Not Even for Love (9 page)

She looked at Helmut, who was blessing the two women with one of his dazzling smiles. “No. He’s too self-confident to think that I’d be interested in anyone else.”

“He’s a fool.” He spoke with such intensity that she looked up into the green eyes that flashed with some emotion she couldn’t name. “No man should ever take a beautiful woman for granted.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth. The lips were slightly parted. Her delicate pink tongue lay just beyond the row of small teeth and he could recall vividly how it felt against his own. He had kissed many women all over the world. But as soon as the kisses stopped, he forgot them.

Not with Jordan. He knew exactly how she would taste if he kissed her now. Once her initial caution had been overcome, he had been surprised at the unbridled way she responded to him. It wasn’t feigned. It was as though Jordan’s passion had lain dormant in her for a long while. Suddenly it had roiled to the surface, and he had been the lucky instigator of that freedom.

Or was that part of a game she played? His eyes swept back up to hers, but he read no deceit there. He was certain that if he pulled her into his arms now she wouldn’t resist. But what would it mean to her? Was she playing games? Did she know the power she had over his mind and body?

He hadn’t realized he had voiced the words until he heard himself say, “And you are a beautiful woman, Jordan.”

A tiny tremor shook her mouth. “Do you think so?”

“Yes. And you’re courageous. This is the second time you’ve saved my life. Once during a thunderstorm and now on this treacherous mountain.” His tone was bantering now and she answered in kind.

“This heated, comfortable, highly technical cable car is hardly treacherous,” she countered.

“But the thunderstorm was fearsome.”

“Yes,” she conceded. “But you know what they say. ‘Any port in a storm.’ ”

He laughed. “Hardly. I doubt that if you’d been a gray-haired grandmother I’d have… thanked… you in quite the same way.”

“Then you were only expressing gratitude?”

He was still smiling, but the expression changed character. It became intimate, tender, heart-melting. “No. Gratitude had little or nothing to do with it.”

They bumped together slightly when the cable car jolted to a halt. A low groan was emitted from Reeves’s throat as her fingers, still entwined with his beneath the cover of her parka, inadvertently pressed against his body. Jordan gasped softly and looked at him guiltily when she realized what she was touching. The crowd, eager to disembark, formed a tight, wiggling circle around them, and for long, agonizing moments they couldn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, sneaking a shy look up into his face. Her cheeks were flaming scarlet.

“Don’t apologize on my account.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a provocative grin that made her heart thud painfully in her chest.

When the crowd began to thin, Reeves let go of her hand and they made their way to the sliding door of the cable car. Helmut was kissing the hands of the two girls in turn and saying in French, “I hope you have a most enjoyable holiday.” The girls twittered and fluttered their eyelashes as they waved good-bye to him. “There you are,” he said when he saw Jordan and Reeves step out the door. “I had a most pleasant trip up. Quite nice girls. Did you two manage to amuse yourselves?”

Jordan nearly choked, but Reeves answered easily, “It was thrilling.”

Jordan knew well that “it” he was referring to. His eyes twinkled at her mischievously and she wasn’t successful in hiding her secret smile.

The summit of Mount Pilatus was blanketed in clouds. In fact, if one stood still he could feel a fine, icy mist settling on his face. The weather, however, didn’t dampen the carnival atmosphere. Music blared from speakers mounted on light poles. Tourists milled about, browsing in the gift shop, ordering sandwiches and drinks from the snack bar, and competing for the open-air tables scattered around the area. A melodic voice periodically announced in several languages the departure of the cable cars.

Reeves was busy with his camera, taking pictures of Helmut against the backdrop of snow-covered peaks on the near and far horizons.

When business was taken care of, the three sat around a table in the indoor lounge and Helmut ordered cappuccino for them.

“Well, now I can boast having been on top of one of the Alps,” Reeves said.

“Not quite the top,” Helmut said.

“What?”

Jordan explained. “To get to the actual summit you have to climb some stairs up about sixty more feet. There is a platform up there.”

Reeves seemed uninterested and she prodded, “Come on. Let’s do it.”

“Climb up there?” he asked, instantly alarmed.

