01 - The Heartbreaker (12 page)

“How’s that for proof?” he asked Dice without tearing his fiery gaze from hers.

“Hell, man, even I could kiss her and make her melt.”

“More like pass out,” Sloane muttered. She was sick of this disgusting man’s macho attitude.

“I’m done taking orders from you,” Chase told the biker. “We’re out of here.” Chase grabbed Sloane’s hand, obviously intending to pull her across the bar.

“You ain’t going anywhere. At least not with the lady.” From the menacing look in Dice’s eyes and the way his gang began to circle around him, Sloane knew they were serious.

Her stomach clenched in pure fear. And then she looked at Chase’s harsh profile. The man might be a newspaper reporter with a soft spot for his family, but she was discovering that he wasn’t a man to mess with. Despite the danger surrounding them, Sloane felt ridiculously safe with him by her side.

“Leave her here and I’ll show you the door myself.” Dice snickered, but Sloane didn’t find him funny.

“I’m sick of this shit.” Chase squared his shoulders and kicked a pool cue across the floor, its rattling sound echoing in the sudden silence. “Nobody tells me when and where to mess with my girlfriend. I’m not going to kiss her again unless I’m in the mood and you’re killing mine. So get the hell out of my way.” He stepped forward with determination.

She spared a quick glance his way. His facial expression looked as if it’d been chiseled out of hard granite. Now Sloane was scared. She didn’t want Chase getting his gorgeous face kicked in or his body hurt, thanks to Dice. Or rather, thanks to her since she’d gotten him into this bar, and this mess.

Dice wanted proof of possession? It was time Chase gave it to him, something he’d just made clear he’d only do on his terms. Sloane intended to make sure those terms were met.

She sidled closer to him, then slid her hands over his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. “Come on,” she whispered. “I like having an audience. It’s so . . . hot.”

She nipped his earlobe and his body shook. She wasn’t exactly lying, since being with Chase anywhere was
hot
. It’s just that she’d rather be in the comfort of his home at this moment. No Dice, no threats.

“You want hot? I’ll give you hot,” Dice said, obviously showing off for his friends.

Chase’s hands clenched into fists at his side as he realized the big biker hung on Sloane’s every word and action, ready to pounce. On her.

Showing patience and restraint, Chase glared, obviously debating his next move. Sloane wasn’t as content to hide her emotions. Trailing her fingers up his neck, she thread her hands in his hair, massaging his scalp with the palm of her hands. “Don’t you want me?” she asked, when she really meant,
Don’t you want to get the hell out of here?

Desperation tinged Sloane’s voice and her fingers dug into Chase’s scalp. He couldn’t react to her fear or he’d lose the upper hand with Dice.

He met her gaze. “I want you, all right.” He spoke the truth. Chase was on the edge. On the edge of pulling Sloane away from this crowd and on the edge of taking her right here on the damn pool table.

She had a point about the audience. Kissing her and staking his claim had a carnal, caveman sort of appeal. He’d been holding back out of respect for her, but they weren’t getting out of here unless he marked her as his.

Something she obviously understood and was angling for, something she apparently wanted despite her fear—that is, if the excited gleam in her eyes or husky voice was any indication. And the way her fingers tugged against his scalp heightened his awareness and aroused his senses. So did the surrounding danger.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she asked.

He sensed Dice’s approach from behind, felt his time running out. “Good question.” He lifted her by the waist, turned back, and seated her on the edge of the pool table; then he settled himself between her legs. Even with the denim barrier, warm heat enveloped him. He recalled exactly what the moist place between her legs felt like and broke into a sweat.

Behind him, Dice called for him to make his move, but Chase planned to go at his own pace. Lowering his head, he took his first taste of her neck. She smelled sweet and felt warm as his tongue gently lapped at her soft skin. She let out one of those moans that he loved to hear. She might kill him, but at least he’d die a happy man.

Still, he couldn’t put things off much longer. He pulled her long, tangled hair farther away from her flesh and blew on the moistened spot on her neck. The clapping, whistles, and catcalls surrounding them grew louder, yet for all Chase cared, they might as well have been alone. But they weren’t, and in order to get there, he had one more move to make.

Once again, he slid his tongue over her tender flesh—once, twice—then lingered, long enough to let Dice think he was marking her in the most visible, primal way. He raised his head and pulled a dazed Sloane to her feet. Then he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, the collar and her hair covering her neck. Let Dice think what he wanted.

“We’re out of here.” He squeezed her hand tighter and started past the biker, noticing his friends were awaiting the man’s okay before letting them through.

A nod from Dice and the group parted, revealing a path toward the rest of the bar and the exit beyond. Chase’s relief lasted for two seconds, long enough for him to lead Sloane past the crowd. Then she paused. She jerked on his hand, causing him to stop in his tracks.

She looked back to Dice, his buddies, and to the old men who’d resumed their game of pool as if nothing had happened to disrupt them.

“Hey, Earl,” Sloane called out.

Chase tensed, gripping her hand in a deathlock, knowing what was coming and powerless to stop her.

“See you Friday.” She waved with her free hand. “And if you see Samson, tell him to be here.”

Chase had had enough. He stormed for the front door, pulling Sloane behind him. Once safely in the vestibule, he grabbed her by the forearms. “You are insane,” he said, shaking her and letting out his frustration. “No way in hell am I letting you come back here Friday night. Not after what I had to go through to save your pretty behind this time.”

She glanced at him, those wide eyes too big and innocent for his liking. “Thank you for the compliment.” She patted her behind, and though she tried, she couldn’t hold back a grin.

“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.