Metsy Hingle - Backfire

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.”