To Sloane, it didn’t matter. What was done, was done. Besides, nothing could have changed the outcome between her and Chase.
Michael let out a long breath. “Considering you were protecting our daughter, I say bravo.” He clapped his hands. “It seems we owe the man a story.”
Sloane shut her eyes. She’d known this was coming. One way or another, Chase was going to write Sloane’s story, expose her parentage, and obtain the scoop of his career. Once he did that, once he validated himself as the reporter he’d always wanted to be, he’d be free to live the life he’d only dreamed of before. Big stories and no time for family or responsibility.
Just the way he’d always wanted. She just wished that in being the vehicle to his success, she didn’t have to lose him in the process.
“Set up a meeting with Chase Chandler,” Michael told Kate, oblivious to Sloane’s inner turmoil and pain.
From the slanted look her stepmother gave her, Madeline knew exactly what was going on in Sloane’s mind. Or rather, her heart. Not that it mattered. This was something not even a mother’s hug could cure.
Another knock on the door interrupted them and Eric walked inside. With his white coat, stethoscope, and concerned look on his face, he appeared every inch the doctor and nothing like Raina’s relaxed suitor. “Everything okay in here?” he asked.
Sloane nodded, then launched into introductions. When they were through, Eric faced Sloane. “There’s someone who’s been asking to see you. And now that you’ve had time with your family, if you don’t agree, I’m afraid he’s going to do some serious damage to our hospital.”
“Chase.” Sloane didn’t have to ask. She already knew.
“Yes,” Eric said with a fatherly, kind smile on his handsome face.
“I’m not sure she’s ready,” Madeline said, stepping between the doctor and Sloane. Madeline knew how her daughter felt about Chase, and perhaps she was responding to his absence. In any event, she was playing protective parent and Sloane realized she and her stepmother had some serious catching up to do.
“Sloane?” Eric asked over her stepmother’s shoulder, patiently awaiting her decision.
“My family has some business to take care of,” she said pointedly to Madeline. “You need to be by Dad’s side through all this.”
And they all knew what this meant. “You two go discuss strategy and let Eric send Chase in.” She drew a deep breath. “I can handle him,” she said with more confidence than she felt. Especially with the drugs making her exhausted and the pain wearing her out.
A few more protestations by Madeline and reassurances by Sloane, and Michael finally led his entourage out of her room, leaving Sloane alone. Alone to compose her words and find the strength to say good-bye to Chase.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Chase waited until after Sloane’s family left, then gave her a few minutes alone before walking toward her room. It wasn’t easy, being patient, but he hoped the reward would be well worth the anticipation. Knocking once, he stepped inside, his pulse pounding a mile a minute and his heart in his throat. There wasn’t a cliché he wasn’t feeling at the moment and his gut told him all these rare and extraordinary emotions were normal. After all, when was the last time he’d laid his heart at a woman’s feet?
Swallowing hard, he looked at Sloane for the first time since seeing her passed out on the floor, blood splattered everywhere. Now she lay in the bed, a vision against the standard white hospital sheets. Though her face was pale, her copper hair gave her a vibrant look, warming his heart.
“Hi, sweetheart.” He stepped forward, pulling out from behind his back the flowers he’d bought at the concession downstairs. “You sure know how to scare a guy.”
Sloane laughed, but he knew her well enough to recognize the strain in the sound. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping you on your toes.”
She did that. In spades. Which was probably one of the reasons that this woman affected him so deeply, when so many others had tried and failed. Sloane didn’t have to try. From the day he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been a goner. He just hadn’t known it at the time, and had fought it every day since.
But the more he learned about Sloane Carlisle, from her strength and resolve, to her determination and loyalty, the more she had an impact on him. He wanted her in his life and was damn glad he’d realized it at last. Walking to the bed, he eased himself beside her, placing the flowers on a bedside tray.
“You didn’t need to bring flowers.” But she smiled gratefully.
He shrugged. “I had nothing else to do while waiting for permission to see you.”
