The Wager. Metsy Hingle
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“She sounds like a special lady.”
“She was. And she didn’t have it easy, raising me by herself. But she never complained, never once made me feel that I was a burden. I always felt loved, wanted. She was a very strong and brave woman.”
“A lot like her daughter, I suspect.”
Laura swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she murmured, and stared down at her dessert.
“You still miss her a lot, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Laura admitted.
He tipped up her chin with his finger so that she met his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel. As much as I complain about my family, I’d be lost without them.”
Which described exactly how she’d felt during these past months—lost. But it wasn’t just the physical absence of her mother. It was knowing that all those years she’d idolized a father who’d never existed, that she’d believed herself to be someone she wasn’t. “I still have my friends. And, of course, there’s Uncle Paul.”
“Uncle Paul?”
“Well, he’s not really my uncle. He’s…he was my mother’s attorney and oldest friend. I’ve known him all my life,” she informed him. “He certainly treats me like family, though. He’s always nagging at me to eat, to go out more, not to work too hard. Judging by the number of sons and nephews of associates that he’s been introducing to me lately on one pretext or another, I think he’s made it his mission to marry me off.”
“Is that what you want? To get married and settle down?”
Something in Josh’s tone had Laura look up from the spoon that she’d been licking. Excitement danced along her skin at the hunger in his eyes as he watched her. “I suppose so…someday. If the right man comes along.”
“And what type of man is the right man?”
“He’s someone li—” She’d been about to say, he was someone like her father had been. But her father hadn’t been the man she’d believed him to be. He’d been an irresponsible coward and liar. “He’s someone honest and trustworthy. Someone who lives up to his responsibilities, who does what’s right regardless of the cost to him.”
“Sounds like you’re holding out for a hero,” he said as he stole a spoonful of her Bananas Foster.
“I guess I am.” She noted his empty dish as he swiped another bite of her dessert. “What about you?”
“Me?” He paused, his spoon already poised for another swoop of her ice cream. “I’m not holding out for a hero.”
“Funny,” she said, and tapped his spoon aside. His expression fell as she zeroed in on the last of the dessert. So she divided the remaining bite in half. “I meant do you ever think about getting married and settling down?”
Polishing off the bite she’d left him, he grinned and said, “Not if I can help it.”
“Josh, it really isn’t necessary for you to walk me to my car,” Laura said as they approached the bank of elevators that led to the parking garage.
“Sure it is.” He pushed the button, signaling for the elevator. “It’s late. The garage will be dark and you’re alone.”
“And your point is?”
“Besides the fact that it would be ungentlemanly of me not to accompany you, walking through a dark garage alone at night doesn’t strike me as being particularly safe.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”
“I didn’t say that,” he countered carefully, catching that slight edge in her voice and the defiant tilt of her chin.
“You didn’t have to. Obviously you think that if some…some thug managed to get past the hotel’s security—which is excellent, by the way—that I, being a mere woman, couldn’t possibly handle the situation.”
He was in stormy waters here, Josh told himself. Thanks to his sisters, he knew just how prickly a woman could get when she thought a man was being overprotective. “What I think is that any thug foolish enough to mistake you for a potential victim would end up getting his butt soundly kicked—by you.”
“You’re right. I would kick his butt,” she told him, the militant gleam in her eyes vanishing.
“I’m sure you would.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Laura replied. “So why don’t we just say goodbye now and you can go on back to your hotel room? I’ll be just fine.”
“I’m sure you will, but I won’t.” He hit the button for the elevator again, watched her wrinkle her brows. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m from the South,” he teased, exaggerating his drawl. “I’ve already gone against the code of the Southern gentleman by letting you convince me to just walk you to your car instead of seeing you home.”
“There isn’t any such code.”
“Of course there is,” Josh argued.
She eyed him skeptically. “Then how come I’ve never heard of it?”
“Because, my doubting Yankee, it’s a secret code that only men from the South know about.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Josh gestured for her to precede him, then followed her inside. “What floor?”
“Five,” she said. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that business about a secret code?”
He punched the number on the pad and the elevator doors slid shut, enclosing them in the small space. “Do you think I would make up such a thing?”
“What I think, Mr. Logan, is that you’re very good at spinning tales and turning on that Southern charm to get your way.”
Josh gave her a forlorn look. “There you go, slinging those arrows again.”
When Laura burst into laughter, he couldn’t help grinning in return. He liked the sound of her laughter, he realized. Almost as much as he liked the way her eyes sparkled and the way the dimple winked in her left cheek when she smiled. Suddenly itching to trace the tempting curve of her mouth with his finger, he shoved his hands into his pockets. The truth was there wasn’t much about Laura Harte that he didn’t like, Josh admitted, as he felt the sexual sparks that had been licking at him like flames all evening blaze into full-blown lust.
Lust he could handle, Josh told himself as the elevator continued its ascent. Back in New Orleans when he’d first seen Laura’s picture, he’d anticipated the sexual chemistry. She was a beautiful woman, and he’d always had a healthy appreciation of women. Thanks to the dossier he’d read on her and what details Olivia had given him, his curiosity about the unknown Jardine heiress had been peaked long before he’d ever met her. So neither his attraction nor his curiosity about Laura had come as a surprise. What had been surprising was that he genuinely liked Laura Harte—not just the attractive package, but the woman herself. It was a complication that he hadn’t counted on when he’d agreed to Olivia’s plan. And it was the reason, he acknowledged silently, that all afternoon and evening he had put off telling Laura the real purpose of his visit—Olivia Jardine and the Princess.
Way to go, Logan. For a man who prided himself on never allowing personal feelings to blindside him in business, he had screwed up royally this time. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to come clean with Laura and still salvage whatever was happening between them. The elevator stopped and he was grateful to be able to escape the intimacy of the confined space.
“Well, I guess this is it,” Laura said as she turned to face him.
“Where are you parked?”
“On the other side of the garage. But you don’t have to—”
“I thought we’d already discussed