Jacquie ’Alessandro - In Over His Head

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.

Lexie stood in the pool, the warm water lapping at her waist, and tried to look busy with her kickboards in an attempt not to watch Josh ready himself for their lesson. She failed miserably.

The way her eyeballs had annoyingly grown a mind of their own reminded her of those iguanas she'd seen on a recent nature program-their eyes bulged out and worked independently of each other just as hers seemed to be doing now. One eye watched him set his towel on a lounge chair. The other eye ostensibly studied the two kickboards floating next to her.

His hair was dark and thick, her one eye noted. Just the sort of hair that begged for female fingers to ruffle through it. And his legs… whoa, baby. Her earlier assessment was definitely correct: they looked good covered in jeans, they looked incredible not covered in jeans. Before she could take that thought and run with it, he grabbed the ends of his gray University of Montana T-shirt and slowly pulled it over his head.

Her kickboard eye nearly swiveled out of its socket to join its mate for an extended ogle as his extremely fine torso and chest was revealed in heart-stopping increments. Yowza. Clearly Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren didn't know about this guy 'cause if they did, Josh Maynard's bod would be featured in every magazine and plastered on billboards and buses across the country. Tight abs, broad shoulders, muscular arms. His wide chest was dusted with dark hair that narrowed down into a dusky ribbon, bisecting his abdomen before disappearing into the waistband of his swim trunks. She instantly imagined tugging on that waistband and playing peekaboo to see where that intriguing path led.