reach the lost kid inside the street tough. Struggled for her own safety and sanity. “Please don’t do this. I beg you, please. Stop.”
For a second she thought she’d reached him, thought she saw his eyes soften as his hand stilled. But then his friends laughed and one commented, “You were right, Nacho. The rich ones don’t mind begging at all.”
She glanced at the third boy. He looked scared, nervous, as though he wanted to be anywhere but where he was, though he never opened his mouth, never said a word.
Nacho’s eyes hardened, the brief look of compassion dying out as if it had never been there. “That’s right. Didn’t I tell you I know how to treat a woman? By the time I’m done she’ll be beggin’…on her knees.”
He gave a sharp tug and Vivian felt her panty hose rip. She did scream then, one long, thin burst of sound as she struggled violently. When she finally got her left hand free, she brought it to Nacho’s face and scratched long furrows down his cheek even as she continued to buck against him. Trying desperately to get to the pepper spray, to dislodge his grip on her skirt. To get away.
Nacho swore as her nails raked his face, and brought his hand back to slap her. His friends crowded in and Vivian closed her eyes, bracing for the blow she knew was coming.
But it never landed. Suddenly she was free, and Nacho and his friends were simply gone. “What do you think you’re doing?” It was a new voice, deep and husky and so authoritative it got her attention instantly.
She opened her eyes in time to see Nacho stumble back against the wall. Glancing around wildly, half expecting his friends to attack in his place, she was shocked to see them sprawled on the dirty sidewalk and sidling backward slowly, their eyes fixed on the newcomer’s furious face.
Not that she blamed them—she’d never seen anyone or anything like him in her life. Even as she straightened her clothes, her precarious situation hanging heavily over her head, she was painfully aware of him and the power he wore like a second skin.
He was huge, towering over her despite her own impressive height. He was built like an ancient warrior, and normally his wide shoulders, broad chest and narrow hips would have made her nervous as hell. At this particular moment, however, she couldn’t be more grateful for his strength and obvious command.
Looking up into eyes so deep and black she swore they could belong to the devil himself, Vivian took an uncertain breath, then pressed a trembling hand to her heart as she fought to breathe around the relief pumping through her. His gaze swept her from head to toe, one long look that must have assured him she was unharmed, because he turned back to her would-be attacker.
“Since when do you get your kicks beating up women?” he snarled as he hauled the kid up, his face inches from Nacho’s suddenly young and frightened one. “I thought you knew better than that. If you want to fight, why don’t you pick on someone you don’t outweigh by fifty pounds?”
Her savior’s fingers tightened into fists and the kid started to back away. “Hey, Rafa, chill. We were just havin’ some fun. Playing with the gringa.”
“Fun?” His voice dripped disgust. “That’s the kind of fun that’ll get you arrested, Nacho. Or killed.” His voice was low, the threat unmistakable.
“Hey, no way, man. I wasn’t really going to hurt her.” Nacho shoved against the newcomer hard and ran, his friends trailing quickly behind him.
Her rescuer turned his head, pinned Vivian with a look that was both dark and intense. “Do you have a cell phone?” he asked.
Caught in the act of fumbling her crumpled skirt back into place, Vivian repeated dumbly, “A cell phone?”
“To call the cops?”
Her teeth were chattering so badly she almost couldn’t speak. “The cops?”
“Never mind.” Reaching down, he grabbed the briefcase she had dropped during the scuffle. “We’ll call from my place. I’m just up the block.”
As the haze of terror wore off, Vivian’s brain began working again. “I don’t think—”
“Relax,” he said, with a grin that was more a baring of teeth than an actual smile. “I own the community center. You’ll be safe there.”
“Community…” Things began to sink in as she walked toward him. “Oh, you’re with—”
“Helping Hands.” He nodded, placing his palm gently on the small of her back as he guided her down the sidewalk. Any other day she would have shrugged him off, but her knees were still knocking together and the support felt good.
“Are you hurt?” he asked as he propelled her toward the center.
“I’m fine.” Her voice was a little higher than she would have liked, but the nervous adrenaline coursing through her made her regular tone impossible.
“Are you sure? I can call an ambulance.” He glanced at her. “It might be a good idea to do that anyway.”
“No, really. I’m good, just a little shaky.”
They continued walking in silence for a few moments and Vivian struggled to compose her thoughts. She didn’t usually need to be rescued, and it pricked her pride that he thought she was so fragile that she required an ambulance to keep from freaking out.
But pride or not, she owed him a thank-you. Clearing her throat, she said, “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t—”
His low sound of exasperation surprised her. “Yes, you do.”
“I’m sorry?” She stopped dead to avoid slamming into him as he suddenly turned to face her.
“Look, you’re young and attractive and walking down this street wearing clothes worth more than I make in a month. We both know exactly what would have happened had I not shown up when I did.” He stepped in front of her, pulled open a door and waved for her to precede him.
“I didn’t plan it this way,” she protested. “It just happened.”
He snorted, clearly unimpressed. “Famous last words.”
Annoyance was rapidly starting to replace her gratitude, but because he’d saved her from getting raped—maybe even killed—she bit her tongue as she stepped inside the building.
The front room was huge, the walls painted a sunny yellow and interspersed with various murals that ranged from the amateurish to the surprisingly sophisticated. Whatever she’d been expecting, this mixture of color, comfort and smiling faces wasn’t it.
Overstuffed sofas and chairs were scattered around the room and a huge television took up part of one wall. A few teenagers sat around it, playing a video game. Others were gathered around the pool and foosball tables that sat in the center of the room, while still others were draped comfortably on a couple of the sofas, talking and passing an iPod back and forth between them.
A huge Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room, decorated with sparkling lights and hundreds of homemade ornaments, some of which looked almost professionally done. There were other hints of Christmas around the big room—wreaths on the doors, poinsettias near the front desk, and what looked like
