The Wager. Metsy Hingle

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 this,” he said lightly. “Which direction?”

      She shot him a sidelong glance. “Funny. I don’t remember any discussion.”

      “Sure you do. You agreed I would walk you to your car and save myself from getting booted out of the Southern gentleman’s union.”

      “There is no such union,” she said, her lips twitching with laughter again.

      “Are you willing to risk it and have my disgrace hanging over your head?”

      “Whoever came up with the description of charming to describe Southern men forgot to mention that they were stubborn, too.” She sighed. “Come on. My car’s this way.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” Josh said, and fell into step beside her. With his hand at her back, they started through the cavernous garage in the direction she’d indicated.

      As they walked past row after row of cars of various makes and models, Josh was conscious of the shadows shifting along the garage’s walls and the echo of Laura’s heels as they clicked on the concrete flooring.

      She stopped in front of a sleek blue convertible. “This is me,” she said, and after unlocking the door with the remote on her key ring, she turned to him. “Thank you again for dinner.”

      “I’m the one who should be thanking you. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed an evening so much.”

      “Me, too,” she murmured.

      The lighting was poor, but bright enough for him to see the glint of silver in her blue eyes, the satin smoothness of her skin. Desire kicked him in the gut as he stared at her lush mouth. He wanted to sample that ripe mouth, had been eager to taste it all evening.

      “It’s getting late. I really should be going. So, I guess this is goodbye,” she said, and extended her hand.

      Josh looked at the hand she held out to him. The smart thing for him to do was to shake hands, make arrangements to see her in the morning so that he could tell her about Olivia and say good-night.

      “Josh?”

      To hell with being smart, he decided. Going with impulse, he pulled her to him. Against him. Into him. He heard the quick hitch of her breath, saw her eyes turn cloudy. And then he swooped down and took her mouth.

      She tasted just the way he’d imagined—hot and sweet, soft and strong. She made some primitive sound low in her throat. Protest or plea, Josh wasn’t sure which. He only knew that the desire for her that he’d managed to keep at simmer all afternoon and evening was now storming to a boiling point. And it showed no signs of slowing down.

      Fusing his mouth to hers, he took.

      So did she.

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