Backfire

by Metsy Hingle

  “Share!” The word was a breathless hiss.

  “That’s right.” He knew the remark would set her off. He didn’t care. He liked all that fire cloaked in softness. And he wanted it. He wanted her. All for himself. “It’s another one of those lessons I never learned. I never could buy into that business of sharing what I considered mine,” he explained, enjoying the flush of anger that colored her cheeks. Her green eyes sparked with fury. That stubborn chin of hers tipped up, daring him to take a poke at it.

  Sweet heaven, so much passion, so much spirit, he thought. His body tightened painfully as he wondered what it would be like to bury himself in the heated silk between her thighs.

  Not that he was likely to find out anytime soon, Chase lamented. Judging from Madeline’s expression, she would rather strangle him than make love to him at the moment. He smiled at the notion, which only seemed to infuriate her more.

  “I’ll have you know I do not find it the least bit amusing or flattering to be referred to as though I’m a…a…a piece of candy,” she sputtered.

  “Not candy. Roses,” Chase said, amused.

  “Nor do I like your implying that I—” She stopped, a wrinkle forming a tiny crease between her brows as she stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean roses?”

  “That’s how I think of you. It’s how I’ve thought of you from the first moment I set eyes on you. That day when you walked into the press conference wearing your little red suit with that pouty mouth of yours painted to match, you reminded me of a long-stemmed rose.” Chase laughed, embarrassed at how foolish he must sound. “Hell, you even managed to smell like roses. You still do.” And every time he was in the same room with her, just her scent was enough to set his body off.

  “How do you expect me to respond to a statement like that?” she asked, her voice filled with exasperation.

  “I don’t.” Chase set down the paperweight and grinned. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

  “No. I—”

  “Great. Then you can have dinner with me.”

  She arched her brow in that imperious manner of hers. “Gee, it’s so nice of you to ask,” she said, emphasizing the fact that he hadn’t asked her at all.

  Chase laughed. “All right, Princess. We’ll do it your way. Have dinner with me and I promise to ask you nice and properly to come with me to the Jazzfest tomorrow.”

  She blinked. “You’re going to the Jazzfest?”

  “Don’t sound so shocked. I’ve never been before, and I have it on good authority it’s a ‘not to be missed’ experience . I’ve even managed to get a couple of tickets for one of the off-site performances for what I’m told is one of your favorite groups.” He pulled the Neville Brothers tickets from his pocket and waved them in front of her face, then stuffed them back in his pocket before she could snatch them from him.

  “How in the world did you get those? Those tickets sold out within hours after they went on sale.”

  “Piece of cake,” he lied. He had scrambled like crazy to get those tickets after Chloe James had mentioned the local group of musicians were one of Madeline’s favorites. An ad in the paper and an obscene amount of money had proved the key. “Have dinner with me, and I’ll let you in on my trade secret.”

  Madeline paused.

  Chase studied her face. A warm softness filled his chest as he watched her battle with herself. He knew she had reservations about getting involved with him—and rightfully so. She was a woman with deep-seated roots, who believed in love and commitment. He was a wanderer who believed in neither. But he wanted her. And because he knew she wanted him, too, he couldn’t simply walk away. He didn’t want her to walk away either.

  He reached out and stroked his finger along her jaw and watched the sensual fire begin to flicker once more in her eyes. “It’s only dinner, Princess,” he said as he continued to caress her soft skin. “That is unless I can coax you into—”

  “Don’t you dare say it, McAllister.” She brushed his hand away from her cheek and grabbed her purse from the drawer in her desk. She marched to the door and turned. “If you want to join me for dinner, then let’s go. But don’t say another word about…about that.”

  “Don’t say another word about what?” Chase asked innocently as he followed her to the elevator banks.

  She glared at him and punched the button for the elevator. “About coaxing me into bed.”

  “Bed? Who said anything about coaxing you into bed? I was talking about coaxing you into having dessert.” The elevator door whooshed open and saved her from having to reply. She hurried inside to join several hotel guests. Chase smiled in greeting before moving to stand next to Madeline. Leaning closer, he whispered into her ear, “But I have to say, I like your suggestion much better. It’s all right with me if you’d rather just skip dessert and go back to your place.”

