Zero Control

by Wilde, Lori

  “So, good night,” he finally said.

  “Good night.”

  Was he going to kiss her? She held her breath.

  But he did not. He simply touched her shoulder, gave her a wistful smile and walked away in the opposite direction.

  DOUGAL LAY ON THE BED in his room in the staff quarters at the back of the castle, his mind troubled over his encounter with Roxie. Why had she been in that office? Could it be true? Had she really found the door open and just shut it to be thoughtful? He wanted to believe her.

  But his certainty of her innocence had been shattered.

  From the first moment he’d seen her, he’d known she was different. That she wasn’t who she seemed to be. He cursed his heightened instincts that allowed him to see trouble ahead of other people. It was an important skill in the security business, but sometimes it made you see and feel and understand things you didn’t want to see and feel and understand.

  Roxie Stanley was up to something and he was going to do what he should have done days ago—run a thorough background check on her.

  He flipped onto his other side and thought of their day punting on the Cam. It had been simply one of the best days of his life. Sadness twined through him.

  When had it happened? When had he started falling for the wrong woman? When and why? He’d known better and yet he’d let it happen. No two ways about it. He was going to get hurt. Again.

  Stupid, stupid.

  The phone at his bedside rang. He sat up in surprise, glanced at the clock. It was two in the morning. Who was calling?

  He picked it up as a bad feeling curled through him. “Hello?”

  “Dougal, it’s Gerry.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The computers have all gone down, nothing’s working. We can’t take reservations. It’s chaos.”

  “At all the Eros resorts or just this one?”

  “Just this one so far.”

  “What caused it?” he asked, trepidation creeping up his spine. “Do you think it’s a virus?”

  “I doubt it,” Gerry said. “All the backup batteries have been shut off, as well. The whole system has crashed. It looks like we’ve lost everything.”

  FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS, the staff worked to fix the problems caused by the crash while Dougal and Gerry talked with an expert in computer forensics to find the source of the sabotage. Their research led them to determine that someone at the resort had let a Trojan loose on the Eros system, and it had happened around the same time Dougal had discovered Roxie in the offices. But of course the Trojan horse could have been released remotely so that didn’t necessarily mean someone on site had caused it.

  He didn’t want to believe her capable of such a thing, but the evidence was damning, although he wanted to be absolutely certain before he confronted her. Instead, he had to go on the remaining tours and pretend nothing had changed between them. He kept Taylor apprised of the developments, but stopped short of implicating Roxie, since he had no real proof it was her.

  Saturday was the big finale of the scheduled events of the tour. A Renaissance Festival to end all Renaissance Festivals, and the event was open to the public. He used prepping for the event as his excuse to avoid going to Roxie’s cottage every time she invited him in. Finally she stopped asking.

  But he hadn’t stopped wanting to go to her.

  Saturday’s schedule was chock-full of events from the opening parade featuring actors hired to play King Henry the Eighth and Jane Seymour. The slate included jousting, crafts, animal herding and other live dioramas depicting life in the sixteenth century—fortune-tellers, falconry, games of chance and weaponry demonstrations, including knife throwing and fencing. The minute Dougal saw Roxie dressed as a saucy serving wench, his heart flipped.

  He was in big trouble. If she was the saboteur, she’d been leading him down the primrose path and he’d stupidly followed his dick where she’d led.

  Roxie met his glance and quickly looked away. Dougal’s pulse leaped. It was all he could do not to make his way through the crowd to her. And if Lucy Kenyon hadn’t brushed past him with a worried expression on her face, he probably would have.

  “Lucy,” he called to her, “what’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing, no big deal, and you’ve got enough on your slate without hearing my tales of woe.”

  Had something else happened? He touched Lucy’s arm. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

  “The men we had coming to do the fencing clinic called in sick with food poisoning. I’ve been on the phone trying to find replacements, but on such short notice I’m not getting anywhere. I’m probably going to have to shut down the demonstration.”

  “I know how to fence,” Dougal said. “I could step in.”

  Lucy’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. So now you only need to find one replacement.”

  “You know what? One of the guests put down on her profile that she fences. Of course, she might not be willing to participate, but let me go ask her.” Lucy hugged Dougal around the neck. “Oh, you are a lifesaver.”

  “When do you need me?”

  “The first demonstration starts in an hour…Oh look, there she is.” Lucy rushed up to Roxie.

  He blinked. The guest who knew how to fence was his Roxie? She’s not your Roxie.

  “Dougal.” Lucy waved him over. “Come here.”

  Heart thundering, he went.

  “Roxie’s agreed.” Lucy beamed.

  Roxie’s gaze seared into Dougal’s.

  “Well,” Lucy said. “I’ll just leave you two alone to talk strategy and get changed into your fencing outfits. So much to do.”

  She fluttered off, leaving Roxie and Dougal standing together in the thick of the crowd pouring over the moat bridge onto the castle grounds.

  “So,” he said, “you know how to fence.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “It’s not a skill many young women possess.”

