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.