by A. C. Arthur
Ballard swallowed, his gaze fixated on her. He did lift his hands to push her hair back from her face, holding it there as she began a slow, tortuous rhythm of up and down, around and repeat. He picked up the rhythm, meeting her stroke for delicious stroke.
“It will be just like this,” he told her. “Just you and me.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
He kissed the damp skin of her chest, his tongue lapping up the drops of water that settled between her breasts. She held on to the back of his head, picking up the pace of their rocking motion, pleasure building until Ballard was breathless. His palms flattened on her back, slipped down to grip her bottom as he drove deeper inside of her, ready for the explosion that burned against his scrotum.
“Forever, Ballard. We’ll be like this forever,” she declared, her voice shaking as her release took over.
As her thighs quaked around him, Ballard’s body tensed, the word forever echoing in his mind as his own release ripped free, their bodies remaining locked together in the bubbling water.
Chapter 15
The Wintersage Maritime Museum was the perfect location for Darren Howerton’s final political event before the election. In another week, they would all be gathered here one more time to watch the results roll in from the polls.
All around the perimeter of Seventh Street, media vans were set up with their satellites positioned to broadcast this event throughout the state and, in the case of the CNN van that had pulled up in the early morning hours, nationally.
In a half hour the museum doors would open and all the guests who had checked into local hotels and B and Bs would pour inside, not paying a bit of attention to the rich history of Wintersage displayed through paintings and artifacts throughout the three-story redbrick building. Janelle’s staff had done very little to decorate the area, partially because of the town ordinances that prohibited her from doing so, and because she hadn’t felt it was needed. High tables had been strategically placed, covered in tablecloths that coordinated with her father’s navy-blue-and-white campaign colors. On each table was a ceramic rendition of a ballot box, the Howerton name checked off, with a votive candle inside. Selia DuVane had made the boxes and would be selling them throughout the week in her shop.
Vicki had also thought the less-is-more strategy was best and had potted live plants posted throughout on each floor. At the welcome table, where “Vote for Howerton” buttons, bumper stickers and lawn posters would be handed out, was an arrangement of blue, white and green carnations, one of which her father wore tucked into the lapel of his navy blue suit jacket.
Tonight, even though she was semiworking the event, Janelle had foregone her usual black and also wore navy blue, a knee-length pencil skirt and jacket with a white shell beneath. She checked her watch once more, wondering if Ballard would make it on time. He’d said he had a meeting that started about half an hour ago, so they weren’t entirely sure he’d be here at all. She hoped he would be.
It was no secret, at least to her, that the marriage proposal that had come out of the blue had morphed into something much bigger. She had feelings for Ballard Dubois. Were they love? She hadn’t slapped that label on them yet, because the last time she had, she’d been horribly wrong. Still, her heart thumped each time she thought of him, her body warmed whenever he was near and she missed him like crazy when he was away. Every thought in her mind for the past week had revolved around him, their wedding, their future. She knew that nobody believed Ballard loved her, that they all thought this might be a marriage of convenience, but she didn’t care. For so long she’d done what she thought everyone else wanted her to do. She’d lived the life that was easiest, without any emotional conflicts. She’d settled, as DJ had told her just before last night’s dinner. It didn’t happen often, but she was inclined to agree with her brother’s words.
But in two days she would be Mrs. Ballard Dubois. She would have someone to go home to at night who wasn’t her father, somewhere to live that wasn’t the empty house she shared with him. She’d have someone to build on her hopes and dreams with who wasn’t one of her childhood friends who already knew those hopes and dreams by heart. There was no explaining her excitement, no explaining the reason she didn’t believe that marrying Ballard was just another form of settling. There was no explanation because she didn’t feel the need to make one and luckily for her, the people who loved her hadn’t pushed for one.
Well, at least not all of them.
“Are you in love with him?” her father had asked abruptly when he’d come into the room a few moments ago.
She’d jumped at the sound of his voice, so entrenched in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard his approach. Turning to face him now, she squared her shoulders, ready for this confrontation that she should have known would come.
“This wedding is extremely important to me, Dad. I would venture to say as important as this election is to you,” was her reply.
“That’s not what I asked you,” he said, walking slowly toward her.
He looked so studious and sort of foreboding with his shining shoes and expertly cut suit. She could smell his cologne and fought off the stabs of homesickness that poked at her. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and coffee-toned skin, the salt-and-pepper of his hair and beard lending a distinguished air to the man she knew possessed a heart of gold. If her mother were here, she would be so proud to see him come to this point. Win or lose, Darren Howerton was a successful man and she was very proud of him.
“It’s not like you and Mom, if that’s what you’re getting at,” she replied with a sigh. “We didn’t see each other across a crowded town picnic and decide it was love at first sight. We weren’t sweethearts for four years while she went to college and you into the navy. I tried that type of relationship and it didn’t work out for me.”
