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~ Damian ~
I don’t know who’s more consumed with terrified panic.
Cara wildly dashes along the railing, frantically searching for an easier path down that wouldn’t undoubtedly snap her neck. Salt water stings my eyes as she throws her arms over the frozen rail. There’s nothing but sharp rocks and vast, unforgiving sea.
There isn’t time to weigh my options. The idiotic girl is about to get herself killed.
I slam into her body. A scream slashes out of her. We crash with a smack and oomph onto the powdery terrace floor. Instantly her knee lurches up for a brutal connection to my groin. I shift in the last second to have it ramming my thigh. Without hesitation she’s going for my eyes with her nails when Ivan abruptly snatches her wrists and shoves them above her head. We’re both panting hard enough to drown out the sea. With all that she is she heaves against me, her tormentor, her delicate body writhing and twisting, but I hold on fast, livid with curses.
“Get the fucking rope!”
At my urgent bark, she shrieks, “Noooo!”
I flinch at the untamed holler in my face. “Scream all you want,” I bite out through my teeth. “There isn’t a soul for miles that will give a shit.”
I’m still holding her down, my much larger frame crushing her from chest to toes, but another pair of hands deftly wraps the nylon on her already chafed wrists.
“Get Barbara in here,” I bark at Ivan. The terrace ground jostles beneath me as heavy feet troop away. “You’re going to get frost bite. You will behave yourself, do you understand me?” I begin once we’re alone, panting with lingering panic and fright. “I have no intentions of killing you. Do as you’re told and you’ll be fine. Nod to let me know you understand.”
Harsh shivers rack her body, from the seaside chill on terrified flesh, from her dismal predicament, and the layers of snow beneath her. Guilt like I never experienced blankets me, weighs me down, and my thumbs attempt to rub comforting circles on her unsuspecting forearms, made bare by the sleeves that had ridden up in the tussle. It takes her several excruciating beats, but she finally nods. I can’t very well assure her I’ll let her go unharmed, not when I haven’t decided on her story about how the little busser in the rundown café found her way to my wallet.
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice is harsh from screaming, stark from turmoil and fear.
I don’t answer her. Frustrated beyond words, my gaze flutters from her damp cheeks, the snow clinging to disheveled hair, to the beads still sticking to her lashes, before finally lingering on that delicious-looking mouth.
Something stirs in me, wrapping me in amble heat. Her skin is smooth but cold, her body soft in all the right places. I watched her for over a year before I had to leave for Finland, wanting her for just as long. Had wondered, quite vividly, what she looked like beneath the plain garb of Café Love.
“Mr. Delevan?”
A small, uncertain female voice protrudes into our cocoon. I turn to meet the newcomer. “Barbara, please assist Ms. Candlewood.” From her astonished look, my housekeeper is clearly in gaping shock to find me strapping down a powerless, crying woman on the terrace. “Get her some clean clothes.”
A jittery hesitation, the simple question heavy in the thrashing air. “Of course. Wou...” She has to clear her throat and try again. “Would you like me to prepare a warm bath for her?”
I hear my own teeth grinding. “Do that. And get me a robe.” Cara is shaking so hard under me, I’m rattling.
“Yes, sir.”
I refocus on the trembling, petrified woman. “You will clean up and put on the clothes. Barbara will stay with you in case you need anything. Then we’ll—“
“To stand guard over me, you mean.”
One of my palms skids down her arm, smoothing over her elbow, then cup her jaw. “Don’t interrupt me.” But it was a murmur, faint and light. “Do as you’re told, Cara, don’t forget.”
“Here you go, Mr. Delevan.”
“Give us a minute, Barbara,” I instruct without removing my gaze from my captive. “Just leave the robe on the lounger. But don’t go far. Ms. Candlewood will require your assistance.”
“Of course.” Subtly padded footsteps progressively retreat.
“Can you stand?”
