Under Control

by Zoë Normandie

  Just how Carrick drank in every last drop of me last night.

  She immediately flashed her eyes open, a hot flush rising from her neck and into her cheeks. A rush of excitement filled her pussy with the thought of his fingers entering her, driving her over the edge. Her instant arousal couldn’t have come at a worse time. Masculine footsteps echoed through the home as his lordship came stomping up the staircase.

  She clenched her teeth, hating just how she felt about him and hating even more that it wasn’t mutual.

  “Morning,” he grunted as he marched to where she sat.

  She turned her head, forcing a stiff smile before turning back to her work.

  “Whatcha drawing?” he asked casually as he took a seat in the chair right beside where she sat on the floor.

  “Nothing,” she responded too fast and slammed the sketchbook shut.

  Carrick, smirking, reached down and slowly opened it. As he looked down at what she’d drawn, all she could do was study his solid profile. His scent filled her nose—pure virility. His body was so close. She found herself leaning backward, guarding her heart. His gaze climbed up to hers and he grinned with that skillful mouth of his.

  “That’s incredible. God, you are talented.”

  Panicking, Danica whipped off her glasses and searched for a reply.

  Carrick shot her a sly look and stood to walk into the kitchen. She turned her head, involuntarily following his movements as he put on the coffee. While watching him work, the reality of her feelings hit. She did not want to talk about last night or this morning. She wanted to pretend none of it had ever happened.

  I just have to get through this on my own.

  As the coffee percolated, Carrick put his hands on the island, looking over to where she sat. He was still wearing his black T-shirt and army-green sweats, his dark hair disheveled. Danica hated how he always seemed to take her breath away.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked, studying her.

  Again, she smiled politely and replied stiffly, “Fine. And you?”

  She waited for what he would say—if he would tell her about his phone call and the threats. He rubbed the dark stubble on his chin as his terribly blue eyes assessed her.

  “Look, Dani… I’m ready to make a plan,” he explained, “with what I dreamed about last night. I’m damn well ready to do something.”

  She digested his words—“dreamed about last night”—and stirred in her spot. She’d had dreams, too, the previous night. Her only question was whether or not his had been as hot as hers…

  “I’m having visions of ripping heads off,” he clarified. “Ripping these assholes to shreds.”

  Her voice fell into a low, hurt tone. “I guess you can do that.”

  Charity case.

  His earlier words had been burned into her soul. Carrick raised his dark eyebrow as he must have seen her frown then look away. He leaned forward on the island, his arms and shoulders flexing.

  “Dani, do you want to learn how to fight? Protect yourself?”

  “Yes,” she confirmed, and watched him nod in understanding. “W-we are in trouble?”

  “We are.”

  “And are we safe here?”

  “For now.”

  Standing, she locked eyes with him and understood that there was a lot more to that story, but he just wasn’t sharing. She’d come to expect that much from him. Selfishly, she circled back to the reason why she’d played along in the first place.

  She had to keep pushing. Her life depended on it.

  “Can you also teach me survival skills?” Her tone was dead serious.

  “Let’s just focus on how you can fight to defend yourself.”

  “I think survival skills would be more…useful,” she said, trying to stay circumspect.

  Danica placed her sketchbook on the coffee table and crossed her arms, trying to look strong, but the look on Carrick’s face told her he wasn’t buying it.

  “Useful?” he repeated. “Now I know you’ve got something on your mind, and I want to know what.”

  The way he looked at her told her one thing. She had something that he wanted to know. Under the intensity of his gaze, something strange got into her. He didn’t deserve to know all her secrets. He didn’t deserve to get the best of her. He didn’t deserve to know all her plans.

  Just so he can look down on me?

  So Danica shrugged and pushed out her hip with a lot of attitude, enjoying the face he made as he leaned back from the island, that same hunger in his eyes that she’d seen the previous night. Charity case or not, he felt something. And she had decided that her plan was in part to get the upper hand and prove she was stronger than he thought.

  “What’s your plan, Dani?”

  “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she smirked, going in for the kill.

  As his mouth opened, a confused look crossing his face, she turned around, flipping her nearly dry long brown locks over her shoulder as she slipped toward the patio door, seeking to swiftly step out onto the balcony, hearing him groan as she moved. The one thing she knew about men was that they loved watching women in yoga pants walk away.

  If it was torture, she was glad to torture him.

  He deserves it.

  One point for Danica. She grinned to herself.

  And just as she’d hoped, his heavy footsteps were apparent behind her, following her quickly from the kitchen. She lunged forward and shot her hand out to open the patio door farther, but she couldn’t get it fully open in time. And that was when her plan fell through. Carrick was just too fast. He came up behind her, flipped her around and pushed her squarely up against the sliding door glass. Dropping his hands on either side of her, he trapped her in front of him, pressing her hard against the glass with his body.

  One point for Carrick.

  “I don’t like surprises,” he growled low, a warning ringing through his voice.

  As intimidated as she was, she realized how much he wanted to know more. She forced a sly grin across her mouth, and though the unease was there, so was the temptation of empowerment. That was when she decided she was never, ever going to give in to him. He would rue the day he’d called her a charity case.

