Next, a photo of her singing in the choir, with Father Martine in jeans and a T-shirt directing what must be a practice. Savannah, singing her heart out, belly still large with Marisol.
Damián flipped the page and tunnel vision blocked everything but the photo of Savannah holding a wet and naked Marisol, umbilical cord still attached. Marisol didn't look too happy and Savannah, her baby tucked between her bare breasts, seemed to be shushing her, a hand against the back of Marisol's head. A rush of unexpected tears flooded his eyes, and he looked up to make sure Savannah wasn’t awake. He dashed them away, only to have many more follow. What the fuck was the matter with him?
Aw, hell. Who was he kidding? Himself. If he'd been there to watch Marisol enter the world, he'd probably have cried his eyes out then, too. He looked at the photo again. This had to be very close to the moment of Marisol's birth. Perhaps her very first photo. He should have been there taking the photos and holding his two beautiful girls close. His chest ached at all he'd missed.
There were a number of other photos taken in the delivery room, after Marisol had been cleaned up and bundled into a yellow blanket, and later ones showing Savannah in a nightgown with the snaps undone, holding Marisol's tiny rosebud mouth to her nipple as she nursed their tiny daughter. Something coiled deep in his gut. She'd told him she'd nursed their baby, but seeing the picture pointed out one more thing he'd missed out on.
He turned more pages in the album, savoring each glimpse into the past he hadn't shared with them. He watched his daughter being baptized, celebrating her first birthday, dressed as a princess for Halloween, carrying an Ariel-mermaid backpack on what might have been her first day of school, holding up a tooth and a dollar and wearing a big toothless grin. More tears flooded his eyes. He didn't even bother to hide them anymore.
Savannah had been forced to do everything on her own. He'd never known a woman stronger than she was. Many young, single girls would have given away an unplanned baby, not chosen to make the sacrifices it took for one child, essentially, to raise another—all alone.
Not Savannah. She'd devoted her entire being to making a safer, better life for her daughter.
Their daughter.
He hadn't been there for either of them. Now that he had his girls in his life, what could he offer them? He'd probably just lost his job again for going after Savannah and missing work. There was always the possibility the two shitheads in custody right now would squeal, sending Damián to jail himself for using Third-World torture tactics on them.
How could he offer them a stable life? Besides, Savannah would probably want to get her old job back at the clinic eventually and return to Southern California. Of course, he had family ties here, too, but he'd chosen to make his home in Denver. Initially, he'd had little choice. When Adam had visited him in the hospital and told him in no uncertain terms he was going to move in with him and join him in opening the club, like it or lump it, the choice had been taken from him. Good thing, because the only choice he'd been capable of after Fallujah was whether he lived or died. He'd already made that decision and wouldn't have survived much longer than the next day.
Of course, he didn't need Dad now the way he had back then, but he liked having the man near. Damián could talk about the demons with Dad more than he could anyone else. He wouldn't burden Savannah with stories about Fallujah. Yeah, there were telephones, and it was a short flight or a two-day drive between the two places, so if he decided to give up living near Dad so he could be close to his daughter—and Savannah, if she'd have him—he'd do it in a minute.
No fucking way could he let either of his girls out of his life this time.
"What are you looking at?"
Savannah's voice was husky from sleep and pain meds and sounded sexy as sin. His dick stirred as Damián looked up to find Savannah with a worried look on her face. Embarrassed, more by his tears than his hard-on, he stood and turned away, surreptitiously wiping his tears away as he laid the photo album on the loveseat and walked over to sit in the chair by her bed.
"Anita brought me a photo album of you and Marisol."
Savannah smiled weakly, still looking a little doped up. "She was always taking pictures. I'm glad she did, though." Her voice grew even huskier. "My life started just before that album began, just like Marisol's did. We love looking at the pictures in the album she gave me. I guess she kept some prints for herself, too."
Damián bent down and kissed Savannah lightly on the lips, then leaned away to look into her eyes. "Thank you for keeping our baby. Thank you for taking such good care of her and yourself."
Tears filled Savannah's eyes. Jesús, they sparkled like sapphires when she teared up.
"I made so many mistakes…"
To still her negative words, Damián placed a finger on her lips and also calmed her quavering chin. "You survived, and you made a good life for the two of you. Don't let me ever hear you put down what you did. Nobody's perfect, mi sueño, but you're about as close to perfection as I've ever known." Would he ever be able to get her to see herself the way he did?
His eyes burned, and he leaned his forehead against hers, hoping to hide his tears, but one tear fell from his eye and splashed onto her face. Busted.
"If you tell anyone Damián Orlando cried, I'll do a zipper line on you with plastic clothespins that will hurt like hell—and I'll spare nothing but your most tender parts."
Savannah's laugh bubbled up and out. He smiled. God, he could live on nothing but her laugh for the rest of his life and never need anything more. Well, except maybe a bit of Marisol's giggle for dessert.
If only Savannah would say yes to a messed-up man like him, but he couldn't ask until he found a way to support his family. He needed to call the shop.
