In Over His Head

© 2003

Prologue

Lexie Webster looked at the vast array of purses in the department store display case and sighed. Turning toward her best friend she said, "Darla, I don't need a new purse."

"Of course you don't," Darla agreed, pulling her toward the designer handbags. "I do. What you need is sex."

The sales associate glanced at them, and Lexie shot Darla "the look." "No, what I need is to get back to the resort. I have work to do."

Darla held up a brown leather bag for inspection. "It's Sunday. Your day off."

"I'm booked to teach a private scuba lesson at three o'clock."

Darla set the brown bag back on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. Fashionably dressed in a pale blue pin-striped Ralph Lauren suit, her shoulder-length tawny hair pulled back in a chic chignon, Darla looked, as she always did, as though she'd just stepped off a page from Vogue. Lexie looked down at her own attire and winced. Plain white tank top, faded jeans, and Nikes that had seen better days. It wasn't that she didn't like to dress up-she did. But one hardly wore Ralph Lauren to read the newspaper on the deck, and that's what she'd been doing when Darla had come by after spending the morning with a potential buyer and commandeered her to go shopping.

"That's exactly the problem, Lex," Darla said. "You're working yourself into the ground. You need to take some time for you."

"You worked today," Lexie pointed out.

"I'm a real estate agent. We work on Sundays. Except when we need to have a serious conversation with our best friend. Then we go shopping and talk."

Uh-oh. Based on Darla's earlier "what you need is sex" comment, Lexie had a pretty good idea where this conversation was headed. "Look, Darla, I know you mean well, but-"

"No buts. Consider this an intervention." Darla planted her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin at a stubborn angle. With determination glinting in her green eyes, she reminded Lexie of Xena: Warrior Princess-or at least Xena's beautiful, tawny-haired, Ralph Lauren-clad sister. "Here's the deal, Lex. I'm not letting you leave the handbag department until this is settled."

"Great. I wouldn't mind so much if you'd picked the shoe department instead," Lexie joked.

Genuine concern softened Darla's fierce expression and she reached out to clasp Lexie's hands. "Lexie, I'm worried about you. You're working yourself to the bone."

"I'm working extra hours because this is the resort's busiest time of the year. I have to take on the extra work while it's available. You know I need the money. When that plot of land I've been saving for comes on the market, I'll need all the cash I can lay my hands on to buy it." In an effort to erase the worry still puckering Darla's brow, she teased, "You realize the only reason I keep you around is because I want that land and you've got real estate connections."

"And the only reason I keep you around is because you get me great discounts at the resort's spa." Darla's eyes narrowed. "You know, the spa-a place where people go to alleviate their stress. I would suggest you go, but in your case, more drastic measures are needed. A simple massage and a facial just aren't going to cut it. You need a full-fledged, hot, steamy-"

"-sauna?"

"Fling." When Lexie didn't reply, Darla plunged on. "I don't even want to think about how long it's been since you've had sex."

Eleven months, two weeks and three days. Lexie didn't want to think about it, either. And she sure wasn't going to add fuel to the fire by reminding Darla.

"You're under a lot of stress, Lex."

"I'm busy."

"Working yourself to death for that piece of land."

"Because I want a home. A real home. On that cove."

"I understand. And I'll let you know the instant the owner is interested in selling. But in the meantime you have got to loosen up."

As much as Lexie hated to admit it, Darla had a point. "I guess I have been sort of tense lately."

"Sort of tense?" Darla shook her head and made tsking noises. "You're a volcano on the verge of eruption. If I looked up 'tense' in the dictionary, your picture would be right there. You need stress relief like no one I've ever met before. And believe me, the best stress reliever in the world is sex. Why do you think I'm always so relaxed?"

"I thought it was all that time you spent in the spa with my discount."

Darla laughed. "Facials and massages are great, but sex is better. Trust me. A couple of bouts of steamy sex and you'll be a new woman. Good Lord, your body must be literally starved from all this celibacy. You are primed for a fling."

Lexie sighed. "Maybe. But I don't want a serious relationship."

Darla wrinkled her small nose. "Of course you don't. Relationships are highly overrated, as you and I both well know. I'm talking strictly a fling. No-strings-attached sex to get you out of your rut. Fling rules apply."

"And what are those?"

"There's only three." She released Lexie's hands and counted the rules off on her fingers. "It has to be fun, wild and temporary. Think you can handle that?"

Fun, wild. She hadn't done anything like that in a long time. And temporary? She'd never done that-at least not in a premeditated fashion. It sounded… intriguing. And exciting in a way that had her hibernating hormones peeking open their eyelids.

"You know what, Darla? I think I can handle that."

Darla's smile lit up her heart-shaped face. "Excellent. Now all we have to do is find the right man."

Lexie groaned. "That's going to be a challenge. It's not as if terrific guys are falling at my feet."

"You don't need a 'terrific' guy. We're not looking for husband material. He only has to be fling-worthy." She leaned closer, as if she were about to impart some great secret. "You're just using him for sex."

A grin tugged at Lexie's lips. "He might not appreciate that."

Darla straightened then favored her with her best give-me-a-break look. "Yeah, right. Men just hate it when attractive women seduce them. Especially women who aren't expecting hearts, flowers and diamond rings. Believe me, we won't have trouble finding a willing man."

"But I don't want just any guy."

"Don't worry," Darla said. "You'll know the guy when you meet him."

"How?"

A devilish gleam sparkled in Darla's eyes. "He'll be the one you can't keep your eyes-or hands-off. Once you see him, just let nature do the rest. Remember-fun, wild and temporary." Darla held out her hand. "Agreed?"

Lexie took a deep breath. Darla was right. It was time to take a break from her all-work-and-no-play life. Since her breakup with Tony almost a year ago, she'd lived like a monk.

Well, she wasn't a monk. She was a twenty-eight-year-old woman who badly needed some fun, wild and temporary in her life. And thanks to Darla's pep talk, she was primed and ready to take the plunge.

Grasping Darla's hand, Lexie shook on it. "Agreed."

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.