01 - The Heartbreaker (7 page)

She’d never considered where or how Samson lived. And as she pulled the car to a stop in front of the house, an overwhelming sense of sadness filled her for what looked like a lonely, pathetic existence.

She walked up the graveled driveway. If blacktop had ever covered the long stretch, no remnants remained now. Halfway to the house, she was startled by a yipping sound. She glanced around
as a small dog that resembled a pug came running toward her on short, chubby legs. Jumping up and down on his hind legs, he shamelessly begged for a pat on the head.

Sloane leaned down and ran a hand over his short fur. Grubby-looking, he needed a bath as much as he apparently needed attention, and despite her better judgment, she picked him up.

He was heavier than she’d anticipated. “You’re a hefty one,” she told him, and carried him to the house. She couldn’t deny having her arms full gave her a more secure, comfortable feeling and she clutched the dog’s warm body tighter against her chest.

At the front door, she paused, nerves overtaking her. Before she could back out and run to the car, she rang the bell. She wasn’t surprised when no sound came out, and after trying once more, she started to bang loudly on the door. To her shock, the door pushed wide open. The dog squirmed and jumped out of her arms, running inside.

“Hello?” she called out, uncomfortable just walking in. But no one answered and so she cautiously stepped over the threshold. The jitters in her stomach were now uncontrollable, but so was her determination to find Samson, as she walked into a dark hallway.

The smell of rotten eggs hit her immediately. Though she lived in an apartment, she’d grown up in a house and Sloane knew a gas leak when she smelled one. The odor that assaulted her senses couldn’t be anything else.

Wisdom dictated she get out and have someone call the gas and electric company, but what if Samson was inside? She called out once more. “Hello? Samson?”

No response.

She glanced around, but from the darkened rooms and obvious smell, the house had to be empty. Anyone home would have gotten out by now, though why they’d leave their pet was beyond her. And said pet had decided to act like a tough guy, running to the top of the basement stairs and yapping like crazy.

“Come on, pooch.” She patted her thighs, calling him with enthusiasm.

He wasn’t impressed.

And she wasn’t leaving without him.

She walked slowly toward him. The closer she came, the more distinct the gas odor became.
Get out
. The mantra started to run through her head. She intended to heed it, but she had to get the dog first.

“Come on, Mr. Dog, let’s go.” She knelt down, and though his yapping didn’t subside, he did run to her on his stubby legs.

Get out
. The thought repeated itself as Sloane grabbed the still-barking dog and started for the exit. She made it outside, as far as the front lawn, when a loud explosion sounded, knocking her to the ground.

Chase figured he’d missed Sloane’s visit to Norman’s by a matter of minutes. Izzy couldn’t stop raving about the new redhead in town, one gorgeous enough to stop traffic on First and one looking for the town loner and eccentric, Samson Humphrey.

This last bit of information took Chase by surprise. The town kids called Samson “the duckman,” because he spent most of his days in the center gazebo talking to and feeding the ducks and geese. No one paid him any mind except for Chase’s mother and Charlotte, both women with big hearts and soft spots for the sullen old man.

He couldn’t imagine what the hell Sloane was doing looking for Samson, but he intended to find out. According to Izzy and Norman, they’d given her directions to the old man’s run-down house on the edge of town. It wasn’t a place any woman should venture alone. Not because Samson was dangerous. Heck, the older man was as harmless as he was nasty, but the area where he lived was a vacant place where bikers hung out. More than once, his cop brother, Rick, had arrested delinquents or bikers for vagrancy and loitering. The area was no place for a lady.

No place for Sloane.

Sloane, not Faith. Sloane, the woman he’d picked up in a bar and had hot, wild sex with all night long, before being asked by her stepmother, and wife of a vice presidential candidate, to look after her.

Damn.

When Chase Chandler gave up his quiet life, he did it in a big way. The hell of it was, he still had no regrets.

Plenty of questions, but not one regret. He had a hunch Sloane wouldn’t want the word to get out that she’d picked up a stranger in a bar any more than he’d be publishing his memoirs in the morning’s paper.

