Under Control

by Zoë Normandie

  As he held her jaw, he stared into her eyes. The towel had fallen off her body, and even through the steam, she had no doubt that he could see her naked form if he looked, but his gaze didn’t drift down.

  “You slipped because you are faint.”

  She said nothing, just blinked back up at him. Something in his eyes changed in that instant—and there was a flash of emotion. It was the opposite of what she’d seen of him before—collected, emotionless, cool. Something wild and passionate had flashed across his face as he’d looked at her.

  “You aren’t taking care of yourself.”

  “Yes, I am.” Her words came out more defensive than she’d intended.

  “I can’t sit back and let all this bullshit happen.” He let out, his head dropping lower to hers. “You have to talk to me. Give me something to go on.”

  Danica felt a heat rising in her chest, a deep stirring of emotion. She tilted her mouth up to his, drinking him in. He was very, very close and wasn’t moving back. He ran his thick, coarse hand down her back, sending goosebumps up her spine as she arched toward him. Her lips parted, which he clearly noticed.

  “Carrick, we can’t,” she whispered.

  He only frowned in response and tightened his grip on her. It seemed as though his big hands took up half of her back.

  “Goddamn it, just fucking talk to me,” he gnashed through a flexed jaw. “I can’t fucking protect you if I don’t know what the hell is going on here.”

  Danica’s mouth dropped open. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Never before had a man fought so diligently to hear her, and it threw her off completely, clawing at the defenses she had worked so, so hard on.

  Cautiously, she ran her hand up his arm, feeling the definition of his muscles. When she drew her hand down again, he winced in response and pressed his eyes shut momentarily. Danica instantly glanced down at his left forearm where she’d touched, realizing he had a large bandage underneath his shirt. The vision of Carrick violently defending her against the mountain lion flashed to her mind. He could have been killed.

  And now he’s hurt.

  “I can look at that for you,” she offered, leaning in to look at the bandage.

  “No,” he scowled, pulling back.

  Frustration built inside her, and she narrowed her eyes at him. She realized he wasn’t the type of man to accept help, but he would probably always offer it.

  Danica couldn’t explain why, but in that instant, tears filled her eyes. Maybe she was just overwhelmed by what had happened between them. Maybe she’d just reached the end of her rope with him. It was hard to admit it, but the man had awakened something inside her. And now, here before her, he was focused on her, every inch of her, making her feel something she’d never felt before.

  She took in a deep breath, trying to collect herself.

  He risked his life for me.

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered, needing answers.

  Carrick flashed her an expression that screamed he might be doubting her sanity. He tightened his grip on her, telling her things that he clearly couldn’t say.

  She knew that feeling.

  Absently, she ran her hand up his biceps and shoulder toward his neck and the rough stubble on his cheek. A tattoo that clearly sprawled across his chest poked out of the V-neck of his long-sleeved shirt—some sort of dark writing, but she couldn’t see more than a few edges. It was a tattoo that was as mysterious as he was. In that moment, gazing back up into his dark blue eyes, a strange feeling overtook her. She wanted him to kiss her more than anything. There was just something so raw between them in that moment. She needed to feel him closer. She needed something to believe in.

  But he never would. He was too damn professional.

  She bit her lip, pleading and begging him with her eyes. Surrounded by the bathroom fog, she angled her chin up toward him.

  Please, Carrick.

  He didn’t miss her movements when she shifted in his arms, but he seemed to snap out of it. Blinking rapidly, as though he were trying to regain consciousness, Carrick reached to the towel bar, grabbed a towel and roughly shoved it at her.

  “Checkout’s in twenty,” he growled, turning on his heels.

  As he left her alone in the bathroom, tears welled in her eyes once more. His clear rejection drove hard pain up her chest, making it hard to breathe. Alarm bells rang through her mind and a realization washed over her. She knew nothing about the man. In that split second, Danica made a promise to herself. She would gain everything she could from him, but she would not, under any circumstances, let herself become vulnerable with him again.

  It was too damn dangerous.

  Chapter Eight

  Danica

  The passenger side of the red pickup truck wasn’t uncomfortable, but Danica sure was. Right then, after what had happened in the bathroom, sitting beside Carrick was the last place she wanted to be. She crinkled her nose as the bright Northern Californian midday sun shone through the windshield and washed over her face. They’d been driving—in silence—for hours through the interior wine country.

  “So, ready to talk now?” His casual tone nearly toppled her over. “I’m going to have to make a decision soon…and a plan.”

  Unfortunately for him, every limb in her body still screamed from what had happened in the bathroom—how he’d come so close then abruptly torn himself away. It was damn clear to her that it was a metaphor for whatever it was between them—that the piece of her that had even been thinking about opening up to him had just as abruptly slammed close.

  So she clenched her teeth, looked out of the window and tried to figure out how to respond.

  Carrick broke the brief silence. “Well, look at this. I almost forgot. Reach back and grab that small black bag behind my seat.”

  She turned, saw a black fabric handle and reached back to grab it. What is he up to? Bringing it forward, she ran her fingers over the zipper.

  “Open it.”

