The Heartbreaker Page 2

  Frank bellowed, but he never made idle threats. Sloane swallowed hard just as the door slammed shut in her face, leaving her on the outside of her father’s suite and, if Frank’s words were true, on the outside of her own life.

  * * *

  By the time dinner finally ended, Chase had had more of his brother and sister-in-law’s matrimonial happiness than he could stomach in one sitting. While Roman took a tired Charlotte home, Chase decided to check out the D.C. nightlife and the singles scene. After some asking around, he found the perfect hole-in-the-wall bar around the corner from his hotel where he could kick back and relax.

  He ordered a beer on tap and took in the scenery, which consisted of a pool table, a small, scarred dance floor, varied beer signs hanging on old paneled walls, and not much else. Until the door opened and she walked inside, a vision in a dress so pink, so short, so bare, it ought to be illegal.

  No matter what his brother thought, Chase wasn’t a monk. He’d just kept his social life discreet in deference to his fatherlike status, and over the years, the habit stuck. Most recently he’d hooked up with Cindy Dixon, who lived in Hampshire, the next town over. They were friends who’d begun sleeping together when the whim struck, neither wanting to be indiscriminate in this day and age. The arrangement satisfied Chase physically, but no longer inspired him, so he wasn’t surprised when this sexy siren captured his attention.

  Russet-colored hair cascaded past her shoulders in thick waves, making him itch to run his fingers through the unruly strands. Chase tightened his grip around the bottle and let out a slow groan. One glance and he wanted to know her. All of her.

  “She’s a hot number, all right.” The bartender swiped the counter down with his rag. “Don’t think I’ve seen her in here before. I’d remember if I had.”

  Chase wouldn’t be forgetting her anytime soon. The combination of sultry sexiness in her appearance and the inherent vulnerability in her expression as she settled in beside him made one heck of an impression.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked, leaning across the expanse of the bar, too close in Chase’s biased opinion.

  “Hmm.” She pursed her lips as she thought. “Scotch straight up.”

  Chase cocked an eyebrow, surprised. He’d have voted for a cosmopolitan or a white-wine spritzer.

  “You sure about that?” the bartender asked. “A big drink like that doesn’t mix well with a little thing like you.”

  She squared her shoulders, clearly offended. “Last I heard, the customer was always right,” she said in a haughty tone more due a blue blood or politician than the sprite she appeared to be.

  Chase grinned. Obviously, he could add gumption to her list of attributes.

  “It’s your choice,” the bartender replied. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when I have to confiscate your car keys.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I took the Metro,” she shot back.

  “Point, to the lady.” Chase laughed.

  “Thank you,” she said without bothering to look his way.

  The bartender placed the glass filled with amber liquid in front of her. “Remember, I warned you.” He headed for a new round of customers at the end of the bar.

  She stared at the contents a moment before lifting the glass for an experimental sniff and wrinkled her nose. “Still smells as vile as the last time I tasted it,” she said to herself.

  Chase laughed. Again. Twice in a matter of minutes. A record for him. A testament to the staid life he lived and a tribute to this woman’s effect on him. He was beyond intrigued. “Then why order it?” he asked her.

  “Heavy-duty stuff for a heavy-duty night.” She shrugged but didn’t lift her stare from the glass.

  Chase wasn’t insulted. Her preoccupation was obvious and from her words, so was her pain.

  “Bartender? Give me the same,” Chase said when the other man glanced over.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, surprised.

  “Joining you. It’s unhealthy to drink alone.” She looked his way at last and a burst of raw sexual energy exploded inside him, knocking him off balance.

  Apparently, he wasn’t alone because gratitude and a hell of a lot more flickered in her golden gaze. He thought he’d been prepared, but it had been too damn long since he’d felt anything beyond the ordinary for any woman or any thing. Since stepping off the plane in D.C. a few short hours ago, the world had opened up for him, offering myriad possibilities. He wanted her to be one of them.