Sloane burst out laughing. “You’re such a charmer.”
“I do try.” He grinned, grateful to see her back to her normal, teasing self. And as long as he didn’t focus on the bandage, he could almost convince himself she hadn’t come close to dying.
He sucked in a shallow breath. “Much pain?”
“No. The morphine pretty much covers that.” She gestured to the IV attached to her arm.
He winced, shaking his head. “I wish it were me lying there.”
“I’m really okay,” she assured him.
He curled his hands into tight fists. “But I’m not. I should have been with you.”
“And then Samson wouldn’t have been. I was really connecting with him, Chase.” She placed her good hand over her heart. “I mean, I was getting to understand him better. That wouldn’t have happened if we’d had an audience.”
He gritted his teeth, accepting her answer. But he still blamed himself for letting her go off alone. “I promised you’d be safe.”
“Promised who? Madeline?” she asked.
And wasn’t it just like Sloane to return to the heart of the matter, Chase thought. “No, sweetheart. I promised myself.” Reaching out, he brushed a lock of hair off her forehead, taking advantage and letting his fingertips trail down and stroke her soft cheek. “I failed you.”
“And that’s unacceptable for Chase Chandler, white knight?” Her voice held a tinge of resentment as she nailed his biggest flaw.
“Is there something wrong with that?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly. “Of course not. How can I find fault with the traits that make you an exceptional man?”
“I wouldn’t canonize me just yet,” he said wryly. “Especially since nothing changes the fact that I want you so bad, I ache. I want to bury myself inside you and prove to us both you’re alive.” He didn’t seek to shock her as much as to state the bald truth.
She laughed softly. “No, I wouldn’t nominate you for sainthood either.” She placed a warm hand over his. “And I want you too. Very much. Probably too much, considering. And I always will. That’s the problem.”
Relief hit him with intense force. He obviously hadn’t driven her away, no matter how hard he’d foolishly tried. “I don’t see any problems.”
She squeezed his hand tighter. “I’ve done the affair thing. I’ve lived in the moment, telling myself I’d take what I could get with you and then deal with the letdown later, once I was home. But I just got shot.” She shook her head, then had to release his hand to pull her hair off her face.
He missed her warmth and hoped it wasn’t a prelude of a bigger withdrawal to come.
“I learned life’s too short to settle for less than everything,” she told him, meeting his gaze.
“Then I have to repeat myself. I don’t see a problem. Because I’ve come to the same conclusion myself.” His heart beat out a rhythm he’d never felt before—fear, excitement, and adrenaline combining to put him on edge. “I told you once before, I love you, Sloane. I meant it then, but I’m ready to act on it now. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said, attempting to breathe and yet holding his breath as he waited for her to reply.
Her eyelashes fluttered closed. A lone tear dripped down one cheek. He caught it with his thumb, tasting the salty moisture and drawing strength from making her a part of him in such a tiny but in
timate way.
“You’re ready to spend your life with me. Now, after almost losing me.” She exhaled a long sigh. “Of course you are,” she said, no joy in her voice. No excitement.
“Sloane?” he asked, fear filling him where once completeness and satisfaction had been. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” Because whatever it was, he was going to have to talk her out of those negative thoughts.
She wet her lips before speaking. “You’re known for your family loyalty, Chase. Your need to protect. I’ve seen it in action and it’s strong. Admirable, even. And of course, guilt would follow if you felt you failed in any way.”
He narrowed his gaze, opting to let her finish before beginning any counterargument.
Her hand ran circles over her bandage, as if soothing herself while she spoke. “Like when your mother got sick. You felt so guilty for not being there that you planted yourself beside her, at the hospital and then at her house. You didn’t want me with you. In fact, you froze me out, remember?”
Again, he merely nodded. Let her make her point, he told himself, and then he’d counter every one. But his gut cramped and fear insidiously crept inside him, making him wonder. What if he couldn’t sway her?