  Runaway girl.

  Helpless.

  He continued, locking eyes with her, “I’m ready for answers. I’m ready to hear this plan of yours.”

  “And I’m ready for some coffee.” She licked her lips, batting her eyelashes innocently. “Why don’t we start with that and see where it takes us?”

  And with that, she deftly slid open the door behind her and ducked under his arm, escaping his trap. She found her way onto the beautiful open balcony overlooking Sunset Beach. He hadn’t followed her out, though, but had disappeared back into the house. Danica released a hot, pressurized breath.

  A grin crossed her lips and a wild feeling flushed through her mind. Two points for Danica. She grinned. And that was something to celebrate. It wasn’t easy to win against Carrick.

  Leaning over the balcony, she took in the scene. The long, wide beach was seeing more and more beachgoers arriving to spend the morning, as was probably usual for a weekend. Danica enjoyed how the salty breeze wafted to her senses, bringing her into a state of deep relaxation. Rays hit her skin from the potent sun above, leaving a lasting feeling of heat on her shoulders.

  She was a strong believer that vitamin D did the body good.

  And she was proud of how she was turning the day around. She was starting to take back control, regaining a feeling of self-respect.

  But she should have known that Carrick never lost.

  “We’ll head out in thirty.” He appeared behind her in the patio door, bringing her a steaming mug of hot coffee. “I’ve laid some breakfast out for you, and I just need some prep time. From this point on, you are my apprentice—and there will be a test at the end.”

  “Where are we going?” she probed, taking a sip of the coffee.

  “You’ll see,” he shot back,
a devilish dark smile casting across his lips.

  As his eyes spoke of scheming, she got hit with a feeling of insecurity—because he knew exactly how to get his way. And the man was clearly getting giddy at the idea of putting her through his own version of boot camp.

  Clearly on a mission, he turned to head back inside, and she found herself anxiously jumping forward.

  “Carrick, the point isn’t to train me as the next Navy SEAL!”

  As it came off her lips, that was when the question hit Danica. Is Carrick a SEAL? And his reply corroborated exactly that.

  “That’s the only way I know,” he called back, a smirk in his tone.

  “Wait—” she started, but he was long gone.

  She parted her lips as she looked back over the ocean in pure disbelief. A former Navy SEAL…was protecting her? No wonder the man feared nothing.

  Two points for Carrick, she realized—and now they were tied.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Danica

  It was turning out to be an absolutely gorgeous day. Danica beamed as she rode shotgun in Carrick’s truck—not the rental, but his own big, black pickup. Inside, it was new and had all the trappings of a fun, fast ride. With the music up and windows down, wind whipped into the cab, sending her long hair into a wild mess.

  She felt free.

  It helped that she had made it her mission to push back on Carrick—and prove just how strong she was. She’d temporarily closed off the aching part of her, hurt from his words and actions. Now, she was determined to live in the moment and soak in as much as she could. She was going to have to pass boot camp, of course, if she was going to take the next step in her plan. A former Navy SEAL teaching her survival skills? She couldn’t ask for better.

  Cruising the Pacific Coast Highway that, as its name indicated, ran all the way down the coastline, they passed all the hot beaches of Southern California—Huntington Beach, Newport Beach, Laguna Beach and San Clemente. By that time of day, mid Sunday morning, beachgoers were out in droves, flocking toward the wide expanse of fine golden-white sand that framed the edges of the sparkling ocean. Finally, as they seemed to leave the unending city sprawl of LA behind them, she noticed that they had found wild country. On her right, of course, was the Pacific Ocean—blue and white, far and wide. On her left, up a steep cliff, tall, arid hills with a lot of packed dirt and desert flora rolled on and on for miles.

  “What’s over here?” She motioned to the fenced-off hills, nearly yelling over the wind and music.

  Carrick leaned forward and twisted the dial down, turning to her while he gripped the wheel with one strong arm.

  “This is Camp Pendleton—a Marine Corps base.” He nodded up the hills. “It’s massive. There’s no space down here that’s not carved out and owned by someone.”

  “Is that where you trained?” she asked, dying to learn more about his military service.

  He laughed like she was breaking into a secret inside joke, grinning so wide that his eyes wrinkled deeply. “No, my dear—it is not.”

  Before she could ask more, he leaned forward and brought the music back to loud. He’d streamed a hot-house list that she had started falling in love with. It fit perfectly with her taste, and really made her feel something she hadn’t experienced in a while.

  Upbeat.

  Soon, he pulled off the highway onto what appeared to be a quiet intersection heading toward another beach. The sign read San Onofre. Her eyes widened as she realized where they were—a mecca for surfers. Real surfers, not just the tourists up in Huntington. San Onofre was known for the hardcore, and there wasn’t much around it in terms of amenities. Surrounded by military land, it was a lone beach, but it certainly stretched on like all the other colossal beaches they’d passed.

  Carrick pulled into the state parking lot, which was oddly quiet considering it was a Sunday. As he parked the truck and went to jump out, Danica just sat in awe of where she was. If this is where he was planning on training her, she was all in.

