Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(5)

“Come on,” he says, turning us toward the car that’s stopped in the middle of the road. “If you don’t want an ambulance, then I’ll take you to the hospital myself.”

“No,” I plead. “The train station is fine.”

He takes a long look at me, and my eyes are momentarily caught in the depths of his. At first I thought maybe they were brown, but the closer we get to the headlights, the more I can see they’re a stunning dark green.

“Where are you trying to escape to?” he asks.

“Escape?” I repeat, trying to keep my voice low, considering his face is just inches from mine. The last thing I want is to breathe BBQ breath all over him.

“How is getting on a train more important than seeing a doctor? Where are you going, lapin?”

Lapin? I don’t follow.

“Barcelona,” I tell him, grunting through the pain as he helps me hobble closer to the car, which I now notice is a shiny, new Mercedes. “Is this your car?”

“Oui,” he says. “And what is so important in Barcelona?”

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling strangely defensive. Why is this stranger all up in my grill about my business? And what was a sharply dressed, insanely handsome man with a fancy-schmancy Mercedes sports car doing in this neighborhood?

“Where are you from?” he asks, after further inspection of my face. It’s rather unnerving, the way he’s looking at me.

“Seattle,” I say automatically. “America,” I add.

“Yes, I’ve heard of it. And you’re alone?”

“Yes,” I tell him. Unfortunately.

“You’re not going to Barcelona to meet anyone?”

“What? No, why?”

He takes me around to the passenger side. “Then I’m most definitely not putting you on a train. Alone.”

I sigh heavily, hating to admit what I’m about to, especially as he’s opening the door to his spotless leather seats. “Look, I’m broke, okay? I’m just a backpacker and a college student, and long story short, I ended up with fewer funds than I needed, and I can’t afford to go to the hospital, nor can I afford to miss this train ride. I’ve already booked and paid for it.”

He nods slowly. I don’t think this guy has ever been in my shoes. From his watch to his shirt to his car, everything about him screams money.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. He gestures to the seat. “Get in.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Because you’re having trouble moving?” He takes my arm and tries to help me inside. I resist.

“No, because it’s easy for you to say I don’t have to worry about losing money on that train ticket.”

He tilts his head back, examining my face. “Are you always this stubborn with people who’ve just saved your life?”

“Saved my life?” I repeat, almost laughing. “That guy was just trying to mug me, right? Saving my life is a bit of a stretch.”

I realize how ungrateful I sound as he shrugs faintly. “Maybe, but if you fought back or made a scene, I don’t know. Nice is a safe city, but you can always be an exception. You’re lucky I was here.”

I guess all the pain and adrenaline of the situation kind of tempered that reality for me. All I could think about was making that train—the train that I’m sure has already left without me on it. It kept me from focusing on the terrifying and brutal truth that I was just attacked on the streets of Nice. If it hadn’t been for this guy, who the hell knows what might have happened to me? There’s a chance the attacker wasn’t even trying to mug me to begin with. He could have dragged me into an alley, and I would have been completely powerless.

Jesus . . .

“Hey,” Sexy Rich French Guy says after a moment, his voice growing soft. He gives my shoulder a light squeeze. “You’ve been through a lot. Let’s get you to the hospital. I promise you, you don’t have to worry about money for the next while.”

I swallow hard, arching a brow at him. After what I’ve just been through, I should be on guard with this guy, too, offering to pay for me and all. He might have saved me and fought off my attacker, but I’m not sure I can trust him either. Who knows what his agenda is?

“If you want, I can call an ambulance like I said I would,” he says after a beat, taking out his phone. “You certainly don’t have to get in this car.”

He means it. I don’t know how I can tell, but I can, and it’s nothing to do with how well put together and respectable he seems. It’s something in his eyes, some kind of softness and understanding.

And, okay, maybe the fact that the longer I stare at him, the more my heart starts to flutter.

I really should get my head on straight, because these kinds of thoughts are pretty fucking trite after what just happened, but this is also the first time I’ve found any man attractive after Tom, so I’m just going to go with it. It’s better than thinking about how royally fucked I am.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “Let’s go get me fixed up.”

I let him help me into the car and buckle up as he gently closes the door, then runs over to the curb where my backpack is. He hoists it up like it weighs nothing at all and then tosses it in the trunk. After he gets in and starts driving, I lean my head back against the seat and try to figure out what I’m going to do about Barcelona, but before I can form a single coherent thought, I slip away into a dark, cold sleep.