Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)

by Jen Frederick

  He lifts the white cloth stuck to my forehead and hisses. “Oh, bunny, what have you got yourself into?”

  The tender concern in his voice threatens to break the dam that’s holding back my emotions. “I thought Batman and Robin traveled together,” I joke lamely. “How come you and Steve aren’t together?”

  It doesn’t make sense to me but not much does right now. I take a few more deep breaths and then straighten up so I can get on my bike and go—only the sudden movement makes me stumble and my knees buckle again. Before I can take another breath, Ian lifts me into his arms.

  “Put me down,” I say. “I have to get going. What time is it, anyway?”

  I had it planned so that my last delivery would allow me to get to my job in time. I know I can’t allow any more late arrivals or absences due to my mom’s illness put my once secure courier position in further jeopardy. Ian’s arms tighten around me as I struggle, but then the pounding in my head gets stronger so I give in. It’s easier to lay my head against Ian’s broad chest and close my eyes.

  He curses softly. “What happened?”

  “Guy attacked her. She fell down the stairs, and he hit her a few more times before I could get to her.” Steve pauses. “Sorry, man. Parked too far away. She vomited when I tried to sit her upright. Probably has a small concussion.”

  “Where is he?” Ian growls, like a feral animal. The harshness in his voice is in direct contradiction to the tender way he’s holding me. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Mate, we need to move her soon.”

  He’s silent for a moment. “Get his details. I’m coming back once I have Tiny squared away.”

  “Don’t go to sleep, Tiny.” Steve snaps his fingers in front of me again. When I have the energy I’m breaking those digits off so he can’t snap them again.

  Ian shifts me higher in his arms. “Where’s the car?”

  Steve must’ve gestured because I don’t hear any verbal response. “What car today?” I ask because I don’t feel like pulling my head out of the nice little nest on his shoulder. If I place my nose in the right spot, I get a whiff of lemon from his shaving cream. And the lemon scent makes me think of how great the morning started, with Ian heavy between my legs, before I came out here to this quiet family neighborhood and got the crap beaten out of me.

  “Things went to hell in a hurry this morning,” I murmur into his collarbone.

  “Should never have left you,” he replies tersely. When we’re at the car, Ian settles me against the side of the vehicle as he opens the car door.

  “We should get a minivan,” I tell him. “In the commercials, the doors open and close with the push of a button.”

  “I don’t think anyone in the city owns a minivan.” He sounds amused.

  “We’ll need it for our kids.”

  He sucks in a breath and then hugs me tight as he puts me into the back of the Bentley. I stretch out on the soft leather and fall into a light sleep. It’s not even sleep because I can hear Steve climb in and then another car door open and shut.

  “Should we take her to the hospital?”

  Ian replies, “We can’t. They’d be bound to report an assault, and Tiny’s got the packages on her. Let’s go to the warehouse.”

  As Steve takes off smoothly, Ian plucks a phone out of his pocket with one free hand. The other is pressing me against his chest. “Roger, Ian Kerr here . . . Great. I’m glad that investment worked for you. Hey, I’ve got a friend who had a little run-in. Need her checked out . . . Yep, my place over on Hudson. See you in thirty minutes.”

  I doze in and out of consciousness on the ride to Ian’s loft. “What were you thinking that day?” I ask during one of my lucid moments.

  “Which day, bunny?” He’s holding me on his lap with one hand propped against my head and the other running lightly over my outer thigh. It’s really nice.

  “When your snake camera was looking at me. It scared me.”

  “I was thinking that you looked regretful that you were leaving the box and about how much I’d enjoy bringing it back to you.”

  “You’re always so sure of yourself,” I whisper.

  “Yes, but you are too, Tiny, or we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Right,” I nod and then stop because that hurts. “You want to think for me. Sounds like a great plan.”

  “Let’s wait to have this discussion when your head isn’t banged up, because you’re saying things right now that you might regret.”

  “You’re big on the no regrets thing.”

  “When it matters.”

