Page 46 of Under Control

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 loved 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.

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