by Holly Bush
“It sounds like this is some kind of pre-arranged plan,” he muttered.
Jolene’s brows rose. “Of course, there is a plan, Maximillian. How do you think young people of the same education, interests, and social standing meet?”
“I don’t like it.”
“You do not like the idea of Melinda growing up. That is what you do not like.”
They stepped off the elevator and saw Alice directing where Jolene’s trunks and his suitcase would be placed. Their rooms were spacious, well-appointed, and connected to each other. He handed Jolene the key to the door between the rooms. She waited in his room until she had dismissed Alice to freshen up and the men had deposited her things.
“You said that night that we would stay in a hotel on the night of the ball,” Jolene said and looked up at him and licked her lips. “I assumed you meant one room.”
“I have no intentions of forcing you, Jolene. You know that I want to bed you. I’ve told you as much. But this won’t be one-sided,” he said. “You’ll have to want me as much as I want you.”
Jolene stared at the string tie around his neck. “Ladies do not want,” she said. “I do not want you in the same manner as you want me.”
Max touched her chin with his forefinger till she looked up at him. He smiled. “Liar,” he whispered. “And, hell, if ladies don’t want, then I don’t want a lady, I guess. But you’re a lady, through and through.”
“I have to get ready for the ball,” she said and turned and hurried through the adjoining door. He heard the lock click shut.
“Wait,” he said. “I have something for you.”
Jolene unlocked the door and came back in his room. “For me?”
Max handed her a long box and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I got this for you the day you arrived. I don’t know why I didn’t give it to you then other than I was worried you wouldn’t like it. I asked Alice the color of your dress for tonight and showed her the necklace. She said it would be perfect. I hope you like it.”
Jolene opened the box and looked up at him. “It is beautiful, Maximillian. Alice is right. It will be perfect. Thank you.”
Max took a bath, shaved and dressed. He knocked on the connecting door. It opened a crack.
“Yes, Mr. Shelby?” Alice asked.
“I’m going to head to the hotel bar unless Mrs. Shelby would prefer I wait to escort her,” he said.
Alice stepped away from the door and returned. “That is fine with Mrs. Shelby. She will meet you in the lobby in an hour.”
* * *
Jolene stepped off the elevator and faced a full-length gilded mirror. She surveyed herself from the mass of soft, blond ringlets atop her head woven through with twinkling beads, to her gown. Mrs. McCabe has outdone herself, she thought. Her gown of cream silk was embroidered with pale blue flowers and left her shoulders bare except for a ring sleeve. The bodice was tight and extremely low-cut, leading Alice to remind her that she’d best not bend down for any reason, lest her bosom be exposed. From the edge of the neckline, around the sleeve rings, and across the low back of her gown hung the hand-twisted four-inch fringe of dark blue silk. She wore a back bustle, drawing the front of the gown tight against her hips, with draped folds in the back. She touched the blue sapphire necklace that lay just above her cleavage and thought about Maximillian. He had been endearingly shy as he handed her the box. She tugged one final time on the elbow-length cream satin gloves she wore and walked to the marble steps that led to the lobby.
Jolene stopped, placed a hand on the marble bannister, and surveyed the Ball attendees milling below. She spotted Maximillian instantly among a crowd of men. He looked up as she looked at him. He said something to the men around him and walked to the base of the steps below her. He never once took his eyes off her. The crowd quieted and others turned to see Jolene as she slowly made her way down the staircase, her dark blue silk-heeled shoes lightly tapping on the stone, and the silk fringe swaying at her breasts.
“Maximillian,” she said as she placed her hand in his outstretched one.
He swallowed.
She reached up to straighten the white bow tie above his short-waisted, black dinner jacket. “You’re looking very handsome, Maximillian. I’ve never seen you in dress clothes.”
“Would you, can I . . . a drink. What would you like?” he said.
“Ah,” she said as a waiter came by. “Champagne would be lovely.”
