Metsy Hingle - The Wager

“The veal’s excellent.” As though to prove the point he took a bite, but his eyes never wavered from her face.

“Josh, you’re staring,” she accused, hoping the rebuke would diffuse the sexual tension that seemed to have escalated between them in the restaurant’s cozy surroundings.

“I know,” he admitted, and instead of being embarrassed to have been caught, he merely flashed her another of those killer smiles that had her stomach dipping and her heart beating just a little too fast. “I was remembering that old adage about the eyes being the mirror to a person’s soul. Whoever came up with that particular phrase must have had you in mind, Laura Harte. You have the most incredible eyes—so expressive.”

So much for dousing the sensual sparks, Laura thought. His answer and the way he was looking at her—like he was a big cat and she was a tempting bowl of cream—had her already fast pulse racing flat-out. She drew in a deep breath, trying to marshal her reaction to the man. “Thank you.”

He chuckled. “See, that’s what I mean. A moment ago you were all business, and your eyes were an icy blue. But just now when I surprised you and you forgot to be Ms. Hotel Executive, the color of your eyes changed,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky drawl. “Now they’re a smoky blue—like the surf in St. Thomas at dawn.”

“I think one of us has had too much wine,” she said with a nonchalance she was far from feeling.

“Nope.” As if to prove his point, Josh took another sip of the cabernet. “Just making an observation. Surely I’m not the first man to tell you that you have beautiful eyes.”

“No,” she murmured, but she couldn’t remember any other man making her hot all over with just a look. “Thank you.”

He nodded but continued to watch her over the rim of his glass. “I’ve embarrassed you.”

“No, you haven’t.”

He grinned. “That’s not what your eyes tell me. They truly are extraordinary, the most unique color. Just when I think I’ve nailed down the exact shade, they change again. But then, I guess you’ve heard that before, too.”

“Actually, I haven’t, and I suspect you know it,” Laura said, determined not to let him fluster her. “You’re very skilled at this.”

“At what?”

“Flirting.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

“Isn’t it?” she countered. “Those deep, soul-searching looks and all this talk about the color of my eyes when you and I both know that they’re blue. Plain, ordinary blue.”

Josh’s lips curved again. This time slowly, seductively. He leaned forward slightly, which increased the feeling of intimacy between them. “Trust me, Laura. There’s not a man alive who would look at you and ever see anything plain or ordinary about you.”

Laura’s pulse skittered. Her mouth suddenly dry, she reached for her wineglass, clutched it tightly and hoped he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her fingers. She disliked the fact that she was nervous, Laura admitted as she sipped the expensive vintage. She dealt with lots of men in her line of work. Men never made her nervous. Josh didn’t make her nervous. He certainly wasn’t responsible for this light-headed feeling she had or for the butterflies buzzing in her stomach. As she studied him over the rim of her glass, she told herself the way she felt had nothing to do with Josh or the fact that he was handsome and charming, and she found him attractive. No, it wasn’t Josh himself who was responsible for her feeling this way. It was the setting—the candlelight and romantic music. It was the fact that she was lonely and it had been well over a year since she’d been involved in a male-female relationship.

And she was lying through her teeth, Laura conceded. But only a first-rate idiot would buy the line he was feeding her. And she was no idiot. She’d met men like Josh Logan before—gorgeous, charming seducers out for a night or two of fun. And as interesting and attractive as she found Josh, a quick fling wasn’t her style. Yet, sitting here with him now, she almost wished that it was. “You’re a dangerous man, Josh Logan,” she said, giving him her brightest smile. “I can only imagine the long trail of broken hearts you’ve left in your wake down South.”

“Ouch,” he said, slapping a hand against his heart. “Those are some pretty sharp arrows you’re slinging there, Ms. Harte. Do you always shoot a man when he pays you a compliment?”

“Is that what you were doing? Why, I could have sworn you were trying to seduce me.”

She’d meant to make him laugh, had been sure he would find her comeback amusing. Yet the grin died on his lips. His eyes darkened, and she noted for the first time tiny flecks of gold in them. “Believe me, Laura, if I were trying to seduce you, you wouldn’t have to wonder if that’s what I was doing. You would know it.”

Laura’s breath stalled in her lungs. And despite her best efforts to prevent it, excitement shimmied down her spine.

“Are you finished, Ms. Harte?” the waiter asked, saving her from having to respond.

“Yes. I am. Thank you, Stewart.”

Telling herself that she wasn’t a coward for feeling grateful at the interruption, Laura used the opportunity to rein in her emotions. While Stewart cleared away the dishes and recited the dessert menu, Laura attempted to regain her perspective by reminding herself that Josh Logan was her boss’s friend and a man whom she would probably never see again after tonight. Just because she’d been lonely since her mother’s death was no reason to overreact to his innocent flirtation—a flirtation that was no doubt second nature to a man like him. Once the waiter retreated, they both said simultaneously, “I’m sorry.”

She laughed.

So did Josh.

“Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,” she told him. “Thank you for what you said…about my eyes. It was very sweet of you—which is what I should have said to begin with instead of accusing you of hitting on me. I was out of line and I really am sorry.”

“Since we’re being honest, I suppose I should confess that you weren’t totally off base,” he replied, a wicked and totally unapologetic glint in his eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I meant what I said. You do have beautiful eyes.”

“But?”

“But I guess I was hitting on you. It wasn’t a conscious thing on my part, but I was coming on to you all the same.”

“I understand,” she said, disappointed because there was a part of her that had wanted to believe he’d been sincere in the things he’d said.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I know it wasn’t anything personal. It was instinctive—the ‘you’re a man, I’m a woman’ thing.”

Josh frowned as he sat back in his chair and subjected her to one of those scrutinizing looks. “Tell me something, Laura. Do you have a poor opinion of the male population in general or is it just me in particular?”

She caught the edge in his voice, wondered how she had managed to put it there. “Neither.”

“And you, Ms. Harte, can’t lie worth spit.”

“Now, just hang on a minute,” Laura shot back, bristling at his reply.

“No, you hang on,” he told her, and pinned her with a steely look. “What I was trying to say and have obviously done a damn poor job of it is that I’m attracted to you. You’re a smart, interesting woman and I like the fact that you live and breathe this business like I do. I’m also fascinated by the fact that you look at an old hotel like this one and see more than just dollar signs or a lucrative investment. You see the beauty and history that gives the place its soul, that makes it unique. Add to that the fact that you’re a beautiful, sexy woman, and I would have to be dead or have ice in my veins not to hit on you.”