Hot Protector: A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 10 Read online

“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

  Heat 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 h
and 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.

  Colonel John Mendez 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.

  “Fiddler’s in the wild, sir.” Hawk proceeded to fill him in on the circumstances, and Mendez felt his gut twisting with every word.

  Fucking Grigori Androv. The asshole was a criminal. He’d bought Zoprava a year ago in an attempt to look legitimate, but he hadn’t given up his other businesses.

  He also had powerful friends, which meant he remained largely untouched by the law. Whenever he felt the heat of an investigation or unwanted attention on his activities, he donated a large sum of money to some charity or other and moved the focus there.

  Mendez pressed a button to bring his aide into his office. The aide, a crisp first lieutenant from West Point—God, he hated West Pointers sometimes, even though he was one—popped in immediately.

  Mendez put his hand over the phone. “There was a fire last night on Ridge Road. Get me the report. And get me the report on Grigori Androv.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said before executing a perfect about-face and retreating through the door.

  “So this girl stole a flash drive from Androv and mailed it to Paris. And Fiddler wants to go get it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” Mendez said. He ran a hand through his hair, absently noting that it was time to see the barber, before bringing his mind back to the problem at hand. If Androv wanted this girl dead, then he wasn’t going to stop until she was. Putting her in protective custody wouldn’t be enough to keep her safe forever.

  Fuck, his boys certainly knew how to get into trouble on their own. Give them a few days R & R to get drunk and fuck their brains out, and what did they do?

  Some of them ended up as fugitives from Russian megalomaniacs. He should reel Fiddler in hard and put a stop to this—but he wasn’t going to. Aside from the fact he wasn’t letting an innocent girl’s life be put in danger, he also wasn’t turning down an opportunity to get something he could use against Androv in the future.

  “You’re providing mission support?” he asked Hawk.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s good. HOT can’t officially do anything….”

  “I hear a but, sir.”

  Mendez blew out a breath and stared at the wall again. Dammit all to hell. He couldn’t send assets in, couldn’t officially involve HOT. He had a lot of freedom from typical military bullshit in this organization, something he’d fought long and hard to get. But he still answered to the Pentagon and the president—and he wasn’t abusing HOT’s autonomy. If he did, he could lose everything he’d gained for HOT over the years.

  But he could ask Sam for help.

  Samantha Spencer was CIA and she had access to things he didn’t—just like he had access to things she did not. Thinking of Sam made his balls ache. Over the past few weeks, he and Sam had renewed their friendship in a way he was definitely enjoying.

  Sex with Sam was good—and there were no strings attached, which he liked. She liked it too, and that meant it worked for them both.

  “Give me some time to work a connection. Can you continue providing support?”

  “Yes, sir—I wouldn’t have it any other way.” />
  Mendez couldn’t suppress the grin that spread over his face. Special Ops soldiers stuck together in a way civilians could never understand. He loved that about this community, loved being a part of it. Loved taking care of the men and women under his command.

  Even though he would chew their asses for getting involved in shit situations every single time.

  “You’re calling the Alpha Squad members when we hang up, aren’t you?” Because no way would Hawk or Fiddler not let their team know what was happening.

  Hawk cleared his throat. “Do you really need to know that, sir?”

  “No, probably not.” It gave him plausible deniability, though that was just a sham since he knew the truth. He shook his head. God, he loved these guys. And this job. But he was still kicking ass and taking names when he got the opportunity. Damn hotheaded fuckers. “Keep me informed. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  As soon as Hawk clicked off the line, he dialed Sam.

  “Johnny,” she said in that smooth voice of hers when she picked up. “I was just thinking about you.”

  He leaned back in his chair and enjoyed the way her purr went to his groin. “Funny, I was thinking about you.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  He laughed. “Both, if I’m honest.”

  “Oh, Johnny, I always want you to be honest.”

  He believed that was true—and it was refreshing. “I need something, Sam. Off the record.”

  “Hmm, sounds like we should get together and discuss it. Amongst other things.”

  “Your place or mine?”

  “Mine. I’ll cook. You bring the wine.”

  He snorted. “You don’t cook, Sammy.”

  “No, but I can dial up a mean takeout.”

  He looked at his watch. “I can be there in an hour. Is that enough time?”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

  13

  Chase lay awake on the sofa bed, his gun tucked beneath the cushion where he could reach it quickly, and stared up at the ceiling. A quick glance at the clock on the burner phone told him it was shortly after one a.m.

  He hadn’t slept well. Every time he fell asleep, he pictured Sophie in that damn robe, her eyes round and innocent—and filled with heat. It was a lethal combination, that naïve sexiness and blatant hunger in her gaze.