“He more than claims.”
Sloane sucked in a startled breath and clenched her fists. His words couldn’t possibly be true. Jacqueline and Michael Carlisle were her biological parents. She had no reason to believe otherwise. But her stomach rolled and nausea threatened.
“Does he have proof?” Robert asked in a voice so low Sloane had to strain to hear and she missed Frank’s reply.
“Doesn’t need any. Michael verified it.” Frank spoke, this time loud enough for her to hear. “He just refuses to act in his own best interest and do anything about this Samson person.” A brief pause followed. “Dammit, don’t you know better than to leave the door open? Michael and Madeline will be back from shopping any minute. He can’t hear what we have planned.”
“Which is?”
“Give us some privacy and I’ll explain everything. This man Samson is a threat to the campaign. And any threat has to be eliminated.”
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 Miller Genuine Draft 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 helluva 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.