by Metsy Hingle
Madeline frowned again. “What’s wrong with my suits?”
“Nothing. Incidentally, the red one’s my favorite.”
Don’t bite, Madeline told herself. Don’t let him pull you in. But after a few seconds she couldn’t resist. “Why the red one?” she asked him warily, not quite sure she would like the answer, but wanting it just the same.
“It has the shortest skirt.”
She cut him a disapproving glance meant to take him down a peg. It had no effect on him. “I guess I should have expected a sexist comment like that from you.”
“What can I say? I like looking at your legs. You have great legs, Princess.”
She could feel his gaze slide over her and Madeline bit back the urge to tug on the dress’s hem. Instead, she concentrated on steering the Mercedes into the lane for valet parking.
“Madeline?”
When she didn’t respond, he cupped her chin gently and turned her to face him. Her stomach did another twist at the dark look in his eyes.
And then he was kissing her, his mouth brushing tenderly across her own. Her eyes fluttered shut as his tongue skimmed lazily across her lips, drugging her with his taste, his touch. She opened her mouth to him. Her body hummed when his tongue met hers and twined. Wanting, needing to be closer, she reached out to touch him.
And the car jolted forward. Madeline jerked back, but already Chase was shoving the gear shift into park. Mortified that she had so completely lost control, Madeline wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t look at him, not now. Not after coming apart in his arms.
“Relax, Princess. So we got a little carried away. That’s no reason for you to be so upset and let it ruin our first date.”
“I am not upset and this isn’t a date. It’s business,” she managed to say over the thickness in her throat.
“It certainly feels like a date to me.”
“Well it isn’t.” She opened her eyes and looked straight ahead, irritated with him for his speedy recovery, when her body still buzzed with desire.
“I really do like that dress.”
“You’ve already said that.” Shifting gears, she inched the car a little closer to the entrance.
“Yeah, I know. But I didn’t tell you what I liked most about it.”
“No doubt, the length,” she informed him dryly.
“Yeah, that, too,” he said, amusement coloring his voice. “But what I like most is the prospect of getting you out of it.”
The valet attendant opening her car door saved Madeline from answering. A good thing, she decided as she hurried up the steps to the hotel, because she wasn’t at all sure she could speak.
The few minutes it took to reach the ballroom seemed like an eternity with Chase walking beside her. After handing in their invitation at the door, Madeline stepped into the room.
Two dozen tables draped in silver lamé cloths had been arranged to form an arc around the marble dance floor. Stems of fuchsia-and-white irises mixed with freesia and sprigs of green foliage spilled from crystal vases and reflected in mirrored tiles that lined the center of the silver cloths. Music mingled with the clink of crystal and laughter as two hundred of the city’s most prominent citizens shimmered and smiled in their jewels and finery.
“Fancy crowd,” Chase remarked from beside her.
“Yes, it is.” Madeline looked out at the people, seeing the familiar faces. Bankers, doctors, millionaire philanthropists. Not a single one of them made her as nervous as the man standing next to her. “We’ll need to check the seating chart to find out where our table is,” Madeline told him, indicating the diagrams set up against the wall.
“I’ll check on it, if you promise not to run away the minute I leave you alone.”
For the first time since they had kissed in the car Madeline looked at him. Her spine stiffened at the smug expression on his face. “And what makes you think I’m going to run away?”
His lips curved into that wicked smile. “Princess, you and I both know the answer to that. I want you, and you’re scared silly because you want me, too.”
She wanted to call him a liar, but couldn’t. It was true. She did want him and it scared her—not that she would admit it to him. Instead she quipped, “Put that ego of yours in check, McAllister, and go find out where we’re supposed to be sitting.”
Once he started off in the direction of the seating charts, Madeline made an effort to regain a measure of control.
“Madeline, dear. How lovely it is to see you.”
“Hello, Mrs. Bouvier.” Madeline smiled at the chairwoman of the Preservation Society. From a prominent New Orleans family, Mignon Bouvier had retained much of the beauty that had attracted so many suitors during her debutante days forty years earlier. Wealthy and well connected socially, the woman held the power to send bookings worth thousands of dollars to the Saint Charles. But as yet, Madeline had been unable to get her into the hotel, let alone convince her to use their services. “How are you?”
“I’m just fine, dear. We were so glad the Saint Charles was able to continue to support the society.”
“We wouldn’t think of not participating,” Chase said as he came up behind Madeline. “Hello, Mrs. Bouvier.”
“Why Mr. McAllister. We…that is, the society didn’t realize you would be attending our little gala.” The woman practically fluttered.
“Madeline persuaded me to come. And I must say, now that I’m here, I’m glad she did.”
Persuaded him? The man had insisted on coming despite her protests. Madeline had to bite back the urge to call him on the fib. From the mocking gleam in his eyes, he knew it, too.
“It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you and your husband at the Saint Charles.”
Mrs. Bouvier blushed. “We’ve both been very busy, but I promise we’ll come in next week for dinner.”
Madeline couldn’t believe it. The woman actually preened under Chase’s attention. Fascinated, she watched the exchange play out.