  I don’t remember being carried up the stairs and into the loft, but a bright light in my eyes wakes me up.

  “Ow.” The pinpoint light is directed right at my eyeballs. I bat at it but someone takes my hands and folds them in his.

  “Tiny,” Ian says. “There’s a doctor here. He’s checking you out.”

  “Does he have to blind me while he’s at it? I thought they took an oath to do no harm.” He doesn’t resist when I pull my hands down, but I don’t try to hit the doctor either. Not even when he presses into my ribs, causing me to release a hiss of pain.

  “OK, that hurts,” I tell the doctor, whose face looks like a big, black dot. “You don’t have to press so hard.”

  He continues his palpation of all my sore spots until I feel like I’m one big ache. Thanks for nothing, doc.

  “I don’t think she has any broken ribs. The swelling in her face should subside in a day, although if it doesn’t you should take her in. The helmet did a good job of protecting her, but she might have a concussion since you said she was in and out of consciousness and had vomiting and nausea. Time is your best treatment. My recommendation is for her to stay in bed for a day and then take it easy for the next week.”

  “A week?” I yelp. “There’s no way.”

  I struggle upright, fighting off the pain in my head and the nausea in my belly.

  “Watch for increased head pain, drowsiness, or more vomiting. Anything like that.”

  “Do I need to wake her every two hours?” Ian asks, completely ignoring me.

  “No. Monitor the symptoms. We’re looking for a worsening condition and if that happens, we should bring her in for testing.”

  “Thanks, Roger.” Ian shows him to the door.

  I fall into a restless sleep, and when I wake up I see Steve leaning against a long, low console table snugged up against the wall.

  “You got a phone?” I ask him. A giant television hangs behind him. The ticker at the bottom of the news channel he was watching says I’ve slept for three hours. He looks at me like I’m crazy, but I don’t see a phone in here. There’s got to be a landline in this joint someplace. Ever since 9/11 and the overwhelmed cell towers, people in the city scrambled to install landlines. I can’t see Ian not having one.

  I stagger toward the door where Ian and the doctor have disappeared. Outside runs a long hallway and a glass railing that overlooks the main floor where I first laid eyes on Ian Kerr. Steve trails behind me, not stopping me but not letting me out of his sight either. There appear to be other rooms on this level, so I wander down the hall. The next doorway opens into an office and in it is a phone. Bingo.

  Swiftly I enter the room, barely making note of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases on one side and the multiple television monitors on the other showing stock tickers from all over the world. The phone at my work rings twice when my boss answers, “Neil’s Delivery Service, timely and discreet courier services for all your city needs, can I help you?”

  “Um, hey, Neil,” I say, cringing because I know what’s coming. “It’s Tiny Corie—” I don’t even get my whole name off before he starts yelling.

  “Where the hell are you? I’ve had to reschedule five deliveries this morning!”

  “I had an altercation, but I’ll be there in
like ten minutes.” If I bike fast, I should be able to get to the downtown office in fifteen, but I figure ten sounds better. And then it occurs to me that I’m going to need a helmet because mine is cracked. Neil will not allow me to deliver anything without a helmet for insurance reasons. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Guess what? You can take sixty minutes to get here because you’re fired.” He slams down the phone. I look at the receiver in my hand in dismay because I’m not sure what happened there. I press redial.

  “Look, Neil,” I rush to explain before he can answer. “I fell off my bike and hit my head, but I promise I’ll be right there. I’ve got to stop and get a new helmet. I swear it won’t be more than five, maybe ten extra minutes.”

  “Hey, Tiny, it’s Sandra. Neil stomped out of here.” This is better because Sandra can assign me some deliveries, and once I make them, Neil will cool off.

  “Sorry about making your job more difficult this morning. Fell off my bike,” I explain. “I’ll be over in like thirty minutes. You can schedule me to work this evening and I’ll cover whoever took up my morning route.”

