Metsy Hingle - The Wager

His little speech took the wind right out of her sails. For a full five seconds Laura could do nothing more than stare at him. One thing she was sure of was that Josh Logan wasn’t dead and never in a million years would she even think of suggesting he had ice in his veins. Quite to the contrary, Josh struck her as a man who would be passionate in all aspects of his life.

“Obviously, I’ve shocked you.”

The amusement in his voice nipped at her pride, making her feel like an awkward girl unused to going toe-to-toe with a man like him. Keeping her voice cool, she said, “Not at all. I’m just not sure how to respond. I can’t decide it you were apologizing to me just now or taking another stab at trying to seduce me.”

“Neither. I was simply stating the facts.”

“Thank you for clearing that up for me,” she countered.

“Glad to do it. But there is one thing I think I should clarify.”

The gleam in his eyes, coupled with that handsome face, made her think of fallen angels. Still she asked, “And just what would that be?”

“While I may have admitted that I was hitting on you a few minutes ago, I haven’t tried to seduce you.”

Yet. The unspoken word hung between them like a live wire dangling in a storm, and Laura’s already taut nerves grew even more tense. “I didn’t realize there was a difference.”

The smile he gave her was pure sin. “Believe me, there is. I’d be happy to explain it to you or even demonstrate, if you’d like.”

“That’s all right. I’ll take your word for it,” she said, deciding she’d be wise not to pursue the discussion. While she didn’t consider herself a coward and had enjoyed the verbal volleying with him, she suspected Josh Logan was far better at this male-female thing than she was. So she held out her hand. “Truce?”

“Truce.” But instead of shaking her hand as she’d intended, Josh kissed it. And Laura felt the touch of his lips all the way to her toes.

“It looks like dessert’s arrived,” she said, withdrawing her hand. And while the waiter prepared Bananas Foster table-side, Laura chattered about the restaurant’s other sumptuous dessert offerings.

Once the flaming delicacy had been served and the waiter retreated, Laura decided she’d be wise to avoid any more of the sensual minefields they’d been stumbling across all evening by shifting to a safer topic. “Nick mentioned earlier that both your father and grandfather were hoteliers.”

“That’s right. Gramps was still in his twenties when he built his first hotel. By the time I was born, he owned more than a dozen.”

“And now?” she asked before spooning up a taste of the ice cream.

“Now there are thirty-one hotels that bear the Logan Hotels banner.”

“Very impressive,” Laura said. “How does it feel to be part of a dynasty?”

He chuckled. “I’m not sure dynasty is the word I’d use to describe us Logans.”

“I don’t see why not. You and your family have been very successful in a business that’s extremely competitive.”

“True,” he said as he shoveled up another spoon of ice cream coated with the thick brown-sugar sauce. “But it’s hard thinking of Logan Hotels as a dynasty when I’ve been brought up to think of it as our little family business.”

Laura arched a brow. “Somehow, I don’t think thirty-one hotels classifies as anyone’s little family business.”

“Put like that, I guess it does sound silly. But it’s what we do.”

“And obviously you do it very well.”

He shrugged. “Gramps was a good teacher. And my family’s been lucky. We’ve gotten most of the hotels we’ve gone after, but we’ve also worked hard to make things happen.”

“I imagine you have. Still, it must be nice…you and your family working together.”

“It’s both a blessing and a curse….”

While Josh spoke of the fun and the madness of working with his siblings and parents, Laura couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. She thought of her own life, the closeness she’d shared with her mother, and considered the irony of the profession she’d chosen. Not for the first time since discovering the truth about her father, she wondered how her mother had felt about her decision to pursue a career in hotel management. Thoughts of her father invariably brought back the phone call from Olivia Jardine. Despite the older woman’s insistence, her heritage wasn’t in New Orleans. Why would she even want to claim the heritage of a man who had not only abandoned his pregnant lover, but had denied her as well?

“Is something wrong?”

Laura jerked her attention to Josh. “No. Not at all. I was just thinking about the dynamics of your family. How many of you Logans are there?”

“In my immediate family, there are five of us kids. There are also a half-dozen aunts and uncles and about twenty or so cousins.”

For someone who’d had no one but her mother, it sounded like an army. “You have four brothers and sisters?”

“No brothers. Just sisters. Two older than me—Meredith and Rachel—and two who are younger—Hope and Faith. And they’re all nosy, bossy and intent on driving their only brother crazy.”

“Those are interesting descriptions of your sisters. Makes me wonder how they’d describe you.”

“As their handsome, charming and perfect brother, of course.”

Laura laughed at the outrageous claim.

“It’s true,” he assured her.

“Sure it is.”

“And it’s obvious that you didn’t grow up in a house of pesky siblings.”

“Afraid not. It was just me and my mother,” Laura informed him, enjoying the easy banter between them. She sampled the banana swimming in the thick, rich sauce.

“You poor, deprived kid. You missed out on all the fun stuff like fighting for a shot at the bathroom, and when you get it, nearly getting choked to death on all the perfumes and girly lotions in the air. Or waiting your turn for the shower and discovering there’s no hot water left.”

“You’re right. I can’t say I’ve had any of that fun.”

“And I don’t suppose you know what it’s like to find half of your shirts and shorts missing because the newest craze in female fashion is men’s wear, do you?”

Grinning, Laura shook her head, both amused and intrigued by the images he was painting of his siblings. “No, but my mom and I were the same size and she used to borrow my clothes sometimes. Does that count?”

“Not even close,” he informed her. “True sibling torture is to be a lowly red-shirted freshman on the football team and have the foxy senior-class cheerleader offer to drive you home after practice, and while the two of you are making out in her snazzy car in front of your house, your bratty little sisters are spying on you. Worse yet, they run inside and tattle on you to your parents.”

“You’re making that up,” Laura accused, unable to hold back her laughter.

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. My sisters drove me crazy when we were kids, and now that we’re adults, they take turns trying to drive me nuts.”

“But you love them,” she said, hearing the affection in his voice, seeing it in his eyes.

He shrugged. “What choice do I have? They’re family. You have to love your family.”

Not always, Laura mused. She thought again of her father, of Andrew Jardine. For the first time since discovering the truth, she allowed herself to think of his children—her half brother and sisters. She couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like if things had been different.

“What about you? What was it like for you growing up?” Josh asked.

Laura pulled her thoughts back to the present. “Compared to your childhood, mine was very quiet. My father…I never knew my father. It was just my mother and me.”