“I’ll be sure to let André know to expect you,” Chase continued. “I’ll have him reserve you a table in the garden room when you call.”
After bidding Mignon Bouvier goodbye, they began weaving their way across the room towards the tables. “That was smooth, McAllister.”
“I thought so.”
“Do you realize who she is?”
Chase caught her hand and placed it on his arm. “Mignon Claiborne Bouvier, wife of Charles S. Bouvier, Chairman of the Board of Bouvier Financial. A patron of the arts, she and her husband have a private art collection on loan to the New Orleans Museum of Art that is estimated to be worth in the neighborhood of ten million. Philanthropists devoted to education, each year they bestow several sizable endowments to the city’s major universities. Besides being among the wealthiest and most influential members of the community, they each hold seats on the boards of the city’s two largest universities.”
“You’ve done your homework,” Madeline told him, impressed. “I suppose you also know that the Saint Charles has been courting them, trying to secure the room nights and catering business for those universities’ open houses and homecomings this fall.”
“And the Saint Charles is going to get it.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” she told him.
“No, Princess. It’s you I’m sure of. You’ll get the account.”
Surprised by his answer, Madeline remained silent, but was unable to suppress the pleasure his words gave her.
The music stopped and the emcee for the evening moved to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you will please find your seats. We have a lovely evening planned for you and…”
“What’s our table number?” she asked Chase.
“Thirteen.”
Thirteen, she thought, biting her lip. She could only pray it wasn’t a sign of bad things to come. So far the evening and her time with Chase was not going at all as she had expected. Instead of putting dis
tance between them, she found herself being drawn further under his spell.
Chase patted her hand. “Don’t worry. Thirteen’s my lucky number.” Those eyes of hers really were a dead giveaway to her feelings, Chase thought as he guided her through the tables. Right now she looked vulnerable, triggering some primal urge in him to hold her close and comfort her.
Not a good idea, McAllister. He wouldn’t be content with just holding her and neither would she. He had seen the shock in those big green eyes earlier. She had been rocked by the kiss they’d shared and mortified by her own response. He would have been gratified by her reaction if he hadn’t been so staggered by his own response. When she had opened her mouth to him and flicked her tongue against his, he had nearly lost it. Never before had desire held such a stranglehold over him. She hadn’t been the only one who had lost sense of time and place. Were it not for the car jerking forward when she had removed her foot from the brake…
“Something wrong?” Madeline asked.
“No.” Nothing except that just thinking about making love to Madeline had him growing hard.
“There’s table thirteen,” Madeline told him, releasing his arm to precede him.
“Well it’s about time you got here,” a petite but very pregnant brunette announced.
“Chloe, what are you doing here? I thought you and Paul decided not to come.”
The other woman wrinkled her nose. “You mean Paul the Dictator decided an evening of good food and dancing would be too much for me and the baby. But I’m happy to say I was able to convince him otherwise.” Her attention shifted from Madeline to Chase. “Well, well, well,” she said, her dark eyes twinkling with curiosity.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Madeline turned to Chase. “Chloe James this is—”
“The hunk.”
Chase chuckled and offered his hand. “Chase McAllister, Mrs. James. It’s a pleasure.”
“Oh, the pleasure’s mine. And please, call me Chloe and I’ll call you Chase. I’ve heard so much about you, I feel as though I already know you.”
Chase quirked his brow in question.
“Madeline’s mentioned your name a time or two.”
“Is that so?” He cut a glance to Madeline who was glaring at her friend. “I trust it wasn’t all bad.”
Chloe laughed, earning another scowl from Madeline. “No, not all of it. As a matter of fact, she hasn’t referred to you as a jerk in over a week.”
“Then I suppose I’m making some progress,” Chase said, his eyes locking on Madeline.
She steadfastly avoided his gaze. “Chloe, where’s Paul?”
“Trying to round up some Perrier and lemon for me.” She patted her round stomach. “The tyrant won’t even allow me to have a teeny sip of wine.”
“Because it’s not good for the baby. Here’s your Perrier, darling,” a man said from behind her. Slightly taller than Chase’s own six feet, Paul James had the same dark hair and eyes as his wife. Smiling he extended his hand. “Paul James, otherwise known as the tyrant.”
Chase laughed as they shook hands, warming to the other man immediately. “Chase McAllister, otherwise known as the jerk and the hunk, depending on who you ask.”
“Ah, so you’re Madeline’s new boss.”
“Yes.” And with some luck he hoped to soon be her lover.
“I think we’d better sit down,” Madeline informed them primly. “The waiters are bringing out the salads now.”
“Well, I for one am starved,” Chloe informed them as they took their seats.
“Darling, you’ve stayed hungry since you got pregnant,” her husband teased.
“That’s because I’m eating for two,” Chloe responded. “Does anyone know what’s on the menu for tonight?”
“Fish and prime rib,” Madeline advised them. She looked across the table at Chase. “The chef here does an excellent job with the fish. You might want to try it.”
“Maybe some other time. Tonight I’m feeling rather carnivorous.”
