Page 43 of The Heartbreaker (Chandler Brothers 3)
He eyed the food and his guest with gratitude. “You didn’t have to go to any trouble.”
“I did if I wanted to eat.” Laughing, she settled in across from him, curling her knees beneath her so the tray separated them. “Besides, it was no trouble. I wanted to do something nice for you.”
It was a novelty he wasn’t used to. Such a small gesture, yet one that had his heart opening toward Sloane.
She picked up a napkin and handed it to him, then pried the plastic lid off his coffee cup.
“And you wanted to keep busy while we talked?”
“You’re too perceptive.”
He recognized the nervousness in her voice. She was a combination of strength and vulnerability, caring and independence, and Chase was drawn to all facets. “Thank you for the food.”
“You’re welcome.”
Reaching across the tray as if to breach a divide, he squeezed her hand. “Don’t be nervous. I’m not out to hurt you.”
She wrinkled her nose, obviously thinking about his words. “It’s funny how much I trust you despite the fact that there’s that reporter inside you.”
His smile came without warning. “I’m glad.”
She paused for a sip of her coffee and he did the same, but he didn’t need the jolt the caffeine would give. Sloane provided enough of a jump start to his system. “Want to tell me why this sudden trust?”
She shrugged. “You saved my pretty behind as you so eloquently put it.”
“That’s gratitude, and a far cry from trust.” And why did he need that trust so badly, when every journalistic fiber of his being screamed to him that her story would make his career. Translation—he shouldn’t get any more personally involved.
“Why did I have to find a perceptive man?” She glanced down at the tray and pulled a fork into her hand. “There are other reasons too. For one thing, I already trusted you in a completely intimate way. I don’t do that often or lightly as I said once before.” She toyed with the uneaten muffin on her plate, mashing bits with her fork and not meeting his gaze. “And I wouldn’t have repeated being with you if you hadn’t come to mean something to me,” she admitted.
His rapidly beating heart nearly stopped. “You mean something to me too,” he said in a rough voice.
“Not even Madeline knows some of what I’m going to tell you, Chase. You can’t report on this. At least not until it’s safe,” she added, and swallowed hard. “But at some point you’ll have to decide what’s right for you.”
She looked at him with such hope and belief in him shining in her eyes, he wondered if she was doomed to disappointment. He couldn’t believe fate could be so cruel as to make him choose between Sloane’s approval and his own long-held desires.
But that time hadn’t yet arrived. “Talk to me, Sloane. You said Samson’s your father?” He still couldn’t reconcile the news or put this beautiful woman together with the reclusive loner in any way.
“Believe it or not, yes.” She dropped the fork.
Her muffin remained untouched, and because he hurt for her, he couldn’t bring himself to eat either. “How did that happen?”
“I’d guess the old-fashioned way.”
He laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” She shifted positions, uncrossing and recrossing her legs beneath her. “Apparently before my father—I mean Michael—came into the picture, my mother was in love with Samson. From everything people have said about him around here, I take it he’s not the most upstanding citizen?”
Chase hesitated, grappling for diplomatic words to describe the old man. “He’s …”
“Don’t sugarcoat it,” she ordered. “Be as honest with me as I’m being with you.”
He nodded, admiring her strength. “He’s eccentric and antisocial. Those are the most usual words bandied around.”
“Maybe he wasn’t always that way?”
He shrugged. He really had no idea. “It’s possible. I’m sure my mother would know, and considering she’s always been kind to him, I’d guess you were right.” But Chase had never thought to question the man’s past or what made him into the odd creature he’d become. He didn’t like realizing he’d been so negative and close-minded against a man who, it turned out, was Sloane’s father.
Sloane met his gaze, a forced smile on her lips. “I just may ask her one day.”
“Then be prepared to answer questions of your own,” Chase said wryly.
She laughed. “I really liked your mother. She has spunk.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s one word for it.”
“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s obviously something my parents lacked.”
“Why do you say that? You’re full of spunk and fortitude and you had to have inherited those genes from them,” he said, seeking to reassure her about an emotional and upsetting subject. One he still had many questions about.
“I don’t know.” Her eyes, wide and full of hurt, shimmered with unshed tears. “What kind of people let themselves be bought off?”
