Page 69 of Under Control

“So, I can go?” She stood up slowly, the blanket falling off her thighs.

Delta shrugged as if she played right into his trap. “Sure. Just give the boss a call before you head out.”

She crossed her arms, processing. That wasn’t what she’d expected, but the words were clear. Carrick didn’t want her to do anything unless he knew about it and approved.And yet I’m not a prisoner?

Yawning and stretching, Delta moved toward the staircase heading down to the first floor.

“Wait,” she said quickly, looking at the man she knew nothing about but wanting to know more about Carrick, who she barely knew.

Delta turned back, offering her a slight, expectant grin. As he looked at her, she drank him in. He had tattooed arms and that same rough-and-ready look that Carrick had.

“How do you know Carrick?” she asked, playing with the edge of the fabric of a sofa pillow.

Delta leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, killing her with the pause—and his dark gaze.

“We were in the same troop,” he explained. “On the same team.”

“In the SEALs?” Her lips parted, her tone innocent and searching.

Delta nodded, and there was a brief silence. There was something so different about him and Carrick, but something still the same. She got that same tortured feeling from both of them.Then he continued, reaching to his face to touch the scar that ran up his cheekbone.

He continued, “We’ve seen a lot together. Syria, Iraq, West Africa—you name it. We’ve both spent more time away than home…for a long time.”

“Wow,” Danica said. But learning something about Carrick’s past only made her hungry for more.

But before she could ask any more questions, Delta turned to head down to the entry level.

“I’ll be in the office if you need anything.”

As he rocketed down the staircase, Danica found herself in silence. She had chills running up her spine. It was incredible to hear that snippet of information, but where did that leave her? Carrick was still a steel vault. And she had no answers. No plan.

She suddenly felt very alone. She wondered if Carrick would be back any time soon. But why should he be? He had things to do. She was an afterthought. That was what marriage would be like with him. Transactional. Emotionless.

A frustrated sound escaped her lips, and Danica didn’t know what the hell she was doing anymore. All she felt was hungry, tired and anxious. She felt like a toy in a greater game that she wasn’t really a part of and didn’t understand. Collapsing back against the couch, she wrapped herself in the blanket that Carrick had put on her legs.

And she sat.

And thought.

And sat.

And thought.

Until she couldn’t be there anymore, and she got up—moving silent as a mouse upstairs to the bedroom where she found her laundered clothes folded neatly in a pile on a wooden dresser.What time exactly does Carrick get up in the mornings?He seemed to live a secret life before he even put the coffee on.

Clenching her teeth, she hauled on the freshly laundered set of panties and a bra, along with her black mini skirt and a loose-fitted knit sweater. She was getting out. No more. And Carrick?

I’m just an afterthought to him. This isn’t love.

And as she stood in front of the dresser, pitching what little stuff she had into her black bag, she felt a pang of self-doubt—the most insidious of all the doubts.

What will happen if I leave?

She drifted her fingers down the dresser, tracing elegant metal knobs with embossed floral patterns. Again, there was no way he’d chosen that dresser. It was simply too feminine. She didn’t know him well, but she was sure that he would never choose anything like that. Did he have an interior designer? Would he care enough to pay for that service? It didn’t seem to fit his personality.

As she traced one of the dresser’s knobs, she found herself questioning more and more. What were his secrets? What didn’t he want to tell her? She tugged on the knob, opening the small top drawer, and inside she found a whole mess of things—belts, knives, empty and tattered leather wallets and what looked like Navy insignia. Now, that made sense. Couldn’t be more Carrick even if it had growled at her.

She pushed the drawer shut and pulled open the one underneath. It was his socks and boxers drawer—neatly arranged and organized like any good SEAL would have it. She avoided the urge to rip out his boxers and smell them, so kept moving her way down, finding a shirt drawer and what looked like a drawer full of workout clothes. Of course, that checked out, too.

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