But more than two hours later, the meal had done little to take the edge off of his hunger—because the hunger gnawing inside him had nothing to do with food and everything to do with Madeline. The sax wailed with a soft, bluesy note and Chase guided her in a turn as they danced beneath the crystal chandelier. His cheek brushed the wisps of hair that trailed along the sides of her face and down her neck. Even her hair carried that delicate floral scent that he had begun to associate with her. He wondered, yet again, when the scent of roses had become a source of erotic fantasies for him.
The music played on, wrapping him in its sultry sounds. Madeline’s body swayed in rhythm with his, and Chase pulled her a fraction closer. He bit back a moan at the feel of her breasts pressed intimately against him, her legs moving in and out between his own as she mirrored his steps.
If Madeline had thought dancing would ease the sexual tension her friend Chloe’s matchmaking attempts had engendered, then her plan had backfired miserably—at least as far as he was concerned. Her hip shifted innocently against him, increasing his torture. Whoever had invented the first slow dance had obviously done so with mating in mind, Chase decided. Because making love to Madeline was definitely first and foremost in his thoughts.
He brushed his mouth against the delicate shell of her ear. She trembled, sending a violent surge of desire through him. “Madeline—”
“It’s getting late. I think it’s time we get going. I have a busy day tomorrow, and I’m sure you do, too.” She stepped back out of his arms and started off the dance floor, but Chase didn’t miss the breathless tone of her voice.
He caught her arm to slow her flight and took her hand in his. “Tomorrow’s Sunday,” he reminded her. “You’ve got the day off.”
“But the hotel doesn’t. And I have some paperwork to catch up on.”
Taking satisfaction in the fact that the pulse was as unsteady as his own, Chase didn’t argue as he led her back to the table and said their goodbyes.
Minutes later when the valet pulled the red Mercedes up in front of the hotel, Chase opened the passenger door. “I’ll drive,” he told her. After a moment’s hesitation, Madeline slid into the seat. He slipped some bills into the valet’s hand and eased behind the wheel of the car.
In the confines of the car, her scent wafted around him, doing nothing to ease the ache in his body that had begun the moment he had seen her at the hotel.
“I didn’t realize you were actually considering the conference center addition for the hotel,” Madeline interjected into the silence.
“It was a good suggestion on your part. I think you were right. The hotel needs it if we’re going to compete for the convention business. I’d be foolish if I didn’t at least look into it.”
“Paul’s a good architect. It was nice of you to offer him an opportunity to bid on the work,” she told him.
Chase shrugged. “I’ll still have to run the numbers before Majestic’s board. But if his work is as good as he says and the price is right, he’ll be the one doing me a favor. I wasn’t looking forward to interviewing a half dozen other firms. Besides, I liked him. I liked both of your friends.” He paused and slanted a glance toward her. Moonlight streamed in through the window, bathing her face in soft light that gave her skin a pale glow. His gazed drifted to her bare shoulders where the light spilled across the swell of her breasts outlined by the stretch of dark fabric. Desire stirred and twisted in his gut as he contemplated the feel of that moon-kissed skin beneath his hands. He lifted his gaze to meet hers.
Madeline swallowed and looked away to stare out the window. “They’re good people. I’ve known Chloe since kindergarten and Paul—”
“Madeline.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not interested in making small talk about your friends or the hotel. And I don’t think you are, either.”
She fell silent, and he turned his attention back to the road as he guided the sleek car through the dark streets. But even without looking, he sensed her ner
vousness as she sat in the seat beside him. He turned off the main thoroughfare in the direction of Madeline’s home.
“You’ve turned the wrong way,” Madeline said, her voice slightly alarmed. “The hotel’s in the other direction.”
“I’m not going to the hotel. I’m taking you home.”
“No!”
The single word held a wealth of panic that had Chase shifting his gaze to her. “Why not?”
“Because you won’t have a way to get back to the hotel.”
“I can take a taxi. Or,” he said, smiling, “you could invite me to spend the night with you.”
“In your dreams, McAllister.”
“Yeah. There, too. I’ve spent quite a few nights fantasizing what it’s going to be like between us when we finally do make love.”
“Well, you can just keep on fantasizing because it’s never going to happen.”
Chase pulled the car into her driveway and cut the engine. Turning to Madeline, he reached out and fingered the wispy curls that whispered along her neck. He leaned closer, bringing his lips to within a fraction of hers. “Isn’t it?”
Confusion and alarm registered in her sea green eyes, and then suddenly she was jerking away. Fumbling with the seat belt, she unsnapped it and raced from the car to the house.
“We need to talk, Madeline,” Chase told her when he joined her at the doorway.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Isn’t there?” Taking the key from her hand, he unlocked the door of the Victorian-style cottage and followed her inside before she could close the door in his face.
She moved across the room, flipping on lamp switches. “You can use the phone in the living room to call a taxi,” she told him.
Her prim and proper tone rankled, making him want to put a chink in that cool veneer. She set her evening bag down on the bar, and when she turned around, he was waiting. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to face it, Princess.”
He was so close Madeline could see the tiny jagged design in the scar on his chin, marking where the stitches had been. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, hating that faint quaver in her voice.
