Instant attraction, instant lust. He’d never experienced the surge quite so strongly before.
He wasn’t about to walk away from it now. Not on the night that represented the beginning of his new life. To hell with his usual sense of caution. It was time to leave the noble Chase Chandler behind and act on his desires.
“Thanks, but . . . I’d rather not talk.” The flickering in her gaze told him she desired something more. Something from him.
Something he was all too willing to give.
Sloane stared into the stranger’s seductive blue eyes. A woman could get lost in that serious, intent gaze. The man had a hidden fire deep inside him, something akin to what burned inside her. Dying to escape. Tonight. And her stomach churned with possibilities.
She lifted the butterscotch-colored liquid to her lips, taking a sip, never breaking eye contact. Because she’d had scotch with her roommate at school, she was prepared for the distinctive taste and the burning sensation going down. Warmth flowed through her veins, due more to his stare than the fiery liquor.
He raised his glass and matched her drink, a sexy smile curving his lips. She’d said she didn’t want to talk. Obviously, he respected her wishes. She liked that about him.
His passionate stare held on to hers. She searched the blue depths as if they held the secrets to life. They didn’t, of course. Those were held by the adults who withheld information from their children. She didn’t doubt Michael Carlisle’s motive. It was hard to think of him as her father now. It was just as hard not to.
As any parent does, he’d always claimed to act in his girls’ best interests. But he’d screwed up this time because Sloane wasn’t one of his girls. And the decision not to tell her about her parentage shouldn’t have been his to make. She wondered what the media would think if they knew the perfect senator lived a lie.
She nearly laughed aloud. Sloane Carlisle lived a lie. Hell, Sloane was the lie. As a result, she didn’t know who she was or where she fit in. She’d never known. At least now she understood why.
Why she wanted to run free, when her family was content with the restrictive boundaries imposed by the press and, by this time tomorrow, the Secret Service.
Why she hated being forced to conform in dress and personality, while her stepmother, sisters, and father reveled in formal attire and convention.
Sloane was different because she wasn’t one of them. She didn’t know who she was and, for tonight, she didn’t care. There had always been a wanton woman inside her, and she wanted to set the long-repressed Sloane free.
“I’ve always thought talking’s overrated,” the stranger said at last.
“Me too.” Tomorrow she wouldn’t agree. But tonight she wanted to forget.
She deliberately brushed her arm against his. The electricity was scorching, reaching into the pit of her stomach while arousing vibrations beckoned. He leaned close. A whisper breath away. Within kissing distance, making her want to let go of her inhibitions.
Sloane Carlisle had never so much as stepped outside the bounds of propriety. She dated men she knew, men her family approved of, and she didn’t sleep with strangers.
But she’d always wanted to test the unknown waters. Stay out past curfew. Approach this sexy man and take her chances.
And since his rough, gravelly voice set off white-hot arrows of fire inside her, she intended to take advantage of the desire licking at her veins. She was primed for this adventure.
She inhaled deeply. His musky male scent mixed intoxicatingly with the hint of liquor on his breath and she licked her lips, imagining she was tasting his.
His eyes darkened with banked arousal. “So we’re on the same page?” he asked.
She couldn’t mistake his meaning. Didn’t want to. She placed her hand over his, lacing her fingertips through his strong, lean fingers, feeling his roughened skin.
“Word for word,” she promised, barely recognizing the rough timbre of her voice.
He rose, reached into his pocket, peeled off a single bill, and left a twenty on the bar to cover their drinks. “My hotel’s around the corner.”
So he was a tourist. Even better. She wouldn’t have to risk running into him again after tonight. She rose, leaving her drink behind.
She didn’t need the alcohol for courage. Sloane Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Really-Was was 100 percent behind this decision. It was about time she acted on true instinct and rebelled against all the things in her life that had constrained her.
She placed her hand inside his. Tomorrow she’d return to the real world. Tonight was about indulging in the fantasies she’d only dreamed of when she thought she was Senator Carlisle’s firstborn daughter.
CHAPTER TWO
Sloane had plenty of time to back out on the walk to the hotel, but she hadn’t come this far to change her mind now. His hand held hers tight, and as they made their way into the lobby, she realized no one was looking their way. Without her famous parents by her side, no one in D.C. ever gave her a second glance.
He paused, turning toward her. In his eyes, she saw the same desire pulsing inside her. “I need to stop by the front desk.” He left her for a moment to speak to the clerk, then joined her once more.
Her heart pounded hard in her chest as they entered the elevator and the doors closed behind them.
His intense gaze met hers. “I didn’t go out tonight looking for this, but”—he shrugged as if unsure how to continue—“I’m glad I ran into you.”
She smiled, understanding what he meant. She hadn’t come to the bar looking for a one-night stand, merely to forget her troubles or at least drown them for a little while. But one look into his eyes and she’d been captivated.
For her, the night could have had no other ending. “I wasn’t on any kind of manhunt myself.” She let out a self-conscious laugh. “But I’m glad I found you too.”
He braced one hand against the wall above her shoulder. He was tall, his presence overpowering, and yet his calm demeanor and slow, easy manner made her feel comfortable. Safe. And mesmerized by those gorgeous blue eyes, she was able to forget everything but him. And that, Sloane realized, was her main objective.
“I think it’s about time we exchange first names.” A persuasive smile tilted his lips.
First names. She could handle that, she thought, until she realized Sloane was too distinctive, too recognizable in Washington, since her father was planning to put his hat in the proverbial ring. “Faith,” she said, using her middle name.