  “Here you go, buddy.” The bartender slid the glass Chase’s way. “She just became your responsibility,” he said, and walked off to help the thickening crowd.

  She flicked a long strand of copper hair back off her shoulder. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can.” He raised his glass, waiting while she did the same. “Cheers.”

  She inclined her head. “Cheers. Wait. It’s proper to toast before drinking, and I always do the proper thing. To …” She paused, nibbling on her full lower lip.

  His mouth watered, since he wanted nothing more than to suck that luscious, full pout into his mouth and taste her. “To?” he prompted.

  “Life’s dirty secrets.” She clinked her glass against his.

  The sound echoed inside him as did the raw anguish he sensed inside her. “I’m a good listener,” he said, then mentally kicked himself. He wasn’t looking to be her friend, when he’d rather be her lover.

  Instant attraction, instant lust. He’d never experienced the surge quite so strongly before. He wasn’t about to walk away from it now. Not on the night that represented the beginning of his new life. To hell with his usual sense of caution. It was time to leave the noble Chase Chandler behind and act on his desires.

  “Thanks, but … I’d rather not talk.” The flickering in her gaze told him she desired something more. Something from him.

  Something he was all too willing to give.

  * * *

  Sloane stared into the stranger’s seductive blue eyes. A woman could get lost in that serious, intent gaze. The man had a hidden fire deep inside him, something akin to what burned inside her. Dying to escape. Tonight. And her stomach churned with possibilities.

  She lifted the butterscotch-colored liquid to her lips, taking a sip, never breaking eye contact. Because she’d had scotch with her roommate at school, she was prepared for the distinctive taste and the burning sensation going down. Warmth flowed through her veins, due more to his stare than the fiery liquor.

  He raised his glass and matched her drink, a sexy smile curving his lips. She’d said she didn’t want to talk. Obviously, he respected her wishes. She liked that about him.

  His passionate stare held on to hers. She searched the blue depths as if they held the secrets to life. They didn’t, of course. Those were held by the adults who withheld information from their children. She didn’t doubt Michael Carlisle’s motive. It was hard to think of him as her father now. It was just as hard not to.

  As any parent does, he’d always claimed to act in his girls’ best interests. But he’d screwed up this time because Sloane wasn’t one of his girls. And the decision not to tell her about her parentage shouldn’t have been his to make. She wondered what the media would think if they knew the perfect senator lived a lie.

  She nearly laughed aloud. Sloane Carlisle lived a lie. Hell, Sloane was the lie. As a result, she didn’t know who she was or where she fit in. She’d never known. At least now she understood why.

  Why she wanted to run free, when her family was content with the restrictive boundaries imposed by the press and, by this time tomorrow, the Secret Service.

  Why she hated being forced to conform in dress and personality, while her stepmother, sisters, and father reveled in formal attire and convention.

  Sloane was different because she wasn’t one of them. She didn’t know who she was and, for tonight, she didn’t care. There had always been a wanton woman inside her, and she wanted to set the long-repres
sed Sloane free.

  “I’ve always thought talking’s overrated,” the stranger said at last.

  “Me too.” Tomorrow she wouldn’t agree. But tonight she wanted to forget.

  She deliberately brushed her arm against his. The electricity was scorching, reaching into the pit of her stomach while arousing vibrations beckoned. He leaned close. A whisper breath away. Within kissing distance, making her want to let go of her inhibitions.

  Sloane Carlisle had never so much as stepped outside the bounds of propriety. She dated men she knew, men her family approved of, and she didn’t sleep with strangers.

  But she’d always wanted to test the unknown waters. Stay out past curfew. Approach this sexy man and take her chances.

  And since his rough, gravelly voice set off white-hot arrows of fire inside her, she intended to take advantage of the desire licking at her veins. She was primed for this adventure.

  She inhaled deeply. His musky male scent mixed intoxicatingly with the hint of liquor on his breath and she licked her lips, imagining she was tasting his.