But what if she wanted to stay here in California? Well, he could find a new place to work out here. Maybe he'd line up jobs in both places. Hedge his bets.
He wouldn't risk having Savannah and Marisol out of his life ever again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
"I've waited over a month for tonight's date, mi sueño."
Damián placed a kiss on her cheek, and she shivered as memories of the abduction and all that had happened since then flashed through her mind. They almost hadn't gotten to go on this date at all.
She still couldn't believe Maman was dead. As he'd promised, Damián had hired someone with ground-penetrating radar to search the estate in Rancho Santa Fe. It had taken hours, but they'd found her body, buried alongside that of an unknown male. Savi presumed him to be the man Maman had been with on the beach the day she'd been murdered. There had never been a missing-person's report on her, because Father had convinced everyone she'd run off with her lover.
Two weeks ago, Savannah made sure Maman was given a proper burial at the cemetery in Oceanside. Once John had been identified from a missing person's report, the man's sister had said the two had been together in death this long and should remain together, so he'd been buried beside her. Father Martine had conducted a beautiful funeral Mass and graveside service for them.
Her father had confessed to both murders and pled guilty by reason of insanity, probably hoping the courts would be lenient. She planned to return to California to attend his competency hearing and sentencing to make sure he got the maximum prison term possible.
Lyle maintained his innocence, so she'd have to keep track of his trial dates, as well. The DA assured her she would be notified whenever anything moved on either case, but Anita also promised to keep close tabs on their cases. Savi didn't want anything to fall through the cracks. She'd do whatever she could to make them pay for the rest of their lives for what they'd done to her, Maman, and Maman's friend, John. This would go a long way toward finding closure on this time in her life and peace of mind to enable her to move forward.
Maman's former attorney had produced the will her mother had drawn up a month before she'd been murdered. Maman had left nothing to her father and everything to Savannah. She'd been surprised to learn
that the hotel her father owned had actually belonged to Maman's parents until her grandmother died and it was willed to Maman.
The mansion that was her prison for so many years was listed with a real-estate firm at a price Savi hoped would get someone to jump at it quickly, but the media coverage probably would have to die down before anyone but the curiosity seekers looked at the place. The salacious details of what her father and Lyle had done to her and her mother made fodder for the news channels every night for weeks.
She'd also put the hotel in La Jolla up for sale. The sooner she could sever all ties with the settings of her sordid past, the better. She never wanted to return to either of those places again.
Of course, money wasn't going to be an issue for her and Mari ever again. However, Savi didn't want to be saddled with the responsibility for so much money, especially money her father had been managing for almost two decades. Still, she needed to be practical. The money wasn't really her father's, but Maman's, and Mari deserved better than for her mother to have to scrape together money to buy new shoes or jeans, the way she'd had to all these years.
On the plus side, she could do a lot of good with her newfound millions. She wouldn't spend it on an extravagant house. She wanted to keep hers and Mari's lives stable and normal, whatever that was.
"Sure you're up to this tonight, bebé? The scene I have planned for when we get back to the club will be emotionally intense, but not physically demanding."
If it would take her mind off the traumas of the past month, then bring it.
"I'm ready to move on, Damián. And I've been looking forward to our date, too."
In recent weeks, she'd healed physically from the kidnapping and beating. Knowing her father and Lyle could never touch her again also had helped heal her frightened, battered spirit. Before leaving California, Savi had spoken with the new District Attorney for the county, one who didn't seem to be on her father's payroll, and gave her a complete accounting of what these two monsters had been responsible for doing over the years, right up to last month's kidnapping and well-documented abuse.
Damián stroked her arm, bringing her back to the bedroom at Adam and Karla's. "Strip everything off. I only want you wearing the clothes in this bag. I was going to lay everything out, but, well, I didn't get that far."
He handed her a pink-and-silver striped shopping bag from the popular mall lingerie store. She was supposed to wear lingerie in public?
"Meet me in the kitchen. You have ten minutes."
Without waiting for her response, he walked out of the room and down the hall. Savi opened the bag and pulled out the first article of clothing she found inside. If it could be called clothing.
"Holy shit." Hot pants. Neon-pink hot pants. Was he serious? Next, she pulled out a matching hot-pink tank top with spaghetti-straps. It, too, left nothing to the imagination. She laid the articles on the bed, still not believing he expected her to wear this on a date. She looked back inside the bag. No bra. Then she realized the tank had built-in cups, which must have been why he'd asked for her size.
Memories of the scene with Damián she'd visualized in the beach cave while her father was beating her flashed in her mind and she wondered if they ever would make love there, or anywhere else, again.
But no way could she dress like this in public. Her scarred arm would be exposed for everyone to see. Damián knew about her history of cutting, and so did anyone who'd seen her strip in the great room downstairs, but who else would see her when they went out to eat or wherever else he took her?
She picked up the short shorts and knew they would barely cover her butt cheeks. No panties.
No effing way. How could he make pink look so…dirty?
Dirty little slut.
Is that what he wanted her to look like? What he wanted her to dress like when he took her out?
Savi's heart pounded. "I can't do this."
Trust him.
