"Like I hired you for swimming lessons."

"Exactly."

"Are you available for private sailing lessons?"

"Yes, but only early in the morning, weather permitting, before my normal shift starts. For obvious safety reasons, I don't teach sailing at night." She cocked her head to one side. "Let me know if you're interested."

Oh, I'm interested all right. More interested than a hungry hound dog in a pork chop. And he couldn't deny it irked him. Falling in lust had not been on his list of things to do while in Florida. Still, as that was the hand he'd been dealt, and it had taken him all of one restless night and day to realize he couldn't talk himself out of this attraction, he'd simply have to put up his ante, so to speak, and play-keeping his cards close to the vest, of course.

"Before we begin anything new," she said, "let's spend a few minutes warming up by reviewing what we did last evening." He agreed, then spent the next quarter hour kicking along with the board and breathing.

"Great job, Josh," she said. "You're ready to graduate to floating."

Josh watched her demonstrate lying on her back, as if she were stretched out in a comfortable bed, her arms moving gently back and forth. She closed her eyes and looked for all the world as if she were taking a nap. Sort of like a wet, floating Sleeping Beauty. Her short, dark hair surrounded her head like an undulating halo, and he barely resisted the urge to sift his fingers through the tempting strands. His gaze rested on her full lips and his imagination immediately ran amok, casting him in the role of Prince Charming. Would those gorgeous lips taste as delicious as they looked?

"The keys are relaxation and balance," she said in a soft, soothing voice that thankfully yanked him back to reality. She floated with seemingly effortless grace. "You'll be right next to the edge, so if you feel yourself tipping, just reach out your hand. Like this." She reached out, but instead of touching the edge of the pool, her fingers slid across his belly.

He hissed in a breath and her eyes popped open, clearly realizing she'd made contact with him, not the concrete edge. With a splash, she stood, and emitted a shaky-sounding laugh. "Sorry about that."

"No problem." Nope, none at all. Except that that single inadvertent brush of her hand made him feel as if a firecracker sizzled in his swim trunks. He dragged his hands through his wet hair. Maybe he should have taken these swim lessons in Antarctica. With a male instructor.

"Once you get the hang of this in the pool," she said, "it will be even easier in the ocean where the saltwater has more buoyancy. Unless, of course, the water is rough, but the forecast is calling for calm seas for the next few days. Lots of sunshine and little wind. Not great for sailing, but perfect for swimming. Now, just lie on your back and let the water support you. I'll help you get started."

Josh did as she bid, and was doing a darn good job of it. Or at least he was until she "helped him get started." He'd gotten himself almost supine when she slid her hands under him, one supporting his shoulders, the other the small of his back.

"Good. Now just relax, Josh," she said in a soft, smoky voice.

Relax? With her hands on him, feeling like liquid silk against his skin? With his face not six inches from her full breasts? With her looking at him with those wide, incredible eyes? Not much chance of that.

To his embarrassment, he started floundering like a fish on a hook, his arms and legs flailing. Certainly no one who saw him now would ever believe that he possessed an innate, nearly flawless sense of balance that had enabled him to win four consecutive world rodeo championships.

"Take it easy," she said. "Close your eyes and take slow, deep breaths. Hold on to the side with one hand and let yourself go limp. I've got you."

Limp. Yeah, right. Definitely not much chance of that. He snapped his eyes shut, grabbed the concrete edge of the pool, and forced himself to relax, one tense muscle at a time-a feat much easier to accomplish now that he wasn't looking at her, and easier still once he pretended she was an old man. With one tooth. And a grizzled beard.

But then her velvety-soft voice flowed over him once more. "Much better, Josh."

His eyes popped open and he found himself staring up into her lovely face, which hovered so tantalizingly close… so close he had only to reach up to tangle his fingers in her wet hair and pull her mouth down to his…

The flailing and splashing started all over again. If she'd let go of him, he'd have sunk like a millstone, arms and legs waving like a flag in a gale storm. Of course, if she hadn't been holding him, touching him in the first place, he wouldn't have been flopping around in such an undignified way. Damn it, it was downright humiliating that he couldn't master such a simple task. Not to mention aggravating. It left him feeling vulnerable in a way he couldn't recall ever before experiencing. Gritting his teeth, he squeezed his eyes shut once again, pulled together all his concentration, and forced himself to relax.

