At Marisa’s expression he smiled, buoyed a little at what he hoped might be jealousy. ‘Why wouldn’t I? I’m only human.’
‘I’m not judging.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not ashamed of enjoying success. My priority was always to plough back profits into the business and have enough capital to optimise any opportunity. That’s how I moved from running errands to being a tourist guide and then owner of a tour company. We became known for delivering the best vacation experiences, taking people to places others couldn’t or wouldn’t.
‘As the profits grew, my interests spread across a range of ventures. I’d always had a taste for clean clothes and comfortable housing and saw no reason not to indulge myself.’
He watched Marisa digest that. ‘Along the way I developed an interest in modern art, possibly from visiting so many galleries. When I got money, I bought pieces I liked. Just as I bought cars and houses that appealed.’
Damaso paused, remembering her accusation. ‘I’d never considered it before but you’re right. I prefer to own beautiful things. I feel no need for external reminders of where and how I grew up. I’m surrounded by others who share similar memories, even if we don’t speak of them.’
Marisa was silent for a moment. ‘Ernesto?’
Damaso nodded. ‘And Beatriz. All my personal staff. I didn’t know them when I was a kid, but they come from similar places.’
‘No wonder they think the world of you. You’ve given them the chance they needed.’
He shrugged. It was easy to lend a hand when you had his advantages. Marisa made it sound like he was some sort of saviour of the slums.
He thought of her dog, rescued from a similar place, and winced. Marisa had hit the nail on the head. Whenever he looked at her petting that mutt, it highlighted the gulf between her and him: the refined princess and the rough-and-ready slum kid.
‘Damaso? What is it? You’re holding me so tight.’
Instantly he eased his grip. But he didn’t let her go. Anxiety clutched his belly. He’d never spoken about his childhood. But if he wanted to keep Marisa...
‘You think I can’t bear to be reminded of where I came from, but I carry it in my bones.’
He wanted to leave it at that but Marisa needed more. At the same time, he realised this wasn’t just about easing her fears. She’d cared enough to wonder about his past, not just now, but before this. How many had done that?
Pleasure and horror surged.
‘Tell me.’
He let her hands go and stood, turning towards the city vista.
‘I barely remember my mother and I have no idea who my father was. I didn’t have a real home. I lived...’ He swallowed and forced himself to go on. ‘You’ve seen photos of ragged kids scavenging on garbage heaps? That was me.’
Suddenly he was there again, the odours pungent in the rain, the ground slippery mud and worse beneath his feet, his saturated clothes sticking to his skinny body.
Damaso felt movement and realised she’d come to stand beside him.
‘Later there were charity hand-outs, but my main memory is the pain of an empty belly. All day, every night.’ He blinked and the images before his eyes resolved into the downtown cityscape.
Marisa’s hand slipped into his and his fingers closed around it. Strange how good that touch felt.
‘You think I overestimate the danger for you. Maybe I do.’ The admission cost him. Every instinct urged him to keep Marisa and their child away from there. ‘But where I grew up...’ He lifted tight shoulders. ‘I saw too much violence to take safety for granted.’
‘Those knife scars,’ she said, her voice soft.
Damaso nodded. He refused to tell her the details of gang rivalries, drug dealing and more. ‘I saw death up close too often. I was lucky to get out when I did. A lot of kids didn’t. The neighbourhood you visit is much safer than mine, but something inside me screams out every time you go there.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She leaned against him, her weight warming his side.
‘But you still want to help those children.’ His mouth twisted. He hated her being there but how could he be anything but proud and moved that she wanted to help?
‘You think I’m being selfish?’ Her face turned up to his and he read her doubt.
‘I think you’re a wonderful, warm-hearted woman and I want you in my life.’ He turned and put his arms around her, pulling her close.
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. Your social status and bloodline never mattered to me. I take people as I find them— rich, poor or in between.’ He lifted her face so she looked into his eyes. ‘I want you for purely personal reasons and I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. Understood?’
For long seconds she watched him silently then she stood on tiptoe and whispered against his mouth. ‘Understood.’
The look in her eyes made his heart swell.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘YOU LOOK STUNNING.’ Damaso surveyed her appreciatively. From the top of her golden head to her jewelled stilettos, she was perfection.
Covertly he searched for some evidence of her pregnancy but even after several months she still appeared trim and taut. He looked forward to the day when it would be obvious she was pregnant.
Possessiveness raked familiar talons through his insides. He didn’t want to share Marisa. He wanted to keep her with him, away from the men who slavered after her wherever she went.
‘Why, thank you.’ She twirled, her multi-coloured dress flaring high, revealing toned legs, lightly tanned and delectable. His groin tightened as he thought of some of the things he’d prefer to do with the evening.
But this was her night.
‘I have something for you.’ His voice was gruff. He told himself that just because she’d refused to accept anything but hospitality from him didn’t mean she’d refuse this. He reached for the slim leather case on the bedside table. She was so stubbornly independent, who knew how she’d react?
Damaso forced a smile, feeling tense muscles stretch. What was wrong with him? He’d given women gifts before, casually lavish presents that had meant little.
But this wasn’t casual. This he’d chosen personally, had had it designed specifically for Marisa.
He watched her eyebrows arch as she recognised the distinctive logo of one of the world’s top jewellery designers.
‘There was no need.’ She made no move to reach for it and a cold feeling invaded the pit of his stomach.
‘I know.’ He held her eyes but for the first time in weeks had no idea what she was thinking. Had the closeness between them been a mirage?
‘You admire so many Brazilian designers, I thought this would appeal. When I saw it I thought of you.’ It was true. No need to reveal his long consultation with the designer about Marisa and her style.
He proffered the box and after a moment she took it. Heat swirled through him in a ribbon of satisfaction.
She didn’t open the gift immediately but smoothed her hand over the embossed emblem. Finally she lifted the lid and he heard the snatch of her indrawn breath.
For long seconds she said nothing, eyes fixed on the contents, lush lips slightly parted. Then her throat worked.
Had he miscalculated? Got it wrong?
Eyes as brilliant as the summer sky met his. The way she looked at him made him feel ten feet tall.
‘They’re absolutely gorgeous.’ The catch in her voice tugged at something inside and Damaso wanted to reach out and gather her close. He told himself to wait. ‘I’ve never seen anything like them.’