by Metsy Hingle
“No. I don’t guess it would be any problem. Would Monday be soon enough?” she asked Chase.
Chase hesitated a moment, then said, “Monday will be fine.”
Madeline breathed a small sigh of relief. “Well, we’ve kept you from your meal long enough. Chase and I had better be going, or we’ll be late for our own dinner.”
Her father didn’t ask that they join him again, for which Madeline was grateful. After saying their goodbyes, she walked silently beside a somber Chase.
She preceded him through the massive wood-and-glass doors at the entrance of the hotel and stepped outside into the clear spring night. The moon sat high in the sky, as though suspended from invisible wires, a glowing yellow ball against a black canopy dusted with twinkling white lights. A breeze swept by, carrying with it the scent of gardenias from a neighboring bush. Madeline breathed in deeply as much to enjoy the sweet fragrance as to ease her nerves.
“Are we still going to dinner together?” Chase asked, coming to stand beside her.
The anger still clung to him, as did the tension. “We are, unless you’ve decided to renege on your invitation.” From the distant expression on his face, she half expected him to do just that.
“I haven’t.”
Along with the clip in his voice, there was resignation and pride in his eyes that told her he expected her rejection and was prepared for it. The defensive response cried out to her of loneliness, reminding her that despite his confident manner, Chase had spent his childhood faced with rejection. The realization yanked painfully at her heart. “Neither have I,” she told him, calling herself a fool even as she uttered the words. She was falling hard for him, Madeline admitted. She would be crazy not to get out before she fell any harder.
Evidently she was crazy, Madeline decided. She smiled up at him. “At least, not before I find out how you got those tickets to the Neville Brothers.”
Some of the stiffness seemed to go out of him at her teasing remark. His mouth curved at the corners. “Then it’s liable to be a long night, because I don’t give up trade secrets easily.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to see what I can do to loosen your tongue.”
She still hadn’t managed to loosen his tongue three hours later when Chase walked her to her front door—at least not about how he had gotten the tickets. The little café he had taken her to had been off the beaten path and a far cry from the elegant dining at the Saint Charles. But the shrimp and pasta dish they had decided on and the wine Chase had selected had been delicious. And so was Chase’s company.
She had managed to discover that Chloe had been his source of information that the Neville Brothers were among her favorite groups. She had also discovered that they shared a love of theater musicals, action films and jazz, but would never agree on politics or the fact that anything with chocolate in it would simply have to be the better dessert. They had discussed a dozen things, but not a word about the earlier scene with her father. Though the scene and its repercussions worried her, Madeline was loath to mention it for fear of spoiling the evening.
“I had a lovely time tonight,” she told him when they reached the alcove at her door.
“It doesn’t have to end yet.” He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb.
She found the texture of his rough skin against her softness strangely erotic, and it sent tiny arrows of warmth flowing through her. “I think it might be better if it did.”
Giving her that wicked smile, he moved in, slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. Slowly, gently, he brushed his mouth against hers. “Better for whom?” he whispered, lifting his head a fraction.
Moonlight shunted across his face, and there was no mistaking the desire in his eyes. An answering desire shuddered through her. “For me,” she finally managed to say, pulling herself back from the precipice.
“Madeline.” Chase started to kiss her again.
“No.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. She squeezed her eyes shut as she struggled for control. If he kissed her again, she wouldn’t have the will to resist him.
Chase nipped her fingers with his teeth. Madeline’s eyes opened instantly, and she tried to pull away. Chase caught her wrist, keeping her fingers pressed against his mouth while he alternately nipped and kissed them, then laved them with his tongue.
A shiver went through Madeline, sending sweet warmth through her body, between her thighs. “You’re a dangerous man, Chase McAllister.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little danger. Especially if it’s what we both want.”
“Maybe,” Madeline told him as she managed to extricate her hand and tried to slow the hammering of her pulse. “But I have to be sure it’s what I want. I…I need more time, Chase. I have to think of the repercussions.”
“What repercussions?”
“There’s my job at the hotel for one thing. And then there’s the problem between you and my father. I don’t know how either of those things would be affected if we became lovers.”
Chase caught her chin and tipped it up, forcing her to look at him. Hunger, hot and demanding, burned like flames in his blue eyes. “It’s not a question of ‘if’ we become lovers, Madeline. It’s only a question of ‘when.’ And make no mistake about it, when I do make love with you, it won’t have a damn thing to do with the hotel or your father. And it’ll have everything to do with this.”
He took her mouth then. Plundering, ravaging, wringing from her a response every bit as greedy and consuming as his. When he tore his mouth free, Madeline leaned her head back against the door.
“Go ahead and do your thinking, Madeline,” he said.
She was too fascinated by the way his chest heaved beneath his shirt as he sucked in air to tell him she couldn’t think at all right now. She wasn’t even sure she could breathe.
