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Backfire
Metsy Hingle
CHASE McALLISTER'S TO-DO LIST… 1. Fulfill a vow to wreak revenge on the man who destroyed your life by taking over his business - even though it rightfully belongs to your rival's passionate daughter.2. Maneuver sexy siren Madeline Charbonnet from boardroom to bedroom, while dodging her desire for more than an office fling.3. Then, when it's all within your grasp, mess it up by falling in love!Chase McAllister had driven himself relentlessly toward Henri Charbonnet's day of reckoning. But now Chase found it wasn't enough. He wanted Henri's daughter with a hunger that shocked him, but if he went ahead with his plans, would Madeline ever forgive him?



Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ucea188a4-a410-5ba2-b04a-b8f2fac54d42)
Excerpt (#u7fbf8e59-87aa-5427-b099-5015ddc6aa3e)
Dear Reader (#u3f1d23d9-f956-540b-82a1-bb5a72529232)
Title Page (#u3f9f4f62-7049-5b3d-a633-594f5ef36bf0)
About the Author (#uc3ff74ca-8134-5355-a030-a9d3753af350)
Dedication (#ua6dbaedb-b6d4-53ed-9376-6f6102a44736)
Prologue (#ufa83d5a6-fcf2-5f68-ba9b-f1eee51e9b55)
One (#ucdbc444b-e63b-5d5a-a052-dc874a3a5381)
Two (#u61f1be5d-86e0-5e94-9ebf-e58befa80d00)
Three (#uabbfa128-f21e-5e18-a7e3-c8a857fc76e2)
Four (#uc82cf8d0-aef4-57ea-a54b-7cae2cdbdc3f)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“I Can’t Just Hop Into Bed With
You Because You Turn Me On,”
Madeline Said.
“If it’s what we both want, why not?” Chase countered.

“Because there are other things that need to be taken into consideration.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that we have to work together. And then there’s my father. He—”

“Leave your father out of this, Madeline. What’s between us has nothing to do with him,” Chase said, his voice hard, his eyes even harder. “This has to do with you and me. It has to do with sex. My wanting you and you wanting me.”
* * *

“New author Metsy Hingle has the talent…the originality, to imbue new life on a very old human emotion, making this work a beautiful love story. Believable yet magical. 4+”
—Harriet Klausner, Affaire de Coeur
Dear Reader,

Established stars and exciting new names…that’s what’s in store for you this month from Silhouette Desire. Let’s begin with Cait London’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Tallchief’s Bride—it’s also the latest in her wonderful series, THE TALLCHIEFS.
The fun continues with Babies by the Busload, the next book in Raye Morgan’s THE BABY SHOWER series, and Michael’s Baby, the first installment of Cathie Linz’s delightful series, THREE WEDDINGS AND A GIFT.
So many of you have indicated how much you love the work of Peggy Moreland, so I know you’ll all be excited about her latest sensuous romp, A Willful Marriage. And Anne Eames, who made her debut earlier in the year in Silhouette Desire’s Celebration 1000, gives us more pleasure with You’re What?! And if you enjoy a little melodrama with your romance, take a peek at Metsy Hingle’s enthralling new book, Backfire.
As always, each and every Silhouette Desire is sensuous, emotional and sure to leave you feeling good at the end of the day!

Happy Reading!


Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Backfire
Metsy Hingle


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

METSY HINGLE
is a native of New Orleans who loves the city in which she grew up. She credits the charm, antiquity and decadence of her birthplace, along with the passionate nature of her own French heritage, with instilling in her the desire to write. Married and the mother of four children, she believes in romance and happy endings. Becoming a Silhouette author is a long-cherished dream come true for Metsy and one happy ending that she continues to celebrate with each new story she writes.
For Linda Hayes-
My agent and friend, with thanks
for encouraging me to shoot for the stars and then
helping me to reach them.

Prologue (#ulink_a2a0c54b-0a3e-5377-b1ea-6d365f7debd0)
The branches of the big oak tree swayed under the rush of wind. Chase McAllister pressed his hand against the window, feeling the cold December air seep through the glass and chill his fingertips. He looked at the little white lights that the brothers at St. Mark’s Home for Boys had strung through the tree’s branches for Christmas.
One. Two. Three. Four. He began counting the lights. Counting the lights was more fun than watching the other kids getting all mushy with their families. He didn’t want to see them climb into the cars and drive away to spend the Christmas holidays with their moms or dads or grandparents. He didn’t want to think about how there wasn’t anyone coming for him.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Chase’s gaze drifted to the big white car that Billy Taylor was getting into. The woman inside pulled Billy to her and hugged him to her chest. Chase looked away. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling that sting behind them again. He wasn’t going to cry, Chase told himself. Crying was for babies. And he wasn’t a baby anymore. He was eight years old. A “little man.” That’s what his mother had called him. And men didn’t cry.
“Poor little tyke. Guess he’ll have to stay here at the big house for Christmas.”
Catching the reflections of the housekeeper and her new assistant in the window, Chase swiped at his eyes again. Go away, he ordered silently, willing them to leave. He didn’t want to talk to them. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.
“But I thought you said all the boys got to go home for Christmas,” the new housekeeper said. “How come he don’t?”
“’Cause he ain’t got no place to go. His momma killed herself, and he ain’t got no daddy—at least none that claims him. Surely you heard the story,” the older woman said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
Ignoring the two women, Chase watched the car with Billy in it drive off down the street. He swallowed. He wasn’t going to cry, he reminded himself, feeling that achiness in his chest again. He was never, ever going to cry again.
Fingering the scar along his chin, he went back to counting the lights.
Nine. Ten. Eleven…

