by Metsy Hingle
“Speak for yourself, Ms. Cajun dance queen. My calf muscles may never forgive me.” Groaning, he rubbed the muscles in his leg.
“Oh, stop all the bellyaching, McAllister.” She pushed his hands out of the way. Replacing them with her own, she began kneading the muscles in his legs. “You were having a great time. Admit it.”
“All right, it was fun.” Closing his eyes, Chase moaned as she worked her fingers over the tight muscles.
“You looked good out there, too. A natural.” She used her thumbs to massage the hard flesh.
“You made me look good.”
Madeline grinned. “You did that yourself.” She looked up from his leg to the open collar of his green shirt, where she could just make out the dusting of more dark blond hair. The tan on his legs, arms and neck extended in a wash of warm gold over his strong jawline and high cheekbones. His face was tipped up, exposing the jagged scar on his chin to the sunlight that filtered through the trees. His eyes were closed, protecting her from their silvery blue heat.
“Maybe, but you looked even better. Ah, that feels good,” he said, his lips curving in a sensuous smile. Pleasure, stark and powerful, spread over his face.
Madeline’s pulse sped up as she wondered how Chase looked after he had made love. Chiding herself for the dangerous direction of her thoughts, she tore her gaze free and went back to work on his calf muscles. The man was far too sexy for his own good, Madeline decided, still feeling the effects of that smile. And he was dangerous to her peace of mind.
“I’m beginning to suspect that blue blood of yours isn’t so pure after all,” Chase told her. He eased his eyes open to lazy half slits. “Are you sure you don’t have some Cajun ancestors you’ve never mentioned?”
“Not that I know of,” she replied, her heartbeat quickening at the warmth in his eyes as he watched her. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Madeline shifted her ministrations to his other leg. “What about you? Mississippi’s not too far away,” she commented, trying to keep her voice light. She remembered him mentioning that he and his mother had moved to New Orleans when he was still an infant. “Any Cajuns in your family tree?”
The smile dissolved in his eyes first, and then on his lips. “I don’t have any idea. I know the name McAllister is Scottish, and my mother was part Irish. But that’s about all I know.”
“No grandparents? Or cousins?”
Chase shook his head. “I don’t have any other relatives that I know of. My mother told me that my father died before I was born. That might or might not be true. But I suspect that even if he is dead, they were probably never really married.”
Madeline’s fingers stilled on his legs. “Why would you think that?”
He shrugged. “Little things mostly. There were never any pictures of my father around the house when I was growing up. No photos or scrapbooks or wedding pictures.”
“Maybe they just couldn’t afford them.”
“Maybe. But there were other things. She never spoke of any family—hers or my father’s.”
“She could have been estranged from your father’s family and hers, too,” Madeline offered.
“That’s what I used to tell myself, too. Or maybe hoped was more like it. The first year or two that I was at St. Mark’s I used to pretend that I did have grandparents, that there had been a big falling out between them and my mother, that they didn’t even know I existed. And then when they found out that they had a grandson, they would be excited and happy. They would come to the home for me and take me away to live with them.”
Madeline swallowed past the lump in her throat as she envisioned a sad, lonely young Chase. So hungry for love, for a family. She had not realized just how blessed she had been growing up—to have both of her parents and her grandparents, to have known their love, to still have her father with her. How awful for Chase, she thought, not to have that sense of belonging, that security of knowing you are loved. “Did you ever try to find them? Your grandparents, I mean.”
“No.”
Suddenly she wanted him to have those things, that sense of being a part of a family, of knowing who he was. Maybe it wasn’t too late. “Why not? Chase, you could have family you don’t even know about. Cousins, or aunts and uncles, or grandparents who don’t even know you exist.”
“I don’t.”
“You can’t know that. Not if you haven’t tried to find out.” The idea seemed to catch fire inside her. “Your being here in New Orleans again it’s…it’s like an omen. Why don’t you try to find out. I’ll help you.”
“No.”
“But why not?”
“Because there isn’t anyone,” he told her.
“But how can you be sure if you haven’t even tried?” Madeline insisted.
He looked at her then, his silver eyes cold and far older than his years. “Because the State already tried. Believe me, the social welfare departments weren’t any more anxious to take another kid into the system back then than they are now. There have always been too many unwanted kids declared wards of the State. After my mother died they tried to locate some family member to take me.”
Madeline’s hopes plummeted. “And they didn’t find anyone?”
His lips thinned. “They came up with the guy they thought was my grandfather. My mother had named him as a secondary beneficiary on an insurance policy and listed his relationship as her father. They let him know that my mother was dead and that I had been placed in St. Mark’s.”
“What happened?” Madeline asked, but from the expression on his face, she suspected she already knew the answer.
“He claimed he didn’t have a daughter anymore. Said his daughter had died more than eight years ago, and he had no grandchildren.”
Madeline moved over to him and clasped his hand. “Chase, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he told her, squeezing her fingers lightly. “It was a long time ago. That old man meant nothing to me. His not wanting me didn’t change the fact that I know my mother loved me and wanted me. That’s enough for me. Did I tell you she’s the reason I went into the hotel business to begin with?”