  She flickered her gaze up, trying to read him. He never let on much. So, she opened the bag, curious as a kitten. She couldn’t conceal a gasp when she realized what was inside.

  Pulling out her white ice skates, she burst, “I thought I’d never see these again!”

  A wide, self-satisfied smirk crossed his lips. “We couldn’t allow that.”

  She ran her fingers along the metal blades, clearly realizing how much care he had taken. He’d cleaned her skates so they wouldn’t get rusty.

  “Thanks,” she replied softly, putting the skates back in the bag and tucking them back beside her backpack. “My mom bought those for me.”

  She almost allowed herself to feel the kindness of the moment, until she realized it was just another ploy to butter her up. He needed something from her.

  Carrick continued, seeming to know he had her just where he wanted her, “I can’t figure out why all this bullshit just to get you down to LA. What’s the big fucking deal about this wedding?”

  Heat began to rise up Danica’s neck, but she wanted to remain circumspect. However, something about Carrick’s demands made it hard. She always struggled to remain cool under intensity like that. She was just too sensitive.

  “It’s not about the wedding, Carrick,” Danica retorted. “It’s about the Russian community coming together, and who is going to be there—who he wants to see me. That’s how these things work—and it’s always been like this.”

  And that’s why I can’t escape.

  “Who he wants to see you?” Carrick repeated, catching onto the right words.

  Realizing how deep she’d just gotten herself, Danica let out a low, frustrated breath. There was no hope trying to quell his questions now.

  “Petrov has essentially promised me to the CEO of his business,” she squeaked finally through a pinched tone. “And this is his chance to…foist me into a marriage that he wants me to be in.”

  “And you don’t want to marry the guy?” Carrick followed up quickly. “Obviously?”


  Shaking her head, she seethed. “But that answer isn’t good enough for Petrov. He thinks he owns me. He thinks he controls me. And this marriage would be very advantageous for both men.”

  Carrick let out a laugh, as if the whole situation were simple.

  “This is a free country. You should tell him to fuck off, and file a police report,” he stated while his hands ran up and down the wheel, gripping and tensing, like he was ready to fight. “Or better yet—I can help you send a clear message.”

  She looked over at him, her eyes wide and in shock that he would suggest that. Clearly, the man didn’t understand how her family operated.

  “That won’t work.” She exhaled slowly. “He reminded me yesterday that I’m part of his family, whether I like it or not, and the only way out is…death.”

  “Death?” Carrick’s eyes shot to her, seemingly incredulous.

  She nodded, raising her eyebrows, “After my parents died, he told me that the only way I’d survive was if I obeyed him.”

  Be obedient.

  Be controlled.

  The words of the threat flashed across her mind, sending searing pain through her gray matter.

  “You have to do something. You can’t just sit back and take this bullshit,” Carrick growled low as he continued tensely gripping the wheel. “I can’t believe this.”

  Carrick’s body flexed as the conversation continued, as though he was ready to fight then and there. Maybe she should just let him fight for her? It was the best chance she had. Her attention was again drawn to the bulky bandage on his forearm, and she shook away her original thought. I can’t get him hurt again.

  “Forced marriage? That’s fucked up,” he continued. “You should be able to be with who you want.”

  “I’ve actually never been with anyone,” she mumbled to herself, thinking the words were inaudible.

  He whipped his head over to look at her again. His eyes were as big as saucers, in complete disbelief. He heard. Danica shrank in her seat, embarrassed as hell, and pulled her black denim mini skirt down a little. Why did I said that? The meaning was clear, and those same goosebumps ran up her spine again.

  “You’re a virgin?” he followed up, his tone low.

  She nodded shyly and couldn’t help but notice how he trained his eyes to her lips. Something in his gaze grew heavy. He was a man, just a man—and she couldn’t forget that.

  A dew formed between her breasts, which were covered by a thin white tank top that barely concealed anything. She didn’t miss how much tighter he gripped the steering wheel, and how his foot had fallen harder on the gas. They were hurtling down the back roads of the arid, mountainous countryside, liable to fly off the side of a cliff at any time.

  Yet, the only thing she was scared of in that moment was the way he was looking at her.

  And the way she felt.

  And what she wanted him to do about it all.

  Embarrassed, feeling like a child in front of a big, bad man, she shook her head. She was doing a terrible job at keeping her cards close to her chest. She snapped her mouth closed. Now he knew too much about her.

  Suddenly, Carrick slowed the pickup truck to a full stop on the side of the sandy road. There was finally a break in the mountainous range running through the interior of California, allowing passage to the next state. To the left, they could head toward Nevada—and wherever else she wanted to go.

  But, to the right, a sign marked the winding way back down to LA.

  “What’s it going to be, Dani?” Carrick finally asked, turning to her. “I’ll drive you to the next state over or I’ll drive you back to LA. Are you going to make a stand, fight for yourself—or are you going to keep running?”

  Danica raised her hand to point toward Nevada, of course, but caught his gaze in the process. His intense dark blue eyes drilled into her, and she felt winded.

  “You can keep running, but he will always find you, and whoever he hires next might not be so nice,” he explained slowly, watching her reactions.

  The truth behind his message shot pain throughout her body, and she nearly started hyperventilating. She was not combative.