One (#ulink_2ebf341f-9170-5c0a-88a8-160e12b0f886)
The place hadn’t changed much, Chase thought as he studied the garden room of the Saint Charles Hotel from his position near the dais. The cloths covering the tables were still made of pink damask and, given their faded appearance, he would lay odds they were the same ones that had covered the tables twenty-six years ago. The fresh flowers on the tables were fewer in number, but the vases holding them were genuine crystal.
Surveying the crowd of reporters and local bigwigs, who had gathered for the formal announcement of the new partnership between his firm and Henri Charbonnet, Chase frowned. Even the faces and names looked the same, he thought, recalling those Sunday mornings his mother had spent scouring the newspaper’s society pages and pointing out her customers to him. The crème de la crème of New Orleans, she had called them. He doubted that any of them had even known the name of the pretty waitress who had served them their coffee and five-course meals. But she had known their names. She had idolized them, had been thrilled to touch the fringes of their pampered lives.
And now they were here to see him.
Of course, their eagerness to welcome him into their privileged midst was due to his alignment with one of their own—Henri Charbonnet.
Chase shifted his gaze to the object of his thoughts. The years had not been as kind to Henri Charbonnet as they had been to his hotel. The man’s hair was thinner now and nearly all white. His middle had thickened, giving him a portly appearance. He had loomed as a giant in the memory of an eight-year-old boy, but now he appeared almost short against Chase’s own six feet. But the eyes…those hard green eyes that had been so cold and forbidding when they had stared at him from across his mother’s coffin…they hadn’t changed. They were just as cold, just as empty, just as unfeeling as he remembered.
Henri Charbonnet shook hands with one of the city’s councilmen, then tipped his head back in laughter before leading a group of his friends to one of the serving stations. The hotel’s finest crystal and silver pieces adorned the tables laden with the restaurant’s signature dishes.
Charbonnet had spared little expense for the press briefing and reception that was to follow, Chase surmised, as he took in the lavishly decorated room. Evidently cost didn’t matter to the man when it was someone else’s money he was spending. Chase gritted his teeth and rubbed his thumb across the two-inch scar that stretched across his chin. Enjoy your little kingdom while you can, old man, he thought. Because it won’t be yours for much longer.
Chase shifted his gaze to the doorway where the guests continued to filter into the room at a steady pace.
Then he saw the brunette.
Despite her small size, she was a hard one to miss in that red suit. The fabric skimmed nicely rounded curves and fell several inches above her knees on legs that seemed impossibly long for a woman who couldn’t measure more than five foot four.
Nice, Chase thought. He appreciated the female form as much as the next man. And while he had never been a man who got overly excited by big-breasted women, legs were another story.
Chase smiled as he took another look at hers. The brunette definitely had a great pair of legs. Slowly, Chase inched his gaze upward from the expensive red pumps to the mouth painted the same shade of cherry red as her suit. A mouth made for kissing, he thought idly.
The rest of her face wasn’t bad, either. She wasn’t beautiful, at least not by movie-star standards, but she was pretty all the same. She greeted several people and seemed to scan the crowd in search of someone. With her face turned to the side, he couldn’t quite make out if her eyes were green or blue. The thick cocoa-colored hair fell in a smooth and chic line just below her chin and was a great foil for her skin. Ah, and what skin, Chase thought as he studied her. The color of rich cream, it looked as soft and delicate as the petal of a rose.
An expensive rose, Chase decided, catching the flicker of diamond studs when she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. She smiled at something the pretty boy in the Italian suit said, her luscious mouth curving up sweetly at the other man.
She’s out of your league, McAllister, a voice inside him taunted. This rose was one sweet, tempting little package with all the class and breeding her daddy’s money could buy. And no doubt if she hadn’t yet landed herself a rich husband to pick up where daddy left off, she soon would.
“Mr. McAllister.” One of the newspaper reporters approached him and introduced herself. The smile the woman gave him reminded him of a cat, a big hungry cat. “I know you can’t divulge the details of your firm’s purchase of stock in the Saint Charles, but can you tell me if it’s true that Majestic Hotels plans to invest several million dollars in the renovation of the hotel?”
So the rumor mill was already buzzing. “My firm plans to invest a considerable amount of money in renovating the property,” he said, favoring her with one of his lazy smiles. Using his smile to charm others had been one of the first tricks he had learned in the foster home circuit, and it had served him well in the hotel business. People liked dealing with a person who smiled. And women especially seemed to like his. “But how much the renovation is going to cost has yet to be determined,” he said noncommittally.
Out of the corner of his eye, Chase watched his expensive rose weave her way through the crowd with the pretty boy in tow to where Henri Charbonnet and his group stood. She greeted him and several of those gathered with a kiss on the cheek in the fashion so typical of Southern women.
“What about the actual running of the hotel? Word has it that Majestic likes to bring in their own general managers. Is that why you’re here? Do you plan to take over as the new general manager of the Saint Charles?”
Chase pulled his attention back to the reporter. His assessment of the woman as a cat was evidently on target, he decided. And from the hungry gleam in her eye, this one probably had sharp claws. Evidently she smelled another story behind Charbonnet’s decision to sell an interest in the family’s legacy to an outsider.
But it was a story he had no interest in telling. He had his own agenda where Charbonnet was concerned and had no intention of meeting someone else’s…no matter how tempting. “Now, Bitsy,” he said, addressing her by the first name printed on her name tag. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Oh, just a hunch.” She gave him an assessing look and Chase suspected she liked what she saw. “But I can see you’re not going to tell me anything more. So what’s the official line on your involvement here?”
He gave the woman his best smile and watched it take effect. “My role at the Saint Charles will be to oversee the implementation of new reporting and reservation systems, linking the hotel with Majestic’s mother systems. And I’ll also be working to get the renovations under way.”
“And Henri Charbonnet’s role?”
“Henri Charbonnet is the hotel’s executive director, as well as one of its owners. But I suspect you already know that. Majestic plans to work very closely with him in the operation of the Saint Charles.”
“What about his daughter, Madeline?”
“What about her?” Chase tossed back, resisting the urge to check on his rose.
The reporter cut a glance to Henri Charbonnet, then looked back at him. A thin smile spread across the reporter’s lips. “Well, I understand Madeline wasn’t very happy about her father’s decision to sell an interest in the hotel…that she had hoped to take over the operation of the Saint Charles herself someday,” the woman continued. “I was just wondering if you or Majestic Hotels saw Madeline’s position at the hotel as a problem.”
He had given little thought to Madeline Charbonnet when he had been making his plans. He had noted her name on the list of the sales department’s employees and dismissed it. He assumed she was one of the reasons the place was operating in the red. The fact that she had not attended the staff meeting he had held the previous day and had been missing from the sales department—on vacation they saidhad confirmed his opinion of her as a spoiled little rich girl playing at the hotel business. If the daughter was anything like her father, she would have only contributed to the financial drain. He had simply added her name to the list of problems at the hotel that he would need to fix. Of course, he had no intention of telling the reporter that. Instead, he simply replied, “I don’t see Madeline Charbonnet as a problem at all.”
Excusing himself from the reporter, Chase headed in Charbonnet’s direction. He told himself he simply wanted to get this dog-and-pony show on the road, that it had nothing to do with the brunette standing beside the older man. Stopping just behind Charbonnet, Chase waited for him to finish his conversation before suggesting they get the statements to the press out of the way. And he used the moment to study the brunette.
Damn if that skin of hers didn’t look even softer close up, he thought. Even her voice matched. It was all velvety and soft as she made plans to meet pretty boy for breakfast the next morning. Unable to resist, Chase gave her legs another once-over. Definitely roses. The long-stemmed expensive variety.
“McAllister.” Charbonnet stuck out his hand, motioning for Chase to join him. He made quick introductions of the men, then turned to the brunette. “And I don’t believe you’ve met my daughter, Madeline. Madeline, this is Chase McAllister with Majestic Hotels.”
