Please hurry home, baby. I need you.
Damián had a way of putting things into perspective and making them less daunting. Although she wasn’t sure he could help her today.
Boots rubbed against her ankle, meowing for a treat or some love. After stirring the soup and lowering the temperature, she replaced the glass lid and bent to pick up Mari’s almost one-year-old kitten just as the front door opened. Savannah jumped, and the skittish Boots scampered out of her hands, sensing her momentary panic.
“I’m home, Savannah!” Damián! Her body sagged against the counter. He always announced himself, hoping to quickly allay her fears that someone had invaded their home. Perhaps she’d overcome her post-traumatic stress from the kidnapping one of these days, but she hadn’t managed to do so yet.
Savannah stood a little straighter before the man she loved more than life itself entered the room. She hadn’t expected him so soon but was grateful he’d come home early. When he entered the kitchen, Damián opened his mouth to speak, but his smile faded the moment he met her gaze. He glanced at her belly then back into her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” He closed the gap between them in a second and stroked her upper arms, soothing some of her tension immediately. “Is it the baby? Marisol?”
She shook her head, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. The mixture of hormones and emotional waterworks had been threatening to overwhelm her since the phone call. Damián read her mood in an instant.
He wrapped his arms around her, cocooning her between his rock-hard body and the counter, giving her the much-needed assurance of safety that had been stripped away by the DA’s call. Damián had provided asylum to her and Mari during one of the most frightening ordeals of their lives, later risking his own life and suffering a gunshot wound to save Savannah from her father’s hands. No, Gentry’s. He would never be a father to her. Damián had made her feel safe from the very first time he’d rescued her from Lyle at the age of nineteen.
“¿Qué tienes, savita?”
Tears streaked down her cheeks as she hugged him back, still unable to speak.
“Shh. I’m home now. Everything’s going to be okay.”
If only the day would come when she could believe his words. But she couldn’t. They still had unfinished business with Gentry, and until that chapter in her life ended, she’d never truly feel in control.
He stroked her hair. “Tell me what’s wrong, bebé.”
Without another word, Damián guided her into the living room and sat down on the sofa then eased her onto his lap. Resting her head against his shoulder, she tried to let go of the fears threatening to engulf her as he stroked her arm and the side of her face reassuringly.
Tension and anxiety ebbed from her body. When he was with her, she felt safe. But he couldn’t always be with her or able to protect her from every challenge. She’d have to take the stand and testify alone. Maybe she should consider doing a videotaped deposition after all.
He placed a kiss on her forehead. “Better?”
She took a deep breath and let it out. She couldn’t lie to him.
“Talk to me, querida.” His firm Dom voice removed any hope of putting him off or downplaying her anxiety.
“The DA called. A date has been set for Gentry’s trial to begin.”
“Good. That bastard doesn’t stand a chance when you testify.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. The trial starts on the fifth of December.”
“This December?”
She nodded. “Do you think Gentry pulled some strings with the judicial system to get the trial on the docket so quickly?” she asked.
“Where would he get any money to bribe judges now that your maman’s money has been awarded to you?”
“You don’t know him. Lyle must have put something aside for just such a contingency.”
“That chickenshit Gibson copped a plea after Gentry’s competency hearing. I’m sure the DA offered him a deal in exchange for his testimony against his old boss.”
The thought of facing her former handler at the same trial made her stomach roil.
Why now?
“Did the DA say anything about the hard drive?”
She shook her head and let out a puff of air in frustration. But leave it to Damián to zero in so quickly on the other reason she freaked out today. “They’ve completed their search and analysis,” she whispered.
His hand’s movement faltered momentarily. “What did they find?”
She mentioned the obvious—videos of her liaisons with Gentry’s clients, a second set of accounting books that might get him in trouble with the IRS, and an unsigned copy of the sex-slave contract. “She said there are…photos of my brand.”
He cupped her chin until she met his gaze. “Whose brand?”
“Your brand, Sir. I’m your good girl.” The words were almost rote now, yet she remained unsettled about the mark Gentry had left on her. She tried to glance away, but he held her focus with his intense Dom stare. “I know, Sir, but that’s private and only between us. I won’t share that, but I also don’t want anyone to see that mark projected on the screen in the courtroom.”
“Why would they want to show that to the jury? The defense wouldn’t, because it won’t help Gentry’s case in any way to portray him as a sadistic bastard toward his own daughter. And the DA isn’t going to exploit those early traumas, because they aren’t pursuing charges about what he did to you as a child and young adult.”
“That’s not all that’s on there. There are all those videos of me with those clients in the penthouse.”
“What scares you most about that?”
“I stole the hard drive in the first place, hoping to protect you. I didn’t want him to see you and fire you.”
“Well, we know how that turned out,” he said with a lopsided grin. He didn’t seem to regret being fired in any way whatsoever, but that had led to his joining the Marines and losing his foot. She regretted that consequence. However, he’d helped her to see it wasn’t her fault.
