Page 58 of Under Control

Danica

Danica breathed in deeply, looking out over the last remnants of the sunset as she pushed her dark-rimmed glasses up her nose. Her inhalation worked through to the bottom of her lungs as she held her yoga tree pose, trying to ground herself in Carrick’s living room.

Why can’t I fight back against Petrov?It was so much more complicated than Carrick realized.

As much as she tried to get Carrick’s velvety voice out of her head, she just couldn’t. All she could think about was the man who had made it his mission to change the course of her life. And it made it much harder to forget him, since she’d been hearing him all day long. His deep voice had been echoing through the house with every phone call he made.

They’d gotten back to his place at Sunset Beach in the late morning, and he’d dismissively dumped her upstairs to spend the rest of the day—alone. She hadn’t seen him since. He’d made camp on the entry floor of the house, roaming between his office at the back and the garage at the front.

Well, she had sneaked a peek down—just once—and it hadn’t gone well. A few hours before, her stomach gnawing, she’d tiptoed down to see him, desperate to talk. She hadn’t known why. He was furious at her—and she at him. It had been icy between them since…she’d run.

When she’d snuck downstairs, he’d been on a call at the time, sitting comfortably and confidently in his leather chair at his long, wooden desk. Her nose filled with the scent of heady musk, rich cedar and leather when she’d stood at the entrance to his office. Before he’d noticed, she flitted her gaze around the room, observing a tattered American flag hung on the wall along with what appeared to be a series of plaques and trophies. She even saw some vintage guns and heavily used rope strewn up on the wall like decorations. It was only a few seconds before he’d turned around in his chair and seen her, jumping up immediately to push her out of his office and motion silently for her to go upstairs—never breaking from the call he was on.

That had been hours and hours ago.

Now, as she looked out over the Pacific Ocean at the purple sky that was quickly turning indigo, she tried to stay strong, to find her balance. Yoga and meditation always helped, but being stuck in a house alone with that man was dizzying.

I can’t stay here.

The question she kept asking herself was, did she regret giving herself to him? He’d taken her virginity the previous night in the tent on the beach. He’d kissed her like she’d never been kissed before. He’d made her feel something brand new—like he cared, like he gave a shit. God, he made it feel so real. It had all been too good—until she’d climbed out of the tent that morning and realized where they stood. Nothing had changed. Well, everything had changed, but also nothing had. He was still keeping things from her. He was still pushing her to do whathethought she should do.

He was still laughing at her plans like she was a child, as though he was the only one who knew anything. He still expected her unquestioning obedience.

Danica dropped her foot from tree pose, and she wobbled to find balance, frustration and anger rising in her chest. It wasn’t fair. She just had no idea what she was supposed to do—or what she could do.

Tugging up her yoga pants and readjusting her strappy purple tank top, she took her hair out of her ponytail, relieving some of the ache in her head. Her throat was tight and her face felt strained. No matter what she’d done, she’d felt two seconds from crying silently to herself all day, but she wasn’t going to give Carrick the satisfaction of hearing that.

Suddenly, his office door slammed shut, and shortly after, his familiar heavy steps were climbing up the stairs. Immediately, panic rose in her and she looked around to…well, to appear normal.

She ran out of time.

Carrick, the monster himself, looking hotter than life in black jeans and a light gray T-shirt, crested the top step, pausing as he looked at her before moving into the kitchen.

“Did you eat?” he grunted at her, looking away just as fast.

She swallowed, knowing how rough things were between them. But she held her ground.

“I found some fruit in the fridge,” she replied, not even sure if he’d care about her words.

“Fruit? That’s not enough.”

“Sometimes I follow a fruitarian diet when—” she started but stopped suddenly.

Just another stupid thing to say.

Carrick’s eyes had grown big as he listened to her, clearly incredulous. But he said nothing and turned back to the fridge, opening and closing it without taking anything out. She watched him angle toward the corner upper cupboard, and he reached his defined arms to grab something. She narrowed her eyes as she realized what he was carrying.

Is he for real?

Marching over to her with a bottle and two shot glasses in his hand, he motioned for her to sit in the chair in the living room. He put the items down on the square coffee table, positioning himself on the couch. With the table between them, he reached out to organize the bottle and shot glasses in a neat row.

“I’ve done a lot of diving off the coast of Mexico,” he started, his tone careful and guarded. “I brought this bottle of tequila back a handful of years ago.”

He cracked the top, breaking the seal of the full bottle of liquor, and poured two full shot glasses. He pushed one toward her end of the table, watching her carefully.

“It’s expensive. It’s delicious.” He rotated the bottle in his hands. “And I always found it was good for one thing.”

“What?” she asked, her lips parting with her shallow breath.

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