Not Even for Love

by Sandra Brown

  Her parents. The bookshop. Hot chocolate. Anything.

  Reeves. Reeves. Reeves.

  Just as she was falling asleep, she was marveling at how warm she had felt in the security of his arms despite the misty-gray cold on the top of the mountain.

  “Hello,” she muttered groggily into the receiver of the telephone. It had rung several times before she realized it wasn’t part of her dream. She fumbled for it in the darkness, knocking a book and her alarm clock to the floor before locating it.

  “Jordan? Were you asleep?”

  “Bill?” She yawned around the name of her supervisor in London. “I…yes… what time is it?”

  “I’m sorry, babe, but I wanted to call and extend my congratulations. Say, baby, this is great news. Someday I want you to tell Uncle Bill how you swung it.”

  She was wrong. This was a dream. She had no idea why her boss would be calling this early in the morning and talking to her so nonsensically. “What are you talking about?” she asked, half into the phone and half into her pillow.

  “Come on, Jordan, doll, this is your Bill. I read about your engagement in the Times. What a coup. Helmut Eckherdt! When’s the big day? Am I invited to the nuptials? I promise to be on my best behavior. I won’t get drunk. I won’t belch out loud. I won’t use crude to abusive language. I won’t scratch anything below my waist. I won’t—”

  “Bill,” she interrupted, instantly alert. “Did you say you read about my engagement to Helmut in the Times? When?”

  “Last night.”

  Jordan was stunned speechless. “Are you sure? I mean, how can that be?”

  “I don’t know, baby, but here it is on the third page in black and white. I’m looking at it now and I’m stone sober. There’s a two-column article about your romance, complete with a thorough biography of both of you. The writer played up the Cinderella aspect of the story—you know, the beautiful shop girl and the handsome prince angle.”

  Her mouth was dry and her hands were shaking. “Wh… whose by-line is on the piece?”

  “James Parker. He’s a UPI reporter.”

  “UPI!” she cried incredulously. The story could feasibly go all over the world, and with Helmut’s notoriety, it probably would. “You say the article thoroughly discusses me?”

  “In detail, baby. Your childhood, family—you know, the whole schmear.”

  When Bill had first told her of the article, an inkling of suspicion had flickered in her mind. Now it became full-blown conviction. Who else knew about her background? To whom had she recently revealed the details of her life? Who had prodded her with personal questions, which she had answered unreservedly. Who did she know who was even remotely involved in journalism?

  Reeves Grant.

  “I have to go, Bill,” she said quickly, and bounded out of bed.

  “Just a minute, baby. I wanted to tell you not to worry about the newsstand. Your replacement will be arriving in the next few weeks.”

  “My replacement!” she shrieked, and sank back onto the bed. “My replacement?”

  “Well, sure, doll. Somehow I can’t see the wife of a billionaire working in a bookstore, can you? You’ll be jetting all over the world and—”

  “Bill, you don’t understand,” she said, trying to get a grip on the sanity she felt seeping from her mind. “I’m not marrying Helmut Eckherdt. I’m not marrying anybody.”

  “But it says right here—”

  “I don’t give a damn what it says!” she exclaimed angrily. “I’m not marrying him. The story is a mistake. I have been seeing him, but that’s all.”

  “What about a gargantuan diamond engagement ring you’re reported to be wearing?”

  She sighed and rubbed her forehead with her palm. “I am wearing one, but—”

  “Well, then?”

  “I…It… Oh, hell, Bill, it’s too hard to explain. Just believe me. I’m not getting married, so you can keep my ‘replacement’ in London. Now I’ve got to go—”

  “Wait a minute, Jordan.” He halted her again. She heard him sigh deeply, ominously, before he said quietly, “Baby, it’s not going to be that simple. You see, old man Bauerman has been after me for months to find a job on the Continent for his daughter. She’s bored with tea parties and fox hunting and suddenly wants to go to work. Nothing too taxing, you understand—just something to keep her occupied for a while. When I read this article about you last night, I thought your job would be perfect for her. So I called the old man—”

  “And gave his daughter my job,” she finished for him.