  “Right back at you. I’ve never dated a guy who fenced. I mean…um…” she stammered. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to imply we have any kind of relationship…I—”

  “We have a relationship.”

  “Yes, sure, of course, but I didn’t want to assume anything. This is a vacation for me, a fantasy. We might be totally different in the real world.” She slapped a palm over her mouth. “I’m babbling.”

  He grinned. He couldn’t help it. She was just so adorable. How could a woman so cute and open and vulnerable be a saboteur?

  “Why don’t we go get changed and pick out our equipment and do a few practice moves before the demonstration?” he suggested. “We can meet out behind the jousting area. It’s isolated and we won’t be interrupted.”

  “Yes, good, great.” She still seemed a bit off balance at the prospect of fencing with him. To be honest, he was a bit nervous himself.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Just relax. You’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks for calming me down. I haven’t fenced in years.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “My dad was a fencer,” she said as they walked toward the equipment tent. “He was all set to go to the Olympics, but my mom got pregnant with me and he decided to forgo it.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “What? That he was a potential Olympian or that he chose my mother and me over his passion for fencing?”

  “Both,” Dougal said.

  “Dad started teaching me to fence when I was five years old. He had dreams of me following in his footsteps, but I was never that good. So, what about you? How did you get into fencing? You don’t really seem the type.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There’s something poetic about it. Romantic.” She cocked her head at him. “You don’t strike me as either particularly romantic or poetic.”

  He splayed a hand over his heart, feigned a hurt expression. “I’m wounded, truly wounded.”

  “Yeah, you look utt
erly shattered.” She laughed.

  “Actually, my football coach suggested it. Said it would help my balance and coordination. It was either fencing or ballet. That was a no-brainer.”

  “Ah, football, now it all makes sense.”

  “I see,” he teased. “So you’re saying instead of romantic and poetic I’m more the cave-dwelling, Neanderthal type?”

  “You said it, I didn’t.”

  “Well, the fencing worked to refine this caveman. The year I learned to fence, our football team went to the district play-offs.”

  “What position did you play?”

  “Wide receiver.”

  “Well, at least you weren’t quarterback.”

  “What’s wrong with quarterback?”

  “Too much of a cliché. You’re good-looking, rugged, confident. If you’d been quarterback, as well…”

  “Nope, I wasn’t quarterback.”

  “Class president?”

  “Not that smart.”

  “Prom king?”

  He hung his head. “Guilty as charged.”

  “I knew it,” she crowed.

  “From the way you’re scoffing, I take it you weren’t head cheerleader, class president or prom queen,” he said.

  “Not even close.”

  “You hung out in the library.”

  “And proud of it.” She lifted her chin.

  “Really? Because from where I’m standing, you should have owned that high school.”

  “A lot of things can change in ten years. In high school I had braces and I was horribly shy. The two places I felt like my true self was when I was on stage pretending to be someone else or when I had an épée in my hand.”

  He narrowed his eyes and leaned in so close he could smell the scent of her soap. “You’re quite the mystery, Roxanne Stanley.”

  “No more so than you, Dougal Lockhart.”

  “Touché.”

  “Pun intended?”

  “An insider fencing pun,” he confirmed.

  They weaved through the crowd. At just after nine in the morning, the place was already packed; excitement rippled through the air. On the way to the equipment tent, they passed the fencing area. A banner overhead proclaimed, Classical Fencing: The Martial Art of Incurable Romantics.

  That made Dougal smile. He’d told Roxie he’d taken fencing at his football coach’s suggestion and that was true, but he’d had a secondary reason for taking up the sport. The martial art component appealed to him. Not that he was an incurable romantic by any means. Rather he’d been interested in the weaponry. Fencing was just another fighting technique in his arsenal. During high school, before he’d switched to football, he’d taken up boxing and been a Golden Gloves contender. He’d become proficient at Krav Maga, and he’d been a wickedly good marksman long before he’d entered the military.

  The thing was, Dougal had been dedicated to taking care of his mother, especially after her loser boyfriend had cleaned out their bank account and skipped town. He flashed back to the memory of the ten-year-old kid he’d been, helplessly patting his mother on the shoulder, trying to comfort her as she sobbed her heart out.

  It had been a pivotal moment. He’d already been trying to fill his father’s shoes after the old man had abandoned them two years earlier, but seeing his normally strong, practical mother dissolve into tears made Dougal realize what a poor job he’d been doing. Mowing the lawn, taking out the trash, helping her cook dinner wasn’t enough. He had to step up to the plate and learn how to protect her.

  The next day he’d asked her to enroll him in boxing classes and she’d agreed. And he’d spent the rest of his life trying to be a good and honorable man.

  “I’m worried,” Roxie whispered, leaning against his shoulder.

  He shifted toward her. “What about?”

  “It’s been so long since I’ve fenced, and I’m not exactly in peak physical condition.”

  Dougal drew a languid gaze over her body. “I wouldn’t say that,” he drawled.

  She swatted his arm. “You know what I mean. You’re Mr. Bulked Up, and the most exercise I get is walking from the subway to the office. Granted it’s ten blocks, and I often take the stairs to the sixth floor, but still…it probably won’t take much to wind me.”