Maximillian handed her a fluted glass from the waiter’s tray. Jolene slipped her free hand around Maximillian’s elbow and followed him to the crowd of people he’d been speaking to before. Emma Jean McCastor and Cornelia Gregory were among them.
“Gorgeous,” Emma Jean said and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
Cornelia arched a brow and smiled. “Gorgeous and clever. No wonder Max is smitten.”
Maximillian leaned down, whispered in her ear and raised gooseflesh on her arms as he did. “Do not, for any reason, lean forward. Henry Tuttle is desperate to see down your dress.”
Jolene pursed her lips and suppressed a grin. “Really, Maximillian. Do behave yourself.”
Maximillian introduced her to many of the men near him, including Cornelia’s husband and Anna Cummingsworth’s husband, Randolph. Anna slipped a hand around her husband’s arm. “Oh, Max,” she said. “You look positively delicious this evening!”
Maximillian pulled Jolene close and laid his arm across her bare shoulders. His fingers drifted down to near the tops of her bosom. A chill went through her.
“It’s good to see you, Randolph,” he said to the white-haired man and nodded to his very young bride. “Anna.”
Maximillian turned Jolene and began introductions to others nearby. If he intended to squelch any concerns she harbored about Anna Cummingsworth, he had succeeded, she admitted to herself. He leaned close to whisper in her ear.
“I believe I forgot to tell you earlier that you are the most beautiful woman in the room. Perhaps in the state. Words failed me, literally, until I remembered I was married to you.”
“You are quite the tease this evening, Maximillian,” she said and looked up at him. “Cornelia said you were smitten with me because I’m clever, too.”
“She’s right. That was much of the reason that I told Eugenia to speak to you about me. She and Calvin both said you were astute and that . . .” Maximillian stopped abruptly and turned her towards the ballroom. “Let’s find our seats.”
Jolene squeezed his arm. “What were you going to say, Maximillian? You stopped before you were finished.”
“I don’t like to speak ill of the dead. They’re not here to defend themselves and anyway, he was your husband, and you must have felt something for him at some point.”
“For a very short time. And at no time after we were married. What were you going to say?”
Maximillian shrugged. “Calvin said and Eugenia agreed that Turner was not too clever. That it was obvious that he had been as successful as he was because of you and your families’ influence. They both said you were the brains behind it all.”
“I had nothing to do with what Turner did at the bank. I can hardly take credit for that success.”
“It was your father’s bank from my understanding. Your father set the deals in motion, and you often closed them when you entertained and charmed the principles.”
Jolene thought back to all the times that her father spoke privately to her. He would explain the nuances of a particular negotiation that he and Turner were involved in, and she, in turn, would find a way to converse with those customers at some social event or influence the wife to speak on their behalf. Of course she did those kinds of things. It was their families’ business after all. But Julia and Jennifer were never involved, now that she looked back.
“I was never actually . . .”
“Jolene,” he said and squeezed her hand where it lay on his arm. “Women aren’t outwardly involved with business too often, but your father recognized your skills, and you
executed his wishes. What further proof do you need? Of course, you are clever. You are extremely bright.”
Jolene blinked away sudden tears. “I do not believe I have ever heard anyone say that.”
“I imagine it is always assumed that beautiful women are not too clever because they spend too much time looking at themselves and not enough time paying attention to their teachers. It was never true in your case.”
* * *
Max stopped in front of Jolene’s hotel room door. She fiddled in her reticule for the key and slipped it in the lock. She looked up at him with uncertainty. His wife was outwardly confident, especially when it came to her looks but then who would not be? She was physically stunning and graceful, with an eye for style. But she was not sure of herself otherwise, or perhaps just unsure of her feelings.
“Thank you, Maximillian. It was a wonderful evening. I hope Timothy will be able to report that your campaign has been amply rewarded,” she said. “Alice. Perfect timing. Good night, Maximillian.”