He should have seen that one coming, Chase admonished himself. Quickly, he schooled his expression, looking at Madeline Charbonnet more closely.
The black-and-white newspaper photographs he had seen of her through the years—clips of her as a debutante, a maid for the old-line carnival clubs and society darling—none had done justice to the woman who stood before him. They hadn’t revealed that the lips now pressed together in a tight line were so full and sensuous or that the eyes set in that perfect oval face were such a deep green. The newspaper photographs certainly hadn’t prepared him for the fact that those green eyes would be a mirror of everything she was feeling.
And right now, judging from the fire flashing in those emerald gems, Chase had no doubt that Madeline Charbonnet would like nothing better than to deck him.
The thought amused him and Chase smiled, which only seemed to make those eyes of hers grow even darker. But he had to give her credit because instead of slugging him, she extended her hand. “Mr. McAllister,” she said, her voice as cool as the February wind that whipped at the flags flying outside of the hotel.
Chase bit back the urge to laugh at the regal tilt of her chin. “Ms. Charbonnet. It’s a pleasure. And please, call me Chase.” Damn if her skin wasn’t every bit as silky and soft as he had imagined. She even smelled like roses.
And no doubt she came with her own supply of thorns, a voice inside Chase warned. Before he could dwell on that thought further, the ear-piercing shrill of a microphone being flipped on sliced through the room.
Madeline pulled her hand free. She took a step back, then turned to Charbonnet. “Father, I believe they’re ready for you and Mr. McAllister to take your positions at the podium,” she told him.
“Would you like to join your father and me at the podium for the announcement?” Chase asked.
“No.” Madeline’s faced flushed an angry red. “Thank you, but no. The Saint Charles belongs to my father and…and to Majestic Hotels.”
“I know. But you’re still welcome—”
“Mr. McAllister, I don’t want to join you and my father at the podium. If it had been my decision, there would be no need for an announcement today.”
“Madeline, that’s enough,” Henri Charbonnet said firmly.
So the reporter had been right. Madeline Charbonnet hadn’t been happy about her father’s decision to sell. In fact, she was out-and-out furious.
“Madeline, apologize to Mr. McAllister for your rudeness,” Henri ordered.
Madeline looked as though her father had slapped her. She tipped up her chin. “I have nothing to apologize for. Mr. McAllister and his firm have no right to own a part of the Saint Charles. It belongs—”
“Madeline Claire—”
Chase touched the other man’s shoulder. “Forget it, Charbonnet. It doesn’t matter.” Guilt prickled at Chase momentarily, but he pushed it aside. Charbonnet was the one who had robbed her of her legacy. Not him. He had merely supplied the means. The fact that the deal would serve his own purposes didn’t matter. Ignoring the shimmer of tears in her eyes, Chase hardened his heart. “Then I guess it’s fortunate for Majestic Hotels and me that the decision to sell the Saint Charles wasn’t yours to make.”
Turning away from Madeline, he motioned to her father. “Come on, Charbonnet. Let’s get this thing over with.” Without waiting for a reply, Chase strode to the front of the room.
As Charbonnet stepped up to the microphone, Chase move to the side and half listened while he announced the new partnership and outlined his grand plans for the hotel.
“As all of you know, the Saint Charles Hotel has always prided itself on its old-world elegance and its fine service. With Majestic Hotels as our new partner, we intend to not only uphold that tradition, but to expand upon it,” Charbonnet continued. “Our guests will continue to enjoy all of the amenities now offered, plus some additional ones…”
Yes, the man was really good at spending money, Chase thought, confirming his earlier assessment. In this case, someone else’s. But he would let the old man have his day, enjoy himself while he could. Because within six months, if all went as planned, Charbonnet’s little kingdom would come crumbling down.
And what about Madeline Charbonnet?
She wasn’t his problem. He had waited a long time for this moment. It was the culmination of years of working, watching and waiting. At last the vengeance he had sought was within his grasp.
He didn’t intend to lose the chance to even the score simply because some spoiled little rich girl had starry-eyed notions about the hotel. Only a fool would fall for that “heart in her eyes” trick.
Yet as he looked down into the gathering where she listened to her father ramble on about the hotel’s heritage and its long ties to the Charbonnet family, the pride and longing on that expressive face of hers looked real.
And as Henri Charbonnet introduced him, the flicker of betrayal and then anger that raced across her features before she turned and started for the exit didn’t seem at all like a trick.
Forget about her, McAllister, Chase told himself as he stepped up to the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, Honorable Mayor, members of the city council, distinguished guests and friends, on behalf of Majestic Hotels, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you…”
Madeline allowed the cool water from the faucet to run over her hands and wrists while she struggled to regain control of herself. After several long moments she reached over and turned off the tap.
What a foolish thing to do, Madeline told her image in the gilt-edged mirror that hung over the basin in the ladies’ powder room. Not foolish, it was plain stupid, she amended. Color flooded her cheeks as she relived the frustration and anger she had experienced at Chase McAllister’s cutting reply.
What angered her most was that he had been right—the decision to sell an interest in the hotel hadn’t been hers. She had had absolutely no say in the matter. True, the hotel didn’t belong to her. It belonged to her father. But she loved the place, had practically grown up in it. She knew every piece of furniture, every antique that filled each of the hotel’s eighty suites. It was more than just a hotel, more than just a piece of real estate. It was her home. And the thought of strangers owning a part of it galled her, made her physically ill.
Drying her hands on the linen towels that bore the hotel’s entwined letters S and C, Madeline tossed it into the brass container designated for soiled linens. She leaned against the marble countertop and squeezed her eyes shut.
But there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. Not now. It was too late. And any hopes that she might have harbored of one day running the hotel were finished. Even if she could have eventually convinced her father that she was capable of running the Saint Charles, it no longer mattered. The decision would no longer be his. It belonged to some unknown board of directors on the East Coast who wouldn’t care about the hotel’s history or the fact that a Charbonnet had always been at its helm.
If only her father had given her a chance, confided in her. Maybe she could have helped him work out the financial problems without resorting to selling off a part of the hotel.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t even bothered to discuss his problems or his decision to sell with her until it was too late. The realization made her angry, but more than that, it hurt. Because it just drove home what she already knew: in her father’s eyes she could never measure up. If she had, he would never have opted to sell.
Biting back a sigh of frustration, Madeline opened her eyes. No matter how hard she worked, no matter how good she was at her job, her father didn’t think she was capable of running the hotel. And now with Chase McAllister in the picture, she would never have the chance to prove him wrong.
At the thought of Chase McAllister, Madeline straightened. The man had unnerved her. She had been all too aware of him watching her. He had reminded her of a wolf, running his eyes over her lazily, as though he were contemplating taking a taste. Madeline shivered at the image of Chase’s mouth on her skin. She smoothed her fingers down the sides of her skirt as she recalled the feel of his palm, strong and hard against her own, when she had offered him her hand.
Hard. It was a good word to describe Chase McAllister. Despite the heartbreaker smile that told her he knew just what effect he had on women, there had been something hot and dangerous in his eyes when her father had introduced them. While working with a man like him might prove exciting, it would be unsettling.
Not that she was likely to have to worry about that problem. Madeline stifled a groan. After her remarks today, she doubted he would keep her on the hotel’s staff. She probably should just resign and get it over with. She was good at her job. She could hire on at one of the other hotels in the city. Heaven knew there were enough of them, new ones popping up like crazy since the opening of the casino. That’s why she had arranged to meet Kyle for breakfast, to ask for his help.
But the thought of working anyplace else made her want to weep. She loved the Saint Charles. It was in her blood. The hotel…the people, they were like family. She hated the thought of leaving. How could she just walk away?
Why should she have to? The stubborn voice inside her asked. She had more right to be here than Chase McAllister did. Why should she make it easy for him and his firm to take over her family’s hotel?