  “Well, sort of, yeah.”

  “Sort of?”

  “Well, yeah. She’s been promised your job.”

  A heavy silence hung between them. Jordan was stupefied. What Bill had just told her couldn’t be true, yet it was. She had lost her job to Mr. Bauerman’s daughter. Mr. Bauer-man owned a publishing house as well as the chain of English newsstands she worked for. Things like this happened all the time in the business world. But not to Jordan Had-lock. And it hurt. And it was all Reeves Grant’s fault.

  “Say, doll, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Never mind, Bill. I’ve got to go now. Call me back later.”

  Without waiting for his response, she hung up. For long moments she sat on the edge of her bed, her hand still on the receiver of the telephone, willing that everything she had heard over it wasn’t true. But it was. An announcement of a wedding that would never take place was going to be plastered on newspapers all over the world. She had been fired from her job.

  As she mentally tallied the consequences of Reeves’s deceit, a belated fury replaced her bemusement. She balled her fists tightly until her nails made deep half moons in the palms of her hands. “Bastard,” she hissed.

  She flew off the bed, flinging off her nightgown and rifling through a drawer for a pair of panties. She stepped into them hurriedly and slid on a pair of jeans. She jerked a ski sweater off a hanger in the closet and pulled it on over her head. Her feet were crammed, without the benefit of socks or stockings, into a pair of loafers.

  In the bathroom she performed a cursory ablution of face and hands, brushed her teeth, applied a minimum amount of makeup, and haphazardly raked a brush through her thick hair.

  Running through her bedroom, she grabbed a jacket and her purse and then dashed down the stairs. She locked the door of the bookstore behind her before quickly turning down the alley into the early-dawn gloom.

  Taxis weren’t out this early in the morning so she was forced to reach her destination on foot. She didn’t mind. Angry determination was a fuel that propelled her more strongly with each footstep. Her breath frosted on the air, but she was untouched by the cold as she marched through the streets of Lucerne.

  The row of hotels across the street from the lake was quiet and still. The wide verandas that fronted most of them were empty of loungers who could be found there later in the day, sipping drinks and taking in the scenery.

  The lobby of the Europa was vacant except for two maids who were polishing mirrors and dusting furniture. The concierge was sorting through registry cards when she strode toward the desk and planted her hands flat on the smooth marble surface of the countertop.

  “What room is Mr. Reeves Grant in?” she demanded.

  The concierge raised his eyebrows in query and studied her disheveled appearance. “I beg your pardon?” he asked in accented English.

  His wariness cautioned Jordan and she made herself smile beguilingly. “I know I must look a fright, but I’ve been driving all night to surprise him. He’s my… friend,” she added with deliberate insinuation. “You understand, don’t you?” Her eyelashes batted down over the fiery gray eyes and the man was helpless.

  “Y …Yes, of course. He…uh…let’s see now. Room four twenty-nine. Shall I ring him?”

  “No!” she said quickly. Then she ducked her head shyly and swallowed her disgust. “I want to surprise him.”

  The concierge grinned lustily. He was a true romantic
. “The elevators are to your right,” he whispered, as though they were conspirators.

  “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder, for she was already crossing the lobby with hurried footsteps. After what must be the slowest elevator in the world finally ground to a halt, she stepped into it and pressed the button for the fourth floor. As it ascended, she rehearsed the aspersions she was going to heap on him.

  When the doors slid open, she barged out and stormed down the hallway, realized she was going the wrong way, spun around, and struck off in the opposite direction until she stood outside his room.

  Her knock was none too gentle. It echoed down the long narrow corridor. She’d be lucky if no one else peeked out their door to see who was behaving with such noisy rudeness so early in the morning.