Damián leaned forward to place a tender kiss on her lips. “But I thank you, querida, for protecting me and having my back. Now, what scares you about the other videos?”
How could she admit this to him? She laid her head on his shoulder so he wouldn’t notice how ashamed she was. “I’m sure…Gentry will…choose to show some of the videos of scenes in which I…”
She didn’t want to say came. That was a term she used when she was with Damián to describe something beautiful. Not what those men forced from her.
“When you what?” Damián stroked her arm, coaxing the words out of her.
“Sometimes they did things to me that made my body respond in embarrassing ways.”
“We’ve talked about that, too. Your body can respond to unwanted sexual stimulation. Doesn’t mean you consented or wanted to be tortured or abused. Or that you mentally found any pleasure with them. What they did to you caused a natural physical response beyond your control.”
Heat rose into her cheeks. “What if Gentry acts as his own attorney and shows those videos to paint me as a whore? And makes me watch his sick response to them? I don’t think I can bear watching him get off on my humiliation.”
“I don’t think even Gentry would be that stupid, with or without an attorney’s counsel. Besides, he’s up on kidnapping charges. If he brings up your past, wouldn’t he be opening up a can of worms he might not want to have brought up, namely the abuse and rape of his own daughter?”
What Damián said made sense, but Gentry didn’t always use logic. “I just don’t think I can stand the thought of him winning—not this time.”
“Stop worrying. He won’t see freedom for a very long time. If there’s any justice left in this world, he’ll never see freedom again.”
Damián sounded so sure, but Gentry consistently managed to evade justice. If only he could be held accountable for the decade of child sexual abuse that began the night he’d killed h
er mother and John Grainger. Or for the year he’d trafficked her body against her will to his clients for their depraved sexual acts.
The DA chose not to file those charges, because she didn’t think it would be as easy to prove them. However, finding the bodies of Maman and Grainger buried on Gentry’s property would be difficult for him to explain away. Her mother’s and John Grainger’s deaths needed to be avenged, and Savannah was the best person to do it.
But what if I can’t get it done?
Damián stroked her belly in gentle, circular motions. “Working yourself up about the trial is only going to cause you and the baby distress.”
“I know. I’ve been spending time every day meditating and journaling to center myself. I want to stay healthy and strong enough to be there to testify, provided Doctor Palmer says it’s okay for me to travel safely.”
The thought that she might not be there to testify set her heart to racing again, and tears stung her eyes. But if she went, would Gentry find a way to torture her and exert his control over her life again?
He was doing an effective job of it even from a thousand miles away and behind bars. Her hand covered his momentarily before sliding onto her belly protectively. Did Gentry know she carried another of Damián’s babies? He couldn’t. Could he? She shuddered at the thought of him doing anything to hurt her baby.
“No doubt Gentry thinks he’s going to beat this rap,” she whispered, “because he’s gotten away with every evil thing he’s ever done.”
“Let’s not worry about what might never happen and focus more on what we know will. Like you having to testify for the prosecution and being cross-examined by the defense if you choose to be at the trial.”
She stiffened as she tried to imagine what the trial experience would be like. Facing Gentry and all those strangers—
“Breathe, savita.”
Savannah took a ragged breath. “How can I be sure what I say will be enough to convict him?” His hand stroked her belly as if to calm the baby and Savannah.
“You’re one big piece of the puzzle, querida, but remember that the DA has forensic evidence to be presented by others for the murders. It’ll be impossible for the jury to find him anything but guilty on all counts.”
“You make compelling arguments, but the thought of having him outside prison walking free in this world again makes me sick.” She swallowed hard to keep from losing her lunch all over Damián’s lap.
“Don’t worry, bebé. He’s not going to get away with it this time.”
Please, God, let Damián be right.
But he was definitely right about one thing. She’d never forgive herself if she didn’t do everything in her power to make sure he’d be found guilty.
* * *
Damián needed to do something to take her mind off the trial. He hadn’t noticed she’d been stressing about it until that phone call had rattled her.
Savannah shuddered against his shoulder. That settled it. Damián took her by the upper arms, pulling her upright and staring directly into her eyes. “We can work on ways to prepare you for the trial, but I won’t let you jeopardize your health or the baby’s by going to California if there’s even a chance you might have problems. You’ll be nearly eight months along by then.”
“You know I would never do anything without thinking of the baby first.” She tried to avoid his gaze, but he held hers by sheer will. A spark of defiance flashed. “But I can’t let him get away with what he’s done. This might be my only chance to bring him to justice.”
“He’s never going to harm you again. I’ll take him out myself this time if he so much as tries to come near you.” He realized he’d probably said more than he should. She knew nothing about what he and Dad had done to the bastard and Lyle Gibson after Savannah was taken to the hospital following her kidnapping—and he didn’t want her to hear about it now, either.
“But Karla talked Doctor Palmer into letting her attend our wedding in Solana Beach, and they thought she carried twins at the time.”
“It’ll still be the doctor’s call,” he repeated.