She wouldn’t, Madeline vowed. Not without a fight. She wasn’t going to quit. She wasn’t going to run away and hide. If Chase McAllister wanted her out, then he was going to have to fire her. Tipping up her chin, she slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and headed back into the garden room where McAllister was speaking.
“Majestic Hotels is pleased to add the venerable Saint Charles Hotel to its family of fine, luxury properties…”
At the rear of the room, Madeline listened to Chase deliver his speech in that deep, authoritative voice of his. The fact that he had memorized his remarks and not used any notes was a nice touch, she conceded. So was that devilish smile that he kept flashing at the audience. From the looks on peoples’ faces—particularly the female ones—it was working.
“…and who better to have as our partner than Henri Charbonnet, the gentleman whose family founded the hotel. I’m personally looking forward to working with Henri—” His amused gaze swept over the crowd and halted when he reached her. He paused, staring at her long moments. “And with his daughter Madeline.”
Madeline glared at him. He was lying through his pretty white teeth and she knew it.
As though he could read her thoughts, Chase smiled at her then. His mouth curved in the most wicked smile. It was warm and deep, intimate, the type of knowing smile a man might share with his lover. The effect was delectable, captivating…and disturbing.
“Handsome fellow, isn’t he?”
Madeline swung her gaze to the pregnant woman standing beside her. Chloe James. Friends all of their lives, Chloe was the closest thing to a sister she had. Chloe had always been the adventuresome one of the two, and right now Madeline didn’t trust the silly grin pasted on her face. “Chloe, I didn’t see you standing there.”
“Yes. I know. You were too busy drooling over the hunk.”
“I’m not going to even dignify that with a denial.”
Ignoring her, Chloe went on, “Not that I blame you now. He really is good-looking, and that smile. Lord, it’s enough to make a girl’s knees go weak. The man certainly is sexy. Don’t you agree?”
“If you like his type,” Madeline replied as nonchalantly as she could. Not for the life of her would she admit that her own stomach had done a flip-flop before she had reminded herself just who he was.
The other woman chuckled. “Madeline, darling, regardless of what your type is, a woman would have to be dead not to notice a man like him.”
Madeline arched her brow at her friend. “Need I remind you that you’re a married woman, Chloe James? And a pregnant one at that? I wonder what Paul would have to say if he heard you?”
Chloe wrinkled her pert nose at Madeline. “Lighten up, Maddie. I didn’t say I was going to take him home with me—not that I wouldn’t be tempted to. I’m just saying he’s easy on the eyes. You have to admit he’s a lot different from the sort of fellows we used to date.”
He was different from the men she usually dated, Madeline admitted. For one thing, Chase McAllister didn’t have her ex-fiancé’s polished good looks. Chase’s dark blond hair was a tad too long, brushing the collar of his shirt, to be fashionable. His bone structure was good, and he certainly knew how to fill out a suit. But his skin was too deeply tanned for a man who supposedly spent his days behind a desk. And while his mouth curved into the most enticing smile, the scar that slashed across his chin ruined any chance of him being considered handsome—at least not in a conventional way.
“There’s something about him,” Chloe said. “Sort of…untamed. Makes a girl wonder what he’d be like in bed.”
“Chloe!”
“Oh, all right. I’ll shut up. But you have to admit he is sexy. Especially when he smiles.”
And he certainly knew how to use that smile, Madeline decided, watching him charm the guests.
Chloe sighed. “You’re lucky. You get to work side by side with him.”
“Funny, but I don’t think of myself as lucky at all.”
Chloe’s expression sobered. “I’m sorry, Madeline. I guess I wasn’t thinking. I know how much you loved this place.”
“I still love it.” Madeline shrugged. “Don’t pay any attention to me. It’s not like my father sold out completely. At least I still get to work here.” That is, if she still had a job in the morning.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy yourselves,” her father said after Chase had turned the microphone back over to him. “Eat, drink and enjoy.”
Ten minutes later Madeline set aside her untouched glass of champagne and started to work her way toward the exit. Her head was pounding, and if she had to keep the smile plastered on her face a moment longer, she was afraid her muscles would lock in the position permanently.
“If you want people to really believe you’re happy about this merger, you’re going to have to do better than that tight little smile you’ve been wearing.”
Madeline whirled around, nearly knocking the champagne glass out of Chase’s hand. She hadn’t even heard him come up behind her. The realization unsettled her…almost as much as the man himself. “I’m not happy about the merger, Mr. McAllister. So, why should I pretend that I am?”
“Because it’s important to your father that people not know the real reason he sold an interest in the hotel.”
It was true. Her father had told everyone that Chase’s firm had approached him, offering him a ridiculous sum of money for an interest in the hotel. He had claimed the deal had been too good to turn down—especially when he would remain at the helm of the hotel. He had bragged how he would use someone else’s money to renovate the Saint Charles and increase his investment at the same time. But the truth was he wouldn’t have been able to keep the hotel open for much longer without the influx of cash from Chase’s firm. From what her father had finally told her, the bills had been piling up for months. Not that she would admit that to Chase. Changing the subject, she asked, “What’s wrong with my smile?”
“It’s as phony as a three-dollar bill.”
“You mean like yours?” she tossed back.
Chase laughed, making deep grooves in his lean cheeks. And Madeline felt her stomach quiver in response. How could she abhor this man and find him attractive at the same time?
“No. Mine’s much better. I’ve got the phony smile down to an art. Part of my upbringing, you might say. Most people can’t tell the difference.”
But she could. She had known right away when he had smiled at her that it was genuine, not that fake curving of his lips that he had used to charm the audience. But the smile had been far too intimate, and filled with a sexual interest that had left her breathless. “No doubt I’ll get better.”
“Not likely. Unless you can do something about those eyes.”
“What’s wrong with my eyes?” she demanded.
“Not a thing. They’re quite beautiful, in fact. Your best feature…aside from your skin. You’ve got the most incredible skin, Madeline Charbonnet.”
Madeline flushed. The air in her lungs seemed to grow shallow as his gaze skimmed over her. It was happening again. He hadn’t laid a finger on her, just looked at her. And yet her body tingled as though he had caressed her. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, she demanded, “So, what do my eyes have to do with perfecting the art of the ‘phony smile’ as you called it?”
“Everything. Yours are much too expressive.” He took a step closer, bringing them almost toe-to-toe. Madeline forced herself to hold his gaze and not to step back. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his nearness unnerved her.
“You remember that old adage about eyes being the mirrors to the soul?” he asked. “Well, that’s what yours are. The mirror to your soul. They show everything you’re feeling. Everything.”
Madeline looked away, embarrassed. And no doubt her eyes had told him that she found him attractive. “Then I guess I’ll just take my phony smile and expressive eyes on home and let the expert take over,” she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. She started to walk away.
Chase grabbed her arm before she could take the first step. He turned her around to face him. “I’m afraid you’ve waited a little too late for that. Your father’s headed this way with that nosy woman reporter, and they’ve got a photographer with them.”
Madeline tried to tug her arm free. “So? You and my father can be in the pictures. It’s his hotel. Not mine.”
“No, it’s not yours. But you wanted it. Still want it so bad you can taste it. I know all about wanting like that, Madeline.” His eyes grew dark, stormy.
Surprised by Chase’s reply, she stared at him, not knowing what to say. Did he feel sorry for her? Was it pity she saw in his eyes? She found that thought humiliating. She didn’t need his pity or want it. “What about my phony smile? And expressive eyes? Aren’t you afraid that my dislike for this merger and you will be apparent?”
“No. The pictures will probably be in black-and-white, so it won’t show. But if you’re worried,” he said, flashing another smile at her. “You can always give one of those sweet, sultry smiles you were using on the pretty boy in the Italian suit you were with.”
She frowned, wondering who he meant.
“Blow-dried hair, toothpaste grin.”
“Kyle?” Surprised by his comment, she didn’t even realize that he had taken her left hand and was studying it.
“You two lovers?”
“Of course not. He’s—” Furious with herself for responding, Madeline pulled her hand free. “That’s none of your business.”
Chase grinned. “That’s where you’re wrong. Everything about the hotel’s my business. But we’ll discuss that later. Right now you need to start smiling,” he said as the cameraman and others drew near. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “The sweet, sultry one, Madeline. Only this time pretend it’s for me.”