Surely Damián wouldn't intentionally degrade or humiliate her. He was always so protective and caring. There must be a very good reason why he wanted her to dress like a slut.
Trust him.
Savi reached up and unbuttoned her blouse. When she laid the sedate, navy-blue, long-sleeved blouse next to the hot-pink one, she had another bout of nerves.
She never wore clothes that would attract attention to herself. To her body.
Where could he possibly take her dressed like this? Well, there was one saving grace. They were in Denver and it was still early spring. She'd at least get to wear her coat. Surely.
Trust him.
Savi removed her bra and picked up the pink tank, slipping it over her head. She tried to push her boobs into the tank's bra, but they spilled over. Hadn't he heard her tell him her bra size? Or had he undersized it intentionally.
Rat bastard.
The top didn't cover much of her belly. Even after tugging it down, she couldn't cover her stretch marks. She knew without even putting them on that the hip-hugging shorts wouldn't reach up that far, adding to her embarrassment.
But the clock was ticking and she'd dallied long enough. She shimmied out of her jeans and panties, pulled on the shorts, and walked to the dresser mirror.
He'd made a point of calling her Savannah again, since she'd come back to Denver. He'd also insisted she dye her hair the original blonde until it could grow out in that color again. For the first time in years, when she looked in the mirror, she saw Savannah Gentry, not Savi Baker.
You're a dirty slut, Savannah.
Her nipples jutted against the thin fabric. Oh dear lord. Thank God Mari was with Angelina at Damián's apartment. She hoped Karla and Adam wouldn't see her before they left the house.
Slut.
She squeezed her eyes closed. "I can't do this."
"Yes, you can."
Savannah jumped and turned to find Damián standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb. She hadn't even heard the door open. She raised her hands, one to cover her breasts, the other her belly.
"Hands at your sides. Don't ever hide your beautiful body from me, Savannah."
Her nipples grew even larger under his slow scrutiny of her body. The urge to continue to cover herself was off the charts, but his glare forced her hands to her sides. She clenched her fists as he stared at her.
Dirty slut.
Bile rose in her throat. She began shaking and cast a furtive glance at the bathroom door, wondering if she could make it there before she got sick.
"Savannah. I asked you a question."
Her gaze returned to his. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't hear you, Sir."
"I asked if you were ready."
"Ready for what, Sir?"
He walked across the room to stand in front of her and said, "Ready to submit to me tonight?"
She swallowed hard. How much would he demand of her tonight? She knew something profound was going to happen, she just didn't know how far he'd push her. "How much of myself do I need to submit?"
He reached out to tweak her hard nipple. "Definitely your body." She sucked in air and stepped away, but found her pink-clad butt pressed against the dresser.
He raised his hand to the side of her face, and his finger grazed her temple. "Your mind." Her mind was mush at the moment; he could have it.
Then his finger blazed a trail down her check, her neck, over the exposed swell of her protruding breast, until it rested in the cleft between her breasts, which seemed more prominent. He didn't state the obvious.
Savannah shook her head as her heart thumped against his finger. Falling in love would mean he would want to have sex. "I can't go that far."
He grinned, but his eyes held a hint of sadness. "We'll start with your body and mind, then. The other will follow when the time is right, and you feel secure enough."
He placed his hands on her upper arms, one thumb covering some of the old razor-mark scars, and pulled her toward him. Her gaze lowered to his lips, and she expected him to kiss her. Too intimate. Before she
had a chance to pull back, he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and then he let go and took a step back.
"Present yourself."
The military order always made her think he was on some kind of military-fantasy trip, but one look at her hot-pink tank top and she knew no soldier ever would wear this kind of uniform.
She clasped her elbows behind her back and her boobs threatened to spill out of the tank top. Her face heated.
He cupped each of her breasts, then bent to place a kiss on the top of each mound. His mustache tickled her skin and goose bumps rose on her chest. He stood again and stared at her face. "Very pretty."
His praise sent a pool of warmth to settle in her abdomen. She wanted him to think she was pretty.
He stepped back from her. "Two steps forward." She took one normal step, then realized another would plaster her flat against his broad chest. She took a smaller one.
He grinned and walked in a circle around her, inspecting her. When he was behind her, he patted her on the butt, his hand caressing her bare cheeks hanging out below the shorts.
I can't do this.
"Beautiful."
Damián bent to whisper in her ear. "At ease, mamacita." The words sent a shiver down her spine into her pelvis.
As if she would ever feel at ease around him, especially dressed like this.
"Time to go."
After putting on a silver cross necklace she'd found in Maman's jewelry box for comfort, she slipped into a pair of brown flats that didn't go with the outfit, but they were all she had.
A few minutes later, Savi preceded him down the stairs and into the kitchen. Someone whistled a cat-call, making her cringe inside. She looked up to find Adam with a huge grin on his face. "You look beautiful tonight, Savannah."
She came to a halt. Damián had everyone calling her Savannah now, probably trying to get her to think of herself as Savannah, too. Savannah hated the flood of repressed memories that had nearly overwhelmed her when she'd first accepted that Savannah wasn't dead.
Nobody's Perfect Page 42