she asked, hoping to break that spell he wove.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly over hers in reply, a soft touch that sent shivery tendrils of desire shimmering through her system. Just when she expected him to deepen the kiss, he raised his head and met her gaze.
“We’ll finish this after I shower.” His mouth lifted in a knowing grin and she realized he’d just made his point without speaking. She desired him and protesting was ridiculous.
His cocky retreat toward the bedroom came as a welcome respite. She needed space and time to think.
They were working backward, she and Chase. Having slept together first, she already knew the man was a master with his hands and could turn her on in an instant. All he had to do was look at her and her body temperature soared. Lord, but she was hot now.
But she wasn’t into one-nighters, wouldn’t have slept with Chase had she not been reeling from the revelation of her parentage. She’d done so because she’d also felt something special that first time she’d looked into his eyes. And having made love with him, she was already emotionally bonded with him in some inexplicable way.
Her only hope of keeping her distance would have been if he’d turned out to be someone she couldn’t like or respect. She mentally recounted what she’d learned so far: He tried to act tough but had an obvious soft spot for his mother; he’d stepped in to save Sloane; he’d thought of protection their one night together. With those attributes in the pros column, how could she not like him?
But he was a journalist, Sloane reminded herself. Starting over in life and seeking a story. That much she’d pieced together on her own. And if that fact weren’t enough to tip the scales against trusting or falling any harder than she already had, there was her future. Once she settled this mess she was in now, Sloane very much wanted a husband and children and the designing career she’d temporarily left behind. In his own words, Chase Chandler believed in protection always and children never.
Words she couldn’t ever let herself forget.
Somewhere out there, Samson awaited her. With the list of cons against Chase firmly in mind, and his shower running in the other room, she slipped out the door.
Chase considered his options, strangling Sloane among them, as he pulled up in front of Crazy Eights, a pool and beer hall on the seedy side of Harrington, the next town over from Yorkshire Falls. With its bright neon lights and motorcycles parked out front, the bar didn’t attract the best crowd and was no place for a lady, let alone Senator Carlisle’s daughter.
When he’d walked out of the shower and into deafening silence, he knew she’d slipped out on him and cursed himself for being taken off guard. He’d pushed too hard when it came to them and she’d bolted. She had an agenda where Samson was concerned and Chase had a hunch she’d gone off to find him. Not knowing where to start his search, he’d called on Izzy and Norman, the only two people he knew of who’d had contact with Sloane today besides himself, his brother Rick, his mother, and Eric.
Sure enough, Norman had told her of Samson’s favored hangout, something Chase hadn’t been privy to. As he entered the dive bar, inhaling the smell of stale beer and heavy smoke, and bypassing the tattooed men and their biker-chick girlfriends, he wished he didn’t know now.
He squinted to see through the thick smoke and even thicker crowd, looking for Sloane’s white shirt in the sea of black leatherjackets, or a hint of her red hair. He finally found her in the back along with the locals. Sloane had gotten herself into a pool game with a couple of old men who appeared to be teaching her the ropes. Considering the dangerous-looking bikers in the bar, these men seemed harmless enough and Chase decided to observe first before interrupting.
Letting her mingle with these guys without him stepping in went against every
He leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly over hers in reply, a soft touch that sent shivery tendrils of desire shimmering through her system. Just when she expected him to deepen the kiss, he raised his head and met her gaze.
“We’ll finish this after I shower.” His mouth lifted in a knowing grin and she realized he’d just made his point without speaking. She desired him and protesting was ridiculous.
His cocky retreat toward the bedroom came as a welcome respite. She needed space and time to think.
They were working backward, she and Chase. Having slept together first, she already knew the man was a master with his hands and could turn her on in an instant. All he had to do was look at her and her body temperature soared. Lord, but she was hot now.
But she wasn’t into one-nighters, wouldn’t have slept with Chase had she not been reeling from the revelation of her parentage. She’d done so because she’d also felt something special that first time she’d looked into his eyes. And having made love with him, she was already emotionally bonded with him in some inexplicable way.
Her only hope of keeping her distance would have been if he’d turned out to be someone she couldn’t like or respect. She mentally recounted what she’d learned so far: He tried to act tough but had an obvious soft spot for his mother; he’d stepped in to save Sloane; he’d thought of protection their one night together. With those attributes in the pros column, how could she not like him?
But he was a journalist, Sloane reminded herself. Starting over in life and seeking a story. That much she’d pieced together on her own. And if that fact weren’t enough to tip the scales against trusting or falling any harder than she already had, there was her future. Once she settled this mess she was in now, Sloane very much wanted a husband and children and the designing career she’d temporarily left behind. In his own words, Chase Chandler believed in protection always and children never.
Words she couldn’t ever let herself forget.
Somewhere out there, Samson awaited her. With the list of cons against Chase firmly in mind, and his shower running in the other room, she slipped out the door.
Chase considered his options, strangling Sloane among them, as he pulled up in front of Crazy Eights, a pool and beer hall on the seedy side of Harrington, the next town over from Yorkshire Falls. With its bright neon lights and motorcycles parked out front, the bar didn’t attract the best crowd and was no place for a lady, let alone Senator Carlisle’s daughter.
When he’d walked out of the shower and into deafening silence, he knew she’d slipped out on him and cursed himself for being taken off guard. He’d pushed too hard when it came to them and she’d bolted. She had an agenda where Samson was concerned and Chase had a hunch she’d gone off to find him. Not knowing where to start his search, he’d called on Izzy and Norman, the only two people he knew of who’d had contact with Sloane today besides himself, his brother Rick, his mother, and Eric.
Sure enough, Norman had told her of Samson’s favored hangout, something Chase hadn’t been privy to. As he entered the dive bar, inhaling the smell of stale beer and heavy smoke, and bypassing the tattooed men and their biker-chick girlfriends, he wished he didn’t know now.
He squinted to see through the thick smoke and even thicker crowd, looking for Sloane’s white shirt in the sea of black leatherjackets, or a hint of her red hair. He finally found her in the back along with the locals. Sloane had gotten herself into a pool game with a couple of old men who appeared to be teaching her the ropes. Considering the dangerous-looking bikers in the bar, these men seemed harmless enough and Chase decided to observe first before interrupting.
Letting her mingle with these guys without him stepping in went against every
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