Backfire. Metsy Hingle
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she said, her voice as cool as her green eyes.
It was the coolness that got to him. And he decided to push her a tad harder—partly because he wanted to watch those expressive eyes of hers shift from cold to hot, partly because he wanted to make sure that things between them wouldn’t go any further. Right now, that thought didn’t appeal to him—not when just looking at her set his hormones back two decades and had him feeling like a raw teenager again. So he pushed the buttons he was pretty sure would make her do the shoving. “And while it’s against my own personal policy to become involved with an employee, if you’re planning to resign anyway, I guess there’s no reason the two of us couldn’t engage in some good old-fashioned mutual lust.”
Chase caught her hand before it made contact with his cheek. She tugged, but he held on to her wrist.
Fury shimmered in her eyes. “Don’t hold your breath, McAllister. Despite what you’d like, I have no intention of resigning. And as for their being any mutual lust, not in this lifetime, buster.”
“No?” He stroked his thumb across her wrist.
Madeline averted her gaze to some point past his shoulder. “While I’ll admit to some elemental curiosity on my part—”
“Curiosity?” He moved a fraction closer and smiled as her pulse skittered beneath his thumb.
“All right, attraction,” she said, glaring at him. “For some perverse reason, I do find you attractive in the most basic animalistic sort of way. That’s why I allowed you to kiss me.”
“You allowed me to kiss you,” he repeated in that same prim voice she had used.
“Yes.”
Chase chuckled. “Princess, I’ve got a news bulletin for you. Whether you like it or not, that kiss wasn’t one-sided.” He leaned even closer and saw the awareness register in her eyes. He didn’t bother to hide his grin of satisfaction, pleased that she was as affected by him as he was by her. “And as much as we both might like to repeat the experience, I’m afraid we’re not going to. You see, I meant what I said, I don’t believe in becoming involved with employees—even when the employee happens to be a sweet little Southern belle like yourself. But if you think resisting me is going to be a problem for you, I’ll certainly understand if you want to reconsider your decision to stay on at the hotel.”
“Oh, I think I can resist you, Mr. McAllister.” She yanked her wrist free.
“Think so?”
“I know so,” she informed him.
“You know, Princess, that almost sounds like a dare. Makes me tempted to prove you wrong. I can be quite charming when I set my mind to it.” He flashed her another grin.
Her back went stiff as a board. “Then I suggest you save your so-called charm and killer smiles for another victim. Because I’m not interested.”
“No?” he asked, moving his mouth within a whisper of hers.
“No,” she said firmly, meeting his gaze. “You see, I’ve never been particularly fond of pork. And you really are a first-rate pig, McAllister. As for my resigning, don’t hold your breath.” The smile she gave him was as hard as day-old French bread. “Now unless you want to discover what it feels like to be kneed in the groin by this sweet Southern belle, I suggest you back off.”
Chase stepped back instantly, never doubting for a second that she would make good on her threat if he didn’t.
Madeline turned and jerked the door open.
“Oh, and, Princess,” Chase said, staying her movement.
“What?” she snapped impatiently.
“Don’t forget about the staff meeting tomorrow morning. I’d hate to see you miss another one.”
Madeline slipped in the rear door of the conference room and eased into an empty seat in the back row, just as her father began to speak.
Punctual by nature, she felt foolish arriving late deliberately. No doubt doing so was a perverse reaction to Chase’s parting remark the previous afternoon. At least she had overcome her initial inclination not to come at all. That was probably what he had hoped she would do—give him a reason to dismiss her.
Well, she had no intention of falling in with his plans. Now more than ever she was determined to stay on at the hotel, if for no other reason than to prove to her father and to Chase that they were both wrong about her. Not only was she capable of running the hotel, but she also was capable of resisting Chase McAllister.
“I called this meeting today to thank each of you for your service and dedication to the Saint Charles Hotel. Many of you have been with the hotel and with the Charbonnet family for a great number of years…”
Madeline tried to concentrate on her father’s remarks, but unerringly her gaze wandered from her father to Chase.
He stood with his feet slightly apart, his hands clasped in front of him. Yesterday’s wrinkled shirt and soiled slacks had been exchanged for a dark olive suit that made his eyes appear more green than blue. The wheat-colored hair, although still too long to conform to what she considered acceptable in a hotel like the Saint Charles, had been neatly combed and tamed into place.
Madeline looked at his hands, remembering the warmth and gentleness of those fingers as he had caressed her face. But his touch had not prepared her for the feel of his mouth hot and hungry against her own.
Heat rushed to her cheeks at the memory of how completely she had given herself to him in that kiss. How could I have kissed him like that? With such abandon? With such wanton need?
And the rat…he had known just how affected she had been by that kiss. She had seen it in his expression, had tasted it on his lips. Despite her protests, she had been stunned down to her toes and lost in the dizzying pleasure of Chase McAllister’s kiss.
She had made a complete and utter fool of herself. And to make matters worse, the idiot had actually apologized for kissing her—which had only made her feel even more foolish, more embarrassed and angrier still.
The man had an ego the size of the Mississippi River and her quick-fire response had fed it beautifully. What she wouldn’t give to be able to take him down a peg or two. Irritation simmering anew inside her, Madeline glanced up and studied his sinfully tanned face, his clever and tempting mouth. Her one and only consolation had been the nagging suspicion that he had been just as much caught off guard, just as shaken as she had been by the kiss.
“And even though Majestic Hotels is now one of the owners of the Saint Charles, I want to assure you that nothing is going to change…”
Madeline watched in fascination as that amused, confident glint in his eyes dimmed, then slipped into a frown that spread to his wicked mouth. A shiver of uneasiness shimmied down her spine as his expression hardened. She shifted her attention to the object of his gaze—her father.
“This hotel has always been run by a Charbonnet,” her father continued, his voice booming. “It was run by my father and his father before him and I will continue…”
Frustration came over Madeline in waves as her father went into his spiel about the unbroken line of Charbonnet males who had run the hotel. No matter how many times she heard the familiar tale, she still smarted at the injustice of not being allowed the same opportunity.
But she had formulated some plans of her own during the long, sleepless night. While she could do nothing to negate Majestic’s ownership interest in the Saint Charles, she could make it work to her advantage. The hotel desperately needed an assistant general manager, and who better for the job than someone who knew and loved the property so intimately. Somehow, someway, she would convince the new owners and her father to give her that chance.
And if that meant working with the insufferable Chase McAllister for the short time he would be here, then so be it. He wasn’t the first man