Not Even for Love by Sandra Brown

caressed her waist, squeezing it slightly, appreciating its trim line. Then he moved closer, fitting his body to hers, aligning them in such a way that Jordan responded with a sensual adjustment of her own that took his breath.
    Desire curled through her when she felt the strength of his virility through their clothes. Her tongue darted past his lips on a foray of its own. All the ugly accusations he had wrongly thrown at her melted under the heat of his kiss.
    His hand stroked its way over her ribs and up to the curve of her breast. He kneaded it gently as his thumb lazily circled the rigid nipple under the silky fabric. He continued this heavenly torment as his lips pressed hot kisses into the curve of her shoulder left bare by her gown. His lips nibbled their way down her arm, pressed a kiss in the bend of her elbow, and then lifted her palm to receive a tribute from his mouth.
    She reclined against the wall and sighed, touching his hair affectionately. Smiling up at him slumberously, she watched him as he turned her hand over. He looked at the diamond ring.
    In a voice as hard and cold as the jewel he said, “You see, Jordan. The only thing that separates you from the girls who sell their wares on street corners is the price you demand.”
    It took a moment for the words to sink in. They were so out of context with the soft caresses and the soothing voice that their meaning eluded her. When it registered with her passion-fogged mind, she thought the pain in her chest would surely kill her. She would die with his scathing insult as her eulogy.
    But the cold reality of what he had said jolted her out of her lethargy like an icy bath. He was still holding her left hand as he smiled down at her smugly. Her right hand arced and met his cheek in a resounding slap.
    For a moment he was stunned. There was no reaction. Then the fury filled his face with such terrible intent that Jordan thought he might very well murder her. Instead, he flung himself away.
    Without a backward glance or another word, he hoisted the camera case over his shoulder and stalked away into the night shadows.
    “English newsstand,” Jordan answered the telephone the next day at midmorning.
    “Hello, darling,” Helmut said with his smooth, cultured voice. “How are you this morning? Did you enjoy the party held in your honor last night?”
    “Hello, Helmut,” she said. “I can only talk for a minute. I have some customers. Yes, I enjoyed the party very much. I only wish we had had time to discuss—”
    “I know what you’re going to say, and I apologize for taking matters into my own hands. I have discovered through my business dealings that when one is faced with a reluctant client one sometimes has to force the issue. Usually with rewarding results, as in this instance.”
    “No, Helmut. We need to—”
    “Just a moment, dear. What was that, Reeves?”
    Reeves was with Helmut and listening to their conversation! Anger made her hand tremble. The man was impossible. “Jordan, Reeves says ‘good morning’ and hopes that your feet aren’t still hurting you.” Helmut chuckled into the receiver.
    Reeves had known that her feet were hurting her last night as he practically ran her home. “My feet are fine,” she grated. “I really have to go now, Helmut.” She wasn’t about to discuss personal matters over the telephone with Helmut while she knew Reeves was listening avidly to every word with that knowing, derisive expression on his face.
    “One more thing, darling, before you hang up. Reeves is going to follow me around most of the day, taking pictures in the office and at the board meeting this afternoon. Tonight he wants to take pictures of us in a relaxed, typically Swiss setting. I thought we’d take him to Stadtkeller. It’s for tourists, I know, but it’s certainly Swiss!”
    “That sounds marvelous and I’m sure Mr. Grant will enjoy it, but I must decline. I—”
    “Nonsense. He specifically asked that you go with us. He