Why was he forcing so much close contact? She'd managed to buckle Mari in without another set of hands. Of course, Mari had been awake those times. With great reluctance, Savi moved forward, but when her lower body brushed against his, she came to an abrupt stop. She took several rapid breaths.
I can't do this. Abruptly, Savi backed away and walked around the trunk of the car on shaky legs. Opening the other back door, she reached across the seat, ignoring the pain in her side and Damián's glare. She pulled the seatbelt from its pocket near the window and stretched it over Mari's blanketed shoulder and waist, fumbling around until she found the buckle. It clicked into place, and Savi breathed a deep sigh of relief. Mission accomplished; minimal damage.
She looked up as Damián began to pull himself away from her daughter and was horrified when Mari held him tighter. "Don't go, Daddy."
Savi's heart thudded. Mari couldn't know. Why would she call him such a thing? Because she's always fantasized about having a real daddy. Apparently, Damián filled the bill for her. More likely, in Mari's deep sleep, she must be dreaming.
Savi ventured a nervous glance at Damián and saw a stricken look on his face. He turned to meet Savi's gaze with a question—no, an accusation—she didn't want to deal with right now. The expression was replaced with a grim resolve.
He knows.
Of course, she'd planned to tell him. Soon. But this wasn't the time or place. She needed to divert his attention. Reaching down to her side, Savi winced. Damián's face showed concern as his focus returned to why they were out here in the first place. He gently unlocked Mari's hands from around his neck. Good.
"Don't worry, querida," he whispered to Mari. "Daddy's not going anywhere." He cast a sharp look at Savi, as if to make sure she knew he intended to keep his promise to his daughter.
Oh dear lord. Why was he reinforcing her daughter's fantasy?
Savi's heartbeat came to a halt for a second before slamming against her ribcage. She didn't need this complication. When he hadn't made the connection that he might be Mari's father at San Miguel's, she'd just assumed he never would figure it out. If Damián knew, would he try to take Mari away from her? Maybe telling him wasn't a good idea after all.
Unable to take his scrutiny any longer—his face showing a mixture of anger and pain that left her unsettled—she backed out of the car. By the time she reached for the driver's door, Damián's warm hand pulled hers away from the frozen handle. How had he come around the car so quickly?
He took her by the elbow, carefully but with a firm hand, and guided her to the passenger side. "I'm driving."
"But I drove all the way from the West Coast."
"Exactly. You don't need to be driving any further until we get those ribs looked at."
No one had taken care of Savi since she'd moved out of Anita's house after graduating from college. That was the year she'd landed her first job at a mental-health clinic in San Diego. Even when Anita had tried to help her find a position at the clinic where Anita worked, Savi had refused the job until it was time for Mari to start school. She'd wanted her daughter to go to school in Solano Beach, rather than San Diego.
Savi had chosen independence because she wanted to support herself and Mari and not be a burden anymore. She took pride in not needing anyone—most especially a man.
What alternative did she have, but to seek this man's assistance now? Damián held the passenger door open and waited for her to get inside. Her lungs constricted when she reached for the shoulder strap, but Damián blocked her hand and took the seatbelt, pulling it across her chest. His forearm brushed against her breast as he buckled her in like a child. She tried to press her back further into the seat cushion to avoid the intimate contact.
Damián closed her door and was soon behind the wheel. Silence ensued as he drove across town and Savi found herself consumed by memories of the decision that had started her on the long, twisted road that eventually had led her back to Damián.
Chapter Two
Lyle and her father would be at the hotel's party all evening. Finally, her first opportunity to escape since she'd arrived at the decision to run away two weeks ago.
She didn't have much time. The last thing she wanted was for them to find her walking along the road from Rancho Santa Fe to Solana Beach.