Two (#ulink_e8c38d1f-a9b2-57d7-8c8b-3abb4109654b)
He had to give her credit, Chase decided as Madeline’s lips curved up sweetly and she turned her face toward the camera. From the heated look she had leveled at him, she probably would have much preferred to slug him.
Not that he blamed her. After all, he had been the one to provoke her. He wasn’t even sure why he had done it, except that the anguish in those expressive eyes of hers had caught him off guard.
And it had made him feel guilty as hell. Feeling guilty had disturbed him, even spooked him a little—almost as much as his wanting her did.
His questions about her relationship had been out of line and he knew it. For some reason, knowing she would be meeting the guy in the morning had irritated him, like a pesky mosquito bite. But her response had pleased him.
“Great,” the reporter said as the photographer fired off another shot. “Now why don’t we take one with Madeline in the center and, Henri, you stand over here and, Mr. McAllister, you—”
“Chase,” he corrected, earning another warm look from the snoopy reporter, along with a glare from Madeline.
“…and Chase,” the woman amended. “You stand right here next to Madeline. Now smile everyone.”
The smile on Madeline’s lips wasn’t the same sultry one she had given the pretty-boy stiff with the manicured nails and three-hundred-dollar tie.
But it had the same effect. It had him wondering if her mouth was as sweet and soft and warm as it looked.
Not that he had any intention of finding out, Chase conceded as he slanted his mouth into a grin for the camera. Putting the deal together to buy into the Saint Charles had been difficult enough, especially considering his personal stake in the project. The last thing he needed was the complications a personal involvement with Madeline Charbonnet would create.
Because there would be complications. She came wrapped in an expensive package with a fancy pedigree. And while he might have learned to appreciate the finer things in life, he was strictly an off-the-rack kind of guy. As for his lineage, he would be hard-pressed to even trace his bloodlines back to his father, let alone generations of aristocrats. But even if those things didn’t factor in, the fact that she was Henri Charbonnet’s daughter did. That, in itself, made the notion of any relationship between them not only risky but downright foolish.
Tasting the champagne the waiter had provided, Chase waited for the photographer to stage the next shot and stole another glance at Madeline’s legs. But darned if the idea wasn’t tempting.
“Okay, everyone, lift your glasses in a toast to the new partnership,” the reporter instructed.
As he raised his glass, Chase caught Madeline’s eye. “To the partnership,” he said, tapping his glass against hers. His grin widened at the quick spark of anger in her green eyes that preceded the camera’s flash. He had no doubts that she would love to dump the contents of her glass over his head.
Chase laughed to himself. There was little chance of anything developing between them as long as she was furious with him. And dealing with Madeline Charbonnet spitting fire at him would be a lot safer.
“Thank you, Bitsy,” Henri said, moving over to the reporter after the photographer finished the shots. “When do you think the story and the photos will be in the paper?”
“I’m going to try for the Friday edition.”
“Excellent. And, of course, I want you to be the one who does the follow-up story on the renovations. Did I tell you they’re going to be quite extensive? Every suite in the hotel is being redone,” Henri said as he led the reporter away.
Chase turned back to Madeline who handed the waiter her untouched glass of champagne.
“What’s the matter? House brand doesn’t suit your taste buds, either?”
“What are you talking about?”
Chase took another sip from his glass. “I mean your father wanted to serve Dom Pérignon for the reception today. He wasn’t at all happy at being informed that he would have to settle for the house brand.”
“My father likes the best,” Madeline said, tossing up her chin another notch. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No. Not if you can afford it.” He waited for her to fill the silence. When she didn’t, he asked, “What about you, Madeline? You have your father’s expensive tastes, too?”
He wasn’t being fair, goading her like this and he knew it. But then, he hadn’t counted on being moved by sad green eyes and a kissable mouth. The fact that he found her attractive was bad enough. He couldn’t afford to feel sympathy for Madeline Charbonnet, too. He was much better off having her spitting fire at him.
Or in this case ice…because the look she directed at him could freeze water on a hot July day. “I prefer to think of myself as discerning. Just because something comes with a fancy label doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the best.”
“No, it doesn’t. Does it?” That cool, controlled smile of hers was like waving a red flag at a bull. He couldn’t resist it or the chance to rattle her the way she had him. Stepping closer, he reached over to set his glass down on the table behind her. He grinned at Madeline’s small intake of breath and the light shiver of awareness that ran through her. At least she was as conscious of him as he was of her, he thought, pleased by the discovery. Tempted to touch that satiny skin, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “And what about people and their jobs, Madeline?”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, confusion clouding her eyes. Those eyes of hers really were a dead giveaway to what she was feeling.
“I was wondering if your convictions about fancy packaging extended to people and the jobs they perform within a company or say, a hotel.”
“Mr. McAllister, I’m afraid you’ve lost me. Just what is it you’re asking?”
He allowed his gaze to skim over her again. “I was wondering whether you believed a fancy package and job title makes one person or the job they do more important than another. For example, do you see your position as director of sales more important to the operation of this hotel than say…that busboy over there.”
Madeline’s spine stiffened. She curled her hands into fists at her side. “I’m not a snob, McAllister. Just because my father owns…owned the Saint Charles, doesn’t mean I consider myself or my position of any more or any less value than anyone else’s.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Because I’ll be meeting with key members of the hotel’s staff to define and evaluate their positions. I’ve put you down for tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”
“But I have a breakfast appointment—”
“Be there, Madeline. Nine o’clock. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to seek other employment.”
Without waiting for her reply, he turned and headed back into the reception room.
You’re a real bastard, McAllister, Chase told himself as he shook hands with some banker. But then, being a bastard was better than allowing the classy Ms. Madeline Charbonnet to sneak past his conscience and appeal to whatever noble instincts he might have. He wanted her, and wanting her was a weakness. And one of the first lessons he had learned living at St. Mark’s and the succession of foster homes that followed was people used your weaknesses against you if you let them.
Given half a chance, he had no doubt that Madeline Charbonnet with her silken skin and made-for-kissing mouth would slip right past his safeguards and cut his heart out if he gave her half a chance.
He had no intention of giving her that chance. Having Madeline hate him was not only safer, but would also make it a hell of a lot easier for him when he brought Henri Charbonnet down.

