IN OVER HIS HEAD Read online

  "If he wasn't your type, why'd you get engaged to him?"

  "When we first started dating, then fell in love, he wasn't so … intense. He was sweet and thoughtful. But as his thirtieth birthday approached, he went through some sort of early midlife crisis. He took on increasingly reckless, dangerous adventures—as if he had to prove something to himself. I loved him, but I knew he'd never change. He'd always be wanting, needing, searching for the next challenge, while I'd always be worried and filled with dread. Success changed him, and once the womanizing started, that was it. For both our sakes, I let him go."

  "Do you still love him?" he asked quietly.

  "No. I pray for his safety, but I've never regretted breaking our engagement." A self-conscious laugh pushed past her lips. "And that's no doubt more about me than you ever wanted to know."

  "Actually, that doesn't even break the surface of what I'd like to know about you."

  His intense look arrowed fire down to her toes, and she forced herself to keep the conversation light, not to read too much into his words or expression. "Well, that's all you get to know for now 'cause it's your turn. How come a guy who looks like you doesn't have a girlfriend? Or do you have one?"

  He lifted a brow, and said in a cool voice, "I don't have a girlfriend. I'm not the sort of man who would have a fling if there was someone waiting at home for me."

  Heat rushed into her face at her obvious faux pas. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. It's just that men who look like you are usually attached."

  "I am completely unattached."

  "Never been married?"

  "Never even come close."

  Hmm. Clearly commitment-phobic. Typical. As if he'd read her thoughts, he said, "Not because I'm afraid of commitment. I've just never met the right woman. And in my line of work, with all the traveling, it's pretty hard to maintain a steady relationship." He chuckled. "I've had my fair share of bad first dates, too."

  Confusion tugged her brows down. "Traveling? Where do cowboys travel to? Other ranches?"

  Wariness entered his eyes, and he scraped his free hand through his hair. "Well, actually, I haven't been doin' much ranching the past few years. I've spent the bulk of my time—"

  The waitress's arrival cut off his words and Lexie's imagination ran wild. What had he been doing? Something involving traveling. Great. He probably worked for the CIA, going undercover to unearth crimes in America's heartland. Probably got shot at on a daily basis. Or maybe he was a pilot—and had three wives in different cities around the globe.

  Or maybe he's simply a nice, decent man, who, incredible as it may seem, is single, heterosexual, and interested in you.

  As the waitress set their drinks and plates of food on the table, Lexie couldn't help but again notice that she was staring at Josh as if he were a succulent morsel and she was starving. When she'd laid down the last dish, she said in a breathless rush, "You're Josh Maynard. I'd recognize you anywhere."

  Lexie's brows crept up in surprise. Oh, boy. Hopefully this woman didn't recognize Josh from the FBI's Most Wanted poster at the post office.

  Josh smiled at the young woman and stuck out his hand. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Josh Maynard. Nice to meet you, Miss—?"

  Lexie feared the girl might go down like a tenpin as she clasped Josh's hand. "Baker. Vickie Baker. Ohmigod. I told Sally and the other girls it was you, but they didn't believe me. Can I have your autograph?"

  "I'd be honored, Vickie. 'Fraid I don't have a pen, though."

  "I have one." She yanked her apron askew in her zeal to remove it from her pocket. A frown creased her forehead. "But all I have is my order pad to write on. Would you wait while I get a decent piece of paper?"

  "I'll be right here."

  Vickie gushed out another, "Ohmigod," then sped away. Josh turned to Lexie with a sheepish grin. She stared at him for several seconds until she located her voice.

  "Okay, so what are you, a country singing star?"

  "No. Remember how I mentioned last night that I'd done some rodeo?"

  "Yes. That's how you got your scar."

  "Right. Well, truth of the matter is, I've spent a fair amount of time on the rodeo circuit, and managed to make a bit of a name for myself."

  "What's a 'fair amount of time'?"

  "I rode some in high school and college, but except for that year doing research, the rodeo is how I've made my living since college."

