She knew the game and played along. For all his rhetoric and sly winks, the senator was absolutely harmless and devoted to his wife of thirty-two years. “You’re married, Senator.”
“I know.” He sighed mightily. “But I was hoping to hold you in reserve. Annabel’s been threatening to leave me since before you were born. Someday she’s going to make good on her promise.” He winked. “I’ll need comforting then.”
He gave her one more squeeze then released her. “Until then, if you want to listen to a bunch of stuffy old men trade opinions, you’re welcome to come. I just thought someone as young as you would be bored to tears. Annabel always is.” His eyes lit up as he saw a waiter approach in their direction. Beckoning him over, the senator traded his empty glass for a full one. It made no difference to him that it was full of champagne instead of bourbon. Liquor was liquor and had the same end result. He had been raised on moonshine, he liked to brag, and it had given him a cast-iron stomach. “As is your mama.”
Being compared with her mother bothered Shanna. Of late, she found herself actively rebelling against it. Her smile slipped a little as she looked at the senator. “I’m not my mother.”
Spirit, that’s what it was, Whitney thought as he saw something flash in Shanna’s eyes. He had always admired spirit, in horseflesh and in women. “No, that’s for dang sure. You’re a whole other act, Shanna.” He grinned broadly. “I’ll be sure to have them set a place for you at the table come Friday.”
She saw that Jordan had stopped talking and was watching, though a young blonde was trying to snare his attention. “Two places?” Shanna pressed Whitney.
He toasted her and fleetingly envied Jordan the match he had struck. “Two places,” Whitney confirmed before taking a long pull of his drink.
With a small inward sigh of relief, Shanna turned and gave Jordan a high sign as soon as the senator had walked away from her. She supposed she was in debt to her mother.
The smile that lifted Jordan’s lips was positively beatific. It erased any bad feelings she had about the means she had used to gain the end.
Chapter 5
Streams of moonlight floated in through the windows on either side of the bed where they had made love only twenty minutes ago. Lighting only parts of the room, the silver threads gave it an ethereal glow. The shaft from the window on the left lightly danced along Jordan’s naked body as he lay sleeping, the tangled sheet gathered about one leg.
So now he even glowed in the dark. A sad smile grazed Shanna’s lips.
She pulled her legs in under her on the chaise lounge as she sat, staring at Jordan, letting herself see him for perhaps the first time the way he was, not the way that she wished he would be. She hugged herself for warmth, for comfort, in a fruitless effort to drive away the aching, empty feeling that was growing within her.
Jordan had made love to her tonight. Wildly, frantically. Quickly. And then within a few moments he had fallen asleep, completely spent. The very same action that had drained him and then lulled him to a sound sleep was keeping her awake.
They had made love, or was it that they just had had sex? She wasn’t certain anymore that she knew the difference, although she thought she had once.
Shanna balled her hands into fists as she kept them crossed, pressed against the sides of her breasts. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that in those few, private moments that should have been so special, it hadn’t really mattered to Jordan that it had been her in his arms and not someone else. There had been no expression of love from him, no words of endearment to differentiate her from any one of a number of faceless women who drifted in and out of Washington society looking for a few hours of companionship and anonymous gratification. It hadn’t felt personal somehow. He had treated her as if she was just a willing body and nothing more.
Shanna pushed her hair back from her face with fingers that were still shaking. She had to stop this. Of course there was more, idiot. He’s your husband. He loves you, remember?
Lord knows Jordan had said it often enough. I love you. I love you. I love you. So why didn’t she feel it, inside, where it counted? Why didn’t she feel happy, protected, loved? Perhaps it was because the words had been too smooth, had sounded too rehearsed.
Even on her wedding night, she had felt there was something lacking. There were no soft, languid moments building up to the crescendo she thought she was to anticipate. She had come to Jordan a virgin on her wedding night, something that had completely astonished him. A twenty-one-year-old virgin was a rarity, but she had been determined to save this one individual thing, this one true shred of her own identity, and give it as a precious gift to the man she married.