She'd managed to gather a few clothes and toiletries into a backpack, but wanted very few reminders of her life in the exclusive community. When she walked out of her Father's gate this time, it would be like walking through the Pearly Gates into Heaven. She crept into Father's office to retrieve the video of her last client session in her father's penthouse suite at his hotel—the scene from which the bus-boy, Damián Orlando, had rescued her. He'd already lost his job most likely, but she needed to prevent her father from blackmailing the young man. Damián didn't need to be threatened with jail time for doing the right thing. Father was powerful enough to trump up charges against him, though.
Her stomach clenched as she approached the desk where so many of her punishment sessions had been carried out in recent years. Don't think about that right now. That's over. Never again.
After saving the video to a CD and placing it in her backpack, she deleted the file from the computer's desktop folder and even the internal folder, so there was no chance the file could be recovered. If her father had known that the computer specialist he'd hired to teach Savannah how to manage his second set of books actually had taught her more than how to create a spreadsheet, he'd be livid. Father was so sure Savannah would obey him always that he didn't even bother to put a password on his personal computer. She just hoped there weren't any other copies of the digital video around. He didn't have the penthouse wired to the hotel's surveillance cameras; only to his personal Web feed on this computer.
Somehow her father had managed to keep the sick-and-twisted part of his life separate from his hotel managers and staff, as far as Savi could tell. Until Damián happened upon her that day almost three months ago, when she was being tortured in the penthouse.
Picking up her backpack, she started toward the massive front door. The fanlight cast prisms of light across the foyer. As a little girl, she'd loved waiting for the rainbows to appear each evening.
No time to get fanciful today. She had four or five miles to walk to reach her sanctuary. At least it all would be downhill. Still, she'd packed lightly. Carrying anything heavier than a backpack would be a strain and would slow her down. She'd lost a lot of weight in recent weeks because of her queasiness, weight she couldn't afford to lose. Ever since that morning just over two weeks ago, when she'd realized she was pregnant and had made her decision to leave, the nausea had only grown worse, possibly in large part because she was worried she wouldn't be able to get away safely. She had to protect this baby from her father. Damián's baby. She'd try to find him, once she'd reached safety. Maybe he could help her keep the baby. Savannah knew she couldn't do it alone, but she'd already grown attached to the tiny being growing inside her, even in this short time. She'd never be able to give her child up for adoption…or worse. Savi shuddered as she closed the door behind her, wondering what her father would have done if he'd discovered her pregnancy.
The evening air was cool for Southern California, but her quivering was more because of the monumental step she was taking, than arising from the cold.
Escape.
If her father or Lyle caught her…she didn't want to think about how hard they would punish her.
"Oh, please, let this work." Maman would have prayed to God, but Savannah had stopped believing in God a long time ago. Yet, when she thought about where to run to, she'd remembered a place her mother had taken her to as a young child. A holy place. She hoped it also would be a safe place for her and her baby. That's what their priest had promised in that sermon all those years ago.
Savi walked down the flagstone steps, her legs feeling like wet noodles. The patch of rubber Damián's Harley had burned on the driveway in late September had not yet faded, desp
ite Father's attempts to have Savannah scrub it off. She hadn't tried all that hard, but she smiled seeing it there, feeling as if Damián was here to give her a huge dose of much-needed courage. Her father had been livid about the mark he'd left in the driveway. Apparently Damián had been more than a little pissed off at her father after dropping her off that night.
She took a deep breath. Her chest ached as she remembered how painful it had been to hear him ride away that night. Later that September night, she hadn't been able to go through with her suicide plan, hoping Damián would come and rescue her. But he'd never returned. Would she ever be able to find him again?
As she made her way down the drive and onto the roadway, she noticed traffic was heavier than usual. With no sidewalks, so constantly stepped onto and off of the curb. She hoped no one recognized her who would report her to her father, but few of their neighbors even knew she existed. He'd kept her hidden for fear she might reveal his sick lifestyle. Now she needed to remain hidden, so she pulled her ball cap further down to shield her face as much as possible without causing a misstep.
