Deadly Secrets by Jaycee Clark

did. She was a short woman at five-three and a half, and as a short woman she had curves she wished were less pronounced.
    Up close he was even more handsome than she’d remembered, if that were possible.
    This morning she thought she was stressed about everyday stresses, but hey, if he wanted a good time, she was all for that. Man looked like he knew how to make a girl’s world go round. He looked like he could use some de-stressing as well.
    Bad. Very, very bad. She sighed.
    “You came,” he said.
    Oh God. She could only stare at him and arch a brow.
    He arched a brow as well and a slow smile lifted the corner of his mouth.
    Ella shifted in the chair and cleared her throat. “Were you worried?”
    His grin turned into a smile. “About many, many things.”
    She glanced to the side to see her friends. Shal was giving her a thumbs-up and Marie was nodding as they made their way down the street.
    “Sorry about my cousin earlier. And thanks for coming to meet me. I wondered if you actually would, to be honest. You don’t know me or anything. Though I promise I only had beignets and coffee in mind.”
    Yeah, like she hadn’t heard that before. “You should get some original lines.”
    “Well, I don’t normally pick girls up in the café or market or wherever.”
    She ran her gaze over him. Handsome, intense, with a hint of vulnerability, and he was funny in a not-sure kind of way. Laugh lines that seemed unused, and honestly, he wasn’t trying to overly charm her, well . . . it seemed . . . normal. In this not-so-normal place.
    She noticed again his fingers were long, elegant, but there were nicks on them, and a few scars. From what? Did he play the piano? Was he an artist? She still wondered.
    Who knew?
    Who cared?
    Up close, she noticed his eyes were the color of lush green grass. Straight-on green, not hazel, not aqua. Just green. She thought she’d imagined that this afternoon. He had a few freckles dusting across his face and along the backs of his hands and wrists. She hadn’t noticed that before.
    The café was quieter than usual. She leaned toward him just as he did her.
    “Quinlan.”
    “Ella.” They both spoke across the other and grinned.
    His single dimple only showed up in his laugh lines. Hell, she had dimples, and she knew damn well that hers didn’t look half as good on her as his did on him.
    “It is good to see you again,” he told her.
    She watched as he slowly shifted in the chair, not managing to hide the slight wince.
    “Knee or something else?”
    “Knee and femur.”
    She waited but he didn’t say anything else.
    Silence lengthened and stretched. Finally, she cleared her throat and took a sip of chicory coffee, raising her brow at him. His eyes were intense on her. Maybe he just didn’t talk too much, and as handsome as he was, he seemed . . . almost out of practice at this or something.
    “So what do you do, other than help those less fortunate?”
    She licked the powdered sugar off her thumb and saw his eyes darken, narrow. She shook her head. “I’m a yoga instructor and I play with any medium of art and I love music.”
    He grinned. “Yoga instructor. Do you enjoy it?”
    She should probably clarify. “Well, it wasn’t what I thought I’d be doing or went to school for—though I did go to school and am a certified instructor. Yes. I do enjoy it and my other odd jobs I do.”
    “What did you go to school for, if I may ask?” He bit into a beignet and the sugar dusted his dark shirt. She watched as he chewed and the muscles rippled in his throat as he swallowed.
    “Um. I’ve a marketing degree . . .” She shrugged and sipped her drink. “I’m not really the suit, five days a week type, I discovered.”
    He grinned. “A free spirit stuck in the business world. How long did that last?”
    “Something like that. And not long.”
    “Sounds like there might be a story.”
    “We all have one.” She leaned up on her elbows and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.