Special Ops soldier Chase “Fiddler” Daniels is just back from a dangerous mission overseas. He needs sleep and sex—and not necessarily in that order. When Sophie Nash arrives on his doorstep, he doesn’t recognize the stepsister he hasn’t seen in ten years. And when she spins a tale involving a Russian billionaire and secret files, he doesn’t believe her. Until someone firebombs his apartment with them inside…

Now they’re on the run, and grown-up Sophie is more compelling than he ever thought possible. But she’s off-limits, and Chase won’t cross that boundary—or will he?

Sophie Nash only wants life to return to normal. Get the files she mailed to Paris and find out what’s in them. Stop Grigori Androv from hurting anyone else. Live and let live. Except the stakes are high in this game of cat and mouse, and there’s no assurance she’s going to come out on top. Maybe that’s why she can’t quite resist Chase’s alpha magnetism.

Or why she finds herself falling for her
very
hot,
very
lethal—
very
forbidden—protector…

1

^“O
h, thank God you’re here. I need your help.”

Chase “Fiddler” Daniels stared at the woman standing on his doorstep, his brow furrowing. He didn’t need to look at his phone to tell him it was around three in the morning or that he’d fallen asleep about an hour ago. His eyes were gritty and his brain wasn’t quite up to speed.

He shook his head, but she didn’t go away.

And holy hell, she was gorgeous—if she was here to fuck, then he was down with that. Wouldn’t be the first time some chick had shown up with a lady boner for him. He’d been in Buddy’s Bar earlier with some of Echo Squad’s guys, shooting pool and bullshitting. He’d flirted with the waitresses, as usual. But he didn’t remember this one, which was strange because he should have.

He put his hand on top of the open door—because he knew it made the muscles in his chest and abs flex—and gave her a look. “What kind of help do you need, sweetheart?”

She had violet eyes. Pretty violet eyes framed with dark lashes. They were wider now than they had been a few seconds ago. Her red-gold hair hung in waves over her shoulders and down her back. She was on the curvy side, not at all skinny or waiflike. She had hips a man could hold on to while he thrust deep into her body. Chase liked a girl with curves.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, almost as if she was afraid, before turning her gaze on him again. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

He was too tired for bullshit games. “Nope.”

She dropped her lashes over those incredible eyes and sucked in a breath. “Please let me in. I’ll explain everything.”

He was starting to get annoyed. “Honey, it’s after three in the morning, and you woke me up. I have no idea who you are. If you want to fuck, just say so. You can get naked, and I’ll take you to paradise at least once before I fall asleep again. Promise.”

Her jaw had dropped during this speech. He felt a little guilty, but hell, what did she expect?

“You think I’m here for sex?”

He leaned forward, the movement popping his biceps as he held the door. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart.”

She stiffened her spine as if she was somewhat outraged. “I’m Sophie, you jerk. Sophie Nash.”

And just like that the ice water of reality splashed down on his head and cooled every illicit thought he’d been having about the sexy woman on his doorstep. He dropped his hand from the door and stood straight and tall, as stiff as she was now.

“Sophie Nash.” He couldn’t help the bitter twist on her last name. “Well, how about that? Not a kid anymore, I see.”

“No, not a kid anymore.” Her gaze slipped over him, from his bare chest to the faded jeans he’d tugged on when the doorbell kept ringing and right on down to his feet. “You aren’t sixteen anymore either.”

He was tempted to close the door in her face, but he didn’t. Instead, he stepped back and silently agreed to let her inside. She swept in like a queen before turning to face him again. He shut the door and leaned back against it, studying her through hooded eyes.

“You were fourteen the last time I saw you.” And he’d barely paid any attention to her at the time, though he’d actively disliked her because she’d had the things he didn’t. She’d been unremarkable, a chunky girl who’d followed him around and talked entirely too much while he completely ignored her. It was quite a shock that she’d changed so drastically, though it was to be expected in ten years.

