Backfire

by Metsy Hingle

  Madeline’s cheeks ached at the effort it took to keep smiling when all she wanted to do was bawl. She didn’t know which was worse, she decided, as dessert was served. Watching Chase beat himself up or witnessing her father’s dismay. Of course, it didn’t help that her spirits were already dragging like an anchor, at Chase’s mention of returning to New Jersey. Her father’s surprise had only condemned them to the darkest pits.

  “Madeline, your father said you weren’t interested in the job,” Bradley told her, worry marring his handsome face. “If he was wrong about that…and about us—”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” Madeline told him. Her father had been wrong on both counts. She had wanted the job—desperately. But more than the job, she had wanted her father’s vote of confidence. She hadn’t gotten it. And she wouldn’t be able to give him Bradley Eastman as a son-inlaw, either—not when she was in love with Chase.

  But she would deal with her father later. Not now. The hurt and anger were still too raw. The one thing tonight’s little fiasco had accomplished was to bring home the futility of ever winning his approval. It had also brought home the futility of the game she had been playing with Chase.

  Everything has to end sometime. Chase’s words played over and over in her head and had hurt far more than her father’s rejection. She had agreed to Chase’s plan—sex with no strings attached—and had changed the rules mid-stream by falling in love with him. It wasn’t his fault, but in that moment she almost hated him for it. Well, her pride had taken a big enough battering for one night. She would not subject it to more by begging Chase not to leave. Pain bubbled inside her and she blinked back the tears.

  Darn it. I am not going to cry. That was one more thing she could blame Chase for, she decided, fanning anger to blot out the pain. She had never been a weepy female—not before she had met him.

  Bradley asked her a question. Her father said something to her. She fumbled with answers, her eyes on Chase. He simply stared at her, his expression cold and unyielding. Everything has to end sometime.

  She had to get out of here. Away from her father. Away from Chase. “I have a monster headache,” she announced, coming to her feet. “Please excuse me.”

  “Madeline, dear. Are you all right?”

  “Madeline!”

  She heard her father and Chase call out her name. She hurried across the dining room and raced out to the street. “Could you get me a taxi, please?” she asked the doorman.

  The man let out a shrill whistle, and a yellow cab pulled up to the curb. He opened the door, and she started to slide onto the back seat.

  Chase grabbed her arm. “Just where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “Home.” She attempted to shake off his viselike grip.

  “Not without me, you’re not.”

  “Go back to the dinner party, Chase. I want to be alone.”

  “Tough. You’ve got company.” He slammed the door shut to the cab and marched her over to his car which the valet had left running.

  “Ma’am, if the gentleman is bothering you—”

  “Beat it,” Chase growled at the doorman, and the elderly man retreated. He jerked open the door. “Get in, Madeline. Whether you like it or not, I’m taking you home.”

  Madeline met that cold, hard gaze for a moment, then whipped around and got into the car. The drive was made in heavy silence. When they pulled up in front of her house, she didn’t waste her breath telling him not to come in.

  He went straight to the bar and poured her a snifter of brandy. He led her to the couch and ordered her to sit. “Here. Drink this.”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  He grabbed her hand and shoved the glass in it. “Drink it anyway. You’ve had a shock. Hell, I’ve had a shock. And I’m not even in love with that old place the way you are.” He dragged his hands through his hair as he paced back and forth like a caged tiger. “I know you’re angry and you’re hurting, Princess.”

  She was angry and she was hurting. But it wasn’t only her father’s shot to her confidence that was causing that anger and pain. It was Chase. Knowing that he didn’t love her. Knowing that he would soon be gone. She sipped the brandy, let it burn a path down her throat and settle in a pool of heat in her stomach.

  Chase sat down beside her. He removed the empty glass from her fingers, placed it on the table, then took both of her hands in his. “I’m sorry about what happened. It’s as much my fault as your father’s that this happened tonight. But I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to call Jamison at home in the morning. The assistant GM job is yours.”

  “I don’t care about the job, Chase. Bradley can have it.”

  “I don’t believe you. I know how much that hotel means to you.”

  Madeline could see his mouth move, but all she could hear were the words he’d said at the table. Everything has to end sometime.

  One last time, she told herself. She would love him one last time, feel his arms around her, the weight of his body as they became one. One more memory to last her a lifetime, and then she would let go.

  “Don’t clam up on me like this, Princess.” Chase grabbed her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to talk anymore,” she murmured, strip ping away his tie and unfastening his shirt with a skill she hadn’t known she possessed. She felt his body tense, when she pressed her mouth to his chest.

  “This isn’t the answer,” he told her, his breath catching as her tongue circled his flat nipple.

  “I’m not asking you for answers. That’s not what our relationship is about. You’re not my confidant, Chase. You’re not even my friend. That’s not what I want from you.”

  Chase caught her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “Tell me what you think our relationship is about, Madeline. What is it you want from me?”