  "And you're how old now?"

  "Thirty-four."

  "And I'm guessing that since Vickie recognized you and gushed over you as if Mel Gibson and Brad Pitt had just strolled in, you did a little more than make a 'bit' of a name for yourself."

  He shrugged. "I won a few."

  "A few what? Blue ribbons?"

  "World championships."

  Her eyes widened. "So you're some sort of rodeo celebrity?"

  "I suppose. In certain circles." He flashed her a grin. "But hey, how famous can I be? You'd never heard of me."

  "Maybe because I know squat about the rodeo."

  "I'd be happy to tell you anything you might want to know."

  "Why didn't you mention this before now?" His gaze searched hers. "It hadn't really come up in conversation. I retired from the circuit a few months ago. And to tell you the truth, it was nice to be with someone who didn't know. Who didn't make a fuss about it."

  An image of adoring female fans "making a fuss" over Josh flashed in Lexie's mind, followed by the taunting phrase "been there, done that." "Does the rodeo have groupies—like rock and roll bands?"

  "Groupies, fans, corporate endorsers," he said.

  Any further elaborations he might have planned to make were cut off by the arrival of Vickie and three other young waitresses.

  "I told you it was him," Vickie said with a smug grin to her cohorts. She turned to Josh. "This is Sally, Trish and Amy."

  Josh nodded at the women and smiled. "Nice to meet you, ladies. And this is Lexie."

  All four women said, "Hey," in greeting, but their attention was focused on Josh with the sort of zeal a jewel thief would bestow upon the Hope diamond.

  "I told Ben, the bartender, that you were here," Vickie said, "and he about split a gut. He's holed up in the boss's office, printin' off some pictures of you from the Internet so you can sign 'em and we can hang 'em behind the bar."

  One of the other women—Lexie believed it was the one named Amy—craned her neck around. "Are you wearing one of your All-Around buckles, Josh?" she asked in a breathless voice.

  "As a matter of fact, I am."

  "Oo-hh! Can we see it?"

  "Sure." He scooted his chair out, then stood. Lexie noted that four pairs of female eyes zeroed in like laser beams on his big belt buckle. And all four women looked as if they'd like to polish that big brass buckle—with their tongues.

  With a flip of his wrist, he removed the buckle and handed it to Amy who accepted the shiny piece as if it were the Holy Grail. The four women crowded around, oohing and aahing. Josh shot Lexie a sheepish grin and mouthed "Sorry." She waved her hand, indicating it was no problem, then she simply sat back and watched, half amazed, half amused, as he proceeded to charm the women with several rodeo anecdotes while signing autographs for them. Ben the bartender joined the group, Internet print-out pictures in hand, and Lexie watched Josh scrawl his name across images of himself atop huge, bucking Brahman bulls.

  Her stomach flipped at the eye-widening images in those photos, and she gave herself a mental slap on the forehead. Good grief, so much for meeting a man who wasn't another adrenaline junkie! She could sum up what was depicted on those printouts in two words: in sane. The thought stilled her. Yes, it was insane. And dangerous. And based on the behavior of these waitresses, woman clearly flocked around him like geese. Good Lord, he was just like Tony.

  But did it really matter? No, of course not. She wasn't going to marry him. She wasn't even dating him!

  He was temporary. A fling. A way to regain her confidence and to ease herself back int
o the singles scene, and as an added bonus, to pick up some extra money for teaching him on the side. It didn't matter that he'd spent years being tossed onto the ground by two-ton beasts, or that women hung on him like mold on cheese. Her heart was not involved. Yup, everything was now settled back into its proper perspective.

  It wasn't long before curious patrons started looking toward the group gathered around their table and came over to check out what was happening. Soon a crowd had formed, men and women alike, all anxious to get an autograph and to shake Josh's hand. He was unerringly polite and patient, chatting, signing, even posing for pictures with several people who had cameras with them. He frequently squeezed Lexie's hand, smiling at her in an apologetic way, but she assured him she was fine. He introduced her to the crowd as "his friend" Lexie, and she noted that several women in the crowd raked their gazes over her in a way that indicated they'd like to take her out back and fling her in the Dumpster.

