Typically, he fucked a woman a few times and then they were done. He wasn’t a manwhore—well, not totally—but he wasn’t looking for a relationship either.
And he was supercareful about birth control too. After the way he’d come into the world and the way his biological father hadn’t given a fuck about him, no way was he doing that to a kid.
Not that he didn’t have condoms in the bugout bag. He did.
But he was not using them.
She looked up then and their gazes clashed. He tried not to let it affect him, but of course it did. The telltale tightening of his groin was a sign that he didn’t have nearly the control over his reaction that he wanted.
Fuck, she looked a lot like her mother—but a lusher version of her mother. Yeah, he’d been a horny teenager and more than a bit wowed by the gorgeous model his father had married. Justine DeMontford-Nash had been smokin’ in a bikini—and in the bras and panties she modeled in the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalog.
He had a sudden urge to see Sophie in a bikini. She’d have more flesh, more curves—but he would bet anything they were spectacular.
“What did you put in the grilled cheese?” he asked suddenly, trying to shut down that line of thought before he had a frigging tent pole in his shorts.
“Cheese. What else?”
He snorted at her snappy answer. “What kind of cheese, Soph? Doesn’t taste like American.”
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.