  They unloaded what he’d brought in the back of the truck and hauled their gear toward the deserted beach. Their kit included two surfboards and three duffel bags. She had no idea what was inside them but guessed that her life was about to get interesting.

  At one point, Carrick stopped on the sand, throwing the gear down. Danica looked around and realized that he had taken them to a private enclave, built into the landscape off the edge of the main beach area. It was like a secret little nook with an incredible view.

  Carrick was making camp, and Danica lunged forward to learn and help. She’d camped a thousand times with her vegan yogi friends, but this was going to be different. She just knew it.

  “Where do we start?” she asked, looking at the two black bags.

  Shooting her an amused look, he started issuing orders, telling her to grab things and hold them for him. First, they set up a very small tent that he swore could fit two people, tucking it far back to be out of sight. Secondly, they organized and stowed food supplies and kits. She noticed a bag of apples and wondered if that was all he thought she ate.

  Once that was done, Danica took a minute to look around, finding herself growing more and more excited at the idea that she was going to be camping on the beach. Maybe boot camp wasn’t going to be all that bad?

  Eager, she climbed into the faded green tent to help him roll out the sleeping mats and found him turning around to offer her a navy-blue wetsuit.

  “Thought we should start on the water. That’s what I’m best at,” he grinned, shooting her that same wild smile she’d gotten used to. “Here… This is my sister’s. You are about the same size.”

  Danica took the wetsuit in her hands, running her fingers over the thick, expensive fabric. She’d never been able to afford one, and surfing in the cold ocean without that added protection hadn’t been easy. With a wink, Carrick moved out of the tent, giving her space to change. She wiggled out of her black yoga pants, folding them along with her tank top neatly beside one of the mats, and started getting into the wet suit. She didn’t have a swimsuit underneath, but it didn’t matter. As she pulled it on, she found it fit well. It was a feminine version, and her arms and torso were covered all the way through to the crotch, but her legs were bare.

  Outside the tent, she heard Carrick’s cellphone ringing—and ringing, and ringing. He didn’t answer it. What if it was Petrov? Or Andriy?

  After flipping up her hair into a ponytail, she focused on the plan. She stepped out of the tent to find Carrick already in his own wet suit. His was full-body, black and had blue Hawaiian designs on it. She sucked in her breath to play it cool because the man looked un-fucking-believably hot. That was the hardest part, always.

  She bit her lip when he shot her a sly smile and handed her a surfboard that was the perfect length for her. It was white and yellow and had a soft tether.

  “My sister lives in Portland,” he began explaining as they marched toward the water. “But she makes a point to come visit with her man, so I store her stuff at my place.”

  Was that the first time he’d offered up personal information without her prying it out of him? She didn’t know but felt the winds had been changing since she’d pushed back on him at his place.

  “Do you know how to surf?” he asked her.

  “I’m a beginner,” she admitted, feeling the sleek plastic of the board under her arm.

  “I thought you grew up in So-Cal?”

  “LA.” She grinned. “Well, Bel Air. My parents thought ballet was better than surfing.”

  Carrick let out a chuckle, shaking his head, and they finally reached the edge of the water.

  “All right, let’s start easy. We’ll paddle out and stay flat on our boards,” he explained, pointing out over the water. “Don’t pop up unless you feel it. Follow me.”

  And with that, he ushered her into the water. Once they were deep enough, they lay down on their boards and paddled out even farther. The hot sun roasted the back of her legs, but she love
d it—every second of it. There was nothing better than being in the water, in the power of the world’s largest ocean. She felt every living creature inside the ocean singing and the sunshine above encouraging her.

  It feels right.

  As she popped up onto her knees, paddling and catching the waves, she decided to try getting onto her feet—and she did, successfully. After riding out a smooth wave, she tumbled into the water near the shallower beach line, laughing hysterically. Catching her breath and the board, she looked around and saw him. He was laughing, too.

  He called out, reassuring her, “You’re doing great. Keep going!”

  Warmth flooded her chest with his words, and she couldn’t help but let it really sink in.

  As the day drew on, Carrick taught her actual survival skills in the water—like how to handle dives and undertow and how to fish and hunt in the ocean. They moved onto the beach for a late lunch, and he showed her how to turn salt water into drinking water and cook a meal without fire. The outdoorsy lessons continued on and on—with everything from things she should do to things she shouldn’t.

  Finally, after changing in the tent into a spare set of dry clothes, she sat in the sand. It was early evening, and she was tired from the long day, so she leaned back on her elbows. Now in a fresh tank top and her black mini skirt, she soaked up the last rays of the day.

  “Cheers,” Carrick said, bringing out two aluminum cups full of some delicious sloshing liquid.

  “What’s this?” she asked, bringing it to her nose.

  Whatever it was, it was hard liquor.

  “Lesson number forty-five—always bring whiskey,” he grinned, taking a sip, visibly enjoying it as she had every moment of the day with him.

  Bringing the amber liquid into her mouth, she felt it burning like hell as it made its way down her throat, forcing her to cough.

  “Take it slowly.” Carrick grinned. “Taste it.”

  She nodded, taking another sip. As she drank, he walked her through it, teaching her how to savor. On the third or fourth attempt, she started to like it.