No, he refused to believe that. He would. “What are you afraid of, honey?” he asked softly. After all, she’d been shot, and now she was questioning everything about her world, about him.
Her damp gaze met his. “It’s not fear. It’s certainty. I believe you love me.”
“That’s a good sign.”
She managed a laugh. “Well, no guy says that twice if he doesn’t mean it.”
He ran a hand through his hair, still confused. “So what’s wrong?”
“You’re letting guilt push you into going that one step further. Making you think I love you has to mean you want forever. You don’t, Chase. That’s the guilt talking.”
“No—”
“Let me finish,” she ordered in an un-Sloane-like voice. “Chase Chandler, the white knight. That’s the role you play best. I’ve seen it many times since we met. But it’s never been a life-or-death situation before. You weren’t there when I got shot. And because of that, you think you need to be with me forever. To protect me from everything that might ever happen.” Her voice rose, her language clear; she meant business.
And every word from her luscious lips dripped of serious certainty. She wouldn’t be swayed with platitudes, and Chase understood; he’d given her every reason to distrust his words. “Okay, to a certain extent, you’re right. I want to protect you and be with you forever. But not out of guilt.” He rose and began pacing the floor. “I know my own feelings,” he said, insulted she’d think otherwise no matter what he’d said or done in the past.
She sighed. “Chase, you stepped in and raised a family out of necessity. You said yourself you were finished with those days. Been there, done that might have been your exact words.” She folded one arm across her chest. “Nothing’s changed except my brush with death. And like your mother’s brush with death, it’s sent you into an I’m-not-leaving-you mode. Don’t worry, it’ll pass,” she said, sounding too jaded for his peace of mind.
“What makes you so sure you know everything?”
“Not everything. Just you.”
He rose over her, bracing his hands on the pillows behind her and leaning in close. So close he could bury his face in her hair, but instead he towered over her to make his point. “I know me too and I’ve changed.”
“It’s temporary,” she insisted, her bottom lip pushing out in firm resolution.
“There’s no way this can be temporary.” He captured her mouth with his, not accepting hesitance or arguments, immediately drawing her lush lower lip into his mouth and tasting her. Her warm, moist mouth told him she was alive, that he hadn’t lost her, nor would he.
Determined to make his point, to make her his, he deepened the kiss, his tongue taking command and swirling inside the damp recesses of her mouth. Only after he was certain he’d made his mark on every delectable inch, he softened the kiss, arousing himself even more by merely enjoying the sensation of his lips rubbing sensuously against hers.
Then he reluctantly broke the kiss. “We’re meant to be, honey.” He leaned his forehead against hers.
“For as long as you feel obligated. And I won’t have you saddled with a wife you feel too guilty to leave.” She inhaled, then uttered the words that were his undoing. “Good-bye, Chase.”
Operating on autopilot, Chase walked out of Sloane’s room. Out of her life. It wasn’t permanent, he told himself, but he wasn’t convinced, unsure how to win her back or counter the feelings she had. Feelings he’d worked hard to cement in her mind.
Those same thoughts circled his head as he returned to the Gazette offices for the first time all week. Avoiding the stares of his employees and ducking Lucy before she could question him, he holed up in his office, ignoring phone calls. He was so focused, he didn’t hear his name being called until Madeline Carlisle tapped her manicured fingernails on his old desk.
“We need to talk, Mr. Chandler,” she said in a no-nonsense tone, one he was sure she used with her children and husband with success.
Too bad he wasn’t in the mood to comply. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital with Sloane?”
“You don’t mince words or waste time with hellos. I respect that.” She laughed, obviously undeterred by his forthright question.
Because of his mood, he’d abandoned etiquette and immediately regretted being curt with Sloane’s mother. “Excuse my manners,” he said, rising. “Please sit down.” He swept the air with his hand, gesturing to the chairs in the room.
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’ve sat during our traveling. I’m happy to stand, if you don’t mind?”
“Can I get you something to drink instead?” He pointed to the old refrigerator and side-by-side liquor cabinet his father had installed during his tenure here.