She clasped her hands in front of her body. Her knuckles whitened. “I know you and your father have had a strained relationship over the years. But it’s not my fault—and it’s not my fault he married my mother.”

Chase swore. Two minutes ago, he’d been thinking about taking her to bed. Technically she was his stepsister, though he’d never looked at her like family. Impossible since he’d never thought of his biological dad as his family either.

“I haven’t talked to Tyler in about five years. I like it that way.”

“I think he misses hearing from you.”

Chase closed his eyes and swallowed the rage building inside. “Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t even go there. He’s never fucking cared about me or my mom. I don’t even have his last name. So don’t you tell me he fucking misses me. He damn well doesn’t.”

Sophie’s tongue darted out to lick her lips. He hated that it sent a sizzle of electricity down his spine.
Off-limits, dude.

“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean…” She shook her head. “Your mom gave Tyler your address. I have nowhere else to turn, Chase. I need you.”

2

S
ophie gulped down her fear as she stared at Chase leaning back against the closed door. She told herself she wasn’t trapped, that she could walk out at any moment, but she sure felt trapped. Trapped between a rock and a hard place.

He looked so calm and casual. She knew he was anything but. He was taller than he’d been at sixteen, probably about six-three, and broad enough it was breathtaking. His chest… Oh my heavens, his naked chest. All that tanned muscle. The dog tags lying between hard pecs. The valley of his abdomen and the peaks—the delicious peaks of his hipbones jutting out above the loose, faded jeans that were torn across one knee.

He looked like an underwear model come to life. A scary, intense underwear model with a moody disregard for the world and a specific dislike for her in particular.

He hated her. She understood why. His father hadn’t married his mother when she’d gotten pregnant with him. And when he’d been about twelve, his dad had married her mother—and adopted her a year later. She was a Nash, and he wasn’t.

Chase had come to California once a year to spend a month with them, and he’d always had this moody resentment of her. She’d tried to make him like her, but it had never worked. When she was fourteen, he’d been sixteen and so utterly gorgeous he’d made her mouth dry.

That was the last summer he came out to California. After that, he’d never been back. And her parents didn’t talk about it.

“What could you possibly need my help with?” he drawled in that slight Tennessee twang he had. “You’re the stepdaughter of a rich and famous blues musician, honey. Let him buy you the help you need.”

“Tyler can’t help me. No one can.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Thought he was
Dad
to you.”

“You know he prefers to be called by his name.” Tyler Nash was nothing if not vain. Being called
dad
made him feel too old, he’d said.

“If he can’t help you, I don’t know what makes you think I can. He’s got money and connections. I’m a soldier.”

She licked her lips. She didn’t miss the way his gaze narrowed or the sudden tension in his muscles. Worse, a little prickle of awareness flared to life in her belly.

“That’s it exactly,” she forced out, her voice barely more than a whisper. “This is a matter of life and death.”

Her life and her death.

He pushed away from the door and ranged toward her, all rippling muscle and hard-edged male animal. Wow. He’d been attractive before, but nothing like this.

She told herself it was wrong to feel even a frisson of excitement over a man who was supposed to be her stepbrother—but in reality they weren’t family and never had been. Chase was a boy who’d come to visit for a month during three summers of her life. He’d spoken to her with ill-disguised hostility most of the time. He’d sat in the guest room and strummed a guitar or swam in the pool or played video games and always ignored her as much as possible.

“If you’ve come to tell me that Tyler needs a kidney or something, you’re out of luck. The fucker can rot for all I care.”

“I’m not here about Tyler.”

Chase’s chin lifted. “Good thing. Now what do you want?”

Sophie pulled in a breath. Now that she was here, it almost seemed silly. It was just so abstract, so unbelievable. Like a Hollywood movie. And Chase was Jason Bourne from the Bourne movies, a man with lethal skills and the ability to save her life. The whole way here from New York, all she’d kept thinking was that if she could reach Chase’s apartment, she’d be fine.

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