Wickedly Twisted

Helpless

Cara

It takes a second to understand what he's saying. "Hungry?" I ask him like I've never heard the word before. But I quickly get control of myself. "Sorry, uh, I'm fine." I twist away from his grip and stand up. "I was just leaving. Thanks for the drink, really, you saved my life."

He stares at me, head tilted to the side like he's reading the inside of my guts. "I'm not asking for your phone number, and I'm not interested in a date. I'm asking if you want some company and a meal."

"I'm not hungry," I say and start walking. That's true—I made sure to stuff myself before running earlier—but I don't know how long it's going to last. If Christopher is already cutting off his stash of cards, that means I won't have any money at all to get a room for the night, much less anything to eat.

I'm planning my next move as I head through the lobby, but Mr. Kazan's still at my side, keeping pace. "Pizza," he says. "Deep dish, if that's your thing."

I make a face. "I'm from Philly. Deep dish is like a mortal sin back in my neighborhood."

"Then whatever kind of pizza you want. I'm not picky."

I glance at the expensive suit and the glittering watch on his wrist. "I highly doubt that."

"How about this. There's a Greek place near here that I like. I know the owners. Best souvlaki in the city. If it doesn't change your life, I'll pay the bill and you can go on your way, no complaints from me."

I slow before I reach the exit. Outside, Chicago is a glittering, chaotic nightmare, an unfamiliar place filled with strangers.

I've been in this city for two months, and I've spent most of that time locked in the house my husband purchased, thinking about how I was going to get out.

I have no clue where I'm going. I have no clue what I'm doing.

And this guy did save my butt back there.

"What your name?" I ask, eyeing him suspiciously, trying to get a read, but the man's poker face is pro level.

"Eros. And you?"

"Cara."

"Nice to meet you, Cara. Let me feed you dinner."

I grind my jaw, brain working. I need to get out of here right now, before Christopher looks over the charges and figures out where I am, but there's something about this guy. Maybe it's the way he's looking at me, or his massive size, or the almost gentle way he talks to me, or the sheer force of his magnetism—this strange, powerful draw he's exuding, and it's like I can't look away.

He's handsome, but it's not just that—plenty of guys are handsome.

There's something else about Eros and I don't know what it is.

But I'm curious now, and curiosity's always been my weakness.

"Why are you helping me?" I finally ask out of frustration.

"You said something back at the bar. You said you need to get out of here before he finds you." Eros leans closer. "Who is he, Cara?"

I open my mouth to tell him to go to hell but shut it again. Letting my tongue get the better of me right now isn't going to help anything, but I sure as heck don't want to talk about Christopher with some stranger.

Instead, I turn to the door. "Greek sounds good."

There's a short pause before Eros takes my arm. "Right this way then."

I let him guide me outside. It's a cool, comfortable mid-summer night, and Eros walks with purpose like the city's an ocean and he's a shark parting the waters.

The restaurant is a couple blocks away, a little hole in the wall, and the staff greet Eros like he's the pope coming for a visit. We get a great table up front near the windows and the owner himself comes out, a little man with dark hair and a big, warm smile. He practically kisses Eros's ring before food arrives without us having to order.

"Are you always treated like this?" I ask in astonishment.

Eros sits back, still not smiling. "In certain places, yes, I am. Are you going to tell me who he is yet?"

"Nope." I start eating. It's absolutely delicious. Kebabs, vegetables, hummus, Greek meatballs, spanakopita so flaky it falls apart like butter in my mouth. Eros barely touches the food and watches me with that cold, curious expression, until I can't take him staring anymore. "What can I say to make you stop looking at me like I'm a zoo animal?"

"You can tell me that you have a place to sleep tonight."

"Why would you—" I stop myself and clench my jaw. I have to take a breath before I go off on him again. I don't like the way this man's seeing straight through me. "I appreciate you bailing me out back at the hotel, and I appreciate you feeding me, but you've got something wrong."

He raises an eyebrow, which is the most emotion I've seen from him so far. "What's that?"

"I am not helpless." I glare at him and feel the flame of five years of living with Christopher burning in my chest.

Five years of bowing and scraping, cooking and cleaning, explaining away bruises and laughing off black eyes.

Five years of misery.

Five nightmarish years, ever since I was an eighteen-year-old kid.

Now I'm twenty-three, still a kid. I don't know a thing about the world and I don't have any useful skills, but I will not shackle myself to another man.

Not ever again.

Eros smiles. It's a beautiful smile, and I'm taken aback. His face goes from dark and brooding to light and joyful in moments. It's like someone turned a spotlight on his features. He strokes a thumb down his stubbled chin and laughs, shaking his head, leans forward, and plucks a piece of cheese from my plate.

"No, Cara, I don't think I'd ever call you helpless."

"We only just met. You don't know a thing about me, and you're acting like I'm some homeless vagrant or something."

"I've met many people like you in my time." He waves a hand dismissively in the air which only makes me want to punch him in the teeth. "You are most certainly not the type to admit you need help. But if you can tell me where you're sleeping tonight, I'll pretend like none of this happened."