  His eyes darkened with banked arousal. “So we’re on the same page?” he asked.

  She couldn’t mistake his meaning. Didn’t want to. She placed her hand over his, lacing her fingertips through his strong, lean fingers, feeling his roughened skin.

  “Word for word,” she promised, barely recognizing the rough timbre of her voice.

  He rose, reached into his pocket, peeled off a single bill, and left a twenty on the bar to cover their drinks. “My hotel’s around the corner.”

  So he was a tourist. Even better. She wouldn’t have to risk running into him again after tonight. She rose, leaving her drink behind.

  She didn’t need the alcohol for courage. Sloane Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Really-Was was 100 percent behind this decision. It was about time she acted on true instinct and rebelled against all the things in her life that had constrained her.

  She placed her hand inside his. Tomorrow she’d return to the real world. Tonight was about indulging in the fantasies she’d only dreamed of when she thought she was Senator Carlisle’s firstborn daughter.

  Chapter Two

  Sloane had plenty of time to back out on the walk to the hotel, but she hadn’t come this far to change her mind now. His hand held hers tight, and as they made their way into the lobby, she realized no one was looking their way. Without her famous parents by her side, no one in D.C. ever gave her a second glance.

  He paused, turning toward her. In his eyes, she saw the same desire pulsing inside her. “I need to stop by the front desk.” He left her for a moment to speak to the clerk, then joined her once more.

  Her heart pounded hard in her chest as they entered the elevator and the doors closed behind them.

  His intense gaze met hers. “I didn’t go out tonight looking for this, but”—he shrugged as if unsure how to continue—“I’m glad I ran into you.”

  She smiled, understanding what he meant. She hadn’t come to the bar looking for a one-night stand, merely to forget her troubles or at least drown them for a little while. But one look into his eyes and she’d been captivated.

  For her, the night could have had no other ending. “I wasn’t on any kind of manhunt myself.” She let out a self-conscious laugh. “But I’m glad I found you too.”

  He braced one hand against the wall above her shoulder. He was tall, his presence overpowering, and yet his calm demeanor and slow, easy manner made her feel comfortable. Safe. And mesmerized by those gorgeous blue eyes, she was able to forget everything but him. And that, Sloane realized, was her main objective.

  “I think it’s about time we exchange first names.” A persuasive smile tilted his lips.

  First names. She could handle that, she thought, until she realized Sloane was too distinctive, too recognizable in Washington, since her father was planning to put his hat in the proverbial ring. “Faith,” she said, using her middle name.

  “Pretty,” he said in a gruff voice. He twirled a strand of hair around his finger, the light tug against her scalp curiously arousing. “I’m Chase.”

  She grinned. “It suits you. Don’t ask me why.”

  Laughing, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. His masculine scent surrounded her, a potent aphrodisiac. His head dipped lower, but before he could make a move, the elevator doors glided open, leaving her lips tingling, waiting for the touch of the unknown.

  Grasping her hand, he led her to his room, and after pulling out his card key, he let them into a suite. The bedroom was obviously beyond the open door in the corner. Although the living area smelled and looked like an impersonal hotel room, when he stepped toward her, he dispelled the cold. He pulled her into his arms. With his molten gaze and overpowering physical presence, he cradled her in intense heat.

  His eyes held hers as he lowered his head and kissed her for the first time. His lips were gentle yet firm, no hesitancy or insecurity in this man’s touch. Though a stranger, he acted as an anchor during this storm in her life. He enabled her to relax and feel safe, let her grab onto him and accept everything he offered. She kissed him back, giving herself in return.

  His hands came to rest on her cheeks, holding her head so he could devour her lips. He nibbled, drawing her lower lip into his mouth and deepening the kiss with broad sweeps of his tongue. With each successive stroke, fire burned stronger in her belly and the urge to touch him grew. She pulled his shirt from the waist-band of his jeans and rested her hands against his heated skin.