She closed her eyes and remembered the overwhelming stab of hurt she had felt when she had seen the amused look in his eyes. He had almost laughed when she had told him, then quickly said that nerves were responsible for his insensitive reaction. His words. “Insensitive reaction.” It had appeased her. Especially when he seemed so sincere as he swore that he was as nervous about pleasing her as she was about pleasing him.
The first time. A lifetime of anticipation and it had been over with so fast. Was this all there was? Was this what she had been daydreaming about, looking forward to? Frenzied movements? The tearing of her dress and groping hands? The thrusting invasion that was followed so closely by pain? And then nothing? That was it? That was the reward for the yearning, the pounding pulses, the expectations and desire?
Her disappointment was overwhelming.
She had absolutely no frame of reference to work with. There had been no one to compare feelings with, no close girlfriends to share that kind of an experience with. Awkward and trapped in her isolated world, Shanna felt more at ease with old politicians than with young women her own age. Consequently, she had nothing but a belief that somehow there should have been something more than this used feeling.
Shanna let out a shaky breath as she drew herself up into a tighter ball. In the background she heard his steady, rhythmic breathing and wished that she could sleep as easily as Jordan did. She wished she could take her pleasure as easily as he did. She shrugged. Maybe she had read too many books, seen too many movies, dreamed too many dreams.
Dreams are all we have, Shanna.
Her grandmother’s words echoed in her brain over and over again, like an old melody that refused to die once it had found a place. She believed in them.
Dreams were an integral part of life as was the struggle to realize them.
Jordan murmured in his sleep and she narrowed her eyes, focusing on his face. He looked innocent, sweet. She was making too much of this.
Jordan had dreams, she thought defensively. His, it appeared, were just on the threshold of becoming reality.
So why couldn’t hers? They were far narrower in scope. Or were they?
“I had them in the palm of my hand, Shanna!” he had cried out enthusiastically this evening as they had walked into the expensive Georgetown house that had been a wedding gift from her father. Exhausted, enormously pleased with himself and the evening in general, Jordan crossed straight toward the bedroom. As he went he threw off his jacket and dropped it on the floor behind him.
Following, Shanna picked it up and brushed it off. Entering the bedroom, she carefully hung the jacket on his clotheshorse.
“Yes, you did,” she agreed with no small pride.
She had seen the way the other men at the party had sat back and watched Jordan tonight. Once he had begun talking, a spark had traveled through the room. There had been envy in their faces. Envy because he was young, and with their backing, the political arena would just be opening up for him. Opening with possibilities that they no longer had because they were old and the quest for leadership was ever in search of the young and the strong.
Jordan kicked off his shoes, one in one direction, the second in another, and then crossed his arms and watched. Shanna retrieved the expensive Italian-made shoes and placed both in the closet on his side. He frow
ned slightly at her mundane and predictable behavior.
But the evening had been too much of a success for him to dwell on what a colorless drudge his wife was. He yanked at his bow tie and the sides drooped down like tired black streamers. He replayed the highlight of the evening in his mind. All had grown quiet to listen to the debate he went on to win.
“Put that old codger in his place, didn’t I?”
She waited until he pulled the bow tie from his collar and then took it from him and put it away. Of late, she had a crying need for things to be more orderly than they were. This small part she could control.
She hadn’t liked seeing Jordan like that this evening. For one moment, as he cut Rawlings down, Jordan’s tongue had been rapier sharp. She had glimpsed a ruthlessness that would have frightened her if she hadn’t loved Jordan as much as she did. If she hadn’t known him. Still, it had been a cruel thing to do. “That ‘old codger’ has twenty years of experience in government behind him.”
She would defend a wimp like that. The old fool was right up there in her league. “Stale experience,” he pointed out. “History, Shanna. The past.” Jordan swiped at the air with his hand as if to catch something that she didn’t see. Something that was visible only to him and meant a great deal. He opened his hand, fingers slowly unfurling, palm up. He offered it to Shanna like a tangible gift. “I want the future.”