She just couldn't chance leaving any later this evening, as much as she'd like to have had darkness on her side. Her father's party probably wouldn't last much longer. Most evenings, he was home by eight. Her punishment sessions for whatever grievances she had incurred during the day had always happened at night. Thank God he and Lyle hadn't done more than paddle or cane her lately.
Savi held her hand over her abdomen. If anything happened to the baby because she'd been too afraid to leave sooner…
Darkness had fallen by the time she reached the Hispanic area known as Eden Gardens. She'd been fighting cramps in her left calf for the last mile or so and looked forward to finding a place to sit or lie down. The working-class neighborhood glowed with luminaries in waxed bags along the walkways; strings of white twinkle lights adorned many of the houses and shrubbery. Christmas. She hadn't kept track of the days very well—one day was no different from another. So, it must be close to Christmas. Her own house hadn't been decorated for the holidays since Maman left. Savannah hadn't minded. She didn't want to remember those happier times.
Savi's chest ached at how much she missed her mother, even knowing the woman had abandoned her. Her father said she hadn't wanted the responsibility of raising a child any longer. Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. Her hand touched her abdomen. How could a mother abandon her child?
A few more blocks and the lights of the church beckoned her forward. She had nowhere else to go. Would the doors be unlocked this late at night? Would a dirty slut like her be permitted to come inside and seek refuge until she could get a job and support herself? As she neared the steps, she remembered holding her mother's hand as they had walked up these steps together that Christmas Eve when she was seven.
"Oh, Maman, why did you leave me with him?"
No. He's out of my life now. I don't need to think about him ever again.
Opening the tall, heavy, oak door, she stepped inside the vestibule. Poinsettias had been placed on mission-style tables at either end of the entryway. She stepped further inside, blessing herself with holy water, as Maman had taught her to do before stepping into a Catholic church. It had seemed so much bigger when she was here the last time. Perspective. She'd changed in many ways, the least of which was her increased height.
A statue of Mary, the Madonna, captured her attention. Savi walked toward it as if pulled by hidden strings. Looking up at the serene, smiling face of the teenaged mother, holding her chubby baby in her arms, more tears burned Savi's eyes. How would she be able to care for her own baby? She had nothing, and no one to help her. Would she be forced to give her baby to someone who could take better care of him or her?
No! She needed this baby. It was her lifeline, the only person she could count on to love her. That might not be a good reason to choose to keep the baby, but it was important to her. The baby had saved her life already, just as its father had done earlier. They had helped her maintain a tenuous hold on her sanity. She'd find a way to keep her child safe and to care for him or her when the time came.
Savi looked around more closely. Red and white poinsettias adorned the building, including those placed on either side of the white marble altar at the front of the church. Just the way she remembered it with Maman.
Her eyelids began to droop. So sleepy. She turned around and looked up, seeing a pipe organ in the loft in the back. Maybe she could go up there and sleep without being discovered for a while. She wasn't quite sure yet what she would do next. But with her brain so fuzzy, she wouldn't be able to make any big decisions for a while.
If ever. She hadn't been permitted to make decisions about anything for so long. Not about what to eat, what to wear, what to read, what to do. Savi began shaking. Suddenly being expected to make all of the decisions about her life scared the living hell out of her.
First decision—she needed to sleep a while. She'd figure out what else to do later about all the other things she'd need to decide.
She needed to regain her power. But how could she regain something she'd never had in the first place?
* * *
Que idiota soy.
A real fucking moron. Why hadn't he realized it sooner? Marisol looked just like Teresa. He'd noticed it before and still hadn't put it together. But at San Miguel's, she'd said she was in the third grade. His daughter could only be seven. He'd just assumed Savi must have already had a daughter when he'd met her, or maybe she was pregnant and not showing yet. Hell, he knew next to nothing about her then—or now.
Marisol must have started school earlier than most kids. Or skipped a grade. She was certainly smart enough.
