01 - The Heartbreaker

by Carly Phillips

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  She laughed this time, a light, airy sound that lifted his angry spirits.

  “I know. And thank you for saving me. Truly.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “No one’s ever gone to such extremes for me or my—”

  “Pretty ass?” He wasn’t about to let her off the hook completely.

  “Not my choice of words, but they’ll do.” She pulled the jacket tighter around her.

  “I’m sorry I had to make such a ridiculous scene,” he told her.

  “I’m not.” She grinned as a blush stained her cheeks.

  He shook his head, amazed and awed. Who was this woman named Sloane Carlisle, daughter of a prominent politician, who looked like fine china but had more backbone than any man he’d ever met, and who, from all appearances, liked what they’d just been through?

  So had he, but he was a guy and he knew he’d had the situation under control. Sort of. She’d known no such thing.

  “You didn’t have to come looking for me, but you did. And don’t tell me it was because you promised my stepmother you would,” she said.

  He groaned. She had him cornered. No one had put a gun to his head or forced him to go searching out Sloane. He’d done that on his own. Because he was worried about her.

  All these emotions pushing to the surface had him edgy and off balance. And he knew just one way around it—get back to doing his job, the one thing that grounded him and kept him sane. “Let’s go home.”

  She nodded. “I can’t argue with you there.”

  “As soon as we get there, you can tell me exactly why it’s so important that you find Samson.”

  Panic flared in her eyes. “But—”

  “No argument. I didn’t nearly get my ass kicked by a bunch of bikers only to be kept in the dark now.”

  She lowered her head a notch. “It’s personal, Chase. Deeply personal.”

  The plea in her voice tore at him, but along with that need to give her anything she wanted, there came a stronger resolve to get answers. “Do you want to come back here Friday night?” he asked.

  She nodded. “You know I do.”

  “Then unless you want me to borrow Rick’s handcuffs and keep you shackled at home, you’re going to have to explain. Otherwise, there’s no way in hell I’m putting my ass or yours in danger again.” He pushed the door open as he spoke.

  “I planned to stay in a hotel.”

  “No.” He wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

  “You’re not responsible for me, despite what Madeline made you promise.”

  He held her hand tighter. “There’s no hotel in Yorkshire Falls and you aren’t coming into Harrington again unless you’re with me. Subject closed.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged, knowing how to pick her battles. Instead of arguing, Sloane figured giving in now would benefit her later. “Thanks.”

  He grunted in reply.

  Sloane clenched her jaw as they walked to Chase’s truck. Another argument ensued about her driving home. Once again, she agreed with him and he’d promised they’d pick her car up in the morning. Given his current mood and the fact that she was the cause, not to mention that he had saved her behind, she figured she owed him the little things.

  Like staying at his home instead of a hotel. She wondered if he had a guest room or if he expected them to sleep together after her performance in the bar. If that’s what he desired, she knew he’d be impossible to resist.

  A cold wind whipped up around her, fall quickly turning to an early winter. The wind seemed to penetrate her skin, seeping straight through to her bones. Sort of like what Chase had done earlier tonight. She trembled at the memory of him standing between her legs, looking down at her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Dice might have commanded the performance, but when Chase came over her, they were all alone.

  Without warning, he lifted the jacket off her shoulders and held it out so she could slip her arms through the sleeves. “Your teeth are chattering.”

  “And you’re a nice guy.”

  He scowled at that.

  “Don’t worry. I haven’t figured out how nice.” Nor had she figured out what to tell him about her relationship to Samson. On one hand, he’d helped her out and answers weren’t too much to ask. On the other, this was the most private, painful moment of her life.

  Then why did sharing it with Chase, an almost stranger, a journalist of all things, feel so right?

  “Truck’s right here.” He pointed two parking spots ahead on the street and she nearly ran, happy to get out of the cold.

  “Chase!”

  A woman’s voice took Sloane by surprise and she followed his lead, pausing by a pretty brunette who greeted him with enthusiasm and a surprising kiss on the lips.

  Sloane bit the inside of her cheek, hating that another woman knew Chase well enough for any kind of kiss. Which was ridiculous. The man had a life and she’d been a one-night stand.

  “I saw your truck. I recognized the plates,” the woman said. “Then I went into the supermarket. I just came out. I’m shopping late tonight, as you can see.” She shifted the package in her arms. “And here you are.” She looked at him with pure pleasure.

  And Sloane’s stomach cramped as she waited for Chase’s reply.

  “Hello, Cindy.”

  Sloane couldn’t read his tone of voice. Was he happy to see this woman or not?

  “I haven’t heard from you in a while.” She spoke matter-of-factly, not petulant or whiny, but a hint of disappointment was evident in her voice.

  “I’ve been busy. Here, let me help you with your bags.” Chase grabbed for her packages.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Cindy asked, taking in Sloane, who’d opted to pull Chase’s jacket tighter around her and watch the scene unfold.

  He exhaled a long sigh. “Cindy, meet Sloane. Sloane, this is my . . .” He paused long enough for Sloane to narrow her gaze. “This is my friend Cindy.” Chase finished the introductions, clenching his jaw, obviously not happy.

