“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 your 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.”