  “Can the seduction techniques, McAllister,” she said as they stepped out into the lobby. “I get nasty when I go too long without food. Lunch was only a salad and that was nearly eight hours ago.”

  She started towards the hotel dining room, but Chase caught her arm. “My offer of dinner was personal, Madeline. Not business. I know the food’s good here, but I’d rather go somewhere else.” He wanted her away from here. Away from the hotel, her father and thoughts of his plans for revenge. “Do you mind?”

  “No. Not at all,” she said, a hesitant smile curving her lips. “But could you give me a minute first to speak with André? One of the hotel’s guests had a problem with a room service order this morning. They’re a delightful couple who’ve booked twenty rooms and a bridal luncheon next month for their daughter’s wedding,” she explained as they made their way past the front desk. “I offered them a complimentary dinner in the hotel tonight to make up for it.” She slanted a glance up at him. “I hope that’s okay. I mean I don’t know what Majestic’s policy is on things like that.”

  “The same as most businesses. Keep the customer happy.”

  “Good,” she said, smiling again. “It was a judgment call on my part, but the Reynoldses seemed most appreciative of the offer.”

  Chase frowned. “Placating unhappy guests isn’t part of your job, Madeline. You shouldn’t have to be making decisions on how to handle those problems in the first place.”

  The smile disappeared along with the warmth. “I realize I probably should have cleared it through you or my father first,” she told him, her voice growing as rigid as her spine, as they continued in the direction of the hotel’s dining room. “But I guess I’m still not used to the idea of having my decisions or my judgment questioned.”

  Chase stopped. Taking Madeline by her stiff shoulders, he turned her to face him. “No one’s questioning your decisions or your judgment, Princess. From everything I’ve seen, they’re both excellent. What I’m asking is why you were the one who had to make the decision to begin with.”

  “I always make the decisions on guest problems,” she tossed back.

  Chase sighed. “I know. And that’s my point. It’s not your job to make them. Your father’s getting paid a hefty salary to be the GM of this hotel, but you’re the one doing most of the work.”

  “That’s not true,” she said defensively, but Chase noted that she didn’t meet his eyes. She shrugged free of his grip, and they continued their trek to the dining room. “Mr. Reynolds was very upset, and my father wasn’t here. He had an appointment outside of the hotel,” she added quickly. “So the front desk called me.”

  The truth was that even when Charbonnet was at the hotel—which wasn’t often—most of the staff came to Madeline anyway. The man was a user, Chase surmised bitterly. He had used Chase’s mother, feeding the naive Katie McAllister with dreams and then snatching them away. And because of him, his mother had abandoned both her dreams and her son. Chase swallowed hard, fighting back the ugly memory of finding his mother’s body.

  And now Charbonnet was using Madeline, his own daughter. He had shouldered her with the responsibility of the
daily operations of the hotel, but without ever giving her the title and respect that came with it. For some reason, Charbonnet’s injustice to Madeline only fueled his hatred for the man, made him more determined than ever to strip him of what he loved most—his hotel.

  And how will Madeline feel when you destroy her father? the voice inside him taunted as they reached the dining room’s entrance.

  The arrival of the maître d’ saved him from answering. “Madeline. Monsieur Chase. Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?” a beaming André asked. “Chef has a new trout dish on today’s special that is excellent.”

  Chase smiled at the debonair gentleman, all proud and proper in his black dinner jacket and bow tie. A fixture of the hotel, the French-born André had started as a busboy for Madeline’s grandfather and worked his way up. He had been parking cars and hauling bags when Chase’s own mother had worked here. “Not tonight, André. Madeline and I thought we’d check out the competition.”

  “Don’t give me that look,” Madeline told André, her voice filled with affection. “From what I can see, you don’t have room for us anyway.”

  “For you and Monsieur Chase, I would make room,” André assured her.