  Sloane wasn’t thrilled either. Apparently, these two had a relationship of some sort. What sort was the question and he wasn’t being forthcoming.

  After the awkward greetings, Chase helped Cindy put her packages in her trunk and sent her on her way. But not before giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, which made Sloane’s stomach burn with jealousy.

  When was the last time any man had evoked that kind of emotion? Never. She gnawed on her lower lip, settling herself into the passenger seat of Chase’s truck, wondering what to do or say next.

  “I’ll make you a deal.” She heard the words escape before she’d completely thought them through.

  “What sort of deal?” he asked, turning the ignition, pulling onto the road, and heading for home, before glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

  “You tell me about your relationship with Cindy and I’ll answer your questions about Samson.”

  On the way home, Chase stopped at Burger King, and because they were starving, they ate in the truck. Sloane knew he expected answers, but she had an important phone call to make as soon as they reached the house, and he understood her need to check in with Madeline first.

  Their conversation eased Madeline’s mind, since she’d been frantic. Thanks to Roman, who’d already spoken with Rick, her stepmom had heard about the explosion. Sloane promised to keep in touch more often from now on, although she had little information on the explosion to report. Chase had called Rick from his cell phone on the way home from the pool hall, and though the fire department was still investigating, preliminarily they were calling the situation an accident.

  If she were running on pure emotion, Sloane would be inclined to agree. She’d grown up with both Frank and Robert and she had a hard time believing they’d knowingly—physically—hurt another human being. Yet when she thought with her head and remembered Frank’s threats, she had to allow room for doubt. She refused, though, to burden Madeline
with that kind of worry.

  As for Michael, according to Madeline, he was frantic because Sloane knew the truth about her parentage and hadn’t spoken with him yet. She promised she’d talk with him soon and would even have had a short phone conversation except he was in a meeting planning strategy with Robert and Frank. According to her stepmother, both seemed unconcerned about Sloane’s “illness” or her absence from campaign events, and as agreed, Madeline hadn’t enlightened anyone but Michael.

  Sloane hung up, opting not to mention Chase or the fact that her stepmother had assigned him to look out for her. She figured Madeline deserved some motherly liberties. With matters at home as settled as they could be, Sloane changed clothes and headed back to the living room.

  She was exhausted from the day’s events. If not for the subjects that still needed discussing, she could easily fall asleep and rest easy with the knowledge that her secret was still safe.

  But she still had to deal with Chase.

  Exhausted and wired at the same time, Chase stretched his feet out on the table in front of the sofa. Glancing over at the telephone, he noticed the red light flicker off. Sloane had gotten off the phone.

  Seconds later, she walked out of the guest room, the smaller bedroom Chase had given her for the time she stayed with him. “Still waters run deep, huh?” she asked.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that nothing’s apparent with you. You shocked me back in the bar, with your dominant attitude.” She curled into a corner of the couch, across from him, bringing with her the fragrant scent of vanilla. Now that they’d agreed she’d be staying here, she’d unpacked a few things in his one and only bathroom.

  She’d asked him if he minded. He’d said no. He lied. Already she was making herself impossible to forget.

  She’d changed out of her bar clothes and now wore a comfortable pair of gray sweats, which covered her legs, while an old pink T-shirt pulled tight over her breasts. And she wore no bra.

  He tried to swallow, but his mouth had grown dry. “Would you prefer that I’d have let Dice have his way with you?”

  “No.” She managed a laugh. “But now I know there are many sides to Chase Chandler.”

  “I could say the same about you, Sloane Carlisle.” Which was why he couldn’t risk taking her into his room, into his bed. Not again.

  Though she’d sent out all the right signals earlier tonight, he wasn’t about to take her up on her silent invitation. He was so drawn to every aspect of her personality, even the parts he didn’t yet know, she presented a real risk to his future.

  Which brought him back to her secrets. “I think it’s time you told me why you were in Crazy Eights to begin with and why we have to go back Friday night.”

  “We?” She wrinkled her nose, questioning his choice of words.

  He frowned at her obvious attempt to change the subject. “You already know I’m not letting you go alone. So just fill me in on why we need to go back there at all.”

  She leaned against the cushion and shut her eyes. Her hair fell in soft curls over her shoulder and the intoxicating burnished hue stood out in contrast to his bland gray couch. She brought such color and light into an otherwise drab existence. He wanted to stretch her out on the couch and take that light inside of him in the only way he could.

  Not now Chandler. Tread lightly, he warned himself.

  “Before I tell you about Samson,” she said, her voice startling him back to reality, “I need to know I can trust you.” She rolled her head to the side and met his gaze.

  “Not that I believe in calling in a debt, but I did save your life today. Twice,” he reminded her. “And you’re still questioning whether you can trust me?”

  The hurt in his voice took him by surprise. He was a journalist. His interest in her was supposed to be about the facts. Not feelings. But for some reason, his interest was anything but dry and factual.

  She bit down on her glossed lips, thinking before she spoke. “I’m trained to be wary of reporters.” She nervously twisted her fingers together.

