"What's this?" he asked, pulling an aluminum foil-wrapped plate out from behind the coffeemaker.
"Nothing!" Lexie made a grab for the foil, but he was too quick. Before she could stop him, he'd unwrapped the plate and was staring at the contents.
Embarrassment scorched her cheeks. He said nothing for several interminable seconds, then he finally raised his gaze to hers and regarded her with an impossible-to-read expression.
"You made these?" he asked. "For me?"
"Well, I tried to. You'd mentioned that chocolate-chip cookies were your favorite. I gave it my best shot, but clearly I should have just stopped at the bakery." She shook her head. "I told you I was a lousy cook."
"So that's what I smelled earlier."
"I'm afraid so. I was going to trash them, but you arrived, and then I forgot."
His brows shot upward. "Throw them away? Why?"
"In case you haven't noticed, I burned them." Her gaze wandered to the flat, charred disks on the plate and she winced. "Incinerated is actually closer to the truth."
He picked up one of the scorched cookies, brought it to his lips, then took a big bite. He chewed slowly, his gaze never leaving hers.
Her stomach tightened in sympathy and she prayed his act of chivalry wouldn't cause him any gastrointestinal distress.
He swallowed, God bless him, but then to her amazement, he took another bite. Clearly the first bite had killed off all the poor man's tastebuds.
She reached for the plate, but he held it protectively against his chest. "Josh, please, you don't have to eat them. They're awful."
"No, they're not."
"They're not?"
"Nope." His lips curved into a smile so filled with warmth and delight, her breath caught. "They're just like Mom used to make."
The next morning, after their early morning sailing lesson, followed by a swimming lesson during which Lexie merely swam laps alongside him, Josh let himself into his hotel room.
Dropping his key onto the still perfectly made bed, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. After washing off the chlorine, he closed his eyes, braced his hands against the tiles, and let the warm water rush over him as images of Lexie danced behind his eyelids.
Lexie smiling at him over a glass of wine. Her pleasure over the dinner he'd made her. Laughing as he'd fashioned a mini lasso from a piece of yarn and played with Scout. Sighing with pleasure as he'd massaged away her lingering aches from their horseback riding lesson. Crying out his name in release. Her soft skin under his hands as she fell asleep in his arms.
Two more weeks. He was scheduled to leave here in two more weeks. The mere thought of it cinched his stomach into knots. How the hell could he? He couldn't. Yet neither could he stay. He had responsibilities back home. A ranch to run. People who depended on him. And he had a quest to finish. Damn it, he was going to sail a boat in the Mediterranean. He had to. If he didn't, it would eat at him till his dying day.
She was the thing that was messing up all his nice, neat plans. Falling in love with her was wreaking havoc with his life, blowing him to bits in the emotional minefield he'd laid himself.
Every minute he spent with her, every time he touched her, spoke to her, shared a memory with her, made love to her, another bomb detonated. And to top it all off, she'd baked-okay, burned-him chocolate-chip cookies. Because he'd mentioned they were his favorite. That sweet, simple gesture had cut him off at the knees. Indeed all her actions and gestures showed that she cared about him, and she'd agreed that they were "dating," but she hadn't given him any other verbal indication that he meant anything more to her than a fling. And he was running out of time. And patience.
He knew what he wanted. He wanted Lexie. He wanted her to fall in love with him. He wanted them to figure out a compromise to remain together after his time at the Whispering Palms ended.
He just wasn't sure about the best way to go about getting those things to happen.
Shutting off the water, he grabbed a towel. Wrapping the white terry cloth around his waist, he wiped off a section of the steamy mirror with his hand then stared at his reflection. "Why the hell couldn't you have fallen in love at some other, more convenient time? And maybe with a gal who lived a little closer to home? One who wanted to travel? And one who didn't look spooked every time you mentioned the word 'rodeo'?"
When his reflection remained silent, he left the bathroom. The phone rang and he snatched up the receiver.
"Hey, Josh. It's Bob," came his business manager's voice. "How's the vacation? You all rested up?"
"Vacation's going great," he said, not adding that sleep was playing a minimal role.
"And how about those sailing lessons?"
"Just fine."
"Glad to hear it. Listen, I'm calling 'cause I just got the heads up on something I think you'll find very interesting."
Josh tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling. He had a strong sense he knew what was coming next. And he didn't want to hear it. "Bob, I'm retired."
"I know it." A lengthy pause filled the air. "But Wes Handly isn't."
The mention of his rival's name piqued Josh's curiosity, as he knew Bob had hoped. "I'm listening."
"Handly's just signed on for an international charity event in Europe scheduled for next month. Right now he's the biggest name on marquee. But I know another name that could knock him off the top spot." Before Josh could reply, Bob rushed on, "The corporate sponsors are going nuts with this, Josh. They're promising the moon if you'll step out of retirement. Not only would it make you rich-"
"I'm already rich."
"You can never be too rich. Besides, this event will not only raise a load of money for charity, it would give you a chance to compete against Handly again. To hand him the loss he should have had last time. To let you go out on top, where you belong."
Damn, as much as he hated to admit it, Josh couldn't deny that the thought of going head-to-head against Handly one more time, to have another chance to beat him, made his blood hum with anticipation. He should have won that last competition. Coming in second still rankled.
"When do you need to know?"
"Sponsors want to set up a meeting as soon as possible, in Miami. Josh, listen, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Don't pass it up. Handly's talking about retiring himself next year, so this would be your only chance. Grab it with both hands. And, just as a bit of added incentive, I thought I'd point out something you may not have considered-this event takes place in Monaco."
"So?"
" Monaco is on the Mediterranean."
Josh mulled that over for about ten seconds, then mused out loud, "So I could tie up two bulls with one rope."
"Practically with one hand tied behind your back," Bob agreed. "And collect a big fat paycheck to do it."
And then he'd be free, his quest over. Free to concentrate his time and energy on his future. And Lexie.
"Bob?"
"Yes, Josh?"
"Sign me up."
There was no missing Bob's sigh of relief. "Atta, boy. I'll tell the sponsors right away, and call you back with the details. This is going to be great, Josh. You made the right decision."
Josh ended the call several minutes later then stared at the phone. He didn't doubt he'd made the right decision-he'd wanted another crack at Handly since the day he'd hung up his spurs. And with this event taking place in Monaco, with the Mediterranean spread at his feet, well, surely that was some sort of sign.
Yet he couldn't banish the niggling doubt at the back of his mind. In spite of knowing he'd done the right thing for himself, he strongly suspected that Lexie would take a dim view of him coming out of retirement. Her opinion of daredevils was crystal-clear: she wanted no part of another one. She already thought his sailing quest was dangerous, so him taking part in this rodeo would definitely convince her that he was indeed a daredevil. The same sort of man she'd already broken off an engagement to. Would she banish him from her life in a similar way?