A Debt Repaid (The Debt Duet 2)

“I’m kidding,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna steal your stuff or do something dumb.”

“Oh, I didn’t assume you were going to,” I reply, blushing a little. Am I that easy to read?

“I know you weren’t,” he says. “I’m just saying. But hey … you look like you could use a little help.” His eyes drift toward my dress that peeks out from underneath the blanket, so I hide behind it. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“It’s still got the tag on it,” he says, pointing at my neck.

My pupils dilate as I grab the tag and hold it in front of me so I can see. “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Relax, I’m not here to call the cops on you if that’s what you think.” He laughs. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You seem like you’re having a bad day.”

“Oh …” Now my whole face is red, and I swallow. A bad day is a big understatement, but I’m not going to explain it to a stranger. That’d be both dumb and dangerous.

My stomach growls, and he immediately glances at my belly and then back up at my face. An infectious smile follows.

“Hungry?” he asks.

I try to ignore it, but the rumbling continues.

“You know what? I’ll get you something to eat,” he says.

“What?” I mutter as he nods. “But why?”

I’ve never known anyone to randomly offer food to a stranger on the streets.

He shrugs. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? So why not?”

That’s hard to deny. But should I take him up on his offer? What if he’s one of Easton’s henchmen and wants to take me back to him? I shiver at the thought. I have to be careful.

The guy gets up from the bench and holds out his hand. “C’mon.”

I inch back, hesitant to grab his hand.

“Don’t be scared. I won’t do anything, I promise,” he says, adding a smile that would make a girl’s knees buckle.

“Where will you take me?” I ask.

He points at the street behind us. “My house is right around the corner over there. We could grab a bite there. I’ll fix you up some lunch.”

His house? Should I go? What if it’s all some elaborate scheme to get me to come with him? My stomach growls again, protesting my paranoid thoughts and telling me to trust a fellow human being for once. And a nice-looking one too, for that matter.

“I know you’re hungry. We can all hear it,” he says, chuckling with that low voice of his. But it’s not the same kind of low tone Easton used. In fact, he doesn’t sound at all like Easton, whose voice would often make me weak, shiver, or create goose bumps. This man’s gentle voice is how you’d expect a doctor to sound when he tells you you’re fine. And it makes you smile from ear to ear.

“I have amazing sandwich making skills,” he adds, extending his hand even farther. “Unless you don’t like those. I have plenty of other food too.”

I sigh. A man like him, so kind and easygoing, couldn’t be one of Easton’s henchmen, right? I doubt Easton would hire someone who doesn’t exhibit any violent or dominant tendencies.

Besides, what’s the harm in a little bit of food? I could eat and then slip out when he isn’t watching. He’ll never notice I’m gone.

My big appetite convinces me to take his hand, after all, and he helps me get up from the bench. Right as I stand, one of the heels on my shoe breaks, and I slip and fall … right into him.

He captures me in his steady arms even though my face still lands against his chest. A very muscular, tightly packed into a white button-up shirt chest. A strong-scented cologne enters my nostrils, the deep mahogany smell reminding me of a cozy cabin in the woods during the winter, complete with hot cocoa and a burning fireplace.

“Whoa, steady there,” he says, breaking my chain of thought, and I immediately pull back.

“Sorry,” I mutter, and I stare down at my feet, one of which hurts like hell. I immediately take off my shoes.

“You okay?” the stranger asks again.

“Yeah, I just lost my footing.” I attempt to walk away from him, but my feet keep wobbling.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he says. “Lemme help.” Before I can protest, he puts his hand underneath my shoulder. “There you go.” He laughs. “You know, I haven’t even introduced myself,” he says as he pulls me along through the park. “I’m Deion. Nice to meet you.”

“Ahh …” Maybe it’s dangerous to give him my real name. Then again, a first name can never be tied to anyone without the last, so maybe it’s not that bad. Besides, this guy has only been helpful so far. I can’t ignore his attempt to connect.

“Charlotte,” I reply.