IN OVER HIS HEAD

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  "What's in this Five-Alarm Platter?" he asked, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table, bringing him closer to her.

  "Wings, chili fries, short ribs, quesadillas and cheese-stuffed jalapeños. All spiced up enough to make you breathe fire. Definitely not for the fainthearted. And enough fat grams to give any cardiologist palpitations. Which is why the Five-Alarm is only a once-in-a-while indulgence."

  He lifted his beer mug and held it aloft. "Well, in that case, here's to once-in-a-while indulgences."

  A hint of color stained her cheeks, charming—and intriguing—him. It had been a long time since he'd seen a woman blush.

  "To indulgences," she agreed, clinking her mug against his.

  He sucked down a long, icy swallow, then set his glass on the colorful cardboard coaster, resisting the urge to press the cold mug to his forehead. He needed something hot as much as he needed a hole in his head, but he couldn't deny he liked a woman who wasn't afraid to eat something other than a salad. And there was no point denying that he liked this particular woman. Or that she turned him on just by sitting here—hell, she'd turned him on the first time he'd seen her. Or that her kiss had the impact of a horse kick to the head.

  Definitely time to get a conversation started—before she thought he was some sort of gawking, tongue-tied, weirdo. Unfortunately he wasn't a great conversationalist on his best day. All those awkward pauses, and wondering what to say next. How was he supposed to carry on a conversation with a gal who all but made him forget his name?

  Offering her a half smile, he asked, "How long have you worked here at the resort, Lexie?"

  And it was as simple as that. No awkward pauses, no not knowing what to say. The next two hours whizzed by in a blur of laughter, conversation, fiery-spiced food, and a pitcher of ice water to accompany their beer. He couldn't recall the last time he'd enjoyed himself just talking to a woman. When he'd felt so at ease. It had been a long time. Too long.

  Yet, for all the being at ease his mind was enjoying, his body was having one hell of a hard time. Literally. Sexual awareness simmered between them until he felt as if he'd been stuffed into a pressure cooker. He saw it in her eyes, felt it tingle through him when their fingers touched passing the ketchup bottle. When her foot brushed his shin as she crossed her legs under the table. He wrapped his fingers around his beer mug to keep from giving in to the overwhelming desire to drag her into his lap and run his hands all over her. But every look, every smile she gave him, pushed him a little closer to the edge.

  Over chili fries and wings, he learned that Lexie lived in a small house about five miles from the resort, that she loved animals, and had a cat named Scout who was fond of salmon, popcorn—buttered only—and Doritos—nacho-cheese flavor, please. She also loved baseball and classic movies, hated horror flicks and any story with a sad ending.

  "I always rewrite the sad ending in my head so it's not sad anymore," she said, nibbling on a chili fry.

  Watching those gorgeous lips wrap around that fry raised his temperature a good ten degrees. Feeling as if he'd burst if didn't touch her, he reached out and gently tugged on one of her chin-length, riotous curls. The soft, silky strands slid between his fingers.

  "Happy endings, huh?" he murmured. "So at the end of Gone With the Wind…?"

  It took her several seconds to answer, a fact that pleased him. Clearly she found his touch distracting. Good. Because for the past two hours she'd distracted the hell out of him.

  Finally she said, "Um, Scarlett gets her man."

  He continued to play with her hair. "And West Side Story?"

  "Ah, Maria gets Tony—who, of course, doesn't die."

  "What about Hamlet?"

  "In my version, Ophelia—who, of course doesn't die—gets Hamlet—who—"

  "Of course doesn't die. I'm beginning to see a pattern." He tucked several curls behind her ear, then slowly traced her jawline with a single fingertip.

  She swallowed. Hard. "So, um, do all cowboys read stuff like Hamlet?"

  "They do if it's a college course requirement."

  "I remember you wore a University of Montana T-shirt the other night. Is that where you went?"

  "It is." Clearly she still wanted to chat. That was fine—he liked talking to her. But no law said he had to continue making it easy for her. His finger resumed its leisurely path across her chin. "Managed to graduate, even in spite of Hamlet."

  "What is your degree in?"

