In Over His Head

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.'