But he still had one helluva job ahead of him, making good on his promise to Madeline Carlisle. How he’d keep an eye on Sloane and keep his hands off her at the same time was something even a monk would have difficulty accomplishing.

“Damn,” he muttered, this time out loud.

Pulling his truck in front of Samson’s house, he immediately saw the rental car with out-of-state plates. At least she’d had the sense to cover her tracks the best she could.

Shoving the gear into Park, he stepped out, intending to get inside and see what Sloane Carlisle wanted with Samson Humphrey. He wasn’t prepared to see Sloane running from the house or for the explosion that followed, knocking him briefly on his ass.

When the shock wore off, he stood and glanced up. Flames erupted from what remained of Samson’s place; at the same time, Sloane lifted herself from the ground a little ways in front of him on the front lawn.

Thank God she was okay. He exhaled hard, but his relief was short-lived. A little dog he hadn’t noticed before jumped from her arms to the grass and bolted toward the burning building.

“No!” Sloane screamed, and started back to the flames.

No way could he let her run back inside, so he lunged for her
at the same time she dived for the pooch, and they both hit the ground hard.

Awareness came to Sloane more quickly than she’d imagined possible. A hard body covered hers while the whining sounds of the dog came from under her. She didn’t trust the pooch not to dart back into the burning house, so she lifted an arm to let him breathe, while still holding on to his collar.

“Are you okay?” a masculine voice asked. A sexy, familiar masculine voice.

A shiver, having nothing to do with the ordeal, rushed through her. “I think I’m in one piece.”

She had aches and bruises she’d need to assess, but for now she was alive and breathing, while the house she was just inside burned in the distance.

Without warning, she was pulled to a sitting position and came face-to-face with Chase.

Her one-night stand.

Impossible,
she thought. “The house isn’t burning and you aren’t real.” She was off balance and confused, a state not helped by the high-pitched sound of sirens wailing in the distance.

“Unfortunately, this isn’t some damn dream.”

No, that sexy voice and serious face were all too real.

“Let’s get farther away from the house.” Chase helped her to her feet.

One step, and pain seared through her. She’d obviously twisted her ankle during her blind run from the house. Limping, she let him lead her away from the blaze, not saying a word.

He was good at that, she remembered, doing all the right things to her without asking permission. Despite the bruises and the adrenaline still pumping through her veins, she still remembered his touch vividly. Erotically. So much so, that this next tremor had everything to do with the man pulling her to safety.

But there was a huge difference between seducing her body
with his hands, lips, and tongue—during a night out of time—and real-life demands. She had to get control of herself and the situation, but since his order made sense, she wasn’t about to argue. She forced herself to walk on, ignoring the pain in her ankle that subsided by the time they reached an old willow tree.

She leaned against the cool bark and let herself slide to the ground. Chills racked her body and trembling kicked in. She wrapped her arms around herself, but the shaking grew worse. “So much for control,” she muttered.

Chase shot her a sideways, curious glance, but she wasn’t up to any kind of explanation.

“I need your belt.” Without asking, he unhooked her buckle and pulled the leather belt from the loops of her jeans.

She glanced down at his strong, competent hands. “I hardly think now’s the time or place for a quickie,” she said through chattering teeth. “And besides, I didn’t know you were into bondage.”

He paused, glanced up, and laughed.

The sexy light that she remembered in his eyes had returned.

“I knew you’d have a good sense of humor out of the bedroom,” Chase said, then refocused on his task. He had to get the dog taken care of and out of the way. “Trust me,” he told Sloane. “Fooling around’s the last thing I have in mind.”

Fooling around was exactly what he wanted to do. With Sloane, now, beneath the shade of the old tree. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that luxury. Quickly he finished looping the belt to a short, stubby bush near the tree, secured it, then managed to tie the old bandanna that had been used for the dog’s collar to the belt buckle. “There. He’s not going anywhere and he’s safe.”

She glanced down at the dog, who stared daggers at Chase for tying him up. Then Sloane met his gaze once more. “I’m impressed. I thought only Boy Scouts could tie knots like that.

He met her liquid gaze. A combination of surprise, fear, confusion, as well as a hint of remembrance, flickered across her face.

