Backfire. Metsy Hingle
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Madeline asked, “Does your mother still live here?”
Something sad and haunting flickered in his eyes a moment, making Madeline regret she had asked the question. “She died when I was eight.”
“I’m sorry.” The words seemed so inadequate.
Chase shrugged and finished off his coffee. “It was a long time ago.”
But it was obvious he still felt the loss. She had been twice his age when her own mother had passed away, and she still missed her. So did her father. “I’m sure if your mother were here, she would be very proud to see what you’ve made of your life.”
“You might say it’s because of her that I’m here now. She loved old hotels…particularly this one.”
“And she shared that love with you,” Madeline concluded. There was something oddly sweet and romantic about the notion, and she found herself softening towards Chase. “That’s what happened to me, too. My grandfather adored this hotel. I used to spend hours listening to him tell stories about it and the people who had stayed here. I fell in love with the place and couldn’t wait until I grew up so that I could work here, too.” Madeline warmed at the memory. Pressing the last crumbs of the muffin on the napkin with her fingertip, she licked them off. “I’ve never wanted to do anything else but be a hotelier.”
Glancing up, Madeline found Chase watching her. There was something hot and hungry in the way he stared at her mouth. Her pulse scattered and for the space of a heartbeat she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.
Disturbed by her thoughts, even more disturbed that he might know what she had been thinking, Madeline jerked to her feet. “I better go. I have a meeting with the travel coordinator for an accounting firm about booking the company’s continuing-education seminar at the hotel.” She started for the door, anxious to leave before she made a complete fool of herself. “Let me know if you have any questions about the reports.
“Madeline, wait.”
She stopped at the door; her heart raced like a Thoroughbred as he moved closer. “This is an important account. It means one hundred room nights, plus fifty table covers. I don’t want to be late.”
“I’m glad you’re so conscientious.” His lips curved into another of those sexy-as-sin grins of his. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t want to meet your client with that smudge of blueberry on your chin.”
“Blue—”
He caught her hand when she would have wiped at her face, and ran his thumb along her jaw, to the edge of her mouth, across her bottom lip.
A breath shuddered through Madeline at the sensual impact of his touch. Her skin heated, tingled. Like a doe trapped in the lights of an oncoming car, she was unable to move a muscle as he lowered his head.
His lips were hot, coaxing and utterly intoxicating. Chase lifted his head a fraction and Madeline heard a moan between them. She prayed it hadn’t come from her, was afraid that it had.
And then she forgot about praying, forgot about thinking, as Chase lowered his head and covered her mouth once more.
“I was wrong. Your skin’s even softer than I imagined. Like silk,” Chase said, tracing a line with his finger from her jaw to the corner of her mouth. His hand shook at the force of feelings rumbling inside of him. Not once in his thirtyfour years had a simple kiss rocked him so soundly. “A man could go crazy wondering if the rest of you is as soft as your mouth.” He smiled as a shudder went through her, and dipped his head for another taste.
Madeline pushed lightly against his shoulders. Her fingers curled into his shirt. “Chase.”
His name was a muffled whisper from her lips…her incredibly soft, moist lips that were as addictive as the hotel’s blueberry muffins. And infinitely sweeter.
Damn, if he didn’t hear bells ringing. It was either that or a warning signal from his body, letting him know that it would never be satisfied with just a single kiss.
“Chase,” she repeated. This time her hands were pressing against his chest, putting some space between them. “The telephone…it’s ringing.”
As though to mock him, the phone jangled once more, then stopped, leaving only the sound of their own ragged breathing and the ticking of the clock to fill the silence. Opening his eyes, he felt reality come back to him in a rush.
Chase swore silently and took a step back. What in the hell was I thinking of to kiss her like that? Hadn’t he already decided against it? Being attracted to Madeline Charbonnet was the last thing he wanted or needed in his life. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. It was a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“Yes.” Irritated, confused, he wasn’t sure who he was angrier with—himself for kissing her or her for making him want to do it again. He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her a second time. “It was inappropriate of me to kiss you.”
“Inappropriate?” She repeated the word as though she had bitten into a lemon and found the taste sour.
Chase cut a glance at her and noted the stubborn angle of her chin, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. Her outraged expression only added to his agitation. “You don’t have to go all prissy and proper on me, Princess. I’m sure I’m not the first man who’s kissed you. Hell, unless he’s a saint or a priest, any man from eight to eighty would be hard-pressed not to contemplate kissing you at least once.”
Her eyes smoldered. “And you’re neither,” she said between clenched teeth.
“No. I’m not.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “Look, I said I was sorry. Kissing you was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re right. It was a mistake and it had better not happen again,” she replied, squaring her shoulders. Her breasts thrust against the jacket of her suit, burning him with thoughts of feeling them pressed against him.
A burst of desire rocketed through him with the heat and speed of a shooting star. Cursing himself again for his reaction to her, Chase looked away, still not understanding or liking the fact that she affected him as she did.
“There are laws against mauling female employees, Mr. McAllister,” Madeline continued in that sweet, prim voice of hers. “I hope you don’t make it a practice.”
Chase whipped around at the accusation. “The ‘mauling’ wasn’t exactly one-sided, Ms. Charbonnet.”
“You kissed me.”
“And you kissed me back,” he countered, daring her to deny it and feeling a measure of satisfaction when she didn’t. “But just for the record the answer’s no. I don’t make a practice of becoming involved with people who work for me.”
The comment brought her head snapping up again. Her eyes flashed with cold fury. “I don’t work for you.”
“You work for the hotel. And like it or not, I’m in charge of the hotel.” Chase was irritated with himself and with her for pretending she hadn’t been equally affected by the kiss. He itched to kiss her again and wipe that snooty look off her face. But that would be another mistake, one he would be wise to avoid.
That dainty little chin of hers rose another notch. “Funny, I thought you were merely an employee of Majestic Hotels—not the owner. In fact, I wasn’t even sure you had a title other than troubleshooter.”
“Oh, I’ve got a whole string of titles, but troubleshooter fits well enough. Probably better than most of the others since I tend to enjoy trouble. You might even say I thrive on it.”
She arched