The jerk. The big arrogant jerk. Madeline was fuming as she glanced at her watch for a third time in as many minutes. He had forced her to cancel her breakfast meeting with Kyle, only to have his secretary call her at eight forty-five and postpone their meeting until two o’clock—which had forced her to reschedule her afternoon appointments, as well.
And now the louse had kept her waiting for over twenty minutes. It was probably another stupid ploy to keep her off balance. But this time she had no intention of letting him succeed.
Madeline tapped her nails impatiently on the thick folder resting on her lap. She could hardly wait to shove the sales forecast reports under his nose. Obviously when he’d left instructions for her to bring them to the meeting, he hadn’t expected her to be able to produce them so quickly.
Irritated, Madeline stood and paced the length of the office he had claimed for himself. The desk was piled high with a mountain of reports, computer printouts and financial statements. The man had certainly been busy in the last forty-eight hours. From what she had gleaned from the staff, he had spent little time in the suite of rooms he had confiscated as his living quarters. Evidently, when he wasn’t in his office, he was busy sticking his nose into all corners of the hotel’s operations.
One thing was certain. Chase McAllister had certainly made his presence felt at the hotel—at least among the female staff. If one more secretary or housekeeper used the word hunk in conjunction with his name, she would scream.
Slapping the folder against her leg, Madeline retraced her path across the room. Maybe she should have just stuck to her original game plan and resigned. In a city booming with convention business, it wouldn’t have taken her too long to find another job. Another job certainly would have been healthier than standing here contemplating ways to murder Chase McAllister.
If only she hadn’t allowed her father to extract a promise from her last night to stay on temporarily for the sake of appearances. Oh, face it, Madeline. The promise you gave your father isn’t the reason you stayed. She had stayed on out of sheer stubbornness and she knew it. Because resigning was just what Chase McAllister expected and probably wanted her to do. It was the only thing that explained the little scene he had engineered between them yesterday at the reception.
Well, she refused to give him the satisfaction. If he wanted her out of here, he was going to have to fire her. And she wasn’t going to make it easy for him to do it, either. She was very good at what she did, and she had the sales bookings to prove it. If the dirty rat thought her sales production would provide him with the necessary grounds for her termination, he had just better think again.
Madeline whirled around at the sound of the door opening and watched the rodent himself walk in holding a plastic foam container with two cups on top. Her heart did a quick tap dance that she steadfastly ignored. Instead, she decided to give the chauvinist a dose of his own medicine.
It’s payback time, McAllister, she thought silently, and made a point of looking him over the same way he had done her the previous day. Taking her time, she noted the scuff marks on his shoes, the smudges of something that resembled grease on the gray slacks that matched the jacket she had seen hooked behind the door. Enjoying herself, Madeline flicked her gaze over his white dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, to the opened collar which had lost its crispness as well as the tie that any self-respecting hotelier would have had neatly knotted around it.
She made a deliberately slow sweep over his chin and stamped down the questions and flicker of empathy the scar aroused. She continued her blatant perusal, resting momentarily on that wicked mouth of his that seemed to want to kick into a grin, before lifting her gaze to meet his.
The blue eyes that looked back at her were gleaming with amusement that matched the smile spreading across his lips.
Madeline gritted her teeth. The man was insufferable, she thought, irked that he had found her once-over tactics amusing, while she had found his so unnerving. “You’re late,” she told him, deliberately looking at her watch.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. There was a problem with one of the water heaters, and I went to give maintenance a hand.” He kicked the door shut and walked over to the desk.
“I didn’t realize you were a plumber,” she said coolly.
He shrugged, the ice in her voice having no effect on him. “Not all of us are born into the hotel business, Princess. Some of us have to work our way up. It’s not a bad way to learn all the ins and outs of making the business work.” He set the container down and removed the two cups from atop it. “My first hotel job was as a busboy at fifteen. I moved up to waiter the following year. Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across from his desk.
Wary, Madeline picked her way across the carpet and sat down in the chair he had indicated. She crossed her legs and caught the quirk of his lips as his eyes followed the movement. Madeline tugged on the hem of her skirt and wished the thing were several inches longer. “Mr. McAllister—”
“What about you?” he asked, taking his seat. “What was your first hotel job?”
“Front desk clerk,” she answered without thinking.
“Lucky you. I didn’t get to work the front desk until I was in college.”
Well, that certainly put her in her place. But not for the life of her would she admit to him that she would have preferred to wait on tables as he had, but her father had refused to allow her to do so. “I’ve got a news flash for you McAllister, I may not have bussed tables, but I’ve worked at least a dozen other lesser positions in this hotel, from catering assistant to file clerk, and not one of those positions was ever handed to me because my father owned the hotel. I’ve worked darn hard to become director of sales, and I was appointed to that position because I’m good at what I donot because of who my father is.”
“No need to get all prickly, Princess. I was making a statement, not an accusation.”
“You certainly could have fooled me, Mr. McAllister.”
Chase smiled. “You know, you’re the only person I know who can manage to say my name so prettily and still make it sound like an insult. Since we’re going to be working together, why don’t we dispense with the formalities? You call me Chase and I’ll call you…”
She glared at him, daring him to call her Princess again.
“…and I’ll call you Madeline.”
Refusing to respond to his sexy little grin, Madeline leaned forward slightly. “Are we going to be working together, Chase? I wasn’t at all sure we would be. In fact, I had the distinct impression you were hoping I would quit.”
“Can’t imagine why you’d think that.”
“It probably had something to do with your none-toosubtle comments yesterday about needing ‘capable’ people in the sales department.”
“You didn’t think I was subtle? I thought I was being subtle.”
“Let me put it to you this way. I’ve come across steamrollers that were more subtle than you.”
He paused, seeming to give it some thought, then shrugged. “Subtlety never was one of my virtues. But that’s okay, I’ve got lots of others.”
“Obviously humility isn’t one of them.”
Chase laughed. “Afraid that’s one of the virtues the good brothers at St. Mark’s didn’t succeed in teaching me. For some reason, I equated being humble with being subservient, and I never much liked taking orders.”
“How interesting,” Madeline returned. “Neither do I.”
“Know what I think?”
“I don’t have any idea what you think, Chase. And to be quite honest, I’m not the least bit interested.”
He smiled again, and Madeline was hard-pressed not to respond to that engaging curve of his lips. “I think you’re just too sensitive. Otherwise, why would you jump to the conclusion that my comments were directed toward you?” he asked, popping open the plastic foam container.
The scent of warm blueberry muffins wafted across the desk. Madeline’s mouth watered, reminding her that she had worked through lunch to complete the sales forecasts he had requested and she still hadn’t eaten. She tugged her attention back to him. “Just a guess. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’ve been demanding reports from my department nonstop since you got here.”
“Like I said, you’re too sensitive. I’ve been requesting reports from all the departments, not just yours. Want one?” he asked, nudging the box of muffins toward her.
Madeline thought of the skirt to her green suit, remembering how snug it had felt going on that morning. Just smelling those sugar-laden muffins would probably add an inch to her hips. “No thanks,” she finally managed to say. She held out the file she had brought. “Here are the last six months’ sales figures for my department and a forecast for the next six.”
Chase took the folder and set it aside and went back to the muffins. “These things are addictive,” he said, peeling back the paper wrapping. He sank his teeth into the muffin and the expression that crossed his face was one of pure ecstasy.
Madeline shifted uncomfortably in her seat. No wonder the women in the hotel were fussing over him, the man made something as simple as eating a muffin look like a sensual feast. “If you’d like to go over the projections—”
“In a minute. How about some coffee? I brought an extra cup up from the restaurant.” He pushed the offering toward her. “Go ahead, I had them put sugar and cream in both of them.”
Madeline pulled off the plastic top and took a sip. “I thought most Yankees drank their coffee black.”
“I suspect most of them do. But then, I’m not a Yankee. I’m a Southerner, just like you.” He started in on another muffin.
Madeline arched her brow. “I understood you were from New Jersey.”
“I live in New Jersey now,” he said, reaching for another muffin. “But I was born in Mississippi. Sure you don’t want one of these?”
“Maybe just half.”
Chase divided the muffin in two and slid the paper napkin with her portion over to her. He popped the other piece into his mouth.
“I would never have guessed. About your being from the South. You don’t have any trace of a Mississippi accent.” Madeline broke off a small bite.
“That’s because I didn’t live there long enough to get one. My mother moved us to New Orleans after my father died. I was still in diapers at the time.”
Intrigued, 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.

