Excerpt of The Wager by Metsy Hingle

"You're very skilled at this," Laura told Josh, determined not to let him fluster her. "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, increasing the sense of intimacy between them. "Trust me, Laura. There's nothing about you that's plain or ordinary."

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 lightheaded 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 him, a quick fling wasn't her style. Yet, sitting here with him now, she almost wished that it was. "You're a very 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."