  “You did fine at ballroom dancing the other night.”

  She pondered that. “I guess I did.”

  “You’re probably in better shape than you think you are.”

  They stepped into the equipment tent, and Dougal explained to the property clerk they were taking over the fencing demonstration. The guy led them over to the weaponry section.

  “Which shall we spar with?” she asked, running her hands over the hilt of the weapons lined up in a wooden rack. “Foil, épée or saber?”

  “I never learned to use the foil.”

  She stared at him as if he’d said something blasphemous. “You’ve got to be kidding. Everyone starts with the foil.”

  “Not at my high school. Our coaches decided right off the bat which weapon suited you because they needed to train fencers quickly for interscholastic competition. Besides, the foil just didn’t suit me. I’m too large.”

  “Ah, I get it. You’re one of those guys who believe the foil is for girls.”

  “I don’t.” He did, but he wasn’t going to tell her that when she was standing there with a saber in her hand.

  “You were misinformed,” she said.

  “There are too many rules with the foil. It’s unrealistic. You couldn’t use foil rules in a real fight. You’d be killed.”

  She made a tsk, tsk noise with her tongue. “You miss the point entirely.”

  “Pun intended?”

  “It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it? Don’t try to charm your way out of a lecture. You know you’re wrong.”

  He chuckled, beguiled by her inflexibility on the topic. “I’m wrong, huh?”

  “Here’s the secret of the foil,” she said. “Pay attention because this is the key to fencing with all weaponry. The foil teaches you personal control. Control yourself and you control your opponent. The rules teach you how to think logically in combat. Having been in the military you should understand that. The rules are based on truth. You attack when you have a clear opportunity and you defend when threatened.”

  “Your girl is right.” The clerk nodded. “Dead-on.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” Dougal countered. What he wanted to say, but didn’t was, “Who asked you, buddy?” See? That showed personal control.

  The clerk shrugged. “I’m guessing you two will be going with the saber?”

  “Obviously.” Roxie rolled her eyes. “Since it’s the only thing he knows how to handle.”

  “Hey, if you can handle a saber, you don’t need anything else.” Why was he feeling so defensive? Was it because in his heart he knew she was right? That he hadn’t learned personal control?

  “Everything is not about brute force, as I’ll soon school you,” she said.

  They collected their gear—fencing jacket, a mask, a glove, the underarm and chest protectors and shoes—and went into the changing room. They emerged a few minutes later. Then, with sabers in hand, went to the quiet spot behind the wooden bleachers set up for the big joust scheduled for later that day.

  Grinning at each other, they squared off on the soft ground.

  “En garde,” Roxie said, using the fencing equivalent of “On your mark.”

  They lowered their masks and struck their positions, sword outstretched, one leg forward.

  “Prêt,” she said, meaning “Get set.”

  Dougal’s muscles tensed.

  “Allez.” Roxie lunged, taking him off guard with her ferocity. It was saber play, so naturally attacks were fast and furious, but after her speech about personal control, he did not expect such immediate flurry.

  Dougal parried in defense, moving his weapon to push aside her attacking blade. He immediately followed with a riposte, and it was Roxie’
s turn to parry.

  The sound of their clashing blades rent the air, clacking and clanging.

  She stamped her front foot on the ground, producing a sound known as an appel. The intention was to startle him. He anticipated the lunge, raised his saber to meet hers, gliding it down her blade, keeping her in constant contact.

  They went at it in a free-for-all. The sound of their meeting weapons filled the air.

  She looked so mysterious, dressed in the white outfit, the mask hiding her features and he loved the way the material of her fencing pants clung to her curvaceous thighs. A sexual thrill jolted through him, but he had no time to enjoy it. Relentlessly she came at him.

  Dougal defended.

  Roxie lunged.

  He parried. Enough of this. He was taking control. Dougal countered, lunging hard, sending her back.

  Or so he thought.

  But it was a feint tactic and he hadn’t seen it coming. She caught him unaware with the feint-deceive, doubling back to hit him with the completion of her lunge.

  “Touché.” She’d earned a point.

  He’d gone for the full-on aggressive speed and power. She’d finessed him by moving around on the tactical wheel, not following the conventional moves. The woman was amazing.

  “Foil fencing is for girls, huh?” Roxie came at him with a fluidity that stole his breath.

  And just like that he was back on the defensive.

  “I think you’re lying,” he said, in a flurry of blade activity. His goal was to knock her off guard with a provocative statement. Everyone was lying about something.

  His ploy worked. She fumbled, letting down her guard for a split second and the edge of his saber clipped her shoulder, giving him the right-of-way and a point.

  “One-one,” he said.

  Her breasts rose as she chuffed out a breath of air, just before she attacked again. He felt the tension in her blade; something had changed. She’d lost focus.

  “Give up the deception, Roxie. Admit the truth.” He scored another hit and she let out a cry of frustration. “I know your secret.”

  “Huh?” She hesitated.