He nodded. “She’s married to my brother Roman.”
“Good Lord, there’s another one of you?”
He chuckled, showing a flash of white teeth. “You got it, babe. Around here we’re known as ‘the Chandler boys.’ The three of us are grouped together. We always were.”
“Izzy mentioned you,” she recalled. “But you and I hadn’t exchanged last names, so I had no way of putting two and two together.” She felt the heat rise to her cheeks at the memory of how she’d come on to him in the bar. A stranger whom she’d let take her to bed. But he hadn’t felt like a stranger then, any more than he felt like one now.
Without warning, his hand came up to stroke her cheek. “Don’t go getting embarrassed on me. I have no regrets and I refuse to let you have any either.”
Soft yet callused, his fingertips caused an erotic tingling throughout her body and she felt the distinct puckering of her ni**les beneath her shirt. “I can’t say I have any regrets either,” she admitted. Not even now, knowing who and what he was.
His reporter status hit her like a painful punch in the stomach. He might have saved her life, but he probably had an agenda. She forced herself to relax against the chair, sad at the reminder that he couldn’t be her Prince Charming, after all. “But even with no regrets, we have a lot more to deal with than a one-night stand that’s over.”
He flinched and now she had regrets. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She only sought to put up a barrier that would keep her family safe.
She sighed and forced her mind to deal with the still-unanswered questions. “So you met my stepmother, and she told you. . . what?” Sloane asked, not convinced Madeline would set a reporter on her tail.
“She told me that you were dealing with some difficult issues, needed time alone, and came home to find your mother’s roots.” He spoke matter-of-factly, no emotion, no caring, the wall she’d erected firmly in place.
If her heart hurt a little, she reminded herself it was for the best. “In other words, she asked you to look out for me,” Sloane guessed. That would be a typical response for Madeline, who’d given in too easily to Sloane’s request to travel here alone, without protection. She’d been planning a countermission of her own.
“In a nutshell, yes. And believe me, honey, once I put the pieces together of who you really were, it wasn’t a hardship to see you again.” Yet Chase didn’t even crack a smile.
With the way she’d dismissed their one night, he obviously hated admitting he’d wanted to see her again. “But Madeline didn’t mention Samson at all,” he continued. “And considering his house blew up and you were almost in it, I have a lot more questions.
Starting with, what’s your connection to Samson Humphrey?”
She wished she could crawl into his arms and reveal all. Of course she couldn’t. The only one she could trust was herself. Unless . . . “Is this Chase the journalist asking or Chase the man?” she asked.
A muscle ticked in his jaw and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Fair enough,”
he muttered.
Her question acted like the proverbial last straw, shutting him down completely and cementing the wall between them. That had been her intent if he was asking from a journalistic need to know as opposed to asking from the heart.
Either he was unsure how to answer, or he didn’t want to admit that the reporter in him wanted answers that could make his career. She was disappointed but she had to play her cards close.
“Rick had an officer bring your car and he dropped the suitcase off downstairs. Why don’t you shower and freshen up. We can pick this questioning up again later.”
Since she reeked of smoke and felt like hell, she agreed. “Thanks. A shower sounds wonderful.” As for them talking again, Sloane didn’t have time for exchanges of information.
Norman and Izzy had mentioned a place called Crazy Eights, a pool hall where Samson hung out when he had money in his pocket. Sloane recalled Izzy’s warning, and though she was more afraid of meeting her real father than she was of the pool joint, she had to find Samson regardless.
The sound of footsteps distracted her. Chase returned with her suitcase in hand. In his gaze, she caught a hint of warmth, which in turn made her pulse race and her heart beat faster. Thank goodness he quickly masked it or she’d have done something stupid, like kiss him.
After her shower and a quick meal, she was out of here. Off to find her real father.
Without this reporter’s help or prying eyes.
Living in Yorkshire Falls, a single man could either eat at Norman’s, bring in from Norman’s, or learn how to cook. Chase mostly relied on take-out food from Norman’s.
He opened his freezer, searching for something he could defrost and serve to his guest.
Not much looked appealing.
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling filthy from soot and dirt. He needed a shower, but he’d have to wait his turn. From his post in the kitchen, he heard the shower running in the other room. Or maybe he just imagined that he could hear Sloane in his bathroom, letting the water pour over her soft skin. Only one hallway and a door separated them.
The thought was enough to nearly kill a man.
So was the way she’d dismissed that night between them as a one-night stand. So that’s all it had been. It wasn’t like he’d expected to see her again, let alone get embroiled in her life. But with her words, she’d sure as hell hurt his ego. In truth, she’d damaged more than his pride. He cared about what she thought far too much for someone who’d been a brief fling. And those kind of feelings could prevent him from achieving his goals—a huge story picked up by the big papers and a shot at big-time fame. A scoop on vice presidential candidate Michael Carlisle.
Chase could practically smell that story right beneath his nose. And the fact that Sloane wanted to distinguish between Chase the man and Chase the reporter told him he might be even closer than he thought. But closer to what? What was she hiding?
He doubted he’d get those details from Sloane. Hopefully, Madeline Carlisle would be more forthcoming with her information once she realized he’d already done as she asked and saved her daughter’s behind. And what a delectable behind it was, round and tight in her faded jeans.
He clenched his jaw and slammed the freezer door shut, unable to find anything edible.
The easiest thing would be to call Izzy and ask her to deliver.
He picked up the phone at the same time the doorbell rang. Chase had done some renovations in the old Victorian house after moving in, and though he could reach the downstairs office from a private indoor staircase, he also had a separate entrance installed for his own personal visitors. He headed to the door and immediately caught sight through the window of his mother’s honey blond hair.