“Sooner or later you’re going to see that I’m right. And then we can take that next step.” He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip, and the heat started to flow inside of her again. “It’s going to be very good between us,” he whispered. “For both our sakes, don’t make us wait too much longer.”
Eight
“How about something to drink?” Chased asked Madeline as they milled around the fairgrounds with the thousands of others who had turned out for the Jazzfest. A horse racing track for most of the year, the grounds had been converted for the annual festival that served as a showcase for the city’s musical talents. Many of those performers who had gone on to fame and fortune made their way back each spring for the event.
“Sure. I thought I saw a lemonade stand somewhere over there.” Madeline shoved her sunglasses up on top of her head. Squinting against the bright sunlight, she scanned over in the direction where a myriad of food booths had been set up for the festival. Mild temperatures and sunshine had brought out a record number of music lovers for the last weekend of the festivities. People, young and old, crowded around the rows of booths that served up cold drinks, liquor and a host of the spicy local dishes.
“I think it might have been all the way over at the other end,” Madeline said, indicating the opposite side of the long stretch of stands.
“Then let’s go see if we can find it.”
She looked younger and more carefree today, Chase thought, enjoying the rear view Madeline provided as she led them past the mouth-watering scents of gumbos, étouffées and numerous Creole delicacies. Probably something to do with the navy-checked walking shorts, crisp white blouse and flat shoes she was wearing. Chase smiled. He had half expected to see her in another one of her suits when he had picked her up that morning.
“Look, there it is,” Madeline said, turning to him even as she pointed out the refreshment booth near the end of the concession stands. She stopped. “What?”
He shifted his attention to her face. “Hmmm?”
“What are you smiling about?”
“You.”
Madeline’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And exactly what is it a
bout me that’s put that devil’s smile on your face?”
“Devil’s smile?”
“Yes. Devil’s smile,” she told him as they continued in the direction of the lemonade booth. “Don’t play the innocent with me, Chase McAllister. You have a wicked smile and you know it. I’ve certainly seen you use it often enough to make some poor female’s pulse twitter.”
“And what about you, Madeline?” he asked, giving her the devil’s smile she had accused him of using. “Does my smile make your pulse twitter?”
She shot him that duchess-to-peasant look and tipped up her chin. “If it does, I’m not about to tell you. That ego of yours doesn’t need any more stroking. It’s already oversize. So quit fishing for compliments, McAllister, and tell me what it is about me that’s put that wicked smile on your face.”
“Oh, there’re quite a few things about you that can bring a smile to my face, Princess. So far, most of them have been fantasies.” And those fantasies had required quite a number of long, cold showers.
“McAllister.” His name was a warning growl.
“All right,” Chase said, laughing. “It’s the outfit.”
Madeline stopped again. “My outfit?”
“Yeah, those little checkered shorts and top thing you’re wearing.”
She looked down at the clothes she was wearing and back up at him. “What’s wrong with what I have on?”
“Not a thing,” he said, allowing the smile to spread across his face. “I like your suits. I really do. I even like those ridiculous colored heels you wear to match them. But there’s something to be said for the sight of you in shorts, Ms. Charbonnet.” He slid his gaze down the length of her legs and back up again. “You make quite an enticing picture.”
“Is that so?”
“Most definitely,” he assured her.
She arched her brow imperiously, then subjected his shorts, polo shirt and bare legs to a slow assessment similar to the one he had just given her. “Well, the same can be said for you, Mr. McAllister.” She circled him, evidently extending her appraisal of him to include all angles. When she completed the circle and faced him once again, she quipped, “Especially the view from the rear.”
Chase threw back his head and laughed. “Come on. Let’s go get that lemonade.”
Ten minutes later he had successfully managed to make it to the front of the line and secured two lemonades. Turning to Madeline, he stole a quick kiss before handing her the cup. “So, who’s Bradley?” he asked idly as they made their way back to the performance area.
She slanted him a puzzled look that told him she thought the change of subject and the question came out of left field.
It probably had. The question had skittered through his thoughts when Henri had mentioned the name yesterday and Madeline’s usually open expression had closed up. For a moment it had triggered an uneasy feeling inside him.
Then he had become too caught up in his anger with Henri to think of it further. But last night, when Madeline had once again denied them both the consummation of the passion that throbbed between them, the question had come back to nag at him.
“What makes you ask?” She licked a drop of lemonade from her lower lip.
Chase beat back the unexpected rush of desire to replace her tongue with his own. “Just curious,” he finally said. He took a long, cooling drink from his own cup. “You got a funny look on your face when your father mentioned his name yesterday. I got the impression that maybe there was something between you and this Bradley character.”
“Eastman. His name is Bradley Austin Eastman. His family owns a small chain of hotels called the Eastman Arms.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Chase muttered. With four luxury hotels located on the West Coast and one in New Orleans, the Eastman Arms was essentially a competitor of Majestic Hotels, albeit on a smaller scale. While it didn’t surprise him that the son of an old-line hotel family would be of interest to Madeline, it did irritate the hell out of him. “So, is there something going on between you and this Eastman guy?”