  She couldn't help but admire his attitude toward all these strangers. He was charming and friendly, but even though, in spite of her presence, a number of the women flirted outrageously with him—what was she, invisible?—Josh remained merely friendly and polite in return, not rising to any of the overtures, innuendos or invitations issued to him. She couldn't deny she appreciated the courteous gesture. It definitely wasn't the way Tony would have handled a similar situation.

  After he'd signed an autograph for everyone who wanted one, and Vickie had shooed off the crowd, saying, "Okay, let's leave the poor man to his evening," he turned to Lexie.

  "I'm sorry that took so long, but I hate to disappoint fans. They're a loyal group, and without them, I wouldn't have had a job."

  "Please, don't apologize. I enjoyed watching you." She shook her head. "It's like being out with a movie star. That one man referred to you as the Michael Jordan of rodeo!"

  He shrugged. "A reporter called me that once, and after the media picked it up, it sort of stuck."

  Leaning forward, she looked into his eyes. "That entire thing was amazing, but what I find most amazing of all is how modest you are about your accomplishments."

  "I can't deny I'm proud of them, but I guess I don't talk about them much, especially away from the circuit. If I talk about it with other cowboys, it's business. If I talk about it with anyone else, it seems like braggin'."

  "Certainly no one could blame you—you have plenty to brag about."

  He reached out and clasped both her hands. "Let me tell you something. The first few years I was on the circuit, I played it for all it was worth. I was young, talented, and I enjoyed all the perks that came with winning—including the adoration. But the more I won, the more my celebrity grew, and it eventually got to the point where I didn't know if someone liked me for me—or because of my fame.

  "I stayed with the rodeo because I love it. Love the challenge and competition. But I realigned my priorities, and a few years ago I took a big step backward from the 'fame' side of it. I'm grateful for the fan support and I'll always take the time to chat or sign an autograph. But I have to admit, it didn't bother me one bit that you didn't know who I was."

  "Does that mean I shouldn't ask for your autograph?" she teased.

  He slipped his hand under the table, then ran it up her thigh. "I can think of a few places I'd like to sign my name on you."

  And she could think of a few more. "Why did you retire?"

  "It was time. I'd accomplished everything I'd set out to—even more. Besides, my body couldn't take it much longer. My dad had died, leaving me solely responsible for the ranch we'd bought together…" His voice trailed off and he shrugged. "Like I said, it was time."

  "I heard one man ask you if you planned to come out of retirement to 'even the score.' What did he mean?"

  "He was referring to my last competition. I came in second place to Wes Handly, one of my biggest rivals."

  "Which you didn't like."

  "Can't say I did. Not that Wes didn't deserve to win. He's a good man and he outrode me. It was just hard to go out that way."

  "So, would you come out of retirement?"

  "Nope. I've hung up my spurs for good."

  A sense of relief she didn't want to feel or examine eased through her. But a small inner voice whispered, Yeah, and Michael Jordan retired for good, too. Several times. Oh, yeah, it was a very good thing that her heart wasn't involved in this fling. Fun, wild and temporary.

  Her gaze fell to their plates of uneaten food. "I think our hot wings are way cold."

  "Would you like me to order a fresh batch?"

  She shook her head. "Why don't we have Vickie wrap these up, then we can reheat them." She raised her gaze to his. "At my place."

  His eyes darkened and his fingers tightened around hers. "That's an invitation I'd be an idiot to turn down."

  "And we both know you're one of those smart-guy chemical engineers."

  "Ah. So you're only interested in my mind."

  "Not exactly." She allowed her gaze to wander over him in a very suggestive way. "Actually. I was thinking we could play a little game."

  "Mmm. You know I like games. What did you have in mind?"

  "I was thinking we could play Ice Cream."

  "Can't say I'm familiar with it. How do you play?"

