In Over His Head

Chapter 1

With his heavy canvas duffel digging into his shoulder, Josh Maynard watched the taxicab that had just deposited him at his destination disappear into the distance. Pushing his favorite Stetson back a few inches, he turned in a slow circle to survey his unfamiliar surroundings.

Whew. He sure wasn't in Montana anymore. Not a mountain or stately pine tree insight. Instead flat green land greeted his gaze and palm trees soared toward the cloudless azure sky. And man, it was hot. And humid. This heavy, damp Florida air surrounded him like a sticky, wet blanket. The moist heat radiating upward from the asphalt made him feel as if he were rotating on a barbecue spit.

He turned his attention to the hotel that would be his home for the next few weeks. Bright turquoise lettering on the gleaming white stucco exterior proclaimed Whispering Palms Resort. Colorful pink and orange blooms climbed up wooden trellises, and what seemed like hundreds of flowers and shrubs dotted the verdant lawn and well-manicured grounds.

But the resort was more than just a place of beauty, which is why he'd chosen it. Based on the Internet research he'd conducted and the enthusiastic recommendation of his travel agent, the Whispering Palms boasted a reputation of running the most comprehensive water activities program in the area. Their staff was reported to be professional, with impressive credentials.

He also liked that the resort was located a bit off the beaten track-close enough to Miami to be convenient, but far away from all the crowds. And he'd liked the more intimate size of the place. He hadn't wanted one of those mega-resorts with thousands of guest rooms.

He breathed deeply and his nostrils twitched at the unusual scents. Not a whiff of horseflesh, leather saddles or rodeo arena anywhere. This air smelled… tropical. Fruity and sweet, with the underlying tang of the ocean. He rocked back on his boot heels. Nope, this place was nuthin' like home.

But that was the whole point.

He eyeballed the minimally dressed guests wandering in and out of the resort's open-air entrance, then glanced down at his own attire. No doubt about it, he looked as out of place as a tumbleweed among hothouse flowers. His long-sleeved denim shirt and Wranglers would definitely have to go. He'd stood outside here less than two minutes and already an uncomfortable trickle of perspiration dampened his back.

His gaze lowered to his feet, and he heaved a sigh. His beloved Tony Lamas would have to go as well, he supposed. Not much call for boots on the beach. Good thing he'd bought himself a pair of Nikes before leaving Montana, although he couldn't say he much cared for them. Still, a man had to do-or in this case, wear-what a man had to wear.

He'd waited a long time to start on this adventure, and he wasn't about to let a little thing like trading in his comfortable Western wear for surfer-boy beach clothes scare him off. No sir. Sure the obstacles were high, but he'd conquered higher. Had the gold belt buckles from the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association-and the scars-to prove it. Except for that last competition, of course. Damn it, coming in second to Wes Handly still chapped his hide. If only-

Josh sliced off the irritating thought before it could take root. That part of his life was over. He'd hung up his spurs and it was time to conquer new worlds. Such as this beachy, suntan-oiled, palm-treed, flowery, mountainless, oceany-smelling… place.

Inhaling a fruity-scented resolute breath, he adjusted his Stetson, settled his duffel higher on his shoulder, then walked toward the entrance of the resort, his senses trying to take in all the new sights, sounds and smells at once.

A huge birdcage dominated the parquet-floored lobby. The largest parrot Josh had ever seen-not that he'd seen many-sat perched on a wooden swing, its long, bright red, yellow, and green tail feathers cutting a colorful yard-long downward swath. Big-leafed plants sprang from porcelain urns painted with tropical scenes featuring flamingos and multihued fish. Salmon-colored walls glowed behind the long, dark green granite reception desk. Craning his neck to look beyond the reception area, he caught a glimpse of a sparkling pool, then the white beach and blue ocean beyond. A pleasant breeze blew through the lobby, cooling his overheated skin.

By God, Dad would have loved this place. The bright colors, the salty air, the squawk of gulls. And wouldn't he have just gotten the biggest kick out of that huge parrot? A sharp pang of regret stabbed Josh, halting his steps, hitching his breath. His fingers clenched around his duffel strap, the coarse material and metal clasp biting into his palm. Damn it, would the grief ever stop sneaking up on him? Hitting him like a bull's kick to the head? Most likely not. But maybe after he'd accomplished what he'd come here to do… maybe then the ache would lessen.

