Metsy Hingle - Backfire

“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.

“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.”