“Yes!”

He glowered at her from under his eyebrows. “I don’t think so,” he mumbled.

“You really should, Reeves,” Helmut chimed in. “It’s quite spectacular.”

Reeves still hedged and took another sip of his drink. “I don’t—”

“You’re not afraid, are you?” Jordan taunted.

“No,” he growled.

“Well, then, let’s go.” She stood up and shrugged back into her parka, which she had put on as soon as she stepped off the cable car. She whipped her knitted cap out of the pocket and pulled it over her hair, low on her forehead.

Reeves really didn’t have a choice. “All right,” he grumbled as he stood up and pulled on his fleece-lined shearling coat.

“Coming, Helmut?” Jordan asked when he made no move to get out of his chair.

“No, you
children
run along. The doctor cautions me that a man of my age should take it a little slower.”

Reeves and Jordan laughed. He looked anything but decrepit as he sat there sipping his cappuccino, his legs crossed, one Gucci loafer swinging negligently.

Reeves hung his camera around his neck as Jordan virtually dragged him out of the coffee shop. “I could easily throttle you. I don’t want to do this,” he said as they crossed the compound toward the stairs that would take them to the top.

“You said you weren’t afraid as long as you were on solid ground.”

“I lied.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. The platform only sways a few degrees and the nearest plateau is only a thousand feet down.”

He paled significantly, but she only laughed and pulled him along behind her. They had climbed about half the stairs when they stopped momentarily to catch their breath in the thin air. He looked at her seriously, took her by the shoulders, and said solemnly, “Jordan, I want you to remember one thing if something should happen to me.”

“Reeves—”

“Promise me,” he said urgently.

“All right,” she vowed. “I promise.”

“If I should go toppling off the side of this mountain, try to get the camera from around my neck and catch the shot.”

She swung at him with her fist, but he dodged it, laughing and holding off her pummeling fists with one hand while he drew her against him with the other arm.

“You devil!” she cried. “I thought you were serious.”

“I was! You’d probably win the Pulitzer.”

She spun around huffily, but they were both laughing as they trudged up the remainder of the way.

When they reached the top, Reeves took one sweeping look, said, “Very nice,” and then turned back toward the stairs.

Jordan reached out and grabbed his elbow. “No you don’t. I didn’t climb all the way here for nothing.” It was noticeably colder so she zipped her parka together and stuffed her hands into the fur-lined pockets. She leaned back against the rail and breathed in the cold air.

“Stay right there,” Reeves commanded as he brought his camera up to his eyes. He moved closer, stepped away, held the Nikon first horizontally, then vertically. The shutter snapped with a hypnotic cadence. Jordan loved to watch the way he moved, crouching, standing straight, leaning back with his hips thrust forward, leaning forward. It was a masculine ballet.

“You make a very pretty picture, Jordan. I love you in that red. It looks great against the white and black fur. The sweater and cap against the gray-white background. Super …” His voice trailed off as he took another series of pictures. “The cold has made your cheeks rosy and I liked the black wisps of hair blowing out from under the cap. Great. Exhale now so I can see the vapor. Great. Turn your head to the left a little. There. Lower your chin. Smile. Now serious. Perfect. Nice.”

When he ran out of film, he capped his lens and cautiously walked over toward the rail. “Helmut might not like seeing so many pictures of me in an article about him,” she said.

Reeves moved closer and paused before he said, “Helmut will never see these pictures. They’re for me alone.”

Then he kissed her. They didn’t even pretend that they didn’t want to. She came into his arms willingly and tilted her head back to greet his descending mouth.

Their breath almost crystallized in the cold air as they came together. His mouth was hot when it opened over hers and still tasted of the brandy that had laced their cappuccino.

Her hands slipped inside his coat, which had remained open, and traveled up the length of his back, idly exploring the hard muscles that rippled under the soft flannel shirt.

“I’m going to give you just ten or fifteen minutes to stop doing that,” he said against her lips, not removing the pressure of his.

“No, I’m going to stop now,” she said as she pulled away from him. Their kisses were becoming embarrassingly impassioned and there were other tourists on the lookout platform.

“Damn!” He cursed under his breath.

