Not Even for Love by Sandra Brown Page A

mid-twenties, red-haired, svelte, and gorgeous. Her long, slender legs were encased—shockingly so—in tight green satin pants. A loose, blousy sequin top of the same color dipped decidedly low over her pert breasts.
    Tacky, Jordan thought. Yes, definitely tacky and tasteless.
    Reeves, on the other hand, looked wonderful. He wore gray flannel slacks and a navy blue blazer. His white silk shirt was opened down to the middle of his chest. Black Bally loafers peeked shinily from beneath the crease of his trousers. He was expensively dressed, but with enough casualness to say, I don’t give a damn about Old World tradition.
    Jordan couldn’t help the slight flutter in her throat. Angry as she was at him, she was more so with herself for responding to his bold sexuality. Even as she admired the well-tailored clothes, she was thinking of the body underneath them and of how it ignited her with consuming flames of passion.
    The couple were on their way into the bar when Helmut spotted them. “Reeves,” he called across the posh lobby of the famous hotel. “Reeves Grant.” Jordan quailed. Vainly she had hoped they could leave without being seen.
    Reeves jerked his head around and his face lit up in a disarming smile. “Hello, Helmut, Jordan.” He didn’t take his arm from its firm position around the redhead’s waspish waist. “My favorite subjects. What are you two up to?”
    “We were invited to a dinner party,” Helmut said.
    “Oh, yes.” Reeves snapped his fingers. “I remember now you saying something to that effect.”
    He’s lying, Jordan thought. He knew exactly what they were doing here. He hadn’t looked her in the eye since Helmut had caught their attention.
    “I want you to meet…uh… Diane? Yes, Diane… uh…?”
    “Moffett,” the woman supplied, and dug into Reeves’s ribs with her elbow as though to say, You naughty boy. Jordan clenched her fists. Couldn’t the woman stand upright? Must she
recline
against Reeves that way?
    “Yes, Diane Moffett,” Reeves said, and now he looked at Jordan with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Diane, this is Mrs. Jordan Hadlock and Mr. Helmut Eckherdt. Diane’s practically a neighbor of mine. She’s from Los Angeles. Isn’t it lucky we ran into each other this afternoon?”
    Jordan couldn’t bear to look at his gloating expression any longer and shifted her eyes to the woman, who she thought seemed incredibly stupid. “Hello, Miss Moffett,” she said with cold politeness.
    “Hi. I like your dress,” the woman replied cheekily.
    “Thank you.” Jordan was glad she had worn this particular dress because she knew it was flattering. It was black sleeveless satin with a ruffled collar that plunged deeply between her breasts. Her waist was cinched with a shocking pink cummerbund. She had pulled her hair into a sleek knot at the back of her neck. Diamond studs in her ears were her only jewelry. Except for Helmut’s ring.
    “We were on our way to the bar for a nightcap. We’d love for you to join us,” Reeves said.
    Jordan almost gasped at his audacity. Rage boiled up in her chest until the pressure was painful. The man was totally without morals. How
could
he? How could he pick up another woman so soon after leaving her? Or was that his custom? Out of sight, out of mind? And he had had the gall to play the injured party just a few hours ago!
    Helmut turned to her and asked, “Jordan?”
    “I really don’t think so, Helmut. We’ve had such a full day, with this morning on the mountain …” Her voice trailed off, seemingly with a regretful declination. Actually, the memory of the intimacy she and Reeves had shared in the cable car and at the summit of the mountain had clogged her throat with remorse, and speech was rendered impossible.
    “Please excuse us, Reeves, Miss Moffett.” Helmut bowed to them. “It seems that my lady is tired. I’d better take her home.” He smiled graciously and shook hands with Reeves. He raised the back of Diane