“Yes, you did,” Madeline replied, pleased to see some of the coldness leave his eyes.
“She loved the old hotels, claimed that they had character and ghosts.”
“Ghosts?”
“Yes,” Chase said. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “She claimed that the ghosts of those people who stayed in the hotel’s rooms came back to replay the happy times they spent there.”
“Only happy ghosts inhabit a hotel?” Madeline asked, intrigued and touched by the concept. She moved to sit beside Chase.
Chase chuckled. “Probably the unhappy ones, too. But my mother didn’t believe anyone who stayed in a grand hotel could be unhappy.”
“She sounds like a very special woman.”
“She was. You would have liked her.”
Madeline leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m sure I would have. I heard what you told Ruthie about her waiting tables to support you. That couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t. But she never complained. Not once. Not even during those last few weeks when she must have been feeling so miserable.”
“Was…was she ill for a long time before she died?”
Chase remained silent so long Madeline thought he hadn’t heard her.
“My mother didn’t die from any disease, Madeline. Not unless you call getting dumped by her married lover a disease.”
There was an anger, a hatred in his tone that sent shivers down Madeline’s spine. She drew away slightly to study his face. His eyes were as cold and hard as his voice, making her even more uneasy.
“She committed suicide when the guy she was in love with broke things off to go back to his family.”
And in doing so, she had left her only son to face the world all alone. Madeline placed her head against his chest, wrapped her arms around him, wanting to offer comfort for the boy he had been, for the man he now was.
“I’m sorry.” The words seemed so inadequate, but they were the only ones she could think of. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like for you. I’m not sure I could have handled it.”
“You would have. You’re a lot stronger than you think, Princess.” His fingers moved up and down the line of her spine.
She smiled into his shirt and found her heart losing more ground. She had been able to resist him when her attraction to him had been merely physical. But the pull to him was no longer only a physical one. How could it be when the more time she spent with him, the more she learned about him, the more deeply her feelings for him became engaged. “You’ve done so much with your life,” she told him, thinking of all he had been through as a child, all he had had to overcome. “You’ve managed to carve out a successful career for yourself. And it’s obvious from the things you’ve said about your mother that you don’t blame her…hold her weakness against her.”
Chase’s hand stilled on her back. “I’ve never blamed my mother for taking her life. Not ever,” he said, his voice losing the warmth that had been there only moments ago. “The only person I blame is the man who used her, who made her fall in love with him and then tossed her and her feelings aside when he grew tired of her. He’s the one I blame for her death. He’s the one I hate.”
The bitterness behind the words sent a shudder of uneasiness down Madeline’s spine. Long moments passed in silence, and she sensed the struggle in Chase. She wanted to ask him what he meant, if he knew who the man was who had caused his mother to take her life.
But before she could find the words or the courage, Chase was easing her away from him. “Enough about the past. I’d much rather dwell on the present,” he told her, effectively ending the subject. He flashed her a wicked grin. “Ready to go back to your apartment and make wild, passionate love with me?”
Relieved that the darkness in him had passed, Madeline followed his lead and let go of the heavy moment. She shot him a quelling glance.
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Chase told her with a deep sigh as he urged her to her feet. “If I’m not going to get to explore that gorgeous body of yours, then I might as well let you show me the rest of the Jazzfest.”
“Be glad to.” Madeline shook out the tablecloth. With Chase’s help she folded it and stuffed it inside her shoulder bag. “There’s a couple of country-and-western groups if you want to take a stab at line dancing. Or we could check out the jazz. Any preferences?”
“Depends.”
“On what?” Madeline asked as Chase took the bag from her and slung it over his own shoulder.
Linking his fingers with hers, Chase tugged her to him and kissed her slowly, tenderly. When he lifted his head, he whispered, “On which one will make you more susceptible to my charms.”
“I’m already too susceptible to your charms.” She took a step back.
“Really?” He gave her the knee-weakening smile again as they meandered back toward the performance area. “Want to go back to your place, after all?”
“I said I was susceptible, McAllister. Not overwhelmed,” she returned, unable to keep the smile out of her voice. “You might want to try slowing down that libido of yours.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Chase told her. He stopped and gave her another kiss—this one deeper, lingering and much more tempting. “Why don’t you try to catch up.”
Nine
Could a man die from sexual frustration? Chase wondered idly, as he tossed his pencil down on the proposals he had been studying and waited for Madeline to return his call. If so, chances were he would be dead by the time Madeline did catch up to him. Sighing, he yanked his tie loose and leaned back against the chair at his desk. The rest of their day at the Jazzfest and the concert that evening had been magical. In truth, he couldn’t remember a date that he had enjoyed more or one he had found more fulfilling—at least on an intellectual level. Madeline was bright, funny and easy to talk to.
She was also sexy as hell. Her response to his stolen kisses had made his body tremble and his loins ache. Desire had hummed between them like a living flame. And when he had taken her home and pulled her into his arms that night, he had wanted nothing more than to be consumed by that heat—by Madeline’s heat.