"Good," she said. "Now, I'm going to move, to stand behind you, by your head, and support your shoulders. Don't worry about sinking below the surface. I promise I won't let you. What I want you to do is to move your arms and legs slowly in the water, like you're making a snow angel. I bet you made a lot of those in Montana."

He kept his eyes firmly closed. "Sure did."

"Then you'll be an expert floater in no time. Just pretend you're lying in a pile of snow. Remember, relax, and balance. You don't have to let go of the side until you feel ready. There's no rush. I'm going to move now, so start making that angel."

Her arm slipped from beneath the small of his back. Focusing on the task for all he was worth, he followed her instructions, conjuring up a mental image of himself as a child, tossing his body into a snowdrift with youthful abandon to create white, frosty angels. That's it, old boy. Think snow. Ice. Relax and balance. As long as he kept his mind on the task at hand instead of on her, he'd be fine.

He moved his limbs slowly back and forth in the water, and the more he felt the tension ease from his shoulders, the more buoyant he became. Still, he'd best not relinquish his hold on the side yet.

"Tell me about your home, Josh," he heard her say, though she sounded muffled as his ears were under water. "What's it like in Manhattan, Montana?"

He grasped the opportunity to keep his thoughts away from her like a drowning man seizes a life ring, although he wryly admitted to himself that that was not a good analogy under the present circumstances.

" Manhattan is beautiful. Peaceful." One corner of his mouth quirked upward. "They don't call Montana 'Big Sky Country' for nothing. The sky is so blue it can make your eyes hurt to look at it. The air is crisp and clean, and the mountains look close enough to reach out and touch. Manhattan 's rural, lots of wide-open spaces, but the town itself has everything anyone could need-movie theater, restaurants, lots of businesses and shops and such."

"Do you live on a ranch?"

"I do. On a small spread my dad and I bought together last year. Before that I lived and worked at the Dry Creek Ranch where Dad was foreman."

"Does he still work there?"

The familiar grief rolled through him, tightening his throat. "No. He died. Six months ago. On the job. Heart attack."

He felt her fingers flex on his shoulders blades. "I'm so sorry."

A long breath eased from his lips. "Me, too. My dad was a great guy. Patient, kind, always had a friendly word for everyone, no matter how ornery they might be. And I've never met anyone who could handle animals the way he could. He had a true gift."

His dad's weather-beaten features, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, rose in his mind's eye. He could almost hear Dad's husky-timbered voice say, Let go of the edge now, son. A man can't succeed if he doesn't try, and if he's gonna try, he's gotta try his best.

Slowly, one finger at a time, Josh let go of the edge. He felt himself dip lower in the water, but true to her promise, Lexie didn't let him sink below the surface. Balance and relax. He gently swished both arms through the water, delight and surprise filling him when he actually remained afloat.

"What about the rest of your family?" came her next muffled question.

"Don't have much, except my uncle and two cousins in Texas. We only see each other maybe once a year, if that. No brothers or sisters, and my mom passed away when I was twelve. After she died, Dad and I moved out to Dry Creek Ranch."

"Your dad never remarried?"

"No. Over the years there were a few ladies whose company he enjoyed, and Lord knows, plenty of women batted their eyes in his direction, but he died loving my mother. They were high school sweethearts. They'd been married fifteen years when she died, but they'd still acted like kids on a date. Huggin' and kissin' and holding hands."

He thought he heard her blow out one of those feminine, dreamy sighs. "That's lovely. Romantic. And sad. And… lovely."

"Yeah. They were great together. And she sure was a great mom. I remember coming home from school, doing my homework at the kitchen table. Mom would chat with me while she rolled out dough for another loaf of bread she would either burn or undercook." A chuckle worked its way up his throat. "Man, oh, man, she made the worst bread in the world, but she was determined. Can't tell you how many loaves Dad and I slathered butter on and bravely ate because she'd tried so hard. She had a beautiful smile. It lit up her whole face. I remember she smelled like chocolate-chip cookies. She baked them for me every Monday. She burned those a lot, too, but I ate them anyway. They're still my favorite…"