Three (#ulink_d88c6dbf-1004-54a9-a582-9c32738cf1b9)
“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 one dark brow. “Eliminating it or causing it?”
“I’m very good at both.”
“I’ll just bet you are,” 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 she had encountered with more than his fair share of sex appeal. But, Lord, he was the first one whose kisses had proved lethal to her.
As though he sensed her scrutiny, Chase turned and looked directly at her. Madeline swallowed, struck at first by the coldness in those blue eyes, then by the burst of heat and hunger as his gaze moved boldly over her face and mouth.
A breath stuck in her throat. Her lungs refused to work. But not for the life of her would she feed his ego further by being the first to look away.
“I will continue in my capacity as the hotel’s executive director and…”
Chase slid his gaze back to her father, and Madeline was able to breathe again. As her heart rate returned to normal, she continued to study him. Judging from his expression, her father’s comments were not appreciated. Madeline rubbed her hands along her arms, unable to shake the feeling that her father had underestimated the man.
“Thank you, Henri,” Chase said, coming up beside her father and taking command of the podium. “I would like to join Henri and add Majestic Hotels’ thanks for your service and dedication to the Saint Charles. I also would like to tell you about some of the changes that you can expect…”
Ten minutes later after advising the staff of his firm’s investment in the hotel and in the employees, he ran through some of the changes that would be taking place not only in the hotel’s appearance but its method of operation as well. “And while there are no plans to cut back on staff, every expenditure, every salary has to be justified,” he said, looking directly at Madeline. “And anyone not pulling his or her weight, will be replaced.”
Refusing to be intimidated, Madeline held his gaze and pulled one of his own tricks. She smiled at him.
“Our mutual goal—”
Chase’s hesitation and the shifting of his gaze was soothing balm to her ego.
“Our mutual goal,” he began again, “is to restore the hotel to the first-class reputation and prosperity it once enjoyed. And with that restoration we hope that instead of layoffs we will be hiring additional employees.”
A round of applause followed and then he opened the floor for questions. A hand went up from one of the new members of the sales staff. “Mr. McAllister, will you be overseeing just the accounting or will you be involved in the sales department, too?”
Chase directed one of his killer-watt smiles toward the female, and Madeline knew without looking that the other woman was just short of falling at the man’s feet. She shifted in her seat, irritated by his easy charm.
“I’ll be involved in all aspects of the hotel’s operation. The sales department has been doing a good job, but I think it can do better. I have several ideas in that direction, and I plan to work closely with Madeline Charbonnet in the implementation of those ideas. I will also be working with Henri Charbonnet on the operation of the hotel.”
A good job? Madeline gritted her teeth at his response. While no hotel operated at one-hundred-percent capacity, she and her department had worked small miracles keeping the hotel rooms filled, with occupancy rates often exceeding eighty percent. Did he have any idea what a difficult property this was to sell, particularly when she was competing with the big chains for convention and tourism business? She certainly didn’t need him to tell her how to do her job. Madeline stood up, not waiting for him to call upon her. “Mr. McAllister, just how long do you plan to be at the Saint Charles?” The sooner he went back to his East Coast offices the better.
If he heard the challenge in her voice, he ignored it. His eyes twinkled with laughter. “As long as it takes to see the hotel through the renovations and get the operations on track.”
“And can we assume that once the new systems are in place and the renovations have begun that you’ll be returning home?”
“As I think I mentioned to you yesterday, Ms. Charbonnet, New Orleans is home for me.”
Madeline’s heartbeat quickened. She licked her lips, trying not to panic. She didn’t want to think about that conversation yesterday or the sadness that had come into his eyes when he’d spoken of his mother. She especially didn’t want to remember the heated kisses that had followed. “But it was my understanding you wouldn’t be involved in the hotel’s operations on a day-to-day basis. I understood that once the new systems were implemented and the renovations underway you would be returning to your firm’s headquarters. I was told you would only need to return here on a monthly basis to check the hotel’s progress.”
“That was the original idea. But there’s been a change of plans,” Chase said, delighting in the wariness that crept into her eyes. Damn, if that mouth of hers didn’t look even more kissable this morning. Dressed in her prim, checkered suit and silky white blouse, there was something sexy as hell about those pouty lips painted fire engine red.
And incredibly arousing, Chase decided, as she flicked her tongue in and out to moisten her lips. “I’ll be staying on until the renovations are completed and the hotel’s grand opening celebration is held in the fall,” he explained.
“But that’s at least six months away,” Madeline replied.
“Yes, it is.” And an interesting six months it was going to be, Chase decided, as he continued to field questions. When Jamison, Majestic’s chairman, had suggested that he stay on-site for the duration of the hotel’s renovations, he had been opposed. But after a few days’ observance of Henri Charbonnet’s spending habits, he had to admit that it would take more than monthly financial meetings and reports to keep the hotel within budget. Since he had been the one to bring the Saint Charles deal to the table, and had a vested interest of his own in the project, it only made sense that he be the one to stay on and oversee it.
Being the one to shorten Henri Charbonnet’s leash would be a headache and a pleasure, but it was one he had looked forward to for a long time.
And the daughter? His gaze drifted back to Madeline and he found himself contemplating another taste of her lips. She was the source of another kind of ache altogether.
That’s the price you pay for eight months of self-imposed celibacy, McAllister. But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t entirely true. Despite the line he had fed Madeline yesterday, he had never been a man to engage in meaningless sex for sex’s sake. And while it had been some time since his last relationship had ended, abstinence didn’t even be gin to explain his response to her.
No. Madeline Charbonnet would have been a difficult specimen to resist under the best of circumstances. It was just his rotten luck that the first female he felt tempted by m ages would turn out to be Henri Charbonnet’s daughter.
Trouble. That’s what a relationship with Madeline Charbonnet would mean. And if she stayed on at the hotel as he suspected she would, it was just a matter of time before the two of them landed in bed. It was inevitable. He had come to that conclusion during the night. And to fight the inevitable would be pointless. So, the two of them might as well enjoy it.
Chase smiled and turned his gaze back to the green-eyed siren sitting stiff and straight in her chair. She arched her brow in that duchess-to-peasant manner.
It was all the challenge he needed. Chase winked at her, then shifted his attention to the staff. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, if there are no other questions, I suggest we all get back to work. We have a hotel to run.”
And he had an old score to settle and a sweet, tempting piece of trouble that he was looking forward to coaxing into his bed.