Even with her tentative nod, I help her to her wobbly feet. I drape the thick white robe over her small, shivering shoulders. She clutches at the lapels gratefully with her bound hands, the hem of the thick garment dangling nearly to her ankles. She looks like a little girl playing dress-up in the oversized garment, effectively making me feel like a fucking heel.
“I can’t do as I’m told if I can’t use my hands,” she reasons and holds out the offense in question. Since her wrists are still tied in front of her, she can’t actually wear the robe.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I remind her warily and fish out the pocket blade to liberate her limbs for the second time in twenty minutes.
It must feel good to have blood flowing freely through her once again, I figure as she wiggles her fingers. She sighs in relief and stuff first one arm, then the other, through the terrycloth sleeves.
She eyes me warily. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Get you inside before you lose your toes to the elements.” She keeps asking me that, yet I don’t have a ready answer. I’m kind of winging it as I go, a first for me. “Beyond that, it’s not for you to worry about.”
Cara stares at me but doesn’t say anything.
If Paige Zine finds out I’ve had her friend snatched right off the streets, drugged, and held against her will, she’s going to kick me in the balls, each one separately and repeatedly. I have bigger plans for those, and it doesn’t include her trying to twist them off me.
I tip my head to indicate she should precede me back in. She doesn’t hesitate but immediately shuffles back the way she ran. There are no means of escape from the terrace, and I’m sure plunging to her death when she’s not in the midst of a panic attack holds no appeal.
Once we’re back inside, I give Barbara instructions to get her whatever she needs. The pointed look I convey to my household staff screams don’t let her out of your sight.
I receive a discreet nod in response.
With one last heavy look at Cara, I leave her in Barbara’s capable hands.
A few minutes. I need a few fucking minutes to let the trembles subside.
Shit, but that woman scared me brainless back there.
Ivan is waiting for me in my office. Not wanting him to see just terribly Cara affected me, I let the door ease shut behind me and claim my seat behind the desk, waking my laptop.
“What have you found out so far?” I ask Ivan without removing my eyes from my secure email.
“Not much. It’s almost like she’s been in hiding for the last thirteen years, with not even a social media account. Perhaps she assumed another identity?”
“Since ten?” I ask incredulously. “She said she was displaced. It would be just like my father to put someone off the streets on his payroll. I certainly wouldn’t see it coming.”
My father wouldn’t have known about my preoccupation with the diner girl, though. It’s true I patronized the dumpy place on a weekly basis until last year, but that could’ve been for a number of reasons.
As though reading my thoughts, Ivan disputes, “But she works at that little shithole diner.”
“A diner that’s near Elle.”
“A place you go to often.”
“Exactly.” Tapping on the screen, I begin a new email. Ivan keeps to himself while I pound out a quick message. “Dig deeper,” I tell him as soon as I send it off. “But tread carefully. She’s closely acquainted with Colin Kutter’s fiancée, Paige Zine. They used to work together at that diner. In fact,” I add with a mental curse, “she’s her maid of honor.”
Ivan’s bushy brows furrow. “Really?” He falls into quiet contemplation for a beat. “It’s odd. You had a good chunk of change in that wallet. She didn’t help herself to even one penny.”
“Why’s that odd?”
A hint of humor touches his otherwise strict expression. “I know a few thousand dollars cash is mere pocket lint for you, but for most people, they wouldn’t turn it down. For someone who claimed to have nothing to go out of her way to return the wallet? I find that hard to believe.”
“She said she was tempted but was more afraid of being caught. Maybe she was hoping for a reward.”
“Which she refused. Besides, that angle would’ve depended on too many unknowns–actually being offered a reward and the amount–whereas helping herself to the ones already in your wallet would’ve been guaranteed. No one would’ve known.”
I ponder over that for a second. “Some people can’t be bought,” I counter.
He snorts. “If that’s the case, why do we suspect she works for your father? Everyone has a price tag, Double D. It just depends on the number of zeros.”
