Deadly Secrets by Jaycee Clark Page A

“So, you and your boys here for pleasure? You never actually said, though you mentioned them kidnapping you for a good time.”
    He twisted his mouth and glanced in the direction his brothers had gone. “They’d say that, I’m sure.”
    “They were married or had on rings. Though not the last one.”
    “Brody. No, he’s single and will undoubtedly stay that way as long as possible.”
    He looked at her, his brows drawn. The wind blew through the courtyard and his scent carried to her. Something rainy, but spicy and wonderful, and she wondered what it was.
    “Well, this is the place for fun,” she said, not hiding her skepticism.
    “No, nothing like that. Those men love their wives.” He shifted in his chair and rubbed his thigh. “They actually came down here to remind me what a good time was.”
    “You don’t know how to have one? A good time?” she asked, cocking a brow and taking another drink. “Sugar, I find that hard to believe. Everyone knows how to have a good time.”
    “Not so much anymore I don’t, no.” He shrugged. “Once upon a time . . . yeah.” He sipped his coffee and winced.
    She laughed. “Chicory, not for everyone.”
    He shook his head. “Apparently not.”
    “Questioning how to have fun,” she murmured. “Sounds like woman trouble.”
    He snorted and took a drink of his water. “Oh, you’ve no idea.”
    Be a shame if he were married. She did not do married men in any form or fashion.
    “So, you married? Still? Like in the middle of the separation and that’s why your mom is trying to set you up with friends’ daughters?”
    He stared at her for a long moment. “If I was married, even if separated, I wouldn’t have asked you to join me here or anywhere else, Ella.”
    “Men are men.”
    “And they say I’ve become cynical.”
    She grinned. “I’m not cynical.”
    He studied her for a moment, his head tilted to the side. “Maybe not.”
    “Fine, then, a bad divorce? No, if that was the case, you’d be going for overtime with the ladies.” She wiggled in her seat.
    “Really? And you know this because . . . ?”
    “Observation, darlin’.”
    He rubbed his leg again. “No, no divorce or bad breakup. Life, for lack of a better explanation. Look, I don’t really know how to do this anymore.” He rubbed the corner of his mouth with a finger. “Truth be told, I used to be smooth and would have tried to talk you into bed by the end of the night.” He kept his gaze on her.
    Had he just . . . She frowned.
    He blushed, or at least it appeared that his cheekbones flushed a bit.
    “Well, that’s straightforward enough, sugar. So you won’t try to sweet-talk me into bed by the end of the night?” She gave him a playful pout. “What a shame.”
    He only grinned and shook his head. “You are a handful, aren’t you?”
    She laughed and leaned up, touching his arm. “Care to find out?”
    His gaze dropped to her lips. “What do you think?”
    “But what if I’m not interested?”
    “Then you’re a really good actress.” He covered her hand on his arm with his other one. “If you weren’t interested, I’d simply say good night, Ella. And then I’d go back to the house we’re renting and listen to my brothers give me hell on my lack of charm with a beautiful woman who has an endearing way of saying sugah.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “And I’d have to wonder if you weren’t lying.”
    She smiled. “Oh, I don’t know if you lack charm per se. I think you’ve just forgotten how to use it. Or rather you use it in a different way than most men. Though you are doing pretty damned good, if you ask me.”
    He opened his mouth, ran his tongue around his teeth, then shook his head. A witty comeback?
    Again silence settled between them. From here, she could see the sinewy muscles of his forearms and knew from the way his shirt fit him that his shoulders would be muscled as well.
    “So what exactly do you do, Mr.