He looked out toward the sandy beach and deep blue water and swallowed hard. Yup, Dad had wanted his whole life to come to a place like this, but he'd never even gotten the chance to see the ocean. His dad's crinkle-eyed smiling face rose in his mind's eye, and his raspy voice echoed through his mind, so clearly it seemed as if Bill Maynard stood next to him. When I retire from ranchin', I'm gonna satisfy this itch of a wanderlust, son. Learn to sail, then buy me a boat. Go places and see things I've only ever read about or seen on TV. I'm gonna sail around the Mediterranean. Eat whatever I catch for dinner.

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Josh's mouth as he recalled teasing his dad. Eat whatever you catch for dinner? You'd better add "learn deep-sea fishing" to your list of things to do, Dad, or you're gonna starve. Won't be the same as pullin' trout from a mountain stream.

I plan to learn, son. And you can learn with me. I can picture it now. The two of us sailin' on the crystal-clear water, grillin' up the day's catch.

I look forward to it, Dad. But I'll bring along some steaks. Just in case.

A loud parrot squawk roused Josh from his thoughts and he resolutely tucked his memories away. It was time to check in, unpack his bag, throw on some beach-wear, and start fulfilling the dream Dad had instilled in him three decades ago.

Squaring his shoulders, Josh approached the registration desk. He would set about conquering the seven seas, just as he'd conquered the inside of countless rodeo arenas. With hard work, determination, perseverance and heart. Don't worry, Dad. I'll see all those places you wanted to see, all those places we talked about. And that sail we dreamed of taking together? Well, it's as good as done.

Of course, in spite of all the reading he'd done about sailing, he'd still need to start with the basics. But it shouldn't prove too difficult. The staff here was topnotch, and he was an intelligent man. Had the college degree to prove it. And he was a world-class athlete. Had those gold belt buckles to prove that.

His gaze skimmed over the turquoise pool, then settled on the azure ocean beyond. A ripple of unease trickled down his spine, but he firmly pushed it aside. Nothing to worry about. The waters here were advertised as calm and crystal-clear.

Besides, how the hell hard could it be to learn to swim?

Lexie smiled and waved goodbye to her class of young swimming students. "See you tomorrow," she called after them. The youngest, four-year-old Amy, turned and blew Lexie a kiss.

Lexie snatched the invisible offering from the air. "Got it!" she said, planting the "kiss" on her cheek, much to the child's delight. She would definitely miss adorable Amy when her family left the Whispering Palms at the end of the week.

Hoisting herself out of the pool, she grabbed her towel and dabbed at the water clinging to her skin as her gaze wandered over the beachfront landscape she loved. Dozens of people frolicked in the gentle surf while a group of youngsters built an enormous sand castle. Parents, singles, honeymooners and teenagers reclined on aqua-and-yellow-striped lounge chairs, sunning themselves, reading, napping, chatting, sipping frothy tropical drinks, complete with paper umbrellas, each enjoying their vacation in their own way.

As Activities and Sports Director at the resort, she took great pride in the wide variety of activities the Whispering Palms offered its guests. Water sports ranged from tame snorkeling and inner-tubing, to the more adventurous sailing, waterskiing, kayaking, scuba diving and parasailing. Was exercise your thing? Aerobics were offered twice daily. Biking? Single and tandem bikes were available, as well as tricycles for the tykes. Trampoline? Got it. Beachcombing walks? Check. Water or beach Volleyball? You betcha.

Yes, indeed, everything an "in need of rest and relaxation" vacationer could possibly want was available at the Whispering Palms, and pride filled Lexie that she'd played a major role in setting up, then implementing, the activities program. Of course, now that the tourist season was ending, things would slow down until they picked up again around Thanksgiving. She'd miss the hectic pace and the jovial crowds, and she'd definitely miss the additional money she earned during the summer by working evening and early morning hours at the resort's Camp Kid's Club or giving private swimming and scuba lessons. She squirreled away every dollar she could, waiting for her piece of heaven to be listed for sale.

An image of the palm-shaded, waterfront cove she'd fallen in love with rose in her mind's eye. It was private, peaceful, perfect. And when it was finally listed for sale-she refused to consider that it wouldn't eventually be-her piece of heaven would definitely be pricey. And according to Darla, once that prime strip of land was listed, it wouldn't last long. Lexie would need to have enough money ready to act fast.