  Madeline squeezed his hand. “I’m sure you would, and we appreciate it. But right now I just want to check to see if Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds have been in yet. They’re the couple I told you about this morning.”

  While Madeline chatted with the maître d’, Chase stepped to the side and allowed his gaze to wander over the crowded dining room. White-gloved waiters scurried around the tables, refilling water glasses, clearing away serving dishes and silver. The place was packed, the room humming with the din of voices, the clink of china and crystal, Chase noted approvingly. A deep, raucous laugh followed by the call for “another bottle of champagne” drew Chase’s attention to a center table where a party of six sat wining and dining on the hotel’s finest food and drink.

  Chase scowled as he recognized the party’s host—Henri Charbonnet. Anger ripped through him at the sight. The man hadn’t been in his office all day. Nor had he responded to any of the messages Chase had left for him, asking for and then demanding the proposals from the decorators for refurbishment of the hotel suites. At Henri’s insistence, he had agreed to allow the other man to handle bidding out the job of supplying new drapes and furnishings for the rooms. With the renovation work more than half-completed, the fabrics and furniture would need to be selected soon in order to arrive in time for the rededication ceremony in the fall. Probably a stupid move on my part, Chase decided as his annoyance with Charbonnet turned to something darker.

  “Listen, if you want to rescind the dinner invitation, it’s not a problem,” Madeline said, the defensive note returning to her voice.

  Chase jerked his gaze to her, not realizing she had concluded her conversation with the maître d’ and rejoined him.

  “I mean, if you’ve changed your mind. Just say so and spare me the stone-faced looks.”

  “I’m sorry,” Chase told her. He gave himself a mental shake and attempted to shake off the anger that had gripped him at seeing Henri. “And I haven’t changed my mind. I want to have dinner with you.” He attempted a smile.

  “Could have fooled me. You looked like you were ready to strangle someone.”

  “It’s nothing to do with you. Let’s go.”

  He started to usher her away, but Madeline slid her gaze to the center of the room, traveling in the direction where his had been moments earlier. “It’s my father.”

  “Yeah. Look’s like he’s having a little dinner party. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather we didn’t join them. Like I told you earlier,” he said, trying to recapture the lightness they had enjoyed. “I don’t like sharing you.”

  She arched one dark brow at the comment, then her lips twitched at the corners in a smile. “All right, McAllister. I guess I’ll let you get away with that this time. But only because I’m starving.”

  “Then I’d better see what I can do to satisfy your hunger, Ms. Charbonnet.”

  Chase caught that cool look she fired at him that said she recognized the double entendre but had no intention of biting. Laughing, he said, “Let’s go.”

  “McAllister! Madeline!” Chase heard Charbonnet call out their names, saw him rise from his seat and start toward them. Chase cursed his luck. He didn’t want to talk to or even look at the man. All he wanted was to be with Madeline, to forget her name was Charbonnet and that he hated her father.

  Madeline stopped and looked back to the dining room’s entrance. “Chase, he’s seen us. We have to at least go over and say hello. It would be rude not to, and my father would be hurt if we refused. Don’t worry.” She offered him a smile and her hand. “We don’t have to join them for dinner. I promise.”

  “All right. But I intend to hold you to that promise. And later,” he murmured as her father approached, “I’m going to see if I can’t get you to make a few more.

  “Henri,” Chase said, nodding his head in greeting as the other man joined them.

  “McAllister.” Henri acknowledged him with a tip of his head, then frowned when he noted Madeline holding Chase’s hand.

  “Hello, Father.” Madeline went to her father and kissed his cheek.

  “Hi, Baby.” Henri gave her a quick hug and set her away. “You’ll never guess who I saw today,” he said, his green eyes twinkling as he looked at his daughter.

  “I’m sure I can’t imagine.”

  “Bradley. He was asking about you.”

  “That’s nice,” she said noncommittally.

  Who in the hell is Bradley? Chase wondered as he noted the strain work its way into her smile.

  “The boy’s done very well for himself in San Francisco,” Henri continued. “But he says his heart’s still here in New Orleans. I suspect you might have something to do with that, Baby.”

