The Bachelor (36 page)

She sighed and pulled out a powder blue Chanel suit and laid it on her bed. Though not her preference, the conservative choice
was much more appropriate for Senator Carlisle’s oldest daughter. Although Sloane often felt like the odd sibling out in a
political family that enjoyed the spotlight, she understood the necessity for thinking before she dressed, spoke, or acted,
just in case the press was sniffing out a story. And Sloane always performed as her family expected.

Twenty minutes later and half an hour early, she stood outside her father’s hotel suite. Her parents had set up temporary
residence in the D.C. hotel, leaving their home in New York State behind. And now they planned one last intimate family gathering
before the media frenzy began.

She was about to knock when the sound of angry whispers carried toward her.

“I will not stand by and see twenty years of hard work disintegrate before my eyes.” She recognized the voice of Franklin
Page, her father’s campaign manager, right-hand man, and long-time friend.

Frank frequently overreacted in order to prevent a crisis, and his bellowing didn’t frighten her now. She raised her hand
to knock on the door, which had been left open a sliver, when Frank’s assistant, Robert Stone, spoke, preventing her from
intruding.

“You say this Samson man claims to be Sloane’s father?” He snorted, his disbelief evident.

“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.

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.

S
loane 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.