  The word itself made her want to pass out.

  “I’m not a fighter,” she admitted.

  Black spots were taking over her vision, so she opened the door to the pickup and swung her legs out, keeping her peripheral vision locked into where Carrick was. Naturally, he was coming around the side of the truck as well but keeping his distance from her physically. She wasn’t surprised. But she needed some air.

  Her white tennis shoes dug into the dusty, sun-bleached dirt on the roadside, and a little sagebrush lizard climbed onto her toe. She knelt down instinctively, picking the little guy up so he didn’t cross the road. His little brownish body slipped through her fingers, dancing around the back of her hand. He was so free.

  That’s what I want to be.

  She moved toward a prickly desert bush and allowed the lizard to jump onto it. A tree swayed behind the bush from the gentle wind blowing through it, catching her hair. It was hot under the midday sun, even in February, but she loved it—loved the feeling of the rays on her face and shoulders. She tilted her face up to the sky, her eyes closed, and drank in nature, drank in Mother Earth.

  The crunching of feet made their way toward her, and through her thick lashes she could see Carrick’s fitted black jeans and crossed arms in front of her.

  “You have a real connection to nature, don’t you?” he asked, observing her.

  “I love all things in the natural world,” she exhaled, feeling the sun against her skin. “That’s why I chose nursing, I guess—to try to help people, to take care of them.”

  “Interesting.”

  She opened her eyes, looking up at him. “And I love being outdoors. It grounds me. It feels like home. Sometimes I hug trees and just feel them.”

  The last words rolled off her tongue without permission, and she nearly stumbled back in deep regret. What was with Carrick that made her want to confess everything? She waited for him to react. The only thing was…that he didn’t. Cool and emotionless, the stoic man in front of her just stood—watchful, assessing.

  “It’s time to make a decision,” he explained, checking the time on his bulky black watch. “What do you want to do?”

  Danica took in all the air around her, finding her roots in the soil. It was much easier to make the right decision with fresh air.

  As she ruminated, she instinctively moved into tree position—her favorite yoga form when she needed grounding, when she needed to connect with the wisdom of nature. She bent her right leg to press her foot into her left thigh, and she stood only on her left leg with her hands in prayer position at her chest. Closing her eyes and taking a long, slow breath, she drew the air into her nose and down into the bottom of her lungs.

  Whispers in the wind danced around her ears and into her mind. The wind was wise and old—and told her to be cautious and not to make waves. And those were things the wind knew about, because it was the wind that made the waves. She nodded as if understanding the words spoken to her by Mother Nature and tilted her head up to Carrick.

  Holding the pose, she exhaled. “You already agreed to this with Petrov. The wedding is in a matter of hours. If we back out now, it’s going to put a red-hot target on both of our backs. I won’t even have a chance to run.”

  Carrick laughed like none of that mattered to him. “I’ll do what I want. Don’t worry about me. This decision is about you and your future. Are you going to make a stand?”

  With his question, she fell out of tree pose. Her right foot slammed on the packed dirt underneath her as she looked up to the man in front of her.

  She shook her head, pleading, “You don’t understand these people. They are ruthless.”

  He shot her a confused look, like she couldn’t be sane. He just didn’t understand what she did. He didn’t understand what her uncle was capable of, what he had done and what he was willing to do to her.<
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  Danica added, her voice shrinking, “I can’t fight them, Carrick.”

  “I’ll show you how.” He stood stall and alert, like a soldier.

  She paused, playing with her bottom lip, thinking about what he was saying. He seemed so fearless, so brave.

  “Who are you, Carrick?” she cautiously asked, studying him. “Were you in the military?”

  Carrick shot her a sly grin. “I was.”

  “You’ve been trained to fight for freedom.”

  Carrick smirked but continued his narrative, power and intensity swelling in his voice, “I’ll be there with you—at the wedding. I’ve got your back. All you have to do is tell Petrov to fuck off and you’ll call the cops if he bothers you again.”

  “Just that easy?”

  “Just that easy.”

  Danica exhaled slowly, a deep understanding of their dynamic taking her over. He was an aggressive fighter, and she was a passive avoider. They were a yin and yang. Wind blew up into her face, sending dust from the arid landscape into her nose and eyes, challenging her—screaming at her. However uneasy she was about it, Carrick was right.

  He was her best chance.

  “Okay,” she whispered, barely able to believe that the word itself escaped her mouth.

  Carrick grinned like a wolf that had finally caught its sheep, and he crossed his arms like a hard, sculpted statue.

  “Let’s go get your life back,” he said, something feverish flashing across his eyes.

  He nodded back to her, obviously ready to go to war, and turned to head around to his side of the truck. She licked her lips, watching him march with purpose. Her acceptance had obviously proven to fire him up. She couldn’t disappoint him now.

  As a willing but reluctant Danica jumped back into the passenger seat, she hoped that having the tall, strong protective man by her side would give her strength to face what she’d never thought she could. She kept that to herself as she watched him make the turn toward LA.

  Why is he helping me?

  She had no idea, but she suspected he had a deep need to guard and protect—and fight injustice, so long as she played on his side and listened to him.