  Madeline hesitated. There was anger in his eyes, dark and forbidding. Was he mad because he’d discovered she’d been stupid enough to fall in love with him? Did he think she would demand more than he’d offered? More than they had agreed on? Her pride wouldn’t let her. With a brazenness spurred by that pride, she sat on her knees and pulled the red dress up and over her head. She tossed it onto the floor. Unhooking the strapless lace, covering her breasts, she pitched it next to the dress. “Sex, Chase. That’s what this affair has been all about from the start. And that’s what I want from you.”

  His nostrils flared. A muscle ticked in his cheek. Fury. She could feel it. Smell it clash with the scent of the roses he’d given her earlier. His eyes raked over her bare breasts, searing her with just a look, making her body burn without even touching her. When he lifted his gaze to hers, Madeline’s pulse jumped as she watched the fury mingle with a different kind of heat.

  Her heart hammered in her chest, and she considered telling him the truth. That she loved him. That she didn’t want him to leave. But then Chase was stripping off his slacks, reaching for her, guiding her on to the source of his heat.

  And then there was no more room for words, no more room for wondering if she had made a mistake by not confessing the truth. There was only room for feeling as their bodies moved together in a frenzied race toward the raging blaze, until they cried out and tumbled into the flames.

  Moments later Chase eased himself from her. Immediately Madeline missed his weight and warmth. She stretched out her fingers and stroked his back. He stiffened beneath her touch. Standing, he reached for his slacks.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the hotel.”

  “Chase, about what I said earlier. I want to explain.”

  He zipped up his pants and dragged on his shirt. “Oh, I don’t think you need to explain anything, Princess. You made yourself perfectly clear.”

  He shoved his feet into his shoes and crammed his tie into his pocket. When he turned back around to face her, there was anger and hurt in his eyes. “You know how to reach me. The next time you want stud service, just give me
a call.”

  Twelve

  She had hurt him. Madeline realized that now as she hung up the phone and pulled out her overnight bag. In her jumbled emotional state she had lashed out at Chase, batted away his offer and need to comfort. Worst of all, in her despair over loving him and not having his love in return, she had demeaned what they did share by equating it to animal lust. It didn’t matter that it was a lie. The damage had been done. She had hurt him.

  Madeline sighed, remembering the look on Chase’s face before he’d left her. Anger had shimmered in those blue eyes. And revulsion. For himself or for her she wasn’t sure. Probably both. But even greater than the anger and disgust, there had been pain. So much pain…Madeline swallowed and pressed her fingers to her chest as the tightening sensation gripped her again, like a vise squeezing her heart.

  It was amazing, she thought, the difference a week could make. The few days’ leave she had taken from the hotel had helped. It had enabled her to put her life into perspective. Her dogged determination to prove herself to her father had consumed too much of her life. Their heart-to-heart talk had been long overdue. She had forgiven him. How could she not when it was his love for her that made him want more for her than the demanding life of a hotelier? At least now he had accepted that a career in hotels was what she wanted. But it was no longer the only thing she wanted. She wanted Chase. The question was did Chase want her? Would he forgive her and give their relationship a chance?

  Stepping over to her dressing table, Madeline unzipped her cosmetic bag and dropped in lipsticks, powders and pencils. There was only one way to find out. She’d start by telling Chase the truth—that she loved him. Her stomach fluttered. For the hundredth time in the past week, Madeline prayed that she wasn’t making a mistake by thinking that Chase cared about her, too.

  And if he doesn’t? What have I lost? Besides her pride, nothing. And if she was right…Madeline smiled and pulled the zipper closed on the case. If she was right, she would have Chase’s love.

  Her optimism returning, Madeline retrieved her toothbrush from the bathroom and dumped it along with the cosmetics bag into her suitcase. She tucked in a bottle of French perfume.

  She was probably crazy, Madeline told herself. Life with a man like Chase would never be easy. He was a shade too handsome, definitely arrogant and far too sure of himself. Of course, he was also kind, generous to a fault and had a body that made even a Southern lady break out in a sweat.

  Holding up the wispy nightgown she’d ransomed from the window of a French Quarter lingerie shop, Madeline grinned and folded it in the suitcase. No, life with Chase would never be easy, but it also wouldn’t be dull.

  After snapping the locks on her suitcase, she reached for the telephone, punched out the number for the Saint Charles Hotel and asked for room service. “Hi, this is Madeline Charbonnet. I’d like to order room service for Mr. McAllister’s suite. He’ll be returning to the hotel late this evening, and I’d like to have a light supper for two waiting. I’d like to begin with a bottle of champagne. Moët & Chandon 1976…”

  Chase removed his briefcase and travel bag from the trunk of his car and slammed it shut. Bone tired from an endless round of meetings and the late-evening flight, he walked across the dark hotel garage, the sound of his leather soles slapping against the pavement. He stepped out onto the sidewalk. The heat and hundred-degree humidity smacked him in the face. Even at night, Chase thought, as he shifted his briefcase under his arm to loosen his tie, August in New Orleans was almost intolerable.

  So why did returning here tonight feel like coming home? And why now, when his revenge against Henri Charbonnet was less than twenty-four hours away, did he feel no sense of triumph? Why instead of happiness did he feel such an emptiness inside?