  “No can do,” Sandra replies. “Neil had me delete your name from the system this morning. I hate to tell you this, but he’s been aching to let you go ever since your mom got cancer. He couldn’t because everyone would think he’s a jackass. And you know, we all think he’s a jackass anyway, but since you missed a day the other week and now are a no-show this morning, he’s feeling empowered. Sorry.” I hear phones ring in the background. “I gotta run. Take care.”

  The buzzing dial tone turns to discordant beeps before I realize that there’s no one else on the line any longer. Ian reaches and presses the disconnect button on the base and takes the handset from me.

  “Cool phone,” I comment lamely.

  “Thanks, but I didn’t pick it out.” Ian shepherds me out of the office and down the hall back to his bedroom. Steve can’t meet my eyes when I brush by him. Apparently watching someone get fired over the phone is off-putting.

  “Don’t pick out your clothes or your phones, huh?” There’s no point in fighting him as he pushes me down on the bed. I sit passively as he bends down and pulls off my sneakers and socks.

  “No. I like things to look good, but I don’t want to put the effort into making that happen, so I hire people to do it for me.”

  Like me.

  “But not everything,” I counter, and twist away from his hands as they try to pull my shirt off. The motion makes me wince, which Ian catches.

  “Let me look, Tiny,” he commands.

  “Your doctor already did.” I slip under the covers and pull the downy soft comforter up to my chin. Ian sits down on the edge of the bed, and I notice for the first time he’s still in the navy-blue suit that he donned this morning. Whoever dresses him does a very good job. The wool sits perfectly across his shoulders but hugs his waist. Underneath is a snowy white shirt that has smudges of blood on it. My blood? I feel my temple and find a bandage there. Must have been slapped on me while I was resting earlier.

  Ian tugs on the blanket half-heartedly and then sighs. “You’re in no position to argue so I’m going to let you sleep, but we’re not done with this conversation.”

  Later I’ll be gone, but I’m not telling Ian that. I’ll close my eyes, take a brief rest, and then after he’s gone, I’ll take off. Maybe for the next week, I’ll double my deliveries for Malcolm. Oh shit, my last delivery. I had five and made only four of them.

  I shoot up in bed. “Where’s my pack?” Kicking the covers back, I slide off the end of the bed before Ian can catch me. By the time he does, I’m halfway down the stairs but he’s faster, stronger, and hasn’t been knocked around like a piece of produce in a grocery basket.

  “It’s downstairs. Steve has already taken off to deliver the last package in your pack. I’ve called and left a message for Malcolm. The only person I haven’t contacted is your mother,” he says calmly, trying to redirect me up the stairs. “Figured you would want to talk to her yourself.”

  “Fine,” I mutter ungraciously. The sooner I lie down, the sooner I figure I can leave. At the bedroom door, I stop and push him backwards. “I need rest and quiet,” I repeat the doctor’s orders with a mocking tone. He gives me a shake of his head but allows me to shut him out. In his bathroom, I peel off my top and then my shorts. There’s a big bruise on my right ribs and a scrape on my left shoulder. The left shoulder injury must have been from falling down the stairs, but the right side? That’s the result of the stupid-ass druggie.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  Startled, I drop my hands to cover my naked chest, which is probably stupid since he’s seen me naked, but Ian’s presence is a surprise. “I told you to stay out.”

  He stalks over to a door and opens it to reveal a linen closet. From the back, he pulls out what looks to be a first aid kit and tosses it on the counter. “You said you needed rest and quiet, not for me to stay out.”

  “That’s what the closed door meant.” I start to pull on my discarded shirt, wincing as the fabric rubs against my scrapes and bruises.

  “Put this on,” he orders, throwing me a white cotton undershirt. It does look more comfortable than my bike shirt. Turning around, I set my work shirt on the counter and pull the T-shirt on. It’s a V-neck, and given the large size on my small frame, the V dips rather low.

  Ian must like it because he grunts in satisfaction.

  “Really?” I give him an eye roll.

  He gives me a shrug in return. “I’m intensely attracted to you, so even though you’re beaten, bruised, and angry with me, I can still appreciate that you look sexy as hell in one of my shirts. Now pull the neck aside so I can apply some salve to your scrape.”

