Not Even for Love(31)

Somehow, though, she didn’t have the energy for such an encounter tonight. He wouldn’t take her refusal lying down. There would be arguments to meet, and she didn’t think she could manage them. When she felt stronger, when Reeves was banished from her mind, then she would talk to Helmut. Until then…

At her door she listlessly endured his good-night embraces. He was a handsome, virile man. His love affairs were legion. Why didn’t his mouth excite her? His hands didn’t touch her with the same gentle strength that bespoke passion and tenderness at the same time. When he held her, her body didn’t seem to fit against his like the second half of a whole.

After he had left her and was dispiritedly climbing the dark stairs, she chided herself for not feeling more affection for Helmut. He had never shown her anything but kindness. Now he had rescued her from further involvement with an unscrupulous man like Reeves Grant. She should be grateful to Helmut for that. Shouldn’t she?

As she got into bed, she tried forcibly to concentrate on Helmut and his generosity. Her brain refused. All she could think of was Reeves with that Diane person and how the silly creature had clung to him. Was he touching her, kissing her? Were his lips whispering those same words he had breathed into her ear as they made love? No! She couldn’t bear it. She’d go crazy if she thought of him loving that woman. She’d think of something else.

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—”