Speaking of acting fast… Lexie glanced at her trusty waterproof Timex. She was scheduled to accompany a snorkeling group in half an hour. No time for daydreaming if she hoped to grab some much-needed lunch at the outdoor Marine Patio. She finished drying off, slipped on her neon-green T-shirt that read Whispering Palms Activities And Sports Director in bold black letters across the front, the matching shorts, then crammed her wet "pool hair" under her favorite Florida Marlins baseball cap. She was about to reach for her water shoes when she halted, her attention grabbed by a masculine figure standing in the breezeway leading to the lobby. Pushing her Ray Bans higher on her nose, she peered through the dazzling sunshine, then pursed her lips in involuntary appreciation.

He'd clearly just checked in as he held the colorful trifold pamphlet outlining the resort's amenities and containing the room key-card given to new guests at the reception desk. Decked out in a Stetson hat, long-sleeved shirt, snug jeans, what appeared to be the biggest belt buckle she'd ever seen and cowboy boots, he wasn't dressed for the beach, but even at this distance there was no doubt he filled out those denims very nicely.

She squinted at him, but the shade cast by the brim of his hat prevented her from seeing his face. Just then, he turned and headed across the lobby toward the bank of elevators leading to the guest rooms. Hmm. He filled out those jeans as nicely from the back as he had from the front. However, since the temperature hovered somewhere near ninety-five in the shade, hopefully Mr. Cowboy would change into something cooler before venturing outside.

As she made her way toward the Marine Patio, she couldn't help but wonder what he'd look like out of those jeans.

Twenty minutes later she found out. He looked damned good.

Leaning back in her chair as she washed down the last bite of her tuna salad sandwich with a sip of iced tea, she caught sight of him entering the pool area from the lobby doors. Even though he now wore a bright white T-shirt and a pair of dark blue swim trunks, and the Stetson had been replaced with a baseball cap, there was no mistaking he was the same guy. The way he moved, with that smooth, athletic, confident gait, was a dead giveaway. As was the fine physique.

He appeared to be searching for something or someone as he walked around the pool, weaving his way among the lounging sunbathers.

Stirring her iced tea with her straw, she watched him pause, settling his hands on his hips. With his eyes narrowed against the sun's glare, his gaze slowly panned the pool area. Her own gaze slid over him and again her lips pursed with female appreciation. There was no doubt he fell squarely into the "hunk" category. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a ruggedly attractive face that looked as if it came straight from one of those tourism print ads for Wyoming or Colorado.

He started walking again, with that slow, measured gait that riveted her attention. Her eyes, which seemed to suddenly develop a mind of their own, zeroed in on the area directly below where his giant belt buckle had been. Pressing her lips together, Lexie swallowed once. Yup, Mr. Cowboy was definitely put together quite… nicely. In fact, she couldn't recall the last time she'd seen a pair of swim trunks filled out so… perfectly. Maybe he should have stayed covered up in those jeans. No telling what sort of havoc this guy would wreak in those swim trunks.

A sigh of envy escaped her for the woman this hunk was no doubt looking for. Lucky girl. Probably some Pamela Anderson look-alike who favored thong bikinis-and actually looked good in one.

She tried to imagine herself as a Pamela Anderson/thong-sporting/luscious man-magnet and had to force back a laugh.

Not in this lifetime. So engrossed was she in her silly daydream, it took her several seconds to realize that Mr. Cowboy had stopped walking. And that he now stood directly in front of her. And that she was staring at his groin.

A wave of embarrassed heat washed through her and she jerked up her chin, silently thanking the ingenious soul who had invented sunglasses. At least Mr. Cowboy wouldn't know she'd been visualizing his big… belt buckle. Yup, that's what she'd been thinking about. Absolutely. Um, except that he wasn't wearing the belt buckle any longer. But, hey, how would she have known that if she hadn't looked?

Now that her chin was back up where it belonged, she found herself looking at a face that confirmed her earlier assessment of "hunk". He wasn't handsome in the classic sense-his features were too rough, too stark. But there was no denying that the dark brown eyes, the high slash of cheekbones, his firm, full lips and square jaw combined to make an arrestingly attractive face. He looked big and tall, muscular, solid and strong, and even though a small feminist inner voice scolded her for not being immune to his obvious masculinity, everything girly in her heaved out a silent, Oooohhhhh.

His gaze settled for a second on her Marlins hat, then tracked slowly downward. She suddenly felt uncharacteristically self-conscious about her pool hair, ratty cap, baggy shorts and damp shirt. Not to mention her suddenly hard nipples-which she longed to blame on a freakish cool breeze, but nothing even remotely resembling a cool breeze had wafted by.