  "Chemical engineering."

  She blinked twice. "You, uh, get to make much use of that expertise on the ranch?"

  He laughed. "Hardly ever. Although after graduation I worked for a year at a research lab on a project geared toward developing alternate energy sources."

  Her brows hiked upward, and he skimmed his fingertip over the arches, then down her smooth cheek.

  "Mmm, why did you work in the field for only a year?"

  "Turned out I'm not much of a nine-to-five guy. I enjoyed the challenge of research, but after a while I found being cooped up in the lab too confining."

  "Office work isn't my cup of tea, either. I love being outdoors too much." She shifted slightly in her seat and her eyes drifted half-closed. "That feels … nice."

  "Good." He moved his explorations lower, over her throat, to dip into the vulnerable hollow of her collarbone. Enjoying her quick intake of breath, he said, "Actually, the main reason I went to college was because my mom always wanted me to. She'd drummed the importance of education into me as early as I could remember. By the time I was in high school, I realized I wanted to go to college, wanted to try something other than bein' a cowboy. I did love the challenge and broadening my horizons, and it's nice to have a degree to fall back on, but being a cowboy is in my blood."

  "That's very distracting, you know."

  "What—me bein' a cowboy?"

  "The way that you're touching me."

  He studied her for several seconds, absorbing the delicate shiver vibrating beneath his cruising fingertips. He liked the way her skin looked next to his. Liked the soft feel of her skin under the glide of his thumb.

  "Do you want me to stop?"

  She shook her head. "No. I want you to tell me why a chemical engineer cowboy wants to buy a sailboat."

  Taking her hands, he turned them palms upward, and while lightly caressing the pale blue crisscross of veins on her wrists, he told her. All about his dad, and the dream they'd shared to someday sail around the Mediterranean together, and how that dream was cut short by his father's death.

  "So I'm going to do it myself," he concluded. "For me, and for my dad. It won't be the same without him, but I know he'll be up in heaven cheering me on."

  She entwined her fingers with his and gently squeezed. "You really loved him."

  "I did. He was a great man. If I manage to be half the man he was, I'll consider that I've done real well."

  An expression he couldn't decipher flickered in her eyes. "You realize that attempting such a voyage is dangerous, even for an experienced sailor."

  "And that's why I'm here. To gain the experience I need."

  "You'll require more knowledge than you can cram into a few weeks, Josh."

  "Maybe. But I have to start somewhere. And you're just the gal to teach me everything I need to know."

  Her gaze flicked down to where his thumbs drew slow circles on her palms. "I suspect that you already know plenty."

  He pulled their entwined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "I know what I want."

  Heat, mixed with a wicked gleam, kindled in her eyes. "Do you want to know what I want?"

  "Like you wouldn't believe."

  She leaned forward, pulling their joined hands toward her mouth. "I want to play a game. Do you like games?" she whispered against his fingers.

  "I do. What kind of game did you have in mind?"

  "It's called 'now it's my turn.' Would you like to know how I ended up working here at the Whispering Palms?"

&n
bsp; "Darlin', I want to hear anything you want to tell me."

  Pure deviltry stared back at him, and she began caressing his fingers, one by one, gently stroking their length. Her action was so blatantly sexual, she might as well have been stroking his penis. 'Cause for damn sure his body's reaction was the same.

  "I landed here by way of almost a dozen air force bases all around the country," she said, and it took all his concentration to focus on her words. "My father was a career man, so every couple of years, phffft!—" she snapped her fingers "—we moved. The older I got, the more I hated being uprooted. Of all the places Dad was stationed, Florida was my favorite. I love the outdoors, the weather, the beach—all of it."

  She paused, and with her eyes steady on his, she brought his palm to her lips. He held his breath, anticipating the feel of her lips against his skin. Instead she touched her tongue to his palm, forcing a moan from him.

  "Do you want me to stop?"

  "Hell, no."

  He could actually feel his eyes glaze over as she continued her story, all the while alternately kissing, nibbling and flicking her tongue over his fingers.