  The occupant of Room 429 hadn’t stirred, so she knocked again with more emphasis. There was a rustling of covers and suddenly Jordan realized that he might not be alone. Her heart lurched sickly at that thought, but she stubbornly raised her chin. She had come to tell him just what she thought of him, and she didn’t care if she had an audience.

  Resolution made her next knock on the heavy wooden door thunderous. This time she heard a mumbled curse and the squeaking of a mattress. Soft footsteps brought him to the other side of the door.

  “Yes?” It was more a belligerent growl than a word.

  “Open the door,” was all she said.

  There was a momentary hesitation, then she heard the lock being flipped up and the door swung open. He was standing behind it, out of sight.

  She pushed past the door, her eyes going immediately to the bed. They found it empty, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Her back was rigid as she stamped further into the room.

  “Come in,” he said dryly from behind her.

  She swiveled around and confronted him, armed with righteous indignation and intent on dressing him down until he begged for forgiveness.

  But Reeves didn’t fight fair. He was naked.

  Tousled strands of mahogany-colored hair hung on his forehead. His hands were planted firmly on his hips in an arrogant pose. To a woman who was fighting for her life as well as combating a strong attraction to the man, he was a formidable foe.

  She hadn’t considered that she might find him this way. She knew he would probably be asleep, but she hadn’t thought beyond that. Now her motivation drained from her under the destructive force of his arresting masculinity. The hair on his chest grew in a mesmerizing pattern that she traced with her eyes. It tapered to a thin silky line that disappeared into…

  His legs were long and lean and hard. He exuded virile power. What a frail exercise her attack would be. How could she possibly win? To him she must appear foolish, charging in as she had done.

  Even as she glared at him, he yawned broadly and politely covered it with his hand. That insouciance angered her as nothing else had and her rage came back in full force. But before she had a chance to vent it, he said, “Don’t you think you’re being rather forward? Didn’t your mother ever tell you that men like to be the aggressors?”

  “Damn you!” she threw at him. “How could you do such a despicable thing? Never in my life have I known anyone with less sensitivity.”

  He stared at her a moment with something akin to amusement lighting his green eyes. He walked past her, picked up his wristwatch from the bedside table, checked the time, and then sat down on the edge of the bed. “What could I have possibly done this early in the day to make you so angry?”

  “Oh, please, spare me the innocent act. You know what you’ve done. Your deceit is surpassed only by your grasping ambition. I spilled my whole life story to you—” As she launched into her tirade, he leaned back against the pillows and raised one knee, resting a dangling hand on it. She averted her eyes quickly and asked unsteadily, “Would you please put some… clothes on?”

  “No.”

  She whirled her head back to him. “You’re wretched.”

  “I?” he asked. “I? You’re the one who came barging into my bedroom at this ungodly hour. You routed me out of bed. I don’t sleep in my clothes. This is the way you found me, and I don’t feel inclined to dress at the moment.”

  “You’re indecent.”

  His eyes toured her figure and a lewd grin spread across his face. “So is what I’m thinking.”

  She gritted her teeth, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of honoring his provocative words. Willing her eyes away from his nakedness, she restructured her thoughts and asked, “Do you know a man named James Parker?”

  He seemed surprised by her question, but he answered promptly. “Yes. He’s a reporter for UPI out of the London bureau.”

  “And you called him yesterday and told him all about Helmut and me. The fruits of your labor are smeared on the third page of last evening’s Times. If my shop were open on Sundays, I’d sell you a copy,” she said scathingly.

  He shook his head and wearily ran a hand through his hair. “Jordan, I don’t—”

  “You deliberately urged me to talk about myself yesterday, prying into my private life and its history. You put on a good act, Mr. Grant. I never suspected that you were only doing your research.”

  “Jordan—”

  “I would have much preferred that you tell me what you were doing. I might have even been cooperative. You needn’t have wooed me with kisses. Or is that the way you do your best work? Mixing business with pleasure?” To her chagrin, tears formed deep pools in her eyes and blurred her vision. Furiously she wiped them away.