“No, thank you.” She gripped the wooden handles of her clutch bag and met his gaze. “We have business to discuss.”
He swallowed hard. If that business included how he’d hurt Sloane, he didn’t need the lecture. He could still see the pain in her eyes and feel the reluctant but determined good-bye in her kiss.
And if Madeline wanted to discuss how he’d failed in his bargain with her by not keeping Sloane safe—well, he didn’t need that particular lecture either. He’d beat up on himself enough.
He rose and paced his office, determined to get this discussion over with as quickly as possible. “What can I do for you?”
“First, I’d like to thank you for keeping your end of our agreement. I respect a man of integrity and honor.”
Chase stopped in his tracks, turned, and stared at the woman, certain he’d lost his mind and his hearing. When he caught sight of what seemed like a warm, genuine smile gracing her lips, he figured his sight had gone too. Yet, he detected no sarcasm to Madeline’s words or expression.
“Excuse me?” He narrowed his gaze, attempting to figure out what was going on. “Have you forgotten that your daughter is lying in a hospital room right now because of me?”
She placed her purse on his desk and leaned against the old wood. “Unless you fired the gun, and I know you did not, I suggest you get rid of the blame you’re carrying. Robert and Frank were determined to get to Samson. There wasn’t anything anyone could have done to prevent what happened. Including you.”
Easy for her to say, Chase thought. She obviously didn’t have all the facts. Sloane had probably spared her.
“Now let’s get down to business before the rest of the journalists figure out what’s really happening. I owe you an exclusive and I’m determined to keep my word.”
His stomach cramped with guilt that she’d still want to give him their family story after all he’d done. “I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t feel right accepting the exclusive,” he said.
Had those words really passed his lips? Had he jus
t turned down the story of a lifetime? The story he’d wanted at any expense? And why did doing so feel so damn right?
Madeline shook her head, determination blazing in her eyes. “Don’t be a fool. There are dozens of reporters who’ll take this story and run with it, no questions asked. This is a career-making opportunity and you’ve earned it. Why turn it down now?”
Chase walked up beside her, taking her hand. “You’re a kind woman, Madeline, but you know as well as I do, I should have been with Sloane when she was shot. At best, I might have been able to prevent it. At least, I would have been there.”
She arched one delicate eyebrow. “Did I ask you to glue yourself to Sloane’s side or merely to look out for her? Which I hear you did quite well.”
Was that a sly smile she possessed? And why did it remind him so much of Raina at her meddling best? Chase shook his head. “I blew it.”
“Guilt is a wasted emotion in a lifetime of uncertain duration,” Madeline said as she expelled a frustrated breath. She picked up a yellow legal pad and pen, then turned, handing him the writing utensils. “Right now I suggest you listen and take notes. Then later you can examine why you’re so hard on yourself. After which, you’d better damn well get over it. My daughter deserves more than a man who’s wallowing in the past.”
Despite it all, Chase wanted to applaud her performance.
“Now.” She sat down and crossed her legs, her feminine movement at odds with her harsh, determined words. “My husband will be here soon to add his side to the story, so it’s time for you to take notes.” She leaned back in her seat, glancing his way. “Unless you’d prefer a tape recorder?”
Chase chuckled. “You ought to meet my mother.”
“I’m sure we’d get along extremely well. And there’s plenty of time for introductions. Another day.”
Hours later, after Chase had secured the story from Madeline and the senator himself, the revealing details that would provide an exposé and journalistic opportunity of a lifetime, he sat down to write the story.
It was a story of love and loss—Samson’s, Michael’s, Jacqueline’s, Madeline’s, and now Sloane’s. It was a story that would either sway voters to side with Senator Michael Carlisle, a good, decent man who’d done right by a young woman in need, or convince them he’d used that same woman for political gain. In the end, Chase believed that whatever Michael’s political reasons for marrying Jacqueline, he’d loved her too. And in the end, he’d saved her from her father, who would have emotionally destroyed her.
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