  "I attended the University of Miami and earned my teaching degree. But after three years teaching elementary school, I accepted the job here." With her gaze locked on his, she sucked the tip of his index finger into the heat of her mouth, damn near stopping his heart. He endured her tongue circling his fingertip until he thought he'd explode, then he slipped his finger from her mouth and skimmed it over her bottom lip.

  "Working at the resort is perfect," she said, her soft lips brushing against his finger with each word, "because I can combine teaching, which I love, with the outdoors and sports."

  "Is your dad still in the air force?"

  "No. He retired three years ago. He and Mom 'live'—" she made air quotes with her fingers "—in Maryland, but they're rarely home. They bought an RV and spend most of their time traveling around the country. This week they're in Arizona."

  "Sounds like fun."

  "They enjoy their nomadic lifestyle. Me, I've done enough wandering around to last me a lifetime."

  She settled his hands palms up on the table, splayed his fingers, then proceeded to slowly trace her fingertips over calloused skin that he'd never known was so sensitive.

  Silence fell between them, which was just as well because her "now it's my turn" game had shot his ability to make chitchat all to hell. Unable to endure the sweet torture she was inflicting on his palms any longer, he captured her hand and raised it to his mouth, pressing a heated kiss to the flower-scented inside of her wrist. Her lips parted and he absorbed the quickening of her pulse against his lips.

  She was lovely. And smart. And had him aroused as hell. Him—Josh Maynard, regular guy. Not Josh Maynard, rodeo star. There wasn't an ounce of artifice or being celebrity-struck in her gaze. Only admiration and genuine interest—sentiments he returned—and enough heat to make him feel as if he were roasting over a barbecue pit.

  Lexie looked across at Josh, his dark eyes watching her over their joined hands, her wrist tingling from the warm press of his lips, her body humming from his feather-light touches, and she had to forcibly recall how to breathe. In with the good air, out with the bad air.

  Okay. Over the past two hours of beer and artery-clogging food, she'd found out that Josh Maynard was not only painfully attractive, but articulate, intelligent, amusing and had cared deeply for both his parents. She liked him. He wasn't a wacko, thank goodness, and had the sexiest smile she'd ever seen. The mere brush of his fingers against her skin had her libido dancing the cha-cha, and his hands were really, really sexy. Strong yet sensitive.

  She wanted those hands on her.

  And if there was any man on the planet who could kiss better than him, God bless the woman who found him. Josh not only had a beautiful mouth, he knew how to use it.

  She wanted that mouth on her.

  Everything masculine about him had everything feminine in her waving white flags of surrender. No doubt about it, he was the perfect fun, wild, temporary guy to end her long bout with celibacy and to catapult her back into the social swing. He was definitely Mr. Fling.

  Lisa paused at their table and left the check. "You two need anything else?"

  Privacy. "No, thanks, Lisa," Lexie said. Before she could reach for the check, Josh pulled it toward him and scribbled his name across the bottom, charging the amount to his room.

  "I invited you," Lexie protested. "This was supposed to be my treat."

  "Aw, a cowboy can't let a lady buy his beer. Think of the ribbing I'd get around the campfire."

  "Like you already get for your snakebite?"

  "Exactly." He cocked a single brow. "Wanna see my scar?"

  His tone was light but there was no mistaking the husky note of arousal in his voice or the underlying meaning behind his question. Leaning forward, she looked him right in the eye and whispered, "Yeah. I do."

  His eyes darkened, filling with heat and promise. "My place or yours?"

  "Yours is closer."

  He slid across the booth, stood, then held out his hand. Without breaking eye contact, she slid her hand into his.

  * * *

  Josh congratulated himself on his self-control while walking her across the lobby—not an easy walk with his jeans nearly strangling him. And a nearly impossible amount of time to wait to touch her. Kiss her. What was it about this woman that had him so undone? So captivated? Had him wanting her as he'd never wanted another woman? And damn it, he should know, 'cause he'd sure as hell wanted his fair share.