Before she could cross her arms over her chest, he raised his gaze back to hers, then touched the brim of his hat. "You must be Lexie Webster," he said in a deep, sexy voice.

Even if she wasn't Lexie Webster, she suspected no one would have blamed her for claiming she was. Especially since most of the males who sought her out at the resort were normally accompanied by their wives and/or several children. And the rest of them were either under sixteen or over eighty.

Before she could answer he continued, "Tim at the registration desk told me to look for a gal by the pool with a shirt that read Activities And Sports Director." His gaze wandered downward once more, touching on the words emblazoned across her chest, then rose again to meet her eyes. A crooked grin lifted one corner of his mouth and a dimple creased his cheek. "That would appear to be you."

Lexie forced herself not to stare at that dimple, which could be summed up in one word: sexy. Or two words: damn sexy. Offering him a smile she said, "Yes, I'm Lexie Webster. What can I do for you, Mr…?"

He instantly extended his hand. "Maynard. Josh Maynard. I'd like to sign up for your classes."

And wouldn't I love to teach you everything I know. Lexie inwardly scowled at her errant inner voice then shook his hand. A tingle raced up her arm when her palm met his large calloused one in a firm grip. He had a nice handshake. No bone-crushing and no limp, wishy-washy stuff. Releasing his hand she asked, as if she didn't already know and hadn't already ogled him in his cowboy gear, "Are you a guest at the resort, Mr. Maynard?"

"Yes, ma'am. I just checked in, and I'm ready and eager to get started. And please call me Josh."

She couldn't recall the last time someone over the age of twelve had called her "ma'am." "Which classes were you interested in taking, Josh?"

"All of them."

"All of them? We offer nearly two dozen." She smiled up at him. "That won't leave you much vacation time for relaxing."

"I'm not here to vacation. I'm here to learn."

"I see." Her lips twitched. "In that case, I'll be sure to sign you up for the Make A Basket From Palm Fronds craft session."

A frown formed between his brows and he settled his hands on his hips, dragging Lexie's gaze involuntarily downward. His long fingers spread out across his hips, pointing like arrows toward his groin. She cleared her throat and instantly jerked her attention upward. Good grief, she was turning into a pervert. Anyone would think she was a sex-starved nympho who'd never seen an attractive, hunky cowboy with a killer dimple.

You are sex-starved, her inner voice taunted. And you never have seen such an attractive, hunky cowboy, let alone one with a killer dimple.

Hmm. Well, at least she wasn't a nympho. Probably. And just because it had now been eleven months, three weeks and five days since she'd had sex, that didn't mean she was starved. Heck no. She was merely a bit… peckish. Darla's words flitted through her mind. You are primed…

"I reckon the palm frond basket-making is one I can skip," he said, yanking her attention back to the conversation. "What I need to learn is how to sail."

She noted he said need as opposed to want. "We offer beginner lessons here at the resort, and I can recommend several excellent sailing schools in the area for more advanced lessons. Do you have any sailing experience?"

"No, ma'am. But I'm a quick learner, and I've read up on the subject. What I need is practical, hands-on instruction." He looked around, as if trying to see if anyone was listening to them. Then he stepped closer, leaning toward her. Warmth that had nothing to do with the bright sun enveloped her, along with his scent-a combination of freshly laundered clothing and some sort of woodsy musk that tapped her hormones on the shoulders and proclaimed, "Boy, does he smell good." She firmly told her hormones to sit down and shut up. Sheesh! She'd taken one look at this guy and lost her marbles. He was probably married with three kids. Or engaged. She glanced down. No ring. But that didn't prove anything.

Lowering his voice he said, "The problem is, Miss Webster-"

"Lexie."

"-yes, ma'am, is that before I learn to sail, I need some more-" he cast another quick look around "-basic type of instructions."

"In what area?"

"I'm, uh, well… this is embarrassing to admit, but I'm not a real good swimmer."

Understanding dawned, and sympathy tugged at her. Had he suffered some childhood water-related trauma? Such was often the case when adults couldn't swim. "I see. Well, that's not a problem, Josh, nor should you be embarrassed. I've taught many adults how to swim. We offer classes twice a week-"

"I need more than twice a week, and to be honest, I'd prefer not to take lessons with other folks around-at least not until I develop some proficiency."

"So you want private lessons?"

"Yes, ma'am. I shouldn't need too many. My coordination and strength are good. What I don't have is experience." He laid his hand over his heart and dipped his chin, looking at her with soulful puppy-dog eyes. "Please say you're available to help me. You'd be the answer to my prayers."