“I’m not making a comparison, baby girl. I’m just asking you a simple question.” He reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Janelle turned to look out the window once more. “I like being with him. We have a lot in common.”
“And that’s a good foundation,” Darren told her. “But is it enough to sustain a marriage? Should you be taking more time to get to know him, to see where this will lead?”
“I gave Jack Trellier four years and that didn’t lead anywhere but to heartache. Excuse me if I’m no longer on the take-my-time bandwagon.” Janelle sighed once more after that remark. It had been bitchy and probably unnecessary, but she didn’t want to have this conversation, not now and certainly not with her father.
“This is what I want to do. It’s what will make me happy,” she told him, turning to face him.
He smiled then, touching his hands to her shoulders. “Then that’s all that matters,” he said. “Your happiness has always been what mattered most to me.”
There had been so many times over the years that Janelle had doubted that statement. Standing here at this moment, she wondered if that had been her own selfishness, or if her father had also lost sight of that fact. Either way, this was where they were now. They both needed to function from this point forward.
“I can’t wait for you to walk me down that aisle,” she said, smiling up at him, feeling like the little girl who’d just given him her honor roll report card.
Darren pulled her close for a tight embrace. “And I cannot wait to see how beautiful you will be on your wedding day.”
“I love you, Daddy,” Janelle admitted, wrapping her arms around her father, feeling as though they’d finally met on common ground.
Darren seemed to let out a whoosh of air, his arms tightening around her. “I love you, too, baby girl. I’ll always love you.”
* * *
“Do you love my daughter?” Darren Howerton asked Ballard just ten minutes before Ballard was due to take the podium to make his announcement.
Ballard fastened the single button on his suit jacket as he stood in front of the man who would soon become his father-in-law. He had a lot of respect for Darren Howerton, for the technology conglomerate the man had built on his own, for the loving marriage he’d had until his wife’s death and for the two great children he’d raised. If there were some feelings of discord over what Ballard felt was a selfish misstep on Darren’s part, well, Ballard had already decided that he would let that rest. He had no intention of calling the man out for attempting to use his daughter for political purposes. Or at least he thought that was the plan.
“I plan to marry your daughter in two days,” was Ballard’s steady response.
Darren nodded. He looked around the crowded room. The event was in full swing, had been for the past hour and fifteen minutes. Political supporters, local officials and some of what he now knew was Wintersage’s upper class were all gathered here tonight to kick off the last round of campaigning for one of their own. Ballard had arrived only about twenty minutes late and had immediately found Janelle doing what she did best during events—directing and handling her business.
He’d been immediately elated to see her and had shown it in a way that before now he’d been against, publicly. His arms had laced around her waist from behind as he’d leaned in and kissed her neck while whispering, “Hello.” She’d reciprocated by turning into his embrace and giving him a hello kiss on his lips. A more public display of affection he had never participated in—aside from their sidewalk kiss in Beacon Hill a few weeks ago—and he knew they could expect a huge picture in tomorrow’s paper.
“I know when the wedding is. I have a personal invitation,” Darren replied, his cordial political smile in place.
Ballard followed his cue, having just been thinking about all the press that was milling about. He relaxed so that his facial expression would appear cordial, as well, no matter what he was feeling on the inside.
“Janelle is very important to me, Mr. Howerton. I want only the best for her.”
“And you believe you’re the best for her?”
“I believe I may be the only one, at the moment, with Janelle’s best interests in mind.”
Darren chuckled then. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
The correct answer would be no. Just as the correct action where Jack Trellier had been concerned might have been to stay away from the guy and let his lawyers take care of him. But Ballard had handled that himself and knew without another thought he would do the same here. Janelle was going to be his wife, so it was his job to protect her from all harm. He planned to take that job very seriously.
“I’m simply saying that asking her to date a man for your political gain may not have been with her best interest in mind,” he told Darren.
For a slight second there was a frown. Darren looked down at the floor and when he looked up again, his smile was once again in place. “I didn’t tell her to fall for you and I certainly didn’t expect you to take advantage of her. I admit now that I should have rethought what I was asking her to do.” He took a deep breath, released it and continued. “I would rather you not take that stage to announce your support of me if you’re not marrying my daughter for the right reasons.”
Because, despite his previous acts, Darren Howerton loved his daughter very much. Ballard hadn’t really doubted that fact, just as he didn’t doubt that at one time his own father had loved his mother and him. The problem was that for all these rich and powerful men could build empires and manage thousands, they had the hardest time simply being honest with and respecting the people closest to them.
“Dubois Maritime Shipping is backing the Howerton campaign because we believe in your platform and that you can make positive changes in Washington. We would have given this support without the involvement of your daughter, sir,” Ballard told him just as Darren’s campaign manager took the podium.
In the next few seconds Ballard heard his name being called and he turned to walk out onto the stage. Darren’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Take good care of her,” Darren said. “She deserves unconditional love and respect and happiness. She’s given up too much of herself not to have those things.”