She nodded. “You have my word that I’ll only go with Doctor Palmer’s approval.”
He needed to make sure the trip and the stress of the trial wouldn’t cause harm to their baby. Savannah seemed conflicted about being there, though, and he doubted it was entirely because of the baby. Her fears were two-fold. She was committed to ensuring justice was served but worried about what type of impact the stress of this process would have on the baby. But what if the doctor gave her the go-ahead? Would her fear of facing that monster paralyze her into using her pregnancy as an excuse? And would that leave her with lifelong regrets? He wanted her to have closure and put this behind her so they could live the life they deserved.
“Oh!” Her eyes opened wider before she smiled.
Damián felt the baby kick his hand at the same time and stroked her more firmly. “Baby Orlando agrees.” Leaning down to her belly, he added, “There, there. Don’t worry, little one. We’re going to take good care of you before, during, and after your birth.”
Savannah drew a deep breath, and the baby seemed to calm. He needed to get some advice from Dad about how he might best work on Savannah’s issues with focusing and staying in the moment. Then he could help prepare her to withstand whatever they might throw at her during the trial. Maybe he’d find an opportunity to talk with Dad alone soon. Dad might know of some ways Damián could increase perceived pain levels without him actually getting as physical as he used to with Savannah.
Savannah was the strongest person he knew. She’d found the courage to escape her prison and her abusers when she’d discovered she was pregnant with Marisol. Father Martine and Anita had provided her with a refuge. And yet, for the next eight years, she hadn’t stopped looking over her shoulder, fearing her abusers would find her at every turn. Thank God she’d run to Damián last December. Who knew what Gentry and Gibson would have done if they’d caught them. Damián shuddered to think of a life in which he never knew Marisol or married Savannah.
Worse yet, he couldn’t imagine missing out on the opportunity to create another life with Savannah and to be there through it all. She carried his child—again. Only this time, he’d had a major role in her pregnancy beyond conception. While he’d seen lots of photographs of Savannah’s first pregnancy and Marisol’s birth and early years, to be a part of this baby’s life from the get-go had been incredible. He didn’t intend to miss a minute of it.
“We’ll decide when it’s closer to the trial date, after talking with Doc Palmer, of course.” Damián pressed her head against his shoulder again, stroking her arm in soothing motions. Her body relaxed as they cuddled together. Her body grew heavy, and he wondered if she was drifting off to sleep when he realized the house was awfully quiet. “Where’s Marisol?”
“Adam and Karla’s. She wanted to help with the babies again. I hope she’s at least helping.”
Damián grinned. “Karla certainly has her hands full. I can’t imagine dealing with triplets.” His hand caressed her belly in rhythmic circles. “But we would welcome however many babies we were blessed with.”
“I agree. But one at a time would be a lot easier.” She was quiet a moment, then said, “Soup’s in the slow cooker. I told Karla I’d bring it and the tortilla chips over at dinnertime since I had the afternoon off. We can all eat together before bringing Mari home.”
“Everyone loves your tortilla soup.” He did appreciate the time she spent in the kitchen, having never been one to cook much for himself. But with the few hours alone they now had, he wanted to cook up something different with his wife.
He’d found many creative ways to accommodate his wife’s developing carnal desires in safe, obstetrician-approved ways. In fact, Doctor Palmer insisted they continue a healthy sex life knowing it would help alleviate Savannah’s anxiety, which wasn’t good for her or the baby.
His hand crept upward until he cupped her breast. “So,” he dragg
ed the word out as his thumb and finger pinched her nipple through her blouse, “that means we have a couple hours to ourselves, querida.”
He knew just the thing to take her mind off her worries.
“We have at least two hours. I think there’s a load of wash in the dryer to be sorted and folded, if you’d like to join me.”
His hand ventured up to her chin, and he tilted her head until their gazes connected. “Tease.” Her pupils dilated before his eyes. “That’s not the kind of activity I have in mind for you, savita, and you know it. Unless you’ve come up with some new fantasy involving you on top of our new washing machine during its turbo-spin cycle—with my tongue pressing against your hot little clit until you scream your release.”
Her breath hitched as she imagined the fantasy he’d just planted in her head. “Hmm,” she said with a smile, as if contemplating his suggestion. “I hadn’t considered that one—yet. So many fantasies, so little time.”
Chapter Two
Savannah’s heart skipped a beat in anticipation. Damián had been working on her for months to strengthen her skills at fantasizing, beginning with her journal exercises and now conjuring up forbidden, risqué scenarios each night after they tucked Mari in bed. While there was a lock on their door that they used often, they had also been blessed with a child who slept well at night.
Thank God Mari’s life had been relatively trauma-free, unlike her mother’s.
Damián’s hand cupped her breast and pinched her nipple, grounding her once more as her body responded to his touch immediately. The buds bunching, stomach flip-flopping, lungs constricting. He always left her wanting—no, needing—so much more.
Somebody’s Perfect Page 2