1941002110 (R) (9 page)

She picked up her sandwich and took a delicate bite. “It’s cheddar. I sliced it myself. I also buttered the inside of the bread.”

Buttered the inside. Geez, he’d have never thought of that.

“It’s good. Best I ever had.”

She lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow. Damn but her face was pretty.

“I find that a little hard to believe. It’s just cheese and bread.”

He shook his head. “No, really. Don’t think I’ve ever had a grilled cheese with anything but American.”

She made a face. “Boy, are you missing out.”

“Not anymore.” He grinned and she quickly dropped her gaze to her plate.

Her hair fell in a reddish-gold curtain over her face and she pushed it back behind her ears before he could give in to the urge to do it for her.

Wouldn’t take much to have her on her knees for him…

Stop. No.
Down, boy
.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Yep, it was spectacular. Soup was good too, but that’s a can and not you.”

She grinned. “Hard to screw up food in a can.”

“You’d be surprised.” He’d had some pretty basic meals over the years as a Special Operator, and he knew it was entirely possible to screw up food in a can. Not easy, but possible.

“Can I ask you something?”

He tried not to let himself tense up over that question, but he did anyway. “Sure.”

“Why did Hawk call you Fiddler? What’s that mean?”

He leaned back in the chair and tapped his fingers on the table. “We work on teams in the military, and we all get team names or call signs. Safer than using our names or ranks when we’re in the field. Hawk is a sniper, so you can figure that one out. Fiddler…” He shrugged uncomfortably, remembering the day he’d been christened with that name. He’d been playing guitar and someone asked if he’d ever considered going professional. He’d said he just fiddled around a bit, and it stuck.

“It’s from the guitar playing. Fiddles, as in instruments. And then there’s the last name. They found it funny.”

She looked puzzled. “The last name?”

“Daniels,” he said. “Like Charlie Daniels, who most definitely plays the hell out of a fiddle.”

“A guitar is not a fiddle.”

“Nope, but it doesn’t matter. It’s whatever sticks. That one stuck.”

She shook her head. “I don’t get it, but whatever. So you’re Fiddler to your team?”

“Yep.”

She propped her chin on her hand and stared at him. Her lips were so pink, so lush. He wanted to suck that lower lip. And then he wanted to slip his cock between her lips and watch her take him in.

“What made you decide to join the military?”

“Freedom.”

She blinked. “Freedom?”

“Yep. I fight for freedom. Yours, mine, the next-door neighbor’s. Doesn’t matter.” He hesitated, uncertain if he should go on and then suddenly not giving a shit. “And then there’s the freedom I gained when I became my own man. I don’t need Tyler for shit. Never will.”

“I wish I could fix what was wrong between you.”

His gut twisted at the sadness in her voice. Just as quickly, pride and anger filled the gaps. He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. It was an impulsive gesture, and one he thought he might regret as electricity sizzled through him.

“You can’t, Sophie. Nor should you have to. Tyler made his bed. He has to lie in it.” He let her go and blew out a breath. “You know, I get that he’s been good to you and you probably love him. He wasn’t good to me, and I just don’t see him the same way you do. I don’t suppose that makes either of us wrong. Just different.”

She blinked at him, and he wondered if she understood how huge an admission that was for him. That Tyler Nash was capable of kindness and warmth, and that Chase could understand why Sophie would care for him.

Her mouth fell open, closed—and then she seemed to make up her mind because her gaze hardened just a little. “Tyler’s not bad, but he’s not terrific either. He’s self-centered. Everything is about Tyler. Everything.”

She shook her hair off her shoulders, and Chase gaped at her. Both for the sensuality of the maneuver and for what she was saying.

“He’s given me a good life, there’s no doubt about that. But you have no idea what it was like to be a child growing up with two people so self-centered as Tyler and my mother. I was an accessory. Something cute and fun and useful, but not necessary, if that makes sense.”

She’d stunned him. “I’m sorry,” he managed, because he didn’t know what else to say.

She sniffed. “Well, and that’s more than I’ve ever said to anyone about my home life. Wow.”

She reached for a napkin and dabbed at her eyes. Chase felt like shit.

“I thought you had a perfect life. Everything you wanted whenever you wanted it. Opportunity. Two parents who loved you.”

Her head came up, her eyes glittering. “Oh, they love me—or my mom does anyway. But look at me, Chase.”

He
was
looking at her and he liked what he saw. But she looked expectant, like she thought he was supposed to find something wrong with her and comment on it.

“You’re gorgeous, Sophie,” he said, without meaning to.

She bowed her head for a second. “That’s sweet of you—but what I was going to say is that I was a bit of a disappointment for two people as beautiful as Tyler and my mom. No matter how I tried, I was always fat. I’m the girl who can’t wear a bikini at pool parties, who has to be careful what she eats when guests are over because one bite of the wrong thing and they’ll be talking about it to their friends and embarrassing my mom when it gets back to her. I’ve spent my life wondering why I don’t look like her and trying like hell to get there. But I like grilled cheese, dammit. And wings, pizza, burgers—yet even if I ate none of those things, I’d never have a body like hers. I know because I tried.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. It made him sick to think of her as a little girl trying so desperately to fit in. To be skinny. He hated like hell that her mother had made her feel like she couldn’t eat. That her mother had allowed a kid—a
kid
—to worry about what people said about her.

The whole fucking thing infuriated him. And he couldn’t let that slide. He couldn’t let her think she was anything less than a beautiful woman in her own right.

“Your mother is banging, Soph,” he said, and she gave a sad little laugh before he could finish. “Hear me out—so are you. You’ve got a sweet body, a hot body—a body I’d like to explore if the circumstances were different. I think you’re fucking hotter than hell.”