Ballard only nodded his response and walked out to greet the crowd, to stand up for what would in a couple of days be his extended family.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon at two o’clock, two hundred guests sat in oak chivari chairs lined in straight rows up and down two sides of the Chancellor barn house. The space had long ago ceased being used to shelter animals and had recently sat empty until two years ago when Rob Chancellor retired from the firefighters and Janelle planned his retirement party there. She had no idea at the time that she would redesign this entire space to become the wedding of her dreams.
White twinkle lights were draped throughout the rafters, wrapped in peach-colored netting accompanied by huge peach-colored satin bows. Down the center aisle, which was roped off at both ends, a long ecru runner stretched. Orange tulip petals littered the path. The altar was against an ecru-and-peach silk backdrop, adorned with pillar candles, candelabra, a host of different-sized white and orange pumpkins, and a table full of things significant to her and Ballard’s relationship.
She’d selected the items herself. The domino mask she’d worn the first night she met him, a napkin from the restaurant in the hotel where they’d shared their first dinner, the tube of lip gloss she’d been wearing the night he first kissed her, a rendition of the sign with the name of Ballard’s yacht, Simplicity, scribed on it, the menu from After Four, and in the center of all the mementos was an eleven-by-seventeen picture of them dancing at the Wintersage homecoming. She’d managed to secure that from the local newspaper photographer who’d snapped it that night.
Forty minutes before the ceremony, she’d walked through the space one more time, checking the flowers and the runner, the programs and the music. This wedding had been planned in a week. It shouldn’t be out of the norm for her to check everything twice before she could relax. Just as it was also customary for her to be nervous. So why was Vicki knocking softly on the bathroom door in her second attempt to hurry her out?
“Do you need any help, honey?” she was asking again.
Janelle had insisted on putting on her dress by herself. In all her dreams about her wedding her mother was the one to help her slip into the white lace and satin. Now her mother wasn’t here. And her dress, just for the record, was a gorgeous shade of peach that draped over her hips and down to her knees, where it flared out in a darker shade into the train that flowed three feet behind her.
She loved the deep plunging neckline and the splash of bling at the center—the brooch her grandmother had given to her mother on her wedding day. Now, staring into the floor-length mirror they’d had to bring into the bathroom, she touched her hand to that brooch, looking at herself and wondering what the hell she was actually doing here.
In the distance she could hear the string quartet she’d hired playing mellow music, which signaled the guests were starting to arrive.
“I’m fine,” she answered Vicki finally. “I’ll be out in just a minute.”
She would, she promised herself. Not only had she accepted Ballard’s proposal, but she’d had her friends dedicate their entire week to getting ready for this event. They’d run every vendor they knew and every volunteer of the town ragged with the special requests and preparations. She’d stood beside her father at his political event just two days ago, smiling in a picture that featured her, her father, her brother and her future husband.
There was no backing out now.
Besides, she’d never do that again. One almost wedding in a lifetime was enough.
She moved to the door, slowly turned the lock and was just about to leave when a cold shiver went down her spine. Ignore it, she told hersel
f, and remembered the last time she’d ignored a warning signal like that. Jack had shown up at the homecoming dance.
With a sigh, Janelle leaned into the door, resting her forehead on the buffed wood, and closed her eyes. She could do this, she told herself in between deep breaths. She had to do this. It wasn’t only about her; there were hundreds of people out there, including the man she finally admitted to herself that she loved.
It would have been a perfect day to go along with the perfect venue and perfect dress, if only he loved her back.
* * *
Ballard Dubois did not get nervous.
When he was five years old and climbed onto his first bike, after insisting that Oz, their butler, remove the training wheels, he was not nervous as he pressed on the pedals for the first time. When he was fourteen and the sixteen-year-old Mackenzie Lewis drank too much of the liquor in her father’s room at the country club and pushed him into a dark closet, pulling his pants down, Ballard wasn’t nervous at all.
Today, as he retied his bow tie for the third time, he wondered if he might finally be experiencing the elusive emotion.
“Here, let me help you,” his mother said, coming into the small room he’d been given to get dressed.
He turned to greet her, hugging her the way he always did when he saw her, which was usually a couple times a year. After the divorce she became as scarce in his life as he supposed his father had been in hers. He’d dealt with that situation pretty much the same way he’d dealt with everything else in his life that wasn’t about business: he’d moved on and let it be. Now, pulling back from her and looking into the familiar face of the woman who had raised him, he vowed that his children would never experience this type of distance with him.
His children? When did he decide that he wanted children?
“When did you get in?” he asked, letting his mother take over the bow tying for now.
“Last night. I’m staying at the cutest bed-and-breakfast down by the water. This is a lovely little town. I’m sure Janelle’s going to hate having to move to the city,” Gina Dubois stated.