  I do as he says only because I can tell I’m not getting out of the bathroom until that scrape is covered. His fingers are light on my wound, working the balm in with tender brushes across my skin. The pads of his fingers move beyond my abrasion to run down my arm. He grabs my hand and places it on his left breast. Underneath the cotton cloth of his shirt, I feel the beat of his heart as it thuds against my palm. “Tiny.” His gaze captures mine. “Let me take care of you. Just this once.” A heavy, discomfiting silence fills the bathroom. The green in his eyes is intense and brilliant. I know what he wants is capitulation, but I can’t give him that.

  “Is that what you need, Ian? For me to completely give myself over to you? I can’t do that.” My words were whispered, but my hand doesn’t move from under his—if anything, I’ve stepped closer. His free arm reaches around and closes the distance between our bodies, trapping my hand against his chest.

  “I don’t want to own you.” His eyes search mine as if he can compel me to understand his true intentions. “I want to take care of you. Let me.”

  And under the pressure of his gaze, the heat of his body, and the trauma of the morning, my resistance turns to water.

  “OK.” I close my eyes. “But only for a little while.”

  Without another word, he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the bed. Settling me under the covers, Ian makes quick work of his clothes. He picks up his phone he tossed on the nightstand. “Steve, call the office and let them know I’m out for the day . . . No, cancel them all.”

  “Are you losing money when you’re not working?” I ask as he settles his body in beside mine.

  “No, and even if I was, I wouldn’t care.” He rolls onto one side, careful to avoid touching my bruised body. He brushes the hair off my forehead, and I close my eyes again. His gentle fingers trace my cheekbones and my jawline and down the sides of my neck. The light touches are somehow as erotic as his fierce ones, and I can feel my body stirring in response. Restlessly, I shift my legs underneath the blankets.

  “Do you need something, bunny?” Ian’s voice sounds like it’s dropped two octaves and only serves to make me even m
ore disturbed. His hand dips lower, until it’s sliding underneath my panties where the wet evidence of my arousal is unmistakable. He releases an audible groan of satisfaction; I return the favor with a low whimper when his fingers slide into me.

  “Yes,” I whisper hoarsely.

  “Then give yourself over to me. I’m going to take care of everything.” His fingers thrust inside me in measured, slow strokes. Reaching down, I rub my clit in circles. He turns my face toward his and my eyes flutter open. His irises have darkened to a dense forest green, but the want in them is unmistakable. I rise halfway up to meet his mouth. He takes my lips softly but with possessive intent. And even though I was hurt this morning, the need between my legs will not be assuaged by his fingers.

  I tug at his arm and try to hook my leg over his hips to draw him on top of me. Breaking away from my mouth, he growls, “Not while you’re hurt.” But his fingers don’t stop their relentless strokes between my legs.

  “I need you, Ian,” I whimper. “You said you’d take care of everything.”

  At this he pauses—and then with a wry smile, he agrees. “I did.”

  He removes his hand, which causes me to cry out in dismay. Turning back to me, he presses a firmer kiss against my lips. “Condom,” he says. He’s not gone for long.

  Kneeling down between my legs, he rubs his covered cock against my sex. “This what you want, bunny? A good fucking?”

  I give a nod. Arousal has transformed Ian. He is no longer the half-amused, indolent businessman. The individual between my legs looks like a fierce warrior who’s come ashore on a land he’s been waiting to conquer for an age. There’s strength in his every movement, from the hands that press my thighs upward to the slow push of his thick cock inside me. His mouth comes down to tease mine, but he doesn’t settle in for a long kiss. Instead he strokes his lips across my entire face, feathering kisses on my forehead, jaw, cheeks, and eyes. And with each kiss, his cock moves deeper and deeper inside me until finally, finally he’s fully seated and a cry of pleasure releases from my throat.

  “Shh,” he whispers as I moan and whimper. “I’m going to give you everything you need.”