  “Father, please.”

  “Henri, did you know I’ve been trying to reach you all day?” Chase cut in, disliking the unknown Bradley already.

  “Yes.” Henri shifted his attention back to Chase. “That’s what Sara told me when she reached me in my car this afternoon.” He gave Chase a friendly pat on the back. “You know how it is, Son. All those meetings and luncheons a hotelier has to participate in to keep his hotel’s name out there. It doesn’t leave much time for sitting around in the office. But enough shoptalk. Business can wait until tomorrow. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

  “Madeline and I were just going out to get something,” Chase replied.

  “Going out? Whatever for? We’ve got the best food in the city right here. You two come on over and join me and my friends for dinner.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already made reservations,” Chase lied.

  Henri frowned. “Well at least come over for a minute and let me introduce you to my guests. There’s someone special I’d like you to meet, McAllister.”

  After following Henri into the dining room, introductions were made around the table. Then Henri moved to stand beside his last guest—the cool blonde who had been seated to his right. “And this lovely creature is Ms. Lana Duvernay. Lana, this is Chase McAllister with Majestic Hotels. Chase, Lana Duvernay with Duvernay Designs.”

  “Ms. Duvernay.” Chase shook hands with the woman, not missing the size of the emerald rock on her finger or the Rolex watch on her wrist. Ironic, Chase thought as he watched the other woman exchange greetings with Madeline. Lana Duvernay fit the image he had once thought to saddle Madeline with—attractive, expensive and as cold as a northern winter. Madeline had certainly proved him wrong. With her sweep of dark hair, soft silken skin and made-for-kissing mouth, she had turned out to be an unknowing seductress. Especially when she smiled and looked at him with those expressive green eyes, the way she was doing now.

  “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mr. McAllister. And please, do call me Lana.”

  Chase dragged his gaze away from Madeline and tried to focus his attention o
n Lana Duvernay. “I’m sorry, Ms. Duvernay. Lana,” he amended at her chiding look. “Did you say we would be working together?”

  Henri laughed. “Of course, she did. Where’s your head tonight, McAllister? I just finished telling you that Lana’s firm is going to be the one handling the redecorating of the hotel’s suites.”

  Madeline held her breath as she felt Chase tense, saw him slice a narrowed glance at her father. What was wrong? she wondered, not for the first time since they’d left her office. The man shifted moods with the speed of an Indy driver-going from seduction to leashed fury in the space of a heartbeat.

  “I wasn’t aware that any decision had been made on the decorating firm yet,” Chase told her father evenly, but Madeline hadn’t missed the rigid set of his jaw, or the darkening blue of his eyes. “In fact, that’s the reason I was trying to reach you today, Henri. To go over the proposals.”

  “Those proposals are a waste of time. Take my word for it. Lana’s the best in the city. Why, I used her myself to redecorate my own place a few months ago, and she did an excellent job.”

  “I’m sure she did,” Chase said, and Madeline fought back a shiver at the danger in that soft tone of voice. “And I’m sure Lana will understand that I’ll still need to look over her proposal before any final decision can be made or any contracts can be signed on behalf of the hotel.”

  “Actually, I didn’t submit a formal proposal,” Lana explained, favoring both her father and Chase with another smile. “I’m familiar with the hotel and Henri’s tastes, so when he mentioned the project to me I simply tossed out a few suggestions on how I would go about redecorating some of the suites. Henri thought they were good.”

  “They were excellent suggestions,” Henri assured Chase, his voice growing louder, his face flushed an angry red. “That’s why I gave Lana the job.”

  The scar on Chase’s chin stretched into a thin white line as his jaw tightened. Madeline could all but feel the anger vibrating in him. A cougar! The notion shot through Madeline’s thoughts as she watched Chase. A golden cougar with deadly blue eyes. Suddenly her pulse sprinted, and Madeline reached over and placed her hand on Chase’s arm. “And I’m sure Lana won’t mind jotting some of those suggestions down for you in the form of a proposal,” Madeline offered. “Will you, Lana?”