In Over His Head

His brows shot upward. 'No? Where I come from, this is called a date.'

'Well, I suppose technically this is a date, but I wouldn't say we're dating.'

'What would you say we're doing?'

There was something in his tone, in the underlying seriousness, watchfulness, lurking behind the playfulness that set up a fluttering in her stomach. 'Well, the very temporary nature of our… arrangement… places it more in the category of a… fling.'

He studied her for several seconds with an unreadable expression, and she found herself holding her breath. But then he said, 'I see. I suppose you're right.'

For reasons she couldn't explain and refused to examine, his agreement disappointed her.

Oh, come on, Lexie. What did you expect him to say? That he'd chuck his life in Manhattan, Montana, and stay here so you could date?

His fingers lightly caressed the length of hers, recalling her attention. 'So tell me about one of these disastrous first dates.'

'Ugh. They were all bad. But the worst was this past winter.' She leaned forward and confided, 'He had this weird breast fetish.'

'I hate to break this to you, sweetheart, but lots of guys do.'

'Not my breasts. His breasts. He kept touching them, feeling and pinching them. Like he was tuning in the knobs on an old-fashioned radio. He wanted me to suck on them.'

'Well, him wanting you to suck them isn't that weird.'

'We were on the dance floor at his company's holiday party.'

'Oh. That's weird.'

She shook her head. 'Being with my ex for so long, I was out of practice in the dating pool. But every time I attempted to dip my toe back in, I found myself surrounded by sharks and other assorted bottom feeders. I finally decided it wasn't worth the hassle-at least until someone who seemed normal happened along.'

A slow smile lifted one corner of his mouth. 'So I guess I seemed normal, huh?'

'Well, at least you don't have 'pyscho' stamped on your forehead. And we've been here a good ten minutes without you asking me to suck on your boobs.'

'Night's still young.'

She shot him a stern look, then added, 'And you haven't asked me to bungee jump, shoot the Amazon, or swim with the alligators. Yeah, you seem normal enough.'

'Well, there's no denyin' I'm glad I happened along. But what's this about bungee jumping and alligators? More first-date disasters?'

'No. I was referring to my ex-fiance. I'm afraid he was something of a daredevil.'

'He swam with alligators?'

'Yup. Wrestled them, too. And dove off cliffs. Jumped out of airplanes. Mountain climbed. Surfed during hurricanes. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. He was a total adrenaline junkie. Made Evil Knievel look like a preschool act.'

'And he broke things off with you because you wouldn't join him in his crazy adventures?'

'No, I broke off with him because I couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't stand spending any more nights in the emergency room. Couldn't handle my heart stopping every time the phone rang because I knew the next phone call would be the one from the police telling me he was dead. Or paralyzed. He tried, he really did, for me, to confine his adventures to less dangerous activities, but within a month he was miserable. And that made me miserable. So he went back, with a vengeance. Won some regional competitions in a variety of extreme sports-nearly killing himself in the process. When he fell in with a lifestyle that included other women, I couldn't tolerate it any longer.'

'If he wasn't your type, why'd you get engaged to him?'

'When we first started dating, then fell in love, he wasn't so… intense. He was sweet and thoughtful. But as his thirtieth birthday approached, he went through some sort of early midlife crisis. He took on increasingly reckless, dangerous adventures-as if he had to prove something to himself. I loved him, but I knew he'd never change. He'd always be wanting, needing, searching for the next challenge, while I'd always be worried and filled with dread. Success changed him, and once the womanizing started, that was it. For both our sakes, I let him go.'

'Do you still love him?' he asked quietly.

'No. I pray for his safety, but I've never regretted breaking our engagement.' A self-conscious laugh pushed past her lips. 'And that's no doubt more about me than you ever wanted to know.'

'Actually, that doesn't even break the surface of what I'd like to know about you.'

His intense look arrowed fire down to her toes, and she forced herself to keep the conversation light, not to read too much into his words or expression. 'Well, that's all you get to know for now 'cause it's your turn. How come a guy who looks like you doesn't have a girlfriend? Or do you have one?'

He lifted a brow, and said in a cool voice, 'I don't have a girlfriend. I'm not the sort of man who would have a fling if there was someone waiting at home for me.'

Heat rushed into her face at her obvious faux pas. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. It's just that men who look like you are usually attached.'

'I am completely unattached.'

'Never been married?'

'Never even come close.'

Hmm. Clearly commitment-phobic. Typical. As if he'd read her thoughts, he said, 'Not because I'm afraid of commitment. I've just never met the right woman. And in my line of work, with all the traveling, it's pretty hard to maintain a steady relationship.' He chuckled. 'I've had my fair share of bad first dates, too.'

Confusion tugged her brows down. 'Traveling? Where do cowboys travel to? Other ranches?'

Wariness entered his eyes, and he scraped his free hand through his hair. 'Well, actually, I haven't been doin' much ranching the past few years. I've spent the bulk of my time-'

The waitress's arrival cut off his words and Lexie's imagination ran wild. What had he been doing? Something involving traveling. Great. He probably worked for the CIA, going undercover to unearth crimes in America 's heartland. Probably got shot at on a daily basis. Or maybe he was a pilot-and had three wives in different cities around the globe.

Or maybe he's simply a nice, decent man, who, incredible as it may seem, is single, heterosexual, and interested in you.

As the waitress set their drinks and plates of food on the table, Lexie couldn't help but again notice that she was staring at Josh as if he were a succulent morsel and she was starving. When she'd laid down the last dish, she said in a breathless rush, 'You're Josh Maynard. I'd recognize you anywhere.'

Lexie's brows crept up in surprise. Oh, boy. Hopefully this woman didn't recognize Josh from the FBI's Most Wanted poster at the post office.

Josh smiled at the young woman and stuck out his hand. 'Yes, ma'am. I'm Josh Maynard. Nice to meet you, Miss-?'

Lexie feared the girl might go down like a tenpin as she clasped Josh's hand. 'Baker. Vickie Baker. Ohmigod. I told Sally and the other girls it was you, but they didn't believe me. Can I have your autograph?'

'I'd be honored, Vickie. 'Fraid I don't have a pen, though.'

'I have one.' She yanked her apron askew in her zeal to remove it from her pocket. A frown creased her forehead. 'But all I have is my order pad to write on. Would you wait while I get a decent piece of paper?'

'I'll be right here.'

Vickie gushed out another, 'Ohmigod,' then sped away. Josh turned to Lexie with a sheepish grin. She stared at him for several seconds until she located her voice.

'Okay, so what are you, a country singing star?'

'No. Remember how I mentioned last night that I'd done some rodeo?'

'Yes. That's how you got your scar.'

'Right. Well, truth of the matter is, I've spent a fair amount of time on the rodeo circuit, and managed to make a bit of a name for myself.'

'What's a 'fair amount of time'?'