Not Even for Love(12)

Reeves watched as Jordan frantically caught at Helmut’s sleeve. The blood thundered through his veins. He was barely able to restrain himself from grabbing Jordan and shaking her until she begged him to stop. When she was thoroughly contrite and pleading for merciful forgiveness, he wanted to kiss her until she knew without a doubt that she belonged to him. But she didn’t. She was leaning against Helmut with feminine helplessness. Never in his life had Reeves known such jealousy or anger.

He saw Helmut duck his head and place his ear near her mouth. Her lips barely moved against Helmut’s flesh, but Reeves remembered just how that felt. She whispered something to Helmut and then Reeves read the man’s lips as he answered, “Of course, my darling.”

Reeves had put his hand in his pocket to find another lens, but his hand had closed around one of the filters his camera often required. When he saw Helmut press his mouth against Jordan’s slightly parted lips, his fingers clenched reflexively. He was impervious to the breaking glass that sliced through three of his fingers.

It wasn’t until he withdrew his hand and saw the blood dripping from it that he hastened to grab a napkin off the buffet table to staunch the flow. Helmut was making another announcement, obviously at the request of his fiancée.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Jordan has asked, since you are all friends and there are no members of the press here tonight, that you refrain from notifying them of our upcoming marriage. Understandably, she doesn’t want it to be publicized until she can contact her parents in the United States.”

Reeves let the crowd stream around him as they exclaimed over the fairy-tale couple. He watched Jordan as she graciously received well-wishes. When a large, buxom, overjeweled matron drew her into a suffocating embrace, he met her eyes over the woman’s massive shoulders.

Damn her! Those blue-ringed gray eyes looked at him pleadingly. They were wide and apprehensive, compelling, and totally arresting. How dare she make a prize fool out of him and then look at him like that! He didn’t allow his frigid stare to warm. But his indifference was all for show. Even now he didn’t know which he would rather do, slap her hard across her lying mouth or fling her to the floor and make love to her with the wild hunger that made the pressure in his loins almost unbearable.

Jordan sank weakly onto a satin Louis XIV chair. She stared absently at the priceless marble floor under her silver sandal. One of the thin straps had cut a deep red groove into her little toe. She longed to ease off the shoe and walk around in her bare feet as she had done last night. Last night.

She directed her gaze across the floor to where maids and waiters were gathering up the refuse of the party. One was mopping up spilled champagne, while another was emptying ashes from crystal ashtrays into a copper butler’s helper. Subordinates were loading trays with empty plates and napkins.

Reeves and Helmut were standing near the buffet table chatting congenially. Reeves tossed a handful of peanuts into his mouth and then threw back his head and laughed uproariously at something Helmut had said.

How had she, Jordan Hadlock, managed to get herself into such an untenable predicament? If only she had asked Reeves what project had brought him to Lucerne. Wasn’t that a logical question? If only he had mentioned that he was working on a feature story about a Swiss entrepreneur. Why hadn’t the subject of his work come up? If only … If only …

What would have happened last night had Reeves known she was more or less “involved” with Helmut Eckherdt? Would that have mattered to him?

Helmut was at least a decade older than Reeves, was much wealthier, and commanded attention in an intimidating fashion. Yet, as Jordan observed the two men now, she saw that Reeves met Helmut as an equal. He wasn’t cowed by Helmut’s wealth or the power the industrialist wielded.

Both men were handsome. Helmut had the classic blond coloring that could have graced an Alpine travel poster. His body was hard and strong, due to the hours he spent in his exercise room and with his personal masseur.

Reeves’s body appeared to be naturally vital, requiring no maintenance. Each movement was graceful, casual, but indicative of subliminal power. He was blatantly American. His rugged good looks typified the pioneers of his heritage.

Jordan admired each of his gestures, thrilled to the rumbling sound of his laugh, the soft drawl of his voice. With a tenderness born of recollection, she watched his hands place the camera into its protective case, snap it shut, and then reach out to shake Helmut’s hand. The fingers of one hand, she noticed, were wrapped in a napkin. Were there blood stains on it?

Last night those capable hands had caressed her until she writhed under their transporting touch. They had been sensitive to her responses, unhurried in caresses that brought her the most pleasure. His lips had followed suit, roving her body avariciously. His greed had been gratified.