He kissed her cheek and then opened the door to his own hotel room. He changed, pulled on the silk draw-string pants lying across his bed and poured himself a whiskey. He’d drank very little before and during dinner, and now he hoped the liquor would burn a path to his brain and help him forget what Jolene looked like at the top of the hotel lobby steps because he’d never seen a sight to compare. She was the epitome of sensuality with her hair all piled in loose curls, just begging a man to sink his fingers into it, and her dress barely covering her bosom. He stood near the full length window of his room staring out at the twinkling gas lights of Dallas when he heard the key click in the door between their rooms.
Max could smell lilac talc, and he could see her outline reflected in the window. He knew that she’d changed out of her gown and into one of her nighties. He didn’t want to turn and look at her full on because he was worried he might throw her across his bed. His wife could tempt a saint, and he was certainly not one of those. He was a flesh and blood man with a desire to ride his wife over and over, until morning at least.
“Maximillian?” she said.
“I’m here, Jolene,” he said and continued to stare out the window. “Do you need something?”
“I wanted to thank you for the roses. They are so beautiful. And the tea tray and brandy you had delivered to my room.”
“I thought you might want something before you went to bed, and I didn’t know what it would be.”
“So you ordered everything,” she whispered.
He nodded and leaned his forehead against the cool glass window pane. “Good night, Jolene. We’ll have breakfast at the hotel in the morning if that suits you.”
“Max?”
He turned slowly. Jolene was a vision of sexuality in a filmy gown that he recognized from the day Mrs. McCabe delivered it. The fabric had strategically placed roses, nearly see-through otherwise with thin straps. But somehow he knew that for all her outward appearances his wife was fragile as well. He didn’t want to frighten her.
“I don’t trust myself,” he said. “You’d best go to bed.”
* * *
Jolene let herself look at Maximillian from his corded neck down to the small of his back where the string pants hung low on his hips. When he finally turned to face her, she was struck with how physically large he was and how working on the ranch every day kept his stomach flat, his shoulders broad, and his arms bulging with muscle. He was all that masculinity could be with his powerful body, and confidence in himself and his decisions. She’d been nervous as she contemplated what she was about to do. But then she let the silk gown slither over her shoulders and down her body and directed Alice to wrap her hair loosely with one pin. Her fear left as she looked at him now, and she felt her lower insides heat and throb.
Jolene walked to him slowly, and he watched as she did, his fists clenching and unclenching, and his sex pushing against the fabric of his pants. She licked her lips and didn’t stop moving until her breasts brushed against his chest and she could smell the unique manly scent that she associated with Maximillian. She reached up and looped her hands around his neck and pulled his head towards hers. She kissed him open-mouthed, and slipped her tongue in his, circling the soft interior of his lips. She moved her hand over his shoulder, warm and solid, and ran her fingers slowly up his neck and around the shell of his ear.
Maximillian was breathing hard and shaking, and he had yet to touch her except where she touched him. Finally, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. He angled his head and plunged his tongue in her mouth, pressed her hips against his with one hand, and sank his other hand into her hair. Jolene heard a single pin hit the floor and felt her curls cascade down her back. Maximillian wrapped his fist in them and held her head still while he kissed her. He released her hair and ran a calloused finger past her collar bone and pulled the satin gown away, taking her breast in his hand.
“Sweet Jesus,” he said in a low, rough whisper into her ear. “I can’t wait, Jolene. Tell me to stop. Tell me now or I may not be able to.”
Jolene was at a place she’d never planned to be. Sex with Turner had mostly been an obligatory and forgettable joining with none of the raw passion she was experiencing now. Maximillian was staring at her with desire and barely restrained hunger; his look alone heightened her own need and tightened her nipples against the silk of her gown. Instinct had taken over and she allowed it. She realized she was desirable to him, and he to her, on the basest, most primal level. She ran a nail up his erection and he groaned
Maximillian cupped and clutched her breast while his tongue plunged in and out of her mouth. Her hips bucked against him, and she let out a throaty cry, as he backed her up till her knees hit a brocade chaise. He pulled her gown over her head, turned, stretched out on the couch and lifted her leg to straddle him.