Yikes. Was there a woman currently breathing who could resist that look? That heartfelt plea? If so, God bless her.

Lexie quickly mulled over his offer, and just as quickly decided to accept. With the extra cash she could earn teaching Mr. Cowboy, especially now that the tourist season was approaching a lull, he could be the answer to her prayers, as well.

She quoted her hourly rate and he agreed without batting an eye. "When do we start?" he asked, casting an askance glance at the crowded pool.

"The pool is open twenty-four hours, but it's normally unoccupied in the evenings. Why don't we meet here tonight at nine?"

"Nine sounds great. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She glanced down at her watch and realized her lunch break was over. "I have a snorkeling session now, but I'll see you this evening."

He touched his hat and nodded. "I'm looking forward to it, ma'am."

Josh watched her zigzag expertly around the lounge chairs on her way toward the beach. His gaze traveled down her back, noting the smooth muscles in her golden-tanned thighs and calves. She was fairly small and compact, but very nicely put together. Between her dark sunglasses and baseball cap, he hadn't been able to see much of her face or hair, but she had a beautiful, friendly smile. And great lips.

A bunch of his buddies were leg men, and some were breast men, some a combination of both, and most possessed an appreciation of the female posterior, as well. While Josh easily admired all those feminine attributes, he was definitely what he'd term a lip man. And Lexie Webster possessed just the sort of well-shaped, full, moist-looking mouth that made him groan.

And by damn, her legs, breasts and posterior were fine-looking, too. And she smelled like one of those long, cool, tropical drinks. The kind that made you want to take a nice big… lick.

To top it all off, he especially liked the fact that she had no idea who he was. Yeah, she'd given him the once-over, but clearly his name and face didn't ring any bells with her, which suited him just fine. A lot of the women who followed the rodeo circuit made big plays for him and, while the attention had been flattering at first, he'd eventually reached the point where he didn't know if a woman liked him for himself or because of his championship titles. He hated to be cynical, but there was no denying that the more competitions he'd won, the more attractive he'd become to the ladies.

But unlike the women from the circuit or from home, Miss Lexie Webster didn't know him from a hole in the ground. And that was perfect. He needed to keep his mind on the task at hand. Learn to swim. Then learn to sail a boat, and then, by damn, sail it, and see something of the world while he did. For himself, and for Dad. After that, he wasn't sure what the future would hold, but for right now, he wasn't looking any further than mastering this water stuff.

Making his way back toward the lobby, he debated the wisdom of hiring an attractive woman to teach him. He recalled the tornado of images that had whirled through his mind when she'd said So you want private lessons-images that had nothing to do with swimming or sailing. But he forced the worry aside. He could do anything he set his mind to. He'd just pretend Lexie Webster was one of the guys.

After all, how distracting could one small woman be?

At eight forty-five that evening Josh walked along one of the winding flagstone paths leading toward the pool. Lush vegetation surrounded the meandering walkway. Palms towered overhead, their long curving leaves rustling in the gentle, tropical-scented breeze. A full moon glowed, casting shimmering silver ribbons on the calm ocean, and the soothing splash of one of the grounds' many waterfalls reached his ears.

He nodded to a hand-holding, strolling couple, then, as he crossed over a small wooden bridge, he spied another couple embracing on the beach, backlit by the moon's glow. He could easily see how this setting, with its potent combination of the ocean, the salt air, the swaying palms and the need for very little clothing could turn one's thoughts to romance.

But not him. No sirree. His agenda left no time for canoodling. In fact, romancing of any kind was the furthest thing from his mind. Every last ounce of his concentration was firmly focused on the pool and his upcoming swimming lesson.

He rounded a curve in the path. The pool lay just ahead, its aqua surface glistening under the moonlight, its pale bottom softly lit by underwater lights. During his walk around the grounds after dinner, he'd discovered that this pool was like no other he'd ever seen. It was more part of a series of pools branching off from the main pool, all connected by tunnels. Folks could swim or float in an inner tube from one pool to the next, take a break from the sun in the shade of one of the tunnels, or splash in one of the waterfalls cascading from the rock formations. A swim-up bar was situated along the far side, and steam rose from the trio of hot tubs gurgling from behind another huge rock formation. And here he'd thought pools came in two shapes: rectangle or oval.

A quick glance around indicated the pool area was deserted. Good. His lesson was scheduled to start in about ten minutes, and he didn't relish the thought of an audience gawking at him while he learned something most five-year-olds already knew how to do.