  Another couple stepped into the elevator with them, giving him a moment to collect himself, to get his desire under control. Indeed, by the time he shut the door to his room behind them, he had everything back in perspective. Sure he liked her, sure she was desirable, but that was it. A healthy case of lust. On both sides. They'd enjoy each other tonight, hell maybe for the duration of his stay here, and then they'd go their separate ways. No mess, no fuss, no interruption or complication of his plans. Perfect. His inner voice snickered, Yeah, right, but he managed to ignore it.

  He slid the door bolt into place, then crossed the room to stand in front of Lexie, who stood at the foot of the king-size bed, looking at the floor. Uh-oh. Clearly she'd also spent those few minutes in the elevator thinking. Touching one finger under her chin, he gently raised her face until their eyes met.

  "Second thoughts?" he asked.

  "No. Yes." A short laugh pushed past her lips. "No. It's just that I'm feeling a bit discombobulated. It's, um, been a while."

  Curious he asked, "How long is 'a while'?"

  A flush of clear embarrassment washed over her cheeks. "Almost a year."

  A soft whistle blew past his lips. "Must have been a hell of a breakup."

  "Not in an acrimonious way. Actually it was more sad than anything. He was a good guy, but just not the right guy for me."

  "Were you married?"

  "Engaged."

  "Well, he might have been a good guy, but he couldn't have been the smartest horse in the stable to let a gal like you get away. You can't let one bad apple spoil the whole bunch of bananas."

  She laughed. "Now that's a mixed metaphor if I ever heard one."

  "Well, that's the kind of woman you are."

  "Hey, I'm a lot of things, but I am not a metaphor mixer."

  "I meant you're the kind of woman who makes a man forget what he's saying. Forget what he's doing. Makes him all confused and—what was that word you used?"

  "Discombobulated?"

  "Yeah. That's what you do, all right. Get a man's ulated all discombobed." He brushed his fingertips over her smooth cheek. "Lexie, there's nothing to worry about. Making love is like riding a horse—you don't forget how."

  A smile lifted up one corner of her mouth. "Bad analogy for two reasons. First, I think that 'you don't forget how' thing is about riding a bike."

  "Not where I come from. What's the second reason?"

 
"I've never ridden a horse."

  He couldn't hide his surprise. "You're kidding. An outdoorsy gal like you?"

  "Not kidding. The opportunity just never presented itself."

  "We'll have to see what we can do about that. You don't know what you're missing." He looked down into her hazel eyes. "Any other problems?"

  "Condoms?"

  "Got 'em."

  "Well, then, I guess I'm all talked out."

  "That's the best news I've heard all night." Settling his hands on her hips, he pulled her closer, until their bodies touched from chest to knee. A wave of heat washed through him, gaining momentum at the desire simmering in her gaze. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips lightly over hers. A tiny sigh escaped her, warm and spicy against his mouth. She parted her lips, and his tongue glided into the velvet heat of her mouth.

  In a heartbeat their kiss turned wild, a lush, open-mouthed mating of lips and tongues. It was as if she'd hooked him up to a bunch of electrodes, then flipped the switch. Raw want scraped at him, narrowing his every thought and focus on her. Her soft, fragrant skin, the feel of her hands moving up his chest, over his shoulders, then tangling in his hair.

  He ran one hand up her back, silting his fingers into the curls brushing her nape, while his other hand wandered down to the curve of her bottom. She rose up on her toes, pressing herself more fully against him, and his erection jerked in response. Logic told him to slow down, to take his time and savor her, but unfortunately logic wasn't in charge. Besides, she was having none of it, and he wasn't about to argue. Her hands raced restlessly over him, down to his waistband, where she tugged impatiently at his T-shirt. He broke their kiss only long enough to pull it over his head. In the instant it took him to remove his shirt, she'd yanked her tank top over her head, then sent it sailing across the room.

  He cupped her full breasts in his hands, gliding his thumbs over her aroused nipples. A low groan sounded in her throat, and he pulled his gaze up to her face. Her eyes were smoky with want, her lips wet and reddened from their ardent kiss. Before he could register more, she ran her palms down his chest, tickling her fingers over his abdomen, forcing a quick suck of air into his lungs. He moved forward, walking her backward, until the backs of her legs hit the foot of the bed.