“I knew who she was,” I reveal. The big man doesn’t appear surprised I’m confirming his earlier suspicion. Perhaps he’s known all along. “Have known about her for a while, though we never exchanged one word up until yesterday. I was aware her name was Cara, but I never had a reason to inquire about her full name.” I wasn’t ready to make a move, had too many personal baggage I could barely handle. “Was it too much of a coincidence that she was the one who found my wallet?” I muse out loud. “Or was it fate?”
“I don’t believe in fate.”
“What do you believe in?”
“Facts. Evidence.”
I shake my head. “You’re more cynical than me.”
He only shrugs. “Tis the season. Speaking of seasoned, that other matter you wanted me to look into. I sent the files to your email.”
My exhale is audible. “I saw it.” And wasn’t in the mood to shop.
“I’ve narrowed it down to three women,” he continues when I didn’t elaborate. “I’m leaning toward candidate number two myself. Fucking hot. She’d give you good looking kids.”
“I don’t need hot. I need healthy.”
“She looked healthy to me.”
“Were you looking at her file or her tits?”
That earns me a chuckle. “Is there a difference?”
“If you have to ask, I don’t think I want to review the files.
“Relax. We’ve only been back in the States for a couple of weeks. If you don’t like the three, we’ll keep looking. You want some coffee?” he wants to know while pulling out his phone. “I’ll ping Barbara.”
“She’s busy with Cara.”
“I wouldn’t mind looking at that,” he comments as he stuffs his phone back in his pocket. “Gorgeous.”
“Barbara?”
He slants me a look. “You know I was talking about your little waitress.”
“Busser.
“Whatever.” He waves that off. “I saw the way you were eye-fucking her. Maybe I’ll make her candidate number four. Hell, why not hire all of them, just in case.”
“You want me to knock up four women? You have a lot of faith in me.”
“That’s not faith. That’s every man’s fantasy.”
I laugh at that. “Need I remind you this isn’t some harem gone wild arrangement? There wouldn’t be sex involved.”
“Why the hell would you turn that down?” he jests. “At least let me live vicariously through you.”
“I want a child, Ivan, not a woman. I can’t have the first without the latter, but I’m only keeping one. In vitro. Surrogate. That guarantees the woman won’t have any rights other than what she’s entitled to in her bank account. It’s business for her. Nothing more.”
“I still say you should do it the old fashion way. It’s more fun, that’s for sure, and we all know you need to get laid good after the last year.”
No one has ever labeled chemotherapy fun. What I haven’t shared with Ivan is that I’ve been warned. I might have difficulty conceiving for a while, not with the brutal treatment ending so recently. My body is still adjusting, recovering. I might not be able to produce naturally, but medical science has a way of working with deficiencies, and I’m not taking any chances with my body, fun or not.
Adding Cara to the list. I haven’t reviewed the candidates yet, but no way would she be number four.
She’d be at the top of the list.
Do it the old fashion way, as Ivan just suggested.
That gets my mind going.
The old fashion way with Cara. Have her carry my child.
The tempting thought sends a lightning bolt zipping through my spine.
Would she agree? Being a surrogate is one thing, actually conceiving a baby in the manner in which a man and a woman were designed, I can’t argue that definitely beats in-vitro.
Haven’t I thought about it? Quietly. Secretly. Each time I was at Café love, studying her, considering her.
She’s stunning. Hot, as Ivan keeps reminding me.
More. There’s more to her, something about her that keeps doggedly reeling me back, yet she barely paid attention to me, probably didn’t know me from every other customer at the diner. A more seasoned woman in her position would immediately latch onto my not-so-subtle interest, panting for an opening into the life of a senator’s son.
My wallet, she might’ve been tempted for a second, but she returned it with the money intact. Why would she accept an offer to have my baby?
But as Ivan boldly reminded me a few minutes ago, everyone has a price tag.