  He already knew the answer—Madeline. Sighing, Chase nodded to the hotel doorman as he walked into the lobby and pushed the signal button for the elevator. She was the reason the prospect of waiting for an easier morning flight had held no appeal. She was the reason the revenge he had hungered for so long and now had within his reach brought him no satisfaction.

  The doors to the elevator whooshed open and he stepped inside. After pressing his floor number, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. It was a mistake. Because the moment his eyes shut, Madeline was there again. Not that that was a surprise. He had seen her face repeatedly during the past week. When he was negotiating his deal with Majestic for a larger interest in the Saint Charles. When he had tried without success to sleep. He had seen her expressive eyes bright and shining with laughter at the Jazzfest, filled with passion and wonder as they made love, with pain and hurt at her father’s rejection. But most of all he remembered that tangle of passion and anger that had shimmered in their depths the last time they’d been together, when she had told him she wanted the passion he brought to her bed and nothing more.

  Her words had angered him. Her touch had fueled his desire. And when it was over, he’d been left with nothing but that sick, empty feeling. That same feeling he had now. He’d told her he wanted sex with no strings, and she’d given it to him. Only afterward he’d realized it wasn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted Madeline’s love.

  And after tomorrow, he would have only her hate.

  The elevator dinged, announcing his floor. Chase wiped his hand over his face. Picking up his bags, he stepped out into the hall and headed for his suite. He would call her tonight, ask to see her and tell her the truth before her father received the papers in the morning. She would still hate him. There was no chance she wouldn’t. She loved her father and the hotel too much not to hate him for what he’d done. That he hadn’t wanted to hurt her wouldn’t matter.

  He slipped the key into the lock and pushed open the door. Chase frowned as the strains of Tchaikovsky floated in the air. Dropping his bags to the floor, he pushed the door closed behind him and moved into the room. Slender tapers burned from polished candlesticks on the antique dining table, where fine china and crystal had been set for two. A bottle of champagne sat majestically in an ice bucket. Tiny beads of moisture inched slowly down the sides of the gleaming silver receptacle like tears down a woman’s face. Chase walked over and pulled out the bottle to inspect the label.

  “I hope you approve of the champagne.”

  Chase jerked his gaze upward at the sound of Madeline’s voice. His breath caught in his throat. He forgot how to breathe. She stood in the doorway of the bedroom with her hair flowing about her shoulders, her eyes shining like gems, her mouth painted a dangerous red. And she was wearing some wispy white thing designed for sin.

  “I believe ‘76 was a good year for that particular brand. Is it okay?”

  Chase nodded, not trusting that he could actually speak. He heard the whisper of silk against her skin as she walked toward him. The faint rose scent that always seemed a part of her curled itself around him, clouding his senses. Then she was standing in front of him, the candlelight at her back, outlining the curve of her breasts, the line of her hips. His gaze drifted lower where he could see the shadow at the top of her thighs. Chase swallowed and squeezed the neck of the champagne.

  Madeline looked down at his fingers clutching the bottle in his fist and then shifted her gaze back up to his face. Mischief gleamed in her eyes. The hint of a smile curved her lips. “Were you planning to open that or just strangle it?”

  Chase blinked. He glanced at the bottle clenched in his fist and eased his grip. “That depends on the reason both you and the champagne are here.”

  “To make a confession.” She stepped closer, her body a mere breath away, her face lifted to his. Her hands cupped the sides of his face. “To ask you to forgive me. I lied to you, Chase.”

  “Madeline, don’t. It’s not necessary.” He felt like a snake. It was he who had sins that needed confessing. He who had lied through omission. He who was in need of her forgiveness. He would tell her the truth now and pray that somehow she would forgive him, that they would still have a chance. “I’m
the one who needs to ask forgiveness. I—”

  She pressed her fingers to his mouth, silencing him. “That last time we were together when I told you that all I wanted from you was sex. That that was all there was between us. It wasn’t true.”

  Chase caught her wrists. “Madeline, I—”

  “I love you, Chase. I love you and I’m hoping I’m not wrong in thinking that you—” She swallowed. Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip and he could see the fear and vulnerability in her eyes. “—in thinking that you care for me, too.”

  “You’re not wrong,” he said, wrapping her in his arms as joy filled his heart. “Because I love you.” He needed to tell her the truth now, all of it, he told himself as she kissed him. His only hope was that she would forgive him. Fear that she wouldn’t warred with the new happiness inside him. Chase eased his mouth free to look at her face and try to explain. “Madeline, I love you.”

  “Show me, love.” She slid her hand between them, cupped him and squeezed. “Show me.”

  Desire raced through him, a fever in his blood, a hungry beast demanding to be fed. He lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. First, he needed to tell her. First, he had to explain. He struggled, trying to find the right words. But then she was kissing him again, her hands tugging off his clothes, her fingers stroking his hardness as she urged him to join her in the bed.

  And then he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think. All he could do was feel.

  Her fingers felt like cool silk as she curled them around him, sending desire and heat streaking through him again. Chase groaned. Not yet, he told himself, and captured her hands to end the pleasure and torture. First, he needed to show her how he felt, how much he loved her. How much he needed her in his life.