He was high, she thought. But not on alcohol. Jordan was very careful to abstain from all but the barest of sips. He touched his lips to the glass for form’s sake only. He wanted nothing to cloud his mind, nothing to get in the way of opportunities that might cross his path. No, this high was more than that. She recognized it for what it was and tried not to let it upset her. Jordan was high on the promise of power.
It was a revelation she didn’t like.
Removing the pins that had fastened her hair, she made a conscious effort to sound cheerful. She knew she should be happy for Jordan, for the success that appeared destined to be his. And yet, as his goals were beginning to appear within reach, he seemed to be metamorphosing into someone she didn’t know.
She tossed the pins on the vanity table. “Dad sounded pretty positive just before we left. It looks as if they’re really going to consider running you for the seat that Gallegher is vacating.” Adam Gallegher had held the congressional seat for four terms and was calling it quits at the end of this one. Poor health had caused him to grow tired of the constant fight.
Jordan came up behind her and slipped his hands around her waist. Her father had been instrumental in raising his name during the discussion tonight. It was time to keep his daughter happy.
“Why shouldn’t they?” He thought of the roomful of movers and shakers, men who “found” proper backing and money for the candidates of their choice. Candidates who could win the public vote while furthering the party platform. As well, he thought with a smile, as serving private ends. He saw nothing wrong with that tactic. It suited his needs just fine.
Jordan nuzzled the crook of Shanna’s neck, feathering a few kisses along the slope. “I’m young, dynamic. Ready.” With the tip of his finger, Jordan began sliding the zipper of her dress down her bare back. He smirked to himself as she moved against his touch like a kitten gathering warmth at the hearth. “Who better than me?”
Shanna thought of the dedicated man who had come to work in Gallegher’s office during the last term. “Jack Peters, for one.” She felt Jordan’s fingers release the zipper and momentarily tighten into a fist along her back before he relaxed them again.
Jack Peters. The suggestion was laughable. He was a pasty-faced do-gooder who was nothing more than fodder for men like him. “That droopy-eyed jerk?” Jordan muttered a curse he knew Shanna particularly hated and felt her stiffen slightly. “The guy’s got as much color as a black-and-white monitor.”
Looks weren’t everything, she thought defensively, seeing her own reflection in the mirror through her mother’s critical eyes. “He’s sincere,” she pointed out stubbornly. It wasn’t right that someone like that should be dismissed because he didn’t have the proper “image,” the proper “look.”
“He’s a loser,” Jordan insisted, annoyed that she was defending the man.
Shanna opened her mouth to point out Jack’s record as an assistant DA, then closed it again. What was she doing, arguing with Jordan? This was the beginning of his big moment and she was happy for him. It just bothered her that she couldn’t wholeheartedly approve of the method that left bodies in the wake of his first triumph.
She turned and smiled at him over her shoulder. “And you’re not.”
That was better. His mood shifted. “Damn straight I’m not a loser. Never have been, never will be,” Jordan pronounced vehemently, yanking the zipper down the rest of the way. It broke. The gown fell about her feet as he turned Shanna around to face him.
Standing nude before him, except for a pair of panty hose, she felt a blush rising and looked down at the floor. Even now, after two years of marriage, she couldn’t get over the feeling of embarrassment whenever she was undressed. The zipper and the metal dangling from it stared up at her. She picked the gown up and held it up to him. “You broke it.”
He pulled the dress from her hands and tossed it aside. “What do you care?” He heard the hard edge in his voice and masked it with a smile as he placed his hands possessively on her shoulders. “You’ve got lots more. I just want to get my hands on you, gorgeous.”
Her head jerked up. She couldn’t stand for mockery, not from him. “Don’t call me that.”
Damn it, now what was the matter with the little bitch. “Why?”
