Not Even for Love (3 page)

“Yes … I mean no! By all means. You must be uncomfortable.”

“I’ll go down and change in the bookstore—”

“No. Use the bathroom. Here, take a candle down to get your bags.”

She hurried past him and got another candle from the living room.

“Thanks,” he said as he took it from her and loped down the stairs. He had certainly gained confidence since he had stumbled up behind her only moments before, clinging to her as if his life depended on it. He was back within a minute and she directed him through her bedroom to the bathroom, hoping that it was halfway presentable. She knew there was at least one damp towel lying on the floor. When one lived alone, one didn’t give more than rudimentary attention to orderliness.

By the time the coffee was done he was back, wearing another pair of jeans, another casual shirt—this one soft yellow—and socks. No shoes.

“The coffee smells good,” he said from the door.

“Have a seat. I’ll bring it in there. This kitchen is barely large enough for one person.”

He was sprawled on the sofa, ensconced in the deep cushions of one corner, when she came in carrying the tray with the coffee, cream, sugar, and two spoons, cups, and saucers.

She set the tray on the low table in front of the couch. Actually, it was two ceramic elephants with a piece of glass suspended between them. She poured the steaming, aromatic coffee into one cup and asked, “Anything in it?”

“No. I’ve learned to do without luxuries in some of the places I’ve been, so I’ve grown accustomed to drinking whatever is available.” He sipped the scalding liquid. “Unless my sense of taste fails me, this is American coffee.”

She laughed. “I have my parents send it over every few months.”

“Ah, delicious.” He smacked his lips.

She poured her own coffee and settled into the opposite corner of the sofa. His long legs were stretched out in front of him. In contrast, she tucked her feet under her legs.

“What else do you miss from home?” His question was casual—almost too casual. Did it portend more than surface curiosity?

“Conveniences. Fast-food restaurants. My soap opera.” He laughed. “Not much else. I miss my parents, though they came over last year to visit. Lucerne is a charming place. The Swiss are an intelligent, industrious, and gracious people. I’ve traveled extensively in Europe. One day I aspire to write about it. You’re rarely in the States, Reeves. What do you miss?”

Not a woman, she thought as he began to rattle off inconsequential things. He would never be without a woman. In the soft flickering firelight of the candles his hair took on an auburn cast as it tumbled riotously around his head. Just under his eyes, sprinkling his cheekbones, was a collection of freckles, which had been washed out by the harsh fluorescent lighting in the bookshop.

Taken apart, his features weren’t classically handsome. His nose was a bit too slender. His mouth was almost too wide. The chin was a little too stubborn. But his eyes were fabulously green and well fringed by thick, spiky lashes. All put together, he was rakishly attractive. His virility was threatening—a threat no woman could resist.

He wore his clothes negligently. The fresh shirt he hadn’t bothered to button even as much as the one he had taken off, and the curling mat of hair revealed beneath its folds was most appealing.

Jordan realized that he had stopped talking. “More coffee?” she asked, trying to draw enough air in her lungs to articulate the offer.

“No thank you.”

Another silence descended. He stared at her from a distance the width of one cushion of the sofa. Unintentionally, but quite automatically, he reached across the cushion and captured her hand, which lay on her thigh. She didn’t take it away.

The candles cast gigantic shadows against the walls of the cozy room. The eggshell-white plaster had been chiseled off one wall, baring the ancient bricks behind it and adding character to the room. Tasteful graphics advertising concerts, ballets, and art shows had been sealed in thin brass frames and mounted on the walls.

The tall, wide windows of one wall were draped in a paisley print in tones of gold and brown. The fabric was repeated on the sofa and on the pillows tossed into one brown club chair. The hardwood floor, which shone with a patina only age can provide, was unrelieved by rugs that would have detracted from its beauty.

“I like your apartment.” His thumb rotated hypnotically over her wrist, then slipped lower to explore the center of her palm. He wasn’t looking at her apartment. He was looking at her mouth.

“Thank you,” she said thickly. “I … decorated it myself. I re-covered the cushions of the couch.”