  As a barrier, she was putting up a bigger one than he could have come up with on his own. “We can’t change who we are.”

  “True. And I can’t forget things you’ve said.” She drew a deep breath. “Anything I tell you that can help your career, it can also hurt people I love. So forgive me if I need to know and question how much I can trust you, Chase.”

  He wished he could offer assurances at the same time his instincts and adrenaline began pumping hard. “Are you asking for my silence?” Because if her secret was as big as she implied, he wondered how and if he could keep such a huge promise.

  “I’m hoping that once you hear what I have to say, you’ll understand why you need to keep it quiet. But at some point, I’m guessing the time will seem right for you to expose the story.” She squeezed the armrest on the couch, her fingers turning white. “And that scares me.”

  He was frustrated, clueless and completely in the dark. “You’re not giving me a straight answer.”

  “I know.” She shifted to her knees and came up beside him.

  Her scent knocked him off balance.

  She inched closer. “That’s because I haven’t gotten what I want from you yet.”

  “Information on my personal life.” He treated her to a wry grin, but he felt anything but sarcastic and light.

  “It seems like a fair trade.”

  When she faced him, lips inches away, teasing him with their glistening moisture, nothing seemed fair. Especially divulging information on a life he’d always kept private, even from his brothers. And they were his best friends.

  But sitting with Sloane in his home, a place where he’d never brought another woman, seemed comfortable and right. “You can’t really want to hear about me, not after the long day we had.”

  “Stalling?” she asked him.

  He laughed. “No.”

  “Then talk.”

  “Okay.”

  At his agreement, she curled in beside him, letting her body lean against his. He felt the moment her muscles relaxed and she yawned, sighing with what sounded like contentment. Ironic. She was obviously hesitating about revealing too much information to him, yet with this subtle body language, she’d given him trust in a completely different way. Did she realize that?

  He did, and it scared him to death. Even talking, divulging his personal secrets, seemed a less painful exercise than thinking about his feelings for Sloane. “My father died when I was eighteen,” he said at last.

  He’d never had this conversation with a woman, not even Cindy, whom he’d been intimate with for far longer than any other woman in his past.

  “I’m sorry,” Sloane murmured.

  He shrugged. “It happened; I dealt with it. I withdrew from college, took over the paper, and helped Mom raise my brothers. There was no other way.” He recalled those days, the pain and difficulties a dim memory, yet one that still drove him now.

  As Sloane listened to his words, she finally understood what had shaped him. “You’re a good man, Chase Chandler.” And she knew now what he meant when he spoke of living life for others. How much he was willing to compromise his own life for his family was humbling.

  He merely grunted, and she guessed accepting compliments wasn’t easy for him. “It must have been tough.”

  “At times. And setting a good example for Rick and Roman was a pain in the ass.” His laugh rumbled through her. “It didn’t leave any room for a social life. Not while they were young and living at home.”

  She tensed as she asked, “And what happened to your social life after they moved out?”

  “Discretion had become a habit. Besides, living in a small town, if you don’t want your social life broadcast the next morning, you don’t do anything you might regret. Either that or you spend time in the neighboring town.” His fingers ran over her hair, tangling in the strands as he tugged on her scalp.

  “Where does Cindy fit in?”
She forced herself to ask him, even as she focused on the sensual feelings he created inside her by the simple act of touching her hair.

  “What if I said we had a relationship? Would you leave it at that?”

  “If I said I have a relationship with Samson, would you leave it at that? Would you let it go?” she shot back.

  He chuckled. “Touché.”

  “What kind of relationship?” Sloane had no choice but to push. She wanted answers too badly.

  A long period of silence followed and she wondered if he was annoyed.

  “We’re lovers,” he said at last.

  The pain in her stomach was worse than she’d anticipated. “Present tense?” Sloane was amazed she could speak.

  He let out a long breath. “We have an understanding. Neither of us wanted a relationship or anything that would require commitment. We get together when it’s convenient,” he explained.

  “You still haven’t answered the original question. Are you still involved?”

  “It’s not that simple. You heard her say she hasn’t heard from me in a while.” She felt him shrug, and his fingers began to massage her neck. “With Cindy, the allure has been gone for a long time now. It’s just that she’s . . .”

  “Convenient?” Sloane asked hopefully.

  “And safe. It kept life simple for me. No worries about my brothers, and with my meddling mother, privacy had its privileges.”

  Having met Raina, Sloane managed a laugh. “And what did Cindy have invested in you?” His fingers kept up a steady rhythm and pressure against her skin. His touch reassured her in some small way. “Because somehow I don’t think she was counting on you picking up a strange woman in a bar.”

  “To be honest, I wasn’t counting on it either. But I never made Cindy any kind of promise.”

  Sloane wasn’t certain how to feel. He obviously cared about this woman, Cindy, since he’d been in a relationship with her for a long time. But he wasn’t committed to her. He didn’t want to be committed to anyone, Sloane reminded herself.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d made such a comment and she’d better make sure she did more than listen. She’d better believe and protect herself because she could fall for him way too easily.