Four (#ulink_ec0f80df-8bbe-5eff-a3a9-0cda0eb0ff76)
“Come in,” Chase called out in response to the knock at his office door.
“Ellen wasn’t at her desk,” Madeline explained, hesitating in the doorway.
He glanced up from the computer screen. “I know. She wasn’t feeling well, so I sent her home. Come on in.” The figures he had been reviewing became a forgotten jumble as he took in the sight of her.
Today’s outfit was yet another suit, Chase noted and he wondered idly just how many of the things she owned. Navy with round gold buttons and braid trim, this particular number reminded him of a military uniform. Albeit, he had never seen a uniform filled out quite so nicely, he mused, a smile of appreciation twitching at his lips. Nor had he seen any uniform that had been cut to dip at the waist and skim several inches above the knees to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of thigh.
She walked across the almond-colored carpet, and Chase couldn’t help but notice the gentle sway of her hips as she moved.
“I had a message on my desk that you wanted to see me,” she said stiffly.
“That’s right,” Chase replied, reluctantly shifting his attention from her legs to her face. Judging from the rigid line of her stance and the coolness in her expression, she had noted his scrutiny and hadn’t appreciated it. He definitely intended to work on changing her mind on that score. But for now, it was back to business. “I wanted to go over the budget and projections you submitted for your department. Just give me a minute to finish this report and then we’ll get started. Have a seat.” He motioned to the chair across from his desk, then went back to punching numbers into the terminal.
Chase stared at the computer screen, but he was keenly aware of Madeline seated across from him. Forcing himself to concentrate, he plugged in more figures and watched them pop up on the screen. She shifted in her seat. Unable to resist, Chase slanted another glance her way. She had crossed her legs, and the toe of one navy pump tapped at the empty air impatiently. Chase slid his gaze up the long hosecovered leg and smiled. The one good thing about her suits, he thought as he admired the view, the skirts always offered him a glimpse of her legs.

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