“They’re lovely,” he replied, but his eyes were on her breasts, not the sofa. She swallowed convulsively as his eyes journeyed back up to her face and met her misty gray stare. Never in his life had Reeves been so captivated by a pair of eyes. Their light gray color was unusual, but their uniqueness was compounded by the dark blue ring that encircled that intriguing iris. The rarity of them, however, went beyond their mere physical aspects. They possessed a life and spirit all their own. The blue band surrounding that clear gray iris seemed to narrow and widen at will, allowing only fleeting glimpses into the soul of the woman. It became tantamount to Reeves Grant’s well-being to see and know all the secrets those bewitching eyes harbored.

He stared into them now and saw himself reflected in their depths. He longed to be there in actuality, inside her head, knowing what she was thinking. He moved closer to her.

Jordan’s heart was pounding so hard she thought surely he could hear it or see it as it stirred the fabric stretched over her now taut breasts. His eyes were too compelling, his body too warm, his hand too hot as it continued to caress hers.

Fighting the impulse to move toward him, she pulled at her hand in an attempt to release it. He didn’t surrender it easily. She tugged on it more firmly and said, “I’ll put this away if you don’t want any more.” Her hand was relinquished as she stood and picked up the tray. Her trembling fingers could barely maintain their grasp of it.

“I guess I’d better try the telephone again,” he said without enthusiasm.

She was coming back into the living room after setting the tray on the kitchen table when he replaced the receiver on the candle of the extension phone. Raising imploring eyes to her, he said, “It’s still dead.”

A thunderbolt punctuated the announcement.

CHAPTER 2

W
hy don’t you stay here?” The words were out before she could debate the wisdom of speaking them. She knew that was what he wanted her to say. At that moment the consequences weren’t considered. The obvious risks didn’t matter. It was the right thing to say in that given situation.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He smiled broadly.

Lest he jump to the wrong conclusion about her spontaneous invitation, she said quickly, “You can have the bedroom. I’ll sleep out here on the sofa.”

“I wouldn’t hear of it,” he said, bowing gallantly. “By all means, the lady should keep her bed. I’ll take the sofa.”

“You won’t even fit on it,” she objected.

“If you could see some of the places I’ve slept when on assignment, you’d realize how great this sofa looks.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“I am.”

“Okay. You may take a turn in the bathroom while I make up the couch for you.”

“Right.” He saluted her and, lifting one of the bags he had carried upstairs with him earlier, went into the bathroom. He came back almost immediately and picked up a candle. Grinning sardonically, he returned to the bathroom.

Jordan hastily retrieved extra blankets and sheets from her bedroom closet and smiled when she heard him humming over splashing water.

With dispatch, she made the couch into a facsimile of a comfortable bed. She plumped the pillow and slipped a fresh case over it. She was straightening the blanket one more time when she heard him come in behind her.

“Brushing one’s teeth by candlelight is an incredibly sexy experience,” he drawled.

He was still dressed, but the collar of his shirt was damp where he had washed. Judiciously she ignored his leading remark. “Do you need anything else?” she asked softly.

He set his bag at his feet and took three steps forward until he was standing inches from her. “No. Till my dying day, I’ll appreciate your hospitality, my little American cousin.”

Before she realized what was happening, his hands were on her shoulders and he was leaning down to kiss her. His lips met hers firmly in a smacking, friendly, closed-mouth kiss. No harm done, she thought analytically.

But when he should have withdrawn, he didn’t. His hands remained on her shoulders—indeed, his fingers were moving in a near caress. His lips hovered over hers. His breath mingled with hers, found the blend delightful, and joyously united with it into an invisible vapor that ghosted between their mouths.

Taking her stunned immobility as an invitation, his lips hesitantly brushed across hers once, twice, then came to rest against the soft flesh. The pressure of his mouth increased until it could be said that he was truly kissing her. How easy it would be to accept this kiss, to lean against his strength, to be penetrated by the heat that emanated from his body.