So, why hadn't Savi told him?
Mierda. She'd even named their daughter for the memory of where she'd been conceived. Sea and sun. How better to describe Thousand Steps Beach and their perfect day there?
Unfortunately, this wasn't the time or place to discuss it, but he would get the answers he wanted—soon.
As he drove through the downtown Denver area to the clinic Marc had referred them to, Savi remained quiet, looking out the passenger-side window. He hoped Marc's doctor friend wouldn't discover any serious injuries. He gripped the steering wheel as rage seethed to the surface. How could anyone hurt a vulnerable woman like that?
His woman.
Well, not anymore. Hell, not ever, if he wanted to be honest. Only in his dreams. They'd only been together one day. Best day of his fucking life. A day he could never have again. Not the way he was now. He'd only hurt her, and he wouldn't hurt Savi for anything. She'd been through enough already.
Less than ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot. Lights were on in the front of the clinic building; Marc's red Porsche was parked beside a Ford Focus station wagon. Savi was out of the car before he could make it around to the passenger door, so Damián focused his attention on getting the blanket-wrapped Marisol out of her seatbelt. Awake now, she wriggled her hands free, reached up, and placed her tiny arms around his neck, tugging at his heart as no one ever had before—not even Teresa or José.
Could this little doll really be of his blood?
How could he process that kind of intel? Better to wait until he and Savi had a chance to talk. Alone. Damián lifted Marisol, blanket and all, out of the car, ignoring the pain in his stump. He kicked the door closed and followed behind Savi, noticing her slim legs encased in the skin-tight jeans. Hard to stay angry when just looking at her made him want to jump her bones. Again. At the door, he met Savi's gaze. The hitch in her breath as she pulled the heavy door open wrenched his gut and wiped away all carnal thoughts. He needed to get Savi checked out—fast. They'd discuss Marisol's parentage later.
Inside the waiting room, the inner door to the exam rooms swung open and Marc stood there in pale green scrubs. Damián did a double take at the get-up.
Marc grinned. "I'm assisting tonight."
Apparently, his buddy loved the idea of being in corpsma
n mode again. He wondered why Marc hadn't pursued a career in medicine or healthcare when he'd gotten back from Iraq, rather than going into an outdoor-adventure outfitter business. Then again, Marc volunteered in search and rescue, which probably enabled him to make use of his corpsman skills, too.
Marc looked from Damián to Marisol's face, then back at Damián. He quirked an eyebrow, then grinned. Mierda. His buddy was drawing conclusions Damián wasn't ready to acknowledge yet. Hell, he didn't even know for sure himself.
Yes, you do.
Yeah. He did. But he wasn't going to discuss it with Marc before he talked to Savi. He turned to find she had halted in the doorway and was looking warily at Marc. Damián adjusted his bundle, which wasn't nearly as heavy now that she was awake. Her tiny arms and hands held onto his neck as if she didn't want to let him go.
He just wished her mama would trust him like that again someday. Memories of Savi's body plastered against his back as they rode up the Pacific Coast Highway, and those of him carrying her to the beach cave, flooded him. His dick grew hard just thinking about her lying on the…
Focus, Chico.
"Savi, this is the friend I told you about. Marc D'Alessio, meet Savi Baker. She's from my neighborhood back in California." Marc walked toward Savi and held out his hand. She paused only a few seconds before reaching out to take his hand briefly, then pulled back.
"Pleased to meet you, Savi. Looks like you've been in a bit of a scuffle." A shadow passed over Marc's face. Damián figured Marc was probably thinking about when Angelina had been attacked by some asshole who fancied himself a Dom. Abuser, more like it.
Self-consciously, Savi raised her hand to the right side of her face to hide her cheek, but showed no sign of being in pain. In fact, she'd barely shown any discomfort. Either the woman's pain tolerance was through the roof, or her injuries weren't too serious. He hoped, the latter.
Nobody's Perfect Page 4