  He exhaled on a low groan, sliding his hands through her hair and trailing moist, damp kisses down her cheek, lingering against her throat. He was blocking out everything, all the disbelief, the pain, the hurt, and the anguish of today, until she could think of nothing but him. Her nipples puckered and her breasts grew heavy, while between her legs, slick moisture dampened her panties.

  She tilted her head back to give him greater access to her throat and he sucked harder on her sensitive flesh, drawing a direct connection to more aroused body parts. A wash of sensation rushed over her and she gripped his waist harder in response.

  “Oh yes.” As if from a distance, she heard her voice, raw, hoarse, and full of desire.

  “You like?” he asked.

  She forced her heavy eyelids open to meet his hot stare. “Rhetorical question, right?”

  A seductive grin lifted his lips and he dipped his head once more, this time to soothe the sensitive flesh of her neck with his tongue.

  “Mmm.” The man definitely had a way about him, Sloane thought.

  “Faith.”

  It took her a moment to register that he was talking to her. “Yes?”

  “Nothing. I just like the sound of your name.”

  She smiled, wishing he were calling her by her real name; wishing his rough voice would call out Sloane as he came inside her. Emboldened by the byplay between them, she raked her fingernails higher, rasping against his chest and hair-roughened skin. “I hope you like that too.”

  Before he could reply, a loud knock interrupted them. “I’ve got it.” He strode to the door like the confident male he was, heedless of his untucked shirt or disheveled hair. He opened it a crack, and Sloane realized he was looking out for her privacy.

  “I’ll take it,” she heard him say. Then he turned back toward her, pushing a room service tray into the room, and kicked the door closed behind him.

  “What’s that?” she asked, taking in the two glasses and the champagne bottle in an ice bucket.

  “You didn’t strike me as the type of woman who indulges in one-night stands very often. So I wanted to make this … more special.” To her surprise, a red flush rose to his cheeks.

  Embarrassment. He’d gone out of his way to make this nice for her and he was embarrassed by the gesture. She stepped forward, more confident in her stride. “What makes you think this isn’t my normal MO?” she asked, truly curious.

  “It’s a hunch and I’m usually accurate. Because despite
the sexy dress, your speech is refined, your expression was sometimes hesitant, and by the look in those eyes, you’re running from some deep, dark secret. It could be a lousy day, a lost job, but you’re looking to get away from it all. You just don’t jump into bed with strange men every day. I’d stake my life on it,” he said with all the confidence of a cocky male.

  “All this from one look?”

  He grinned. “I’m a journalist. Observation is my specialty. What’s yours?”

  “Interior design,” she said on autopilot, unable to think about anything except this revelation.

  A reporter of any kind could wreak havoc with her father’s presidential plans, and despite the hurt and betrayal lingering inside her, she loved the man. All the more reason to keep her real name from Chase.

  She inched forward on her high heels. “You must be very good at your job because you’re right. This isn’t an everyday occurrence,” she admitted. One trick she’d learned from her parents was to feed reporters as much truth as possible so as not to make them more wary.

  “I like being right.”

  She laughed. “Which makes you a typical man.”

  “Right now I’d settle for being your man. Drink?” He gestured to the champagne with a sweep of his hand.

  His thoughtfulness still pleased her. “I’d rather pick up where we left off and save the champagne till later.” More honesty, Sloane thought. She wanted him as much now if not more than before.

  Grabbing her hand, he walked to the oversize chair in the corner and sat down. “Join me.” He tugged on her hand, his meaning clear.

  She drew a deep breath and settled one knee on either side of his thighs as she lowered herself to sit on his lap. The bulge in his jeans was obvious, pulsing deliciously between her legs, and his eyes were dilated with restrained need. Sloane didn’t want or need the restraint.

  She locked her arms around his neck. “Kiss me, Chase. Make me forget,” she murmured.

  “Make you forget what?”

  She didn’t want to answer. She wanted him to kiss her instead, so she leaned forward and locked her lips solidly against his.