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It was not a thing with which Eleanor Guthrie was wholly familiar. She admired men, the broad curve of their muscled backs, the rough stubble on their sharp jaws, their deep voices and their satisfied smirks. She had loved Charles, had loved being with him and all they did together.
And yet....
And yet here came the French whore, with her pouting lips and sultry, dark eyes. Her olive skin and raven hair, dresses hugging her curves without the need for a corset.
Eleanor despised her.
She despised the way that Max would drape herself over every surface she came to rest on, spreading her arms wide and leaving her chest open. The way she would lean over the bar, cleavage bursting from the lace confines of her blouse, to enquire after something meaningless, something ridiculous. The way she would then remain there as Eleanor walked out from behind the bar to serve her customers, following Eleanor with those heavy-lidded eyes and that slow, maddening smile.
Eleanor hated her, and the way she would tease and flirt with her clients, leading them up to her rooms with her swaying hips and that slow smile. She was arrogant and cocky and so sure she could get any man she wished for. And she could, this Eleanor knew. She could, with those hips that curved so gently to that trim waist, that chest that spilled out of every gown Max owned. Eleanor knew exactly how many men Max was able to lead up to those rooms, how much money was slipped into pockets and into the till.
Now she watched as Max stroked a confident finger up the arm of a salty, greasy sailor, her eyes covered in kohl and lowered, her lashes fanning across her cheeks. Eleanor watched as Max laughed her tinkling laugh, listened as her sultry accent floated over to the bar on the warm sea breeze. Her knuckles were white on the pewter mug she was furiously scrubbing, her jaw tight and her throat dry. Wretched girl. Leading customers to bed in the middle of Eleanor's establishment. Had she no shame?
Eleanor froze as she registered the weight of someone's gaze upon her, and shook herself back to reality to find Max's eyes on her from across the room. Still heavily lidded, still with that infernal smile on her infernal rosy lips. Eleanor's face was burning, heat spreading to parts of her body she dare not think about at the present moment, and she forced her eyes away from Max's.
It was a few hours later when Eleanor was approached by Max, sauntering over to her where she stood on the balcony to lean effortlessly against it, dark hair tumbling over her shoulder. Eleanor stared pointedly into the horizon over the glittering sea, still painfully aware of the other's presence beside her. Max was patient, waiting a good while before speaking softly.
"What is it zat you want, Eleanor?" she asked, her accent changing the plain words into music.
"What?" Eleanor's reply was sharp, the surprise she felt undetectable.
To her chagrin, Max only smiled wider.
"I know you want something from me," she drawled. "Now you must only admit it to yourself."
"What I want," Eleanor ground out, "is for you to get the hell out of Nassau; you're a nuisance and you're bad for business and I want you out."
Again, Max only smirked. "I am ze best business you 'ave 'ad for years and you know it. Tell me what it is you really want."
At this she moved closer, fingers trailing over Eleanor's exposed forearm where she gripped the rail. She leaned in as Eleanor's breath caught in her throat and her grip tightened on the rail. Max's lips were close to her ear when she whispered,
"Let me give to you what you want. I shall show you just 'ow good it will be."
Eleanor tore her arm free from Max's hand, stepping back and glaring at the other woman.
"How dare you? You think you can flirt and tease like you do with your customers and what? Lead me to bed? Have some fun? Then move on tomorrow and fall into bed with fifty others? I am not one of your conquests, Max, and I shall not be your prize." She spat the words, only noticing when she finished the flash of hurt in Max's eyes.
"You think this is what you are to me? Nothing more than a drunken pirate whom I must bed to earn my living? Zen you truly are a fool, if you 'ave not noticed everything I do to make you see 'ow much I want you."
Eleanor's heart skipped several beats, every fibre of her body aching to reach out and regain the feeling of Max's hand on her.
"I.... You.... "
Max had again moved closer, crowding into Eleanor's personal space, and this time Eleanor did not move away. She allowed Max's hands trace their way up her sides, settling experimentally on her waist. She permitted it when Max pulled her in, pausing a hair's breadth away from her face. She obliged when she felt her hands moving to tangle in Max's hair, marvelling at the wondrous softness. She let Max lead this dance of theirs, her hands sliding to Eleanor's back as she slotted their lips together. Eleanor's heart was wild, her head a flurry of thoughts and white noise, her lips tingling and hands moving to whatever parts of Max they could reach. Their kiss was not soft but nor was it rough, a perfect pressure as Eleanor pushed back against Max's lips, backing her up against the railing of the balcony. Max left out a soft gasp as her back met the wood, separating slightly from Eleanor to gaze at her through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide.
Eleanor greedily drank in the sight of her swollen lips and flushed cheeks, her mussed hair and wandering hands, one of which was now cupping Eleanor's cheek, the other on her side just under her breast. Eleanor left out a soft laugh.
Max's gaze turned inquisitive.
"What is it?"
"I do not believe you are real. I have never had someone so able to take my breath away."
Max made a face. "You are deesgusting," she said, but her eyes sparkled. "Now kiss me again, my lips grow cold."