  He held up his hand to halt her next words. “Let me get this straight,” he said calmly. “Jim wrote a story for the Times about you and Helmut and your engagement, and you think that I leaked it to him?”

  “You did!”

  “No I didn’t, Jordan.”

  “You had to have,” she shouted. “Don’t compound my loathing for you with more lies. I’m sick to death of your duplicity.”

  He sprang off the bed and had her arms imprisoned by iron hands before she could blink. “Don’t lecture me about duplicity,” he said through his teeth. “You know what duplicity is? Duplicity is a woman who snuggles and cuddles one man while being engaged to another. And all the while she claims to the poor sucker she’s cuddling that said engagement isn’t real. Don’t accuse me of playacting, Jordan. You could give Sarah Bernhardt lessons.”

  She tried to extricate herself from his tenacious hold, but her efforts didn’t even serve to loosen it. “I’m not engaged to Helmut. You know that.”

  “Do I? You say you aren’t committed to him, yet every time he crooks his finger you go running after him. That sounds pretty permanent to me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt him,” she cried. “I want to be fair. But you wouldn’t know about fair play, would you? You play to win. You play for blood, and you don’t care who bleeds. All you want is a good time and a good photograph and a good story.”

  He lifted her off the floor, twirled her around, and tossed her onto the bed. He followed with his own body stretched down the length of hers. His hands pinned her arms to either side of her head.

  “I didn’t leak that damned story,” he said with emphasis on each word as his hands dug more deeply into the flesh of her wrists. “I didn’t.” He gave her a little shake.

  Her eyes were wide with fear and disbelief, but he met them levelly. She wet her dry lips with her tongue before asking, “Then who—”

  “It could have been anyone. There were fifty or sixty people there the other night when you so naively asked them not to tell anyone about your engagement. That set thrives on gossip, Jordan. They could have tipped off any dozen hungry reporters.” His hands holding her wrists were inescapable, but the truth that radiated from his eyes held her in a tighter bondage. She squeezed her own eyes shut.

  “But Bill said that the writer knew so much about me,” she argued. “Yesterday—”

  “Doesn’t Helmut know all of that, too? Haven’t you told him bits and pieces of your h
istory? He could have passed them along. And so on and so on, until a gifted reporter could have built a comprehensive story around them.”

  Jordan thought back over the last few months. She supposed what Reeves said had credence. Was he telling her the truth?

  As though reading her thoughts, he said, “I’ll admit to being as mad as hell yesterday when we got off that boat. And I know that the evidence against me is incriminating. If I had done it, I’d take the credit—or blame, as it were. But I didn’t do it, Jordan. I swear it.”

  She opened her eyes then and was awed at how green his were this close up. The freckles that seemed to appear and disappear at will were so close she could count them. “Did you sleep with that girl last night?” The question caught them both off guard. Jordan hadn’t intended to ask it. It had just slipped out.

  For a moment Reeves looked puzzled, then he shook his head and laughed softly. “That dimwit?” he asked scornfully. “I haven’t lived a celibate life for thirty-five years, but give me some credit, Jordan,” he chuckled. “I picked her up here in the bar and hustled her over to the Palace. Helmut had mentioned after our meeting in his offices that that’s where the dinner party was going to be. As soon as you left, I dumped her. I’ve never heard such foul language come out of a woman’s mouth.”

  “Why would you go to so much trouble?” At some point her hands had been released and were now examining that intriguing growth pattern of hair on his chest.

  He shifted his body over hers and ducked his head. “Why do you think?” he asked against her ear. His lips stayed to tease the sensitive lobe.

  “Because you wanted to make someone jealous?” she asked timidly.

  “You got it.”

  “Oh, Reeves,” she sighed. “I came here ready to scratch your eyes out and now …” Her voice trailed away under the maneuvering of his mouth on her neck. “You’re too quick for me. I can never keep up with you. You make me angry, then leave me bewildered. You’re like no other man I’ve ever met. What am I going to do with you?”