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."