  "I lick. You melt."

  He went perfectly still, smoke all but emanating from his eyes. "Let's go."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

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  Josh drove his rental car slowly down the winding street, one hand on the wheel, the other hand resting on the leather seat, his fingers entwined with Lexie's. Conversation consisted of Lexie giving him directions to her house, and that was fine with him as he felt pretty much incapable of making chitchat. Her sexy game invitation swirled through his mind like a tornado, whipping up a maelstrom of lust. It was all he could do to concentrate on the road. If he allowed his fantasies free rein, they'd end up in Louisiana.

  In an effort to get his mind off ice cream—at least until they arrived at her house—he forced his thoughts elsewhere. As flattering as tonight's fan attention was, he certainly hadn't planned on an impromptu autograph session. At first he'd worried that Lexie would mind, but she'd taken the interruption of their evening right in stride, a fact for which he was grateful. He'd been in similar situations before where his date had gotten all huffy and pouty and jealous, and he'd spent many evenings coaxing disgruntled dates back into good humor. It was refreshing that Lexie hadn't reacted that way, even though a few of the women had made some blatantly suggestive verbal overtures. Lexie had simply smiled at him, winked at him, and even favored him with looks that clearly indicated she was proud of him, and several that made it plain sex was in his immediate future.

  He risked a quick glance at her from the corner of his eye and instantly regretted it as the glimpse he caught showed her pursing her full lips.

  Damn, this was bad. This woman turned him on just sitting there. And she was hell on his ability to concentrate. But even worse were his powerful feelings for her—a woman who'd made it very plain tonight that this was a fling and nothing more. He feared his former occupation wasn't going to help his cause any. She clearly harbored an aversion, with good reason, to guys she designated as adrenaline junkies. And while her former alligator-wrestling fiancé sounded a bit over-the-top, Josh suspected that "rodeo cowboy" probably lumped him in the same category.

  Before he could ponder further she said, "My house is the second one on the right, with the porch light on."

  He pulled into the driveway, then cut the engine. The house was cream-colored stucco with a small, neat yard, nestled between two similarly styled houses. After opening her car door, an act that brought a smile to her lips, she led him up the cement walkway, then into a foyer tiled in pale green.

  He followed her into a pristine kitchen done in cheerful shades of green and yellow. She opened the refrigerator, then bent over to slip in the foam to-go boxes containing their food.

  Th
e way she looked, bent over, with her dress riding up the backs of her thighs, forced him to take several long careful breaths. Then she straightened, closed the fridge, and leaned back against the white door.

  "Would you like to see the rest of the place?"

  "Darlin', I'm anxious to see anything you might like to show me."

  She smiled, then waved her arm in an arc. "Kitchen and breakfast room." She led him through an archway, then said, "Family room." The cozy room was done in shades of blue and pale yellow, with a whitewashed wood entertainment center surrounded by an overstuffed sectional sofa. Several fitness magazines rested on a glass coffee table, alongside a large sand-filled bowl decorated with an assortment of colorful shells. Framed photos were scattered around the room, but before he could examine them, she crossed the hardwood floor and opened the vertical blinds along the back wall. Sliding open the patio doors, she said, "Deck."

  He stepped outside and was immediately engulfed in steamy tropical air. A tall wooden fence enclosed the small backyard. In one corner of the deck stood a grill. In the other—

  "Hot tub," she said, pointing toward the other corner.

  An image of them, together in a pool of warm, bubbling water flashed in his mind, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

  "I love to indulge in a muscle-relaxing soak after an active day at work," she said. "The fence provides complete privacy from the neighboring houses."

  Their eyes met, and Josh swore something passed between them. Something more than the arousing possibilities the hot tub offered. Something warm and intimate and knowing.

  Reaching out, she clasped his hand then led him back into the house. She brought him through the tidy kitchen, then down a short corridor, murmuring, "Guest room, bathroom, laundry room," as they passed a trio of doors. At the end of the hallway she said, "My bedroom."