She laughed. “What was the worst situation you’ve ever been in when you were working?” She resorted to casual conversation, for his hands were sensuously stroking the fur collar that reached up under her chin.

“Whew, that’s a tough question. Vietnam was hell. Felt like it. Smelled like it. Cambodia was hideous. I guess the worst situation, though, was El Salvador. I’ve never been so scared in my life. Everybody was shooting everybody else and asking whose side they were on later.”

“Reeves, why do you do it? Journalists get killed too, just like soldiers.” She quivered when she thought of him bloody and wounded.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a compulsion that’s hard to explain. I have to be in the big, thick middle of it, or I might miss that best shot,
the
picture of the decade, like the soldiers raising the flag on Iwo Jima.”

She didn’t really understand his drive, but she shook her head ponderingly. “I know you’ve won prestigious awards for your work, but what’s your favorite picture—the one
you
like the best?”

“I haven’t taken it yet,” he said.

She should have known by the way he had her pinned against the rail with his own body and the low, tense pitch of his voice that his mind was no longer on the subject they were discussing.

“My favorite picture is going to be one of you. Naked.”

“Reeves!” she grated, and looked around hastily, hoping that none of the other tourists spoke English.

“Let’s see, how should I do it?” he asked with a feigned objectivity. One eyelid was lowered as he considered her clinically. “In a field of flowers? No, that’s too sweet, too innocent.”

“Thanks a lot! I—”

“Maybe lying on your back on a black satin sheet with your arms flung over your head,” he mused aloud.

“Reeves, will you please—”

“No, that’s too… too blatant. Not like you. Not your style. Let’s see.” He squinted harder as he stared at her and she felt herself flush all over. The topic was far too bold, and she shouldn’t be standing here letting him talk about her that way. Still, the prospect of posing for him was wickedly attractive and exciting.

“I know,” he said slowly. “You’ll be on a wide bed. I’ll shoot it through gauze so you’ll look kind of ethereal. You’ll be lying on your side facing the camera. Should you be draped or totally naked?” he mused aloud. “Totally naked, I think. One arm will be stretched out in front of you and the other is folded over your chest. Only one breast—”

“Reeves,” she groaned, and buried her face against his shirt front.

“Your hair will be tousled, as if you’d just awakened when someone came in the room. It’s your lover. And your eyes are wide and silently asking him if he’s going to make love to you. But you know the answer.” His voice had roughened and his face had lowered until it was inches from her own. “The answer is ‘Yes!’ Yes.”

His parted lips met hers hungrily as he drew her to him. His tongue penetrated the barrier of her lips and teeth and pillaged the inside of her mouth. Each honeyed crevice was robbed. An unsatisfied moan rumbled deep in his chest as he pulled her tighter against him. She gasped, and even his befuddled senses could tell it wasn’t a desire-inspired reaction. He pulled back quickly. “What is it?” he asked.

“Your camera,” she cried piteously.

He looked down to see that his camera hung directly in front of her breasts. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize.”

“Neither did I for a while.” She stood up on tiptoes to kiss him quickly on the lips. “Reeves, we must go.”

He looked off in the distance at the spectacular view of the Alpine mountain range. “I know,” he said regretfully. “I—” He broke off suddenly and cocked his head to listen. “What the hell is that?”

Jordan had heard the sound too, and smiled. To his distress, she began to walk along the railing, leaning over it now and then. He didn’t know what she was looking at, for the clouds separated them from the ground far below. “What—”

“There!” she exclaimed. “Come here quickly before the clouds hide them again.” She pointed down the side of the mountain and, through the hazy clouds, he saw a green mountain pasture several hundred feet below them. There was a sizable herd of cattle grazing in the pasture.

“Cattle?” he asked, puzzled.

“Milk cows. You were hearing their cow bells,” she explained.

“I thought those heavy things on the thick leather straps were only for the tourists to buy as souvenirs,” he said as he continued to gaze down at the strange but picturesque sight.

“They are. But they’re also very useful. A cow can hardly get lost in the mountains if she’s wearing one of those bells. And the herd usually follows the lead of the one wearing the large bell.”