Deadly Secrets by Jaycee Clark Read Free Book Online Page B

table and were already eating fluffy powdered-sugar fried dough.
    Then she opened her mouth and sang a few bars of the song blaring from the speakers.
    They turned and made their way to a table, grabbing beignets and coffees. They settled at a little iron table.
    “ . . . dream a little dream of me . . .” Her voice was husky and alluring as she sang the last few bars and settled across from him.
    Just like that afternoon, interest stirred from just listening to her, watching her . . . enjoying her.
    “I’ve always liked that song,” she said, grinning. “Sorry, sometimes . . . okay, lots of times I just sort of sing along with whatever song I hear.”
    He smiled. Desire swirled and gripped him.
    He sighed and sat back, glad that something still worked, because frankly, he was starting to worry that he’d have to get a script for Cialis or the little blue pill. When a guy didn’t find women interesting or get a hard-on when there were plenty of beauties who were interested, he worried.
    Even if he hadn’t admitted that to himself before now.
    But that was one worry he obviously didn’t have to keep.
    She had a sexy voice, of course, he just wanted . . . to listen to her talk.
    Okay, and he wanted her.
    Was her skin as soft as it looked under those lights?
    He wanted her.
    He smiled.
    Ella opened her eyes and waved to her friends across the way. His brothers were nowhere to be seen. Thankfully. Guys out on the town. But these were of a different variety. Not frat boys, not businessmen out after meetings. They were older. Clean-cut and . . . men. Two of the ones she’d met—Aiden and Ian?—had worn rings. The drunk had not. And they were all so damned good-looking.
    Quinlan though, he’d looked good this afternoon. Now? Now he looked really damned good.
    Dressed in slacks and a dark green button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. One hand rested on the table, the other tapped on the top of a cane. She picked up a beignet and bit into the sugary dough. She could feel his gaze on her. Feel it even as she watched his gaze quickly skim over her and then more slowly from head to toe. Not in a bad way; she had enough experience with that. No, this guy was just interested, which she already knew, or she wouldn’t be here.
    Fine with her because she was interested in him. She’d thought about him all damned evening. So they’d play the interest game, because it wasn’t like it would be more than that.
    If she was lucky, they’d have fun for the night. Maybe the rest of the weekend.
    After that?
    Well, from his watch and the shoes and the cut of his clothes, the man had money, and if Ella knew one thing, it was that men couldn’t be counted on and rich men were the worst. Not that she needed to count on them. No, indeed. If she did anything on him, it wouldn’t be counting. Unless it was how many times . . .
    She shook her head. Good Lord.
    The man oozed confidence and charm and money.
    And enough sex appeal she noticed other women noticing him.
    Though there was something in his eyes, something that said maybe he wasn’t as confident as he wanted to be.
    Damn.
    She was always a sucker for the wounded.
    He’d mentioned an incident earlier today and she’d wondered what incident could shake such a clearly confident man to question himself and his purpose.
    “Ella!” Shalon hollered across the way.
    She looked over to them, grinned and waved. Her girlfriends shouted and high-fived each other. “Have fun! Call us tomorrow!” they shouted over each other. “Deets for dinner!”
    She nodded to them.
    Crossing her legs, she almost groaned at the ache in her feet. She was lucky she hadn’t fallen crossing the street to meet Quinlan. With her luck, and a great-looking guy, she’d splat in these stupid weird-ass shoes Shalon had gotten for her. They looked hot, she knew, but they were evil, wicked torture devices.
    When they’d stood side by side, she realized he stood much taller than her—but then most