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.
As for Michael, according to Madeline, he was frantic because Sloane knew the truth about her parentage and hadn’t spoken with him yet. She promised she’d talk with him soon and would even have had a short phone conversation except he was in a meeting planning strategy with Robert and Frank. According to her stepmother, both seemed unconcerned about Sloane’s “illness” or her absence from campaign events, and as agreed, Madeline hadn’t enlightened anyone but Michael.
Sloane hung up, opting not to mention Chase or the fact that her stepmother had assigned him to look out for her. She figured Madeline deserved some motherly liberties. With matters at home as settled as they could be, Sloane changed clothes and headed back to the living room.
She was exhausted from the day’s events. If not for the subjects that still needed discussing, she could easily fall asleep and rest easy with the knowledge that her secret was still safe.
But she still had to deal with Chase.
Exhausted and wired at the same time, Chase stretched his feet out on the table in front of the sofa. Glancing over at the telephone, he noticed the red light flicker off. Sloane had gotten off the phone.
Seconds later, she walked out of the guest room, the smaller bedroom Chase had given her for the time she stayed with him. “Still waters run deep, huh?” she asked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that nothing’s apparent with you. You shocked me back in the bar, with your dominant attitude.” She curled into a corner of the couch, across from him, bringing with her the fragrant scent of vanilla. Now that they’d agreed she’d be staying here, she’d unpacked a few things in his one and only bathroom.
She’d asked him if he minded. He’d said no. He lied. Already she was making herself impossible to forget.
She’d changed out of her bar clothes and now wore a comfortable pair of gray sweats, which covered her legs, while an old pink T-shirt pulled tight over her br**sts. And she wore no bra.
He tried to swallow, but his mouth had grown dry. “Would you prefer that I’d have let Dice have his way with you?”
“No.” She managed a laugh. “But now I know there are many sides to Chase Chandler.”
“I could say the same about you, Sloane Carlisle.” Which was why he couldn’t risk taking her into his room, into his bed. Not again.
Though she’d sent out all the right signals earlier tonight, he wasn’t about to take her up on her silent invitation. He was so drawn to every aspect of her personality, even the parts he didn’t yet know, she presented a real risk to his future.
Which brought him back to her secrets. “I think it’s time you told me why you were in Crazy Eights to begin with and why we have to go back Friday night.”
“We?” She wrinkled her nose, questioning his choice of words.
He frowned at her obvious attempt to change the subject. “You already know I’m not letting you go alone. So just fill me in on why we need to go back there at all.”
She leaned against the cushion and shut her eyes. Her hair fell in soft curls over her shoulder and the intoxicating burnished hue stood out in contrast to his bland gray couch.
She brought such color and light into an otherwise drab existence. He wanted to stretch her out on the couch and take that light inside of him in the only way he could.
Not now Chandler. Tread lightly, he warned himself.
“Before I tell you about Samson,” she said, her voice startling him back to reality, “I need to know I can trust you.” She rolled her head to the side and met his gaze.
“Not that I believe in calling in a debt, but I did save your life today. Twice,” he reminded her. “And you’re still questioning whether you can trust me?”
The hurt in his voice took him by surprise. He was a journalist. His interest in her was supposed to be about the facts. Not feelings. But for some reason, his interest was anything but dry and factual.
She bit down on her glossed lips, thinking before she spoke. “I’m trained to be wary of reporters.” She nervously twisted her fingers together.
As a barrier, she was putting up a bigger one than he could have come up with on his own. “We can’t change who we are.”
“True. And I can’t forget things you’ve said.” She drew a deep breath. “Anything I tell you that can help your career, it can also hurt people I love. So forgive me if I need to know and question how much I can trust you, Chase.”
He wished he could offer assurances at the same time his instincts and adrenaline began pumping hard. “Are you asking for my silence?” Because if her secret was as big as she implied, he wondered how and if he could keep such a huge promise.