But the sheer encompassing quality of his embrace frightened Jordan. The totality of her loss of will alarmed her. If she surrendered, it would be an absolute capitulation, and she couldn’t chance that. Her hands went to his shoulders and pushed against them halfheartedly, but he accepted the discouragement and stepped away from her.

“Good night,” he murmured as his eyes bore into hers.

“Good night,” she answered, picking up a candle and scurrying toward the bedroom. She collapsed against the closed door and drew several restorative breaths. When she felt more normal and her pulse was beating at a comfortable tempo again, she went into the bathroom.

She creamed her face, brushed her teeth, and took down her hair. All of these routine things she did automatically, her mind in a turmoil, her thoughts traitorous to the decision she had made moments before. What were his lips capable of when his passion was unleashed? The hands that had caressed her shoulders only hinted at their talent to heighten the senses.

Foolishness! she chided herself as she took the candle into her bedroom. He was only being polite. It was a kiss of gratitude. Friendship. Comrades abroad. Nothing more.

She set the candle on the bedside table and turned down the quilted spread and colorful sheets. Her fingers were working with the snap of her slacks when the door behind her swung open on silent hinges.

Only the light from one candle on the coffee table was behind him, but she could see that he wore only a pair of pajama bottoms, which rode low on his hips. His frame completely filled the doorway, his arms spread wide, his hands bracing him on each side of the jamb.

She stared at him with a mixture of fear and excitement. One hand went to her throat to capture her heart, which had leaped there. The other settled over her stomach, trying vainly to still the disquieting flutter. She felt helpless, caught up in something from which there was no escape. Escape? Did she want to escape?

“Are you going to scream?” he asked quietly. He began to move toward her.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly, shaking her head in desperation.

He stood only a few feet from her now. The magnificent proportions of his physique were revealed to her clearly and she admitted that she had never seen a man who stirred her feminine instincts as did this man.

“I don’t think so,” she whispered. Then his hands came up to cup her face and tilt it back for his kiss. Her eyes were already closing as she said, “No, I’m not going to scream.”

This time there was no hesitancy. His lips claimed hers in a fierce kiss. Then his mouth opened and left no room for argument on that claim. He possessed her mouth thoroughly, and without resistance she parted her lips and honored his ownership.

His tongue rubbed sensuously against hers and then went deeper to explore the mysteries of her mouth. He solved each one in turn. His arms wrapped around her. Smoothing over her back, his hands settled on her waist and drew her closer until their bodies melded together. Teasingly, his mouth moved over hers, elusively avoiding her lips, which pursued it. When a small, frustrated moan escaped her, he rewarded her tenacity by taking her mouth under his once again.

Her arms came up and locked behind his neck. Without separating, they fell to the bed and lay on the pillows, which welcomed them as if they belonged.

He raised his head and gazed down at her with fevered eyes. He spoke rapidly, as though he had been saving up things to say, and now that the opportunity had presented itself, he didn’t want to lose it. “Your hair is beautiful. So dark and shiny.” His fingers sifted through the silky strands. “Your complexion doesn’t need makeup. Your eyes… God, you’re gorgeous, Jordan. Kiss me again. Please.”

She needed no coaxing. Her hands tangled in the coarse auburn hair and pulled his face down to hers. Their mouths met with equal need, each hot and moist and seeking appeasement for a newborn thirst that seemed unquenchable.

He forsook the wellspring of her mouth to plant kisses along her cheek and ear. He tasted the lobe with a velvet-rough tongue. Jordan’s fingertips explored the hard, bunched muscles of his shoulders as capricious lips skipped along her neck. With precision, his hand moved between their bodies and covered her breast. An inquisitive thumb stroked across the crest, which impertinently demanded attention.

“Reeves,” she groaned, and arched upward against him. Suddenly she realized what she was doing. Not until an hour ago had she ever seen this man. Now she was in bed with him, allowing him—no,
begging
him—to kiss her and caress her with matchless intimacy. This was not trivial kissing. This was making love. With a stranger! Was she mad? She must stop this. Now.

But his hands had slipped under her sweater and were learning the lush curves of her breasts. “Reeves, please … no,” she pleaded. “No…I can’t. I don’t …”