Deadly Secrets by Jaycee Clark Page B

Not-sure-you-want-to-charm-me-into-bed Quinlan?”
    “This and that. Not as much as I used to. And, honey, I never said I didn’t want to charm you into bed.”
    She smiled and leaned closer to him. “Ah, see, you do remember charm.”
    “Is that what that is?” he asked quietly.
    She sighed and said, “Thanks for tonight, by the way.”
    “Would you like something else? Go somewhere else?” His fingers tapped on the edge of his water glass, even as he continued to caress her knuckles with his other hand. “Or something?”
    “Go somewhere else? Like one of the bars? Plying a lady with alcohol is frowned upon.”
    “Honey, I’ve never had to ply a woman with alcohol.”
    Witty comebacks indeed.
    She raked her gaze over him again and licked her lips. “No, I don’t image you would have to, Quinlan.” She laughed. “See, there’s that charm again and the straightforward talk. You’re supposed to toss a few innuendos in there.”
    “Really? Like what?”
    “Oh, I don’t know, like . . .” She stopped. His green eyes were locked on her and she lost her train of thought. “Um . . .” She licked her lips.
    “Like?”
    “What?”
    He laughed, again a rusted sound as if he didn’t laugh much.
    “Look, frankly, I don’t have a lot of experience at this sort of thing.”
    “What sort of thing?” he asked, smiling, lines bracketing his mouth.
    “How about we get out of here and go get to know each other,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Or something . . .”
    His gaze narrowed on her for a minute. “Or something . . .”
    They pushed their chairs back and he offered her his arm. Did he always do that? For a minute, she just stared at it again.
    “What?” he asked, tilting his head.
    “It’s been awhile since a guy offered me his arm . . . That’s not true,” she added as she remembered. “Someone did.”
    Ella frowned at the memory and shook it off with a smile.
    “And he did not leave a good impression. I’ll have to change that. I’d offer you my hand but something tells me that wouldn’t go over any better. Between my arm and my hand, I have to offer you one or you’re likely to break something in those lovely shoes.”
    She chuckled and they made their way out onto the street, which was less crowded than normal but still busy. A sax melted and stepped along the air with the blasts of a trumpet from up the street. A sitar player leaned against the iron fence of the square and strummed some sort of depressing tune.
    Looking up the way she saw the glass and water musician was set up on the corner. Stepping on an uneven brick, she wobbled and he gripped her hand and arm.
    “Steady. And you were worried about my knee?”
    “Says who?”
    “You, you kept looking at my cane and leg. I promise neither bites.”
    She grinned up at him. “Maybe I do though.”
    He paused for barely a second. “I can but hope.”
    She laughed. “It’s these shoes. My friend got them for me. Said they were a sure deal.”
    “Sure deal? Of what? A broken appendage?”
    She laughed again. “Come on, Quinlan. Let’s walk on a lovely night, holding each other up so neither of us lands on the street.” She shivered. “We can talk about things.”
    “Like what?”
    “Whatever you want to talk about.”

Chapter 5
     
     
    They walked for over an hour, passing galleries he made a note to visit later. There was an old bookstore on Pirate’s Alley she swore was a favorite place. They talked and laughed and watched as tourists snapped photos, stumbled along, or kissed in the bright streetlights or darkened alcoves. They discussed music and art, things they liked, things they didn’t. He was smart, knowledgeable, and he listened.
    He walked her back to her place holding her hand. Was she being stupid? Probably.
    “I don’t normally do this sort of thing, you know.”
    “I got that impression. And neither do I.” At her stoop, he stopped her and pulled her around to face him. “You were right about a