He was just about to drop his towel onto a lounge chair when a splash caught his attention. Turning toward the sound, he froze. And stared.

A feminine figure was emerging from the pool, rising slowly from the shallow end, her curvaceous form revealed inch by tantalizing inch as she seemingly glided toward the wide curved steps leading from the water. She appeared from that aqua-hued water like a slow-motion shimmering sea nymph, and he suddenly knew how Ulysses must have felt when he caught sight of those sirens.

She climbed the last step, then stood in profile to him at the edge of the pool. Droplets clung to her skin, meandering slowly downward. His gaze followed the path of those drops, and he damn near swallowed his tongue. She had more curves on her than a mountain road. Curves that were put on further heart-stopping display when she stretched, reaching up to smooth her hands over her slicked-back, chin-length hair.

He shook his head to clear away the lustful fog shrouding his brain and also to redirect his eyeballs, which, thank God, were attached to him or they'd have flopped out onto the cement. A frown yanked down his brows, and he huffed out a disgusted sound. What the hell was wrong with him? She was just a gal in a swimsuit. And a plain ol' one-piece swimsuit at that. He'd seen dozens of women today wearing far less. Maybe he could understand him losing his mind like that if this gal'd been wearing a teeny bikini…

Instantly he imagined that curvy form in a teeny bikini, and heat shot through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose to dispel the image. Hell, he had to get a hold of himself before his instructor arrived-

"Is that you, Josh?" asked a familiar feminine voice.

He jumped as if he'd squatted on his spurs. Uh-oh. Unless he missed his mark-and he rarely did-that familiar feminine voice came from the exact location where the water nymph stood. And that could only mean one thing.

His swimming instructor, Miss Lexie Webster, was none other than the curvaceous pool goddess.

Forcing his eyes open, he watched her walk toward him. She moved with that same fluid grace he'd noticed this afternoon, only it was easier to see that grace in all its glory now that it wasn't covered up by a baggy T-shirt and shorts.

In spite of the fact that he gave himself a mental kick in the ass and tried to move toward her, he simply stood there as if his feet were glued in place.

When she reached him, she greeted him with a friendly smile. "Ready for your lesson?"

Most likely he nodded, but he wasn't sure. He certainly meant to, but it seemed all he could do was gawk. No doubt about it, he went from zero to smitten in a nanosecond. He'd thought her attractive this afternoon, but now, without the sunglasses and baseball hat, the word that came to mind was… whew!

He couldn't tell what color her eyes were in the muted light, but he could tell they were pale. Blue? Green? One or the other. Whatever their color, there was no mistaking how large and expressive they were, or the long, spiky wet lashes surrounding them. His gaze drifted over her pert nose, complete with a dusting of freckles, then settled on her mouth.

The devil himself must have fashioned that wicked mouth because it had sin written all over it. And those two dimples winking on either side of those pouty lips had to be illegal. She stood in front of him, glistening wet, wearing next to nothing… he swallowed in an effort to moisten his dust-dry throat.

"Are you all right, Josh?"

He bobbed his head in a jerky nod.

"Do you still want to take your lesson?"

Lesson? Oh, right. Swimming. He cleared his throat then forced his lips to move. "Yes, ma'am."

"There's no reason to be nervous. I'll be right next to you the entire time." She laid her hand on his arm in what he assumed was meant as a gesture of comfort. Instead it felt as though she'd lit a match to his skin. Had he actually thought he could consider this woman one of the guys? Yup, he sure had, which placed him squarely in the category of "a couple steaks short of a barbecue."

A dozen flirtatious responses sprang to his lips, and he clenched his teeth to contain them. This was supposed to be strictly business, but he knew it wouldn't be long before he'd give in to temptation. No way he'd be able to resist flirting with her. Not when she had all his nerve endings on red alert.

"I promise you'll be perfectly safe," she said with a reassuring smile.

He looked into those big eyes of hers and his stomach dropped a good two feet. Somehow he suspected that safe was the last thing he would be around this woman.

Reaching out, she grabbed his hand, pulling him gently toward the pool. "C'mon. We'll start nice and slow in the shallow end. You'll be swimming in no time."

Heat from where their palms touched radiated up his arm. Shallow end, my ass.

He hadn't so much as dipped his toe in the water, but he had a distinct sinking feeling-which boded particularly bad for the entire swimming scenario-that he was already in way over his head.