At least that was how he read her expression. “You of all people should know I’m no Boy Scout.”

“I don’t know anything about you. Except that you picked me up in a bar in D.C. and followed me here.”

“You’ve got it wrong, but I don’t have time to explain.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed and spoke to his brother Rick. The fire department might have pulled up to the house and the police wouldn’t be far behind, but Chase wanted his cop brother here now, apprised of who Sloane was and taking care of this mess.

He inhaled and glanced her way. Right now she was too stunned to ask how he’d found her and why, but she would. Soon. He knew this because he had questions too. Like why she’d been in that old house to begin with. Why would she search out an old eccentric like Samson?

He took in her shivering form and realized how close she’d come to dying. How close he’d come to losing her. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms to give her warmth. When his lips touched hers, he knew that once again he had lied. He wanted her.

She tasted familiar. Sweet, welcoming, and all too eager to lose herself in him the way he needed to immerse himself in her. His tongue made broad, greedy sweeps around her mouth and she reciprocated with a soft moan, then tangled her tongue with his.

His body heated instantly and his surroundings disappeared. Everything came down to this one moment with this one woman.

He threaded his hands through her hair, pulling her close at the same time he heard a deliberate cough. “Excuse me, but did someone call the police?”

Sloane jumped out of Chase’s grasp and his surroundings returned.

Chase forced his gaze away from Sloane, who’d taken to kicking at the dirt on the ground. He met his middle brother’s
curious stare. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” he said, and now that he’d come to his senses, he meant it.

“I’m part of Yorkshire Falls’ finest.” He grinned and tipped his head. “We aim to please.” He extended his hand toward Sloane. “Officer Rick Chandler,” he said, introducing himself.

She stopped grinding her toe in the dirt and looked up. “I’m Sloane—” She cut herself off. “I mean, I’m Faith. I . . .” She hesitated as if unsure which persona to use.

“Sloane Carlisle,” Chase supplied, and didn’t miss her shock upon realizing he knew her real identity. He had no option but the truth.

Rick needed to know about Sloane if he was going to help Chase figure out how to keep an eye on her while she was in Yorkshire Falls. And now that Samson’s house had blown up with her nearly in it, keeping a low profile would be even more difficult. Chase would do his best, starting with a news blackout on Sloane’s presence at the scene of the explosion.

His brother didn’t register any obvious recognition at hearing Sloane’s name, which wasn’t surprising. Even though he was covering Carlisle’s story, Chase hadn’t figured out her identity that night in the bar. The vice presidential candidate’s daughter wasn’t that much of a public figure. Yet.

Sloane breathed a sigh of relief, obviously coming to the same conclusion Chase just had. Then she planted her hands firmly on her hips and glared at Chase, something the dog took as a sign to begin his barking once more.

“How do you know who I really am?” she asked as she bent down to pick up the mutt and calm him down with smooth pets over his head. “Come to think of it, why did you follow me all the way from D.C.?”

Confusion and shock crossed her features, and he realized he was really seeing her for the first time. Smudges of dirt stained her cheeks from their fall to the ground.

“It just so happens I live here.” Not much of an explanation, but then he didn’t know how much detail to give just yet.

“You live here. In that inferno?” She pointed toward Samson’s old home, or what was left of it.

“I live in Yorkshire Falls.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration filling him. He wanted to explain, but he needed answers from her.

Rick remained suspiciously silent, while Sloane shifted the dog to her other hip and narrowed her gaze, studying Chase. “You being from Yorkshire Falls is quite a coincidence, and one that doesn’t explain how you found me at this house.”

He glanced over his shoulder, gratified to see the fire department had surrounded the place and hopefully would have things under control soon.

He wished he’d have this situation with Sloane under control nearly as fast. Turning back to her, he said, “It’s a small town. No one can go anywhere without someone passing along the news. And a new face is definitely news.”

“Especially such a pretty one.” Rick spoke at last. He stood, hands on his hips, a wry grin on his face. “I hate to interrupt this very interesting conversation, especially when you two seem to have a lot to catch up on. But in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a fire going on over there, and Chase told me on the phone that you witnessed the start.”