Her jaw had dropped a little while he spoke. Maybe he’d said too much, but dammit, he hated to see her fieriness dimming over something so ridiculous. She was fucking gorgeous and she needed to know it. She needed to know that not every man on this planet thought a woman needed to be capable of gracing the pages of
Sports Illustrated
in order to be desirable.

“You’re sweet, Chase. Really sweet. I appreciate your saying that.”

It took him a minute to figure out that she thought he was just humoring her. Trying to make her feel better.

And that made him mad. Reckless.

“You know, I’ve been sitting here looking at you in that robe, wondering what’s underneath, and fighting a hard-on for the past half hour. I’ve been telling myself that you’re off-limits because you’re supposed to be my stepsister, but the truth is that’s just an excuse. Because right now, if you dropped that robe, I’d be all over you, Sophie. And then I’d be in you, pounding away until my head exploded. So don’t tell me I’m sweet. I’m not fucking sweet. I’m a guy who’d fuck you in a heartbeat if you let me.”

12

H
eat blossomed across her skin, making the robe suddenly uncomfortable enough that she seriously considered dropping it to cool off. Her throat went dry at the thought of what might happen then.

He’d said he wanted to be inside her. Pounding away until his head exploded.

Her nipples beaded. An achy heaviness settled in her core. A wild part of her wanted that so much.

The sensible part was terrified. No matter what he said about her being hot or her body being appealing, she knew the minute he saw her he’d notice the rolls and dimples of her flesh. He was tight and toned, beautiful.

She was soft and malleable, like a marshmallow. It wasn’t a good combination.

“I, um, wow,” she stuttered.

The silence swelled to unbearable proportions. He shoved a hand through his hair and got to his feet to remove his dishes from the table. Her ears grew hot, and her skin itched with his nearness as he moved around behind her, washing his bowl and plate.

She wanted him to turn around and touch her, and she didn’t at the same time. What would happen if they crossed that particular bridge? There would certainly be no going back, that’s for sure. It would be weird.

Or would it? Chase was the most intensely beautiful man she’d ever seen, and she wanted to experience what it would be like to have sex with someone so pretty. When would she ever get another chance?

If you’d only lose thirty pounds, Sophie, you could be so pretty.

If you want to get a boyfriend, you need to lose weight, Sophie.

Don’t you want to get married someday? Then you’ll need to lose weight. Men don’t like having sex with chubby women…

She kept her gaze on the wall opposite, arguing with herself until he stood by her side and she had to look up at him. She very deliberately kept her eyes off his groin, though she wanted to look. Was he hard? Or had he made that up?

“Finished?” he asked, nodding at the plate and bowl in front of her.

“Um, yes, thank you.”

He took the dishes and then he was behind her again, clanking things in the sink. When he was done washing, she still hadn’t moved. Her heart pounded and she had no idea what to say.

He came over and stood with his hands on the back of the chair he’d been sitting in and looked at her steadily. “Look, I’m sorry I said that. I was out of line. I just wanted you to know that Tyler and your mom are idiots. You’re hotter than fuck, which you should know since we’re running from a man who went nuclear because you wanted to break up with him. He clearly hadn’t gotten enough of you yet.”

She pulled in a breath. “Grigori and I never…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her skin flooded with fresh heat. Why had she admitted that? She knew how ridiculous it sounded. How unbelievable. They were two adults who’d gone on a few dates over the course of a month—who doesn’t have sex in that time?

Chase’s hands appeared to tighten on the chairback as he stared at her in disbelief. “You and Androv never hit the sheets together?”

She shook her head. If she told him Grigori had never even tried to get her into bed, how pitiful would that sound? “We only went on a few dates. He’s a busy man.”

“Not too busy to attack a hotel maid or send murderous men after you.”

Sophie shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m sure we’d have gotten around to it eventually.”

“Honey, it’s all I can do to keep my hands off you. If Androv wasn’t trying to get into your panties on the first date, he’s either gay or impotent.”

For some reason, that made her laugh. And shiver, because hands. All. Over. Her.

“You know how to make me feel good, Chase.”

His eyes gleamed. “You don’t even know the half of it. Spread your legs and I’ll make you feel better than you’ve ever felt in your life.”

She wanted to be shocked at his boldness, but instead she found herself trying to imagine all the ways in which he could make her feel good. She might not have a ton of experience, but she had a great imagination. And that imagination was conjuring up all kinds of wickedly erotic things right now.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” she said a touch breathlessly. She had to remember what was going on here. Who they were. Everything had changed so quickly, and she was reeling.

He gave her a lazy grin that awakened fresh heat in her core. “You’re growing on me. You’d grow on me even more if you let me see what’s under the robe.”

She pushed to her feet and pulled the robe tighter around her body, using it like a shield. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or if you’re being serious.”

“Which do you want it to be?”

The washer stopped then, as evidenced by the loud buzz. It made Sophie jump, but her gaze stayed locked with Chase’s. What the hell was going on here? Why was she so turned on by him, by this situation? And why in the hell was she seriously considering telling him she wanted everything he had to offer?

“Better put those in the dryer,” she blurted to stop the words from forming on her lips.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Your call,” he said, backing away from her slowly, giving her the chance to stop him.

She didn’t.

C
OLONEL
J
OHN
M
ENDEZ
was not a happy man at the moment. He stared at the wall opposite his desk and gripped the receiver in his hand a little more tightly.

“Say that again, Hawk.”

Jack “Hawk” Hunter was one of the best damn snipers he’d ever had in HOT. But then the man had married a frigging pop star—a beautiful, smart woman to be sure, but still a detriment for Mendez and HOT—and ended up leaving the military after finishing out his enlistment.