“There was at one time. Was being the operative word. We were engaged for a while.”
Engaged. Something savage and angry slammed in his chest at the wistful look in her eyes. Her words rang in his ears, setting off possessive instincts he didn’t realize he even had. Chase threw his lemonade cup into a trash barrel and shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching for her and forcing her to admit she was his. “You still hung up on him?” he asked, unable to keep the hardness out of his voice. “Is that the reason you’ve been tying yourself up in frustrated little knots over whether or not to go to bed with me? Because you’ve still got a thing for this Eastman guy?”
Her green eyes sparked. Madeline looked down at the cup of lemonade she was holding in her hand and back up at him.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he warned. “You may not care for my method of retaliation. And I promise, I would retaliate, Princess.”
Chase watched her battle with the impulse to toss the drink in his face. With a sound of disgust, she opted for dumping it into the trash barrel instead. “No, I am not ‘hung up’ on Bradley. Nor am I tied up in ‘frustrated little knots’ over whether or not to go to bed with you,” she said, mimicking his tone. “But if frustrated’s how you’re feeling, then maybe you should find someone who shares your high opinion of yourself and hop into bed with her.”
Chase caught her arm to stop her from flouncing off. “I don’t want someone else, Madeline. I want you.”
“Then you have a problem. Because I’m not sure I want to take part in a…a quick weekend fling. No matter how memorable it might prove to be.”
“You’re right about one thing. When we do go to bed together, it will be memorable. For both of us. But it won’t be quick, Madeline. You can bet on that. And it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than a weekend to satisfy either one of us.”
Color crawled up her cheeks. Her gaze swept the area around them. “Is that supposed to convince me?” she asked, lowering her voice, but not the heat behind her words.
“No. Just stating the facts.”
Madeline made a strangled sound. “I’ve had enough of the verbal volleying. I’m leaving. I never should have come in the first place.”
“Madeline, wait,” he called out, staying her movements. Chase sighed, the anger going out of him as he realized how out of line he had been. For a man who never allowed his libido or a woman to tie him up in knots, both his desire for Madeline Charbonnet and the woman herself were doing a great job of doing just that. “I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like a jackass.”
“You won’t get any argument out of me on that.”
He managed not to flinch at the bite in her voice. “My only excuse is that I want you so badly I can’t think straight. I don’t think I’ve been in this state of constant sexual frustration since I was a raw teenager. And even then, I’m not sure it was this bad.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I had no right to come at you the way I did about Eastman.”
“No you didn’t.”
Chase frowned. That last had grated. Mostly because he knew it was true. He had no claims on Madeline. None whatsoever. “I guess you’ll just have to chalk it up along with my ego on that scorecard of faults that you’re keeping on me. I’m feeling a bit territorial where you’re concerned, Princess. I’m not particularly happy about that, but there it is. And while you’re condemning me, you might as well know the thought of you with Eastman makes me want to knock his head off.”
“That’s some apology, McAllister.”
Chase shrugged. “It’s the best I can manage. I’m seldom sorry for my actions or my words. As far as my feelings, they’re my own. And I won’t apologize for them.” He had apologized because he had owed her as much. If it wasn’t good enough, then so be it. He wouldn’t beg for her forgiveness or anyone’s. “If you’re expecting me to grovel, then you’re out of luck.”
“No. I can see you’
re not the groveling type. Probably a testosterone thing.” The storm clouds in her eyes moments earlier gave way to something softer, lighter. Her lips curved with a hint of a smile. “But then, I have to admit, you do have a way of boosting a woman’s ego. Poor Bradley. Imagine getting decked for simply being engaged to me once.”
Chase scowled. He didn’t feel the least bit sorry for poor Bradley. “Do you still want to leave?” Chase asked, not quite sure how to gauge Madeline’s response.
“Not unless you’re lying about having tickets for the Neville Brothers show and we need to try hustling some up outside of the club.”
The knot that had twisted like a pretzel in his stomach loosened. “They’re not fake. They’ll get us in.”
“Then why don’t we enjoy the rest of the day like we planned.” Madeline curled her fingers around his. “Ever done any Cajun dancing?”
“No. But I think I’ll settle for just listening to the music.”
“No one just listens to Cajun music. You have to feel it. Come on.” She tugged on his hand and started toward the performance area. “I’ll teach you.”
Laughing, Madeline dropped down to rest on the table throw she had spread out under one of the oak trees. She drew a deep breath. “Whew! It’s been ages since I’ve done any Cajun dancing. I forgot how exhausting it can be.”
“Now she tells me,” Chase grumbled as he lowered himself beside her. He held his hand to his side. “I hope you’re not intent on doing anything more than listening to the music for the rest of the afternoon. Because if you are; I should warn you I’ll be lucky if I have enough energy left to make it back to the car, let alone drive to the Quarter for that show tonight.”
Madeline laughed. “It wasn’t that bad.”
