Masters at Arms (Rescue Me Saga, #0.5)(21)

“Shhh. It’s okay.” The man on the bed—Damián—reached out a hand to her, but she pulled her body away. He let his hand come to rest on the mattress between them, as if he were training a dog to get used to him by small degrees. His brown skin contrasted sharply with the white sheets. Exotic. So different from the men who could afford her.

No, he wasn’t her client. That she knew. So who was he? She shivered and returned his gaze, seeing regret, pity. She didn’t want or need anyone’s pity.

“I don’t know you.”

“I work here at the hotel.”

Oh, Lord! The bus boy! She remembered him from the restaurant. How had she come to be in bed with him? Had anything happened? Clearly, she’d zoned out. Had he forced himself on her while her mind was out of her body?

No. The concern in the man’s warm-chocolate eyes told her he wasn’t a threat. She didn’t think so, anyway. His pupils were so large, his eyes almost looked black. Her instincts regarding men were more than a little warped. Still, something began to melt inside her. The image of him barging into the room last night carrying a…a fire extinguisher? She tried to keep from smiling, but couldn’t help herself. So incongruous with the type of rescue she’d needed.

Damián raised an eyebrow, then smiled back. His white teeth against a bronzed face sent a flock of swallows to flight inside her stomach. She giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, barging in here last night carrying that ridiculous fire extinguisher.”

“Someone yelled ‘fire.’”

“Well, I read once that no one comes when you yell rape.”

His face grew serious. “They didn’t—?”

She shook her head. “No. Against the rules.” Tears stung the backs of her eyelids. “No one’s ever come to my rescue before.” She turned away. Don’t let him get inside your head, Savi. This stranger was even more dangerous than the sadists. He made her feel vulnerable. She needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to keep the walls of her fortress intact.

Until she could get home and put her final plan into motion, she’d do well to remember that men weren’t safe or honorable.

But Damián had held her for hours without taking advantage of her. Amazing man.

She looked back at him. “Thank you.”

“De nada.”

Then she realized what his actions had cost him. “Oh, God. Your job.”

A bus boy probably needed every paycheck just to survive. She assessed him. He wore a polo uniform shirt—which he filled out better than any polo she’d ever seen—and inexpensive black jeans.

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. But she doubted he was truly that nonchalant. He’d be fired, if he hadn’t been already, all because of her. Unfair. Yet another victim of her father’s and Lyle’s ruthlessness. His face blurred as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”

He leaned closer. She didn’t back away this time, but her heart began beating faster.

“I’d do it again,” he whispered. “No regrets, Savannah. No one should hurt you like that.”

She closed her eyelids and swallowed. Damián’s fingertip brushed away a tear that rolled from the corner of her eye. His hand felt warm against her chilled skin. A jolt of electricity zapped her clit—and not the kind of zap the sadists had delivered, either. Her eyes opened wider. No man had ever caused a sexual response in her.

When he pulled his hand back, she fought the urge to lean toward him. How could she feel so safe with this stranger?

Dangerous. She needed to get away before he got under her skin. She instinctively knew that opening herself up to his kindness would just result in even more intense pain when she left him to return to Master. Her life, her body, were not hers.

“I have to get home.”

Savannah didn’t know what would happen when she got there. Her father would be furious when Lyle told him what she’d done. She looked around the room. Where was the camera? Were they watching her even now? Her skin crawled. Were they waiting for Damián to leave so they could whisk her back to her prison on the hill in Rancho? Her failure would be severely punished.

Again, for a man who espoused no regrets, she did see regret in Damián’s eyes. “Why don’t you get dressed? I need to go clean out my locker. Can you meet me in the lobby in twenty?”

“Sure.” She pushed the sheet aside, but groaned at the pain of moving.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “My legs are sore.”

“Damn. Let me run downstairs and get the first-aid kit.”

“No, really! I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone but me. I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t wait for her to agree, just left the room. She hobbled over on her sore feet and locked the door behind him, then went to the bathroom to relieve herself. She then washed her thighs with soapy water. At least there weren’t any open cuts. Just red welts. She rinsed the washcloth and wiped her legs free of soap, then heard a knock at the door. Her heart thudded until she heard a familiar voice.

“It’s Damián!”

She grabbed a towel and went to the door to let him back inside. He administered first-aid efficiently, as if he was used to taking care of others.