“Because we both know I’m not.”
So, she wasn’t as stupid as he thought. But still not as smart as he was. The boyish grin that had worked for him with a league of women spread over his face.
“Sure you are. Besides,” he said softly, “we’re in the world of politics, Shanna. Everything is an illusion.” He stripped off his shirt, letting it fall on top of her torn gown. When Shanna made a move to pick it up, he caught her by the arm and gave her a slight shake.
“Leave it.”
Shanna bit her lip. She had never learned to emulate her mother’s careless disregard for money and possessions. “I just wanted to—“
“I said leave it,” he ordered, his voice stern.
It pleased Jordan to be able to cast off expensive clothes without a second thought, assured that there would be more when he wanted it. That there would always be more when he wanted it. He had paid his dues for that privilege. Over and over again.
After all but ripping off her panty hose, Jordan shed his trousers and deliberately kicked them over toward the rest of the clothing. That one small pile represented more money than a factory worker in Beauregard made in a year, he thought with pure satisfaction. He threaded his fingers through Shanna’s hair. His breath stroked her face, making her vibrate.
“The maid’ll take care of it,” he whispered as lust began to demand its release. In the dark, one woman was as good as another, and as far as bodies went, Shanna’s was ripe and firm, even if she was uninspiring in every other way. “Right now I have something more pressing than folding clothes to take care of.”
To emphasize his words, he pulled Shanna even closer to him, moving his throbbing body against hers. He studied her eyes, waiting to see the desire bloom. It never ceased to feed his ego, watching women respond, watching women want him.
The grin he flashed her was slightly lopsided and sent Shanna’s pulse racing. Perhaps this time she’d reach the pinnacle, too. Perhaps—
Jordan kissed her hard, bruising her mouth as he bit her lip. With a groan, he pushed her onto the bed. He was over her as the breath whooshed from her lungs, never giving her a chance to catch it. His hands were everywhere, raking over her like familiar, used territory. Seeking something she didn’t know how to give him.
She felt his teeth as he suckled at her breast and tried to push him back. She
wanted nothing more than to make him slow his pace just a little. Just until she could catch up. A sob began to rise and grow within her.
She needed time, she thought desperately. Time. She wanted to build up to the fever pitch that always seemed to seize Jordan instantly. She wanted to share in this, not be on the outside, not be just a vessel for him.
“Jordan, wait,” she pleaded against his mouth, but her words were swallowed up as he continued to savage her lips.
He raised himself on his elbows. He had heard her, felt the words vibrate on his tongue. His eyes were dark, prophetic, and for a moment he was a stranger.
“I’m never waiting for anything again, Shanna.” And then he thrust into her so hard she cried out loud from both the pain and the surprise.
Jordan rode the crest he had created until its end, then fell, exhausted, over her. When he made love with other women, it always lasted longer for him. But there was nothing about Shanna to inspire him, to drive him to new heights, so he did it quickly, enjoyed himself, and moved on.
“Did I hurt you?” he muttered into the pillow. Vaguely he was aware of her crying out, but there hadn’t been the sound of ecstasy ringing in it. The bitch was nothing more than a damn robot.
Shanna blinked back tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes. She didn’t want him to see her crying. He wouldn’t understand. “No,” she whispered.
“That’s good.” He gave her a quick kiss for good measure. Women wanted tenderness after the fact, or some garbage like that, he remembered. “If I did, I didn’t mean to. It’s just that I wanted you so much.” The last words faded from his lips as he fell into a deep, almost drug-like sleep.
It should have made her happy to know that he wanted her so fiercely. But it didn’t. He had rolled off her and was instantly asleep.
Upset, feeling as if she was adrift, Shanna stared at the ceiling, wishing she knew what was wrong with her, with them, and how to fix it. She shivered. The shiver grew and she couldn’t control it. Afraid that she would wake Jordan up if she stayed there beside him, she rose and put on a nightgown.
Choices (A Woman's Life) Page 5