo
ur figure.” His hands unbuttoned her coat and slipped inside. “I liked you much better in the slacks and sweater you were wearing the other night. They showed everything to full advantage.”

  He ducked his head and nuzzled his face in the hollow of her neck, which had, without instruction, arched up to meet him.

  “Reeves,” she breathed, “don’t.”

  Her protest was so feeble that he didn’t even honor it. “I remember what you look like in that pale pink sweater and I remember what you look like without it.” His voice was becoming unsteady as his lips skimmed her face, brushed across her mouth. His hands were under the shawl now, seeking the curves of her breasts. When he found them his moan of gratification matched hers.

  Into her hair he murmured, “I like the way you dress, the way you move. I like to watch you eat and drink. Especially hot chocolate. I like the sound of your voice. I love the way you feel. I love the way you touch me. I love the way you smell, the way your skin tastes—”

  “Reeves, we shouldn’t. This isn’t right,” she said against his insistent mouth.

  “Let me hold you. Let me kiss you. And then tell me it isn’t right. Jordan,” he rasped as his hands closed over the soft mounds beneath her sweater, “I dare you to tell me this isn’t right.”

  When his mouth melded with hers, it was impossible to think of a reasonable protest, much less to utter one. His lips burned through hers, and she was doomed to die under their fire. He countenanced no resistance, no reluctance. He sipped at her lips until they became malleable to his will and then he parted them with a gentle thrust of his tongue.

  He savored her mouth, one moment ravaging it, the next soothing it with lips and tongue. One arm curved around her back and drew her inexorably against him, while the other hand continued to smooth over her sweater-clad chest.

  “Why did you wear that damn bra?” he growled against her ear, and worried the lobe with his teeth.

  “I—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “I can still feel you through it.” And his inquisitive fingers proved his point.

  “Reeves?” She was barely capable of speaking, so fine was the passionate web he had spun around her.

  “Yes?”

  “Reeves?” she breathed.

  The echo of thudding footsteps came to them out of the darkness. An instant later they were aware of Helmut’s voice calling out, “Jordan, Reeves?”

  They looked at each other and froze. Reeves was calm, cool, unaffected. He waited for her reaction. Jordan was alarmed. She didn’t feel any grand love for Helmut, but she didn’t want to hurt or humiliate him either. His personality couldn’t take such a blow. She jumped away from Reeves, straightening her clothing, and took a few hastening steps toward the direction of the voice. “We’re here, Helmut.”

  “You were gone so long, I thought you might have lost your way,” he said humorously as he drew closer and soon stepped into a circle of light nearby.

  “No, we…I was just telling Reeves one of the legends you told me about William Tell,” she said, lying badly.

  Helmut, secure and confident of himself, didn’t notice the prevarication. “You must be cold, my dear. You’re shivering. Button up your coat. Perhaps we should see you home. Did you enjoy the tour, Reeves?”

  There was an unendurable pause before he answered, and Jordan held her breath. She looked at him with pleading eyes and was startled to see the brittle emerald glare that pierced the darkness. “Yes,” he replied to Helmut’s question. “I found it most informative and entertaining. I can’t vouch for the veracity of everything Jordan told me. Some of the tales are just too outlandish.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. He didn’t believe her! Why?

  Helmut chuckled. “I’ll admit that some of the fables about our local heroes are a bit farfetched.”

  “Farfetched indeed,” Reeves said.

  He left them at the end of the bridge, saying he preferred to walk the rest of the way to his hotel.

  “Do you think you’ll have any problems?” Jordan asked the young man anxiously.

  He smiled at her with cool confidence. “I think I can manage the shop in your absence, Mrs. Hadlock.”

  He was an employee of Helmut’s who worked in one of the offices as an accountant. Last night, when Helmut had brought her home, he had informed her that she was to meet him and Reeves for breakfast the next day.

  “We have quite an expedition planned. We’re going up on Pilatus—”

  “Helmut,” she interrupted. “I have a business to run. You and Reeves will have to get along without me tomorrow.”

  She was angry and upset with what had just happened on the bridge. Now she was being told she would have to suffer another day with the man who continued to ridicule and insult her. One moment she was pouring out her innermost feelings to him and he listened with seemingly sincere empathy. The next moment he was kissing her as though he’d die if he didn’t. Then, when she was quivering with a desire he had kindled, he abruptly spurned her, all but calling her a liar—and worse.