With little ceremony, she dropped onto him. He lurched up, took a breath through clenched teeth and looked down where they connected and back to her with heavy-lidded eyes as he held her hips, and pumped her up and down. His chest glistened with sweat, and she leaned into his hands, as he rubbed rough thumbs across her nipples and pulled her breast to his mouth.
Jolene was drifting, floating near to some oblivious plane of consciousness and physicality that was pleasure. She let herself feel it. With each stroke from him at her breast or at the juncture of their bodies, with every shallow breath or groan she heard from him, with the vision of his want so clear in his eyes, she let herself be pulled closer and closer. Maximillian was whispering in her ear now, telling her in a vulgar, erotic description exactly what he was doing. It was his words, she thought, in the last rational corner of her mind that took her over some carnal brink, and then released her.
* * *
Max took a deep, shuddering breath and let his eyes close.
Sex with Jolene was a lesson in sensuality. She was what he imagined every man dreamed of. While modest and proper when clothed, she was overtly sexual in the grip of passion, moving over him, touching him, licking her lips and him with no shyness. She was still breathing hard, sitting on top of him, her head bowed and her long curls of blonde hanging down and tickling his stomach. He reached up through her hair to touch her face and cradle her cheek.
“Jolene,” he whispered. “My God. You are perfect.”
She sat back and opened her eyes as if regaining consciousness just in that moment. Jolene looked at him and down to where he was still firmly sheathed between her outstretched thighs. Max rubbed her cheek with his thumb.
“I didn’t hurt you did I? I couldn’t . . .” Max stopped as Jolene stood abruptly, separating their bodies, leaving him missing her weight and her warmth. “Jolene?” He said as he watched her bend down to retrieve her gown. She turned and walked towards the adjoining door. Max jumped up from the chaise and caught her arm. “Jolene. Where are you going?”
When she turned, her face had lost every bit of softness he’d seen just moments before. The cold, haughty woman that
was Jolene’s shield against hurt, he was sure, had returned. He dropped his hand and she went through the door to her room. Max heard the key turn in the lock.
* * *
Jolene’s emotions were a shamble. Why, oh why, did she ever go in to Maximillian’s room? She knew what would happen. She knew! That knowledge did little to stop her though, and now she was open to him, exposed to him. He’d seen her lose her control. How humiliating! She would be particularly cool and keep him firmly at arm’s length as she’d always been able to do with Turner.
Jolene took a deep, resolute breath as the carriage pulled in front of the Hacienda the following afternoon. She climbed down without waiting for assistance.
“Jolene,” Maximillian said as he came up behind her. “We need to talk.”
Jolene watched as two young men carried her trunks into the house, Alice ahead of them. She looked up at her husband. “Concerning what matter?”
Maximillian’s eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “Why did you scurry away last night? Were you hurt?”
“Hurt?” she asked. “Hurt about what? I’ve got much to do today. Is there anything else you need?”
“Yes. I have to know if you’re alright. And don’t play games with me. You were as amazed as I was at what happened at the hotel.”
Jolene shrugged. “I’m fine, Maximillian. But certainly nothing out of the ordinary happened to cause me to be otherwise.”
Maximillian jerked back as if she’d slapped him across the face. But then he smiled. “Don’t think you’ve put me off. One thing I’ve learned in the last few months is that you are determined not to allow anyone to get close to you. Well, we got close last night,” he said and took a step forward. “We got hot, Jolene, and I can still feel you riding me, with your hair swinging, while I suckled you. There’s no denying it and I can see now by the blush climbing up your face that you remember, too. We’re going talk, Jolene. Maybe not today. But we’re going to talk.”