Stifling a groan, Chase squeezed his eyes shut as memory sent him spinning back…back to that night, back to the feel of Madeline in his arms…
“I want you,” he murmured against her neck. The scent of roses on her skin tempted him, and his mouth inched its way to the base of her throat to the open collar of her blouse. Her breasts arched against the fabric, rising and falling in rapid succession as her breathing quickened. Chase flicked open one button and then another, gaining access to the swell of her breasts. Lowering his head, he ran his tongue across the soft sweet skin.
Madeline shuddered, sending another stab of desire through him with her response. Quickly he flicked open the next two buttons and released the clasp at the front of her bra. He brushed aside the piece of lace. “God, you’re beautiful,” he told her, cupping her breasts with his hands. He stroked the nipples with his thumbs, and another shudder went through her. Unable to resist, he lowered his head and covered one nipple with his mouth.
“Chase.”
His name was a strangled cry on her lips that sent another shiver of need through him. Excited, hungry for more of her, he shifted his mouth to minister to her other breast. He heard her breath hitch as his tongue swirled around the aureole. When he took the rose-hued tip into his mouth, Madeline cried out his name again.
Chase pulled her blouse free from the waistband of her shorts. Barely aware of the nails biting into his shoulders, slowly he opened the remaining buttons one by one, tasting each inch of skin unveiled to his mouth. Releasing the button of her shorts, he dropped to his knees. He slid his tongue into her navel, then gently nipped the soft flesh of her abdomen as he worked his way to the lace edge of her panties.
Madeline gasped. “Chase, please.” She urged him to his feet. Her eyes were wild untamed flames of green as she pulled his mouth to hers.
Groaning, Chase pressed her body against the wall. Need ripped through him as he devoured her mouth, his tongue tangling and mating with hers. He claimed her breasts with his hands, kneading, squeezing the mounds of feminine flesh. He lifted his head, angled his mouth, then moved in, kissing her again. Easing his hand down her rib cage, he spread his fingers over her stomach, past the gaping zipper and inside the thin silk of her panties. He cupped her femininity, then slipped a finger inside her sweet warmth. She was wet and hot and ready for him. The realization nearly sent him over the edge. Chase tore his mouth free to watch her face as he stroked the sensitive nub at her center, slowly inserting his finger into her and drawing out almost completely before entering her again. Her head moved from side to side. Her fingers clung to him.
He felt the first shudder rush through her, and an answering tide of satisfaction swept through him. “Look at me, Madeline,” he commanded, needing to see the desire in her eyes and know it was for him.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and she looked at him out of eyes glazed over with passion and pleasure. The ache in his loins grew even more painful at the raw desire he saw there. His fingers increased their rhythm, and when another spasm ripped through her body, Chase held on to her. “Don’t fight it, Madeline. Take it. Ride it,” he said. When she reached the crest and cried out, Chase caught her mouth and swallowed her protests as she rode out the storm.
Madeline pulled her mouth free. The air was thick with the scent of passion and the sound of their breathing. In the dim light of her foyer, her lips looked ripe and swollen from his kisses, her cheeks flushed from the pleasure he had given her. The eyes that stared back at him were wide, luminous and filled with desire.
Her hands trembled as she reached up to touch his face. Chase kissed the fingertips that traced his mouth and forced himself to remain still as she moved to the jagged scar along his chin down to the vee of
his shirt. Chase’s breath caught in his throat as she continued her exploration, traveling down his rib cage and stomach to the waistband of his pants.
When she hesitated at his belt buckle, Chase thought he would go mad. “Touch me, Madeline,” he pleaded, his voice strained with need. He pressed her hand against him. “Feel how much I want you.”
She stroked his hardness, and Chase bit back a moan. He squeezed his eyes shut as she eased down his zipper and slipped her hand beneath his briefs. When her fingers closed around his throbbing shaft, Chase groaned. Sweet heaven, he wanted her. Couldn’t ever remember wanting anyone more.
He opened his eyes to find her watching him. Her green eyes were wide with what looked like surprise and innocence. It was the innocence that threw him, even as it excited him. Chase wondered how someone so sensuous could not recognize the power of her own sensuality. But when she stroked his length, he forgot about thinking. All he could do was feel…and want.
Chase kissed her again. He thrust his tongue between her lips, mating her mouth to his. His body shuddered as their tongues danced in anticipation of the sweet heat that awaited the joining of their bodies.
She stroked him again, and Chase jerked his mouth free. Before he could warn her how close he was to cheating them both, she brushed the tip of his manhood with her thumb. Chase sucked in his breath. She repeated the movement, and he captured her hand as need sliced through him with the sharpness of a razor’s edge. He pressed her fingers against his chest. “Where’s your bedroom?” he growled, his voice dark and husky with desire.
Madeline’s head jerked up at his question. Her body went rigid. “Chase, I didn’t mean—That is, I—”
Chase’s stomach clenched, her words striking him in the gut like a fist. His body screamed at her denial.
“I never meant for this to happen. I told you I needed time…”
Chase bit off a curse. He gritted his teeth as her retreat echoed in his ears. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and once more she was going to deny them both. Chase looked at her mouth and fought the urge to take those lips again, to kiss her, to touch her and ignite the passion until she had no choice but to surrender to the desire throbbing between them.