  She’d had enough. She didn’t want to see him again, much less spend a day with him. “I won’t be able to go tomorrow,” she said firmly.

  “Of course you will, darling,” Helmut countered with customary high-handedness. “I’m sending someone over to take care of your little shop for you. You needn’t worry about it. You’ll be able to play all day.”

  His manipulation of her life was suddenly becoming intolerable. If he managed his fiancée like this, how would he treat a wife? His condescending remark about her “little shop” was insulting. She did a tremendous business. Her company held her shop up as the prototype for all the others. She was proud of the services she provided to English-speaking tourists. Why should he belittle it?

  “I don’t want to be gone tomorrow, Helmut. I’m needed here,” she said stubbornly. “You may think that, compared to your conglomerate, this bookstore is nothing, but it’s very important to me.”

  “Jordan, Jordan,” he said softly. “I’ve offended you and I’m sorry.” His tone of voice carried all the condescension of one speaking to a recalcitrant child. “Don’t be obtuse. Please, darling. If you don’t come with us, Reeves will think you don’t like him, or that you’re camera shy. When you become my wife, Jordan, you’ll be photographed constantly.”

  Right then she should have told him that she had no intention of becoming his wife and calmly returned his ring. Instead her mind had locked in on what he had said about Reeves thinking she might not like him. Or that she was camera shy. He wouldn’t think that, but he might construe that she was a coward. If she didn’t go with them on these photographic sessions, he might think she was hiding from him out of shame or cowardice. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  “All right, Helmut,” she said absently as he kissed her neck in what he considered to be a stirring caress. “I’ll meet you tomorrow. Where and when?”

  They had set the time and place and now she was giving the prompt accountant last-minute instructions. Ruefully, she thought that when she returned she would probably find that the sales for that day were higher than ever before and that the shop was in better shape than when she had left it.

  She wended her way through the alleys carrying her fur ski parka. It was a bright, clear morning, but she knew that at the top of Mount Pilatus it would be much colder and she had come prepared. Her black corduroy jeans hugged her hips and legs tightly. The red sweater with the high, rolled collar was soft and clung to the gentle swell of her breasts. She had tucked a cap into the pocket of her parka in case she needed it on the mountaintop.

  Helmut and Reeves were waiting for her at the appointed restaurant and they ate a hearty American breakfast. Jordan drank one cup of coffee and then indulged in a pot of chocolate lavishly topped with whipped cream.

  The men were dressed as casually as she, though Helmut’s idea of “casual” was dress slacks, a sport coat, a cashmere sweater, and a sealskin overcoat.
Reeves looked like he was about to ride the ranges of a cattle ranch, wearing everything a well-dressed cowboy needed except the hat. After he had finished eating and while they were waiting for Helmut’s cigarette to burn down, he checked his equipment.

  He had greeted Jordan cordially when she arrived, following Helmut’s lead of kissing her on the cheek. This was Europe. Everyone kissed everyone else on the cheek. Helmut thought nothing of it. Indeed, he was glad that the American photojournalist obviously found his fiancée attractive.

  But Jordan hadn’t taken the salutation lightly. Her heart stumbled around in her throat and she had to hold herself rigid to keep from swaying against Reeves as he pulled away.

  Reeves, too, had exhibited extreme control. He had longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her fully on that appealing mouth. That fleeting taste of her had only acted as an appetizer and he was starved for more.

  The trio created a slight commotion when they boarded the cable car at the base of Mount Pilatus. Helmut’s chauffeur ushered them through the crowd. Tourists and natives alike were intrigued by Reeves and his cameras and watched in fascination as the three situated themselves in one of the small cars. Reeves placed his equipment on one of the four chairs while Helmut and Jordan sat facing him.

  “How long will we be in this car?” he asked, checking his light meter as he held it in front of their faces.

  “About twenty minutes,” Helmut told him. “Then we get out at a station halfway up the mountain and take another, larger car, one that holds about forty people, the rest of the way to the summit. All in all, it takes about forty-five minutes.”

  Reeves looked a little green around the gills as their car lurched forward. They were being hauled away from the ground and up the side of the mountain that stood sentinel over the city and the Lake of Lucerne.