for a towel hanging over the back of a nearby lounge chair, he glanced over and his dark blue eyes met Gemma’s gaze. She knew she should look away—she really did—but once he started running that towel down the length of his arms and across that wide chest...
She couldn’t even blink, let alone find a way to break her mesmerized stare.
A slow smile broke over his handsome features, crinkling the crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes and warming Gemma from the inside out. She felt almost pinned in place on the pale blue lounger as a small shiver raced from the top of her head, all the way down to her purple-painted toenails.
As she watched, he lifted his fingers toward his lips. He wasn’t actually going to blow her a kiss, was he? That certainly didn’t seem like a cowboy thing to do. Tip an imaginary hat, maybe, but not—
The thought had barely formed in her mind when the man did indeed raise his fingers to his mouth—to give a shrill, sharp whistle that echoed through the enclosed space and had the young girl on the lounger next to Gemma’s giving a slight start.
Janie’s chatter cut off abruptly as she glanced across the pool toward the man who now had those impressive arms crossed over his equally impressive chest. Janie’s shoulders slumped slightly. “That’s my dad.”
“Your dad?” Gemma didn’t know why the statement surprised her. She would have guessed the man was in his late thirties, possibly early forties. Certainly old enough to be Janie’s father.
Somehow, though, her fantasy cowboy hadn’t come with a preteen daughter.
“Yeah. He’s always watching over me. It’s like he doesn’t know I’m practically a teenager already,” she added with an eye roll. “I better go see what he wants.”
With that, Janie bounced up from the lounge chair and rushed over to her father’s side. He grinned down at his petite daughter, love written in every rugged line of his face, as he listened to the young girl whose hands were moving almost as fast as her mouth.
Of course. That broad smile had been for Janie, not for Gemma.
The gorgeous maybe-cowboy was a dad with a cute blonde daughter and no doubt an equally cute blonde wife.
And Gemma felt like the world’s biggest fool. Again.
* * *
“Dad! You’ve got to meet Gemma!”
Hank grinned at Janie’s enthusiasm as he draped the damp towel over the back of a chair. Her blue eyes were bright with excitement, despite being a little red from all the chlorine, and he decided that maybe this vacation wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Once they’d checked in the day before, they had explored the hotel a bit, making plans for the next several days. That morning, they had hiked the trails around the hotel before having a late lunch in the dining room. After waiting half an hour—because, yes, he was that kind of dad—they changed into swimsuits and hit the pool.
Hank couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a day to relax. The Bar H had a capable foreman who could run the ranch in his absence, but Hank was not a weekend cowboy. His typical days, especially when Janie was at her mother’s, consisted of waking before dawn and working until he was ready to drop.
Sleeping in and spending an afternoon by the pool with Janie were luxuries he appreciated far more than any of the hotel’s other high-class amenities. Of course, he wasn’t sure what they were going to do tomorrow or the next day or the day after that.
One day of lazing around was about all he could take, and he was already anticipating his daughter growing bored. But so far Janie was having a good time, and if she’d made a little friend, it would help her to have someone to play with.
“Where is she?”
“Da-ad.” His daughter rolled her eyes in sheer exasperation. “Didn’t you see me talking to her right over there?”
She pointed in the direction of the stunning brunette a man would have to be dead not to notice. “That’s Gemma?”
Janie nodded. “She’s from New York City! Isn’t that cool? Did you see the headband she’s wearing and how it totally matches her flip-flops? And her tote bag? I bet she bought it at some super-famous store in New York.”
Headband? Flip-flops? Bag? No, no and...no. Hank hadn’t paid attention to any of those things and was a little surprised that his tomboy daughter had. Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t locked in on other details about the woman. Like the long black hair shimmering in a sleek wave down her back. The stunning green eyes were so bright, they seemed to glow from within. And when she slid the hotel robe from her shoulders to reveal a barely there bikini that highlighted her slender curves, Hank had found himself wishing the pool wasn’t heated. He could have used an instant ice bath to cool the sudden desire burning through his veins.
All of which was so unlike him.
“You’ve gotta meet her, Dad!” Janie insisted as she tugged on his arm.
“Janie, she’s here on vacation. You shouldn’t be bothering her.”
“I wasn’t, Dad. She’s all by herself.”
A woman like that on a vacation for one? She had to have a husband or boyfriend she was planning to meet up with later. And even if she didn’t, Hank had a type, and the women who fit the mold were ones like his ex-wife, Anne. Pretty and sweet in a girl-next-door kind of way.
Janie was right about this woman. She was all big-city style and sophistication. And gorgeous or not, crazy spark or not, New York City was a helluva lot of doors away from Rust Creek Falls.
Even so, Hank reluctantly allowed Janie to drag him across the damp concrete decking, toward the woman reclining on the pale blue lounge chair. For a split second, he thought he saw the brunette’s eyes widen ever so slightly and drop to his naked chest as he approached.
Checking him out?
Naw, that had to be his imagination playing games with him.
“Gemma, this is my dad, Hank Harlow,” Janie said with enough pride in her voice to have his neck heating slightly. “Dad, this is Gemma...”
“Chapman.” Swinging those long, lovely legs over the side of the lounger, Gemma leaned forward to hold out her hand. A half a dozen or so slender gold bracelets jingled as they slid down her arm.
Hank had always considered himself something of a gentleman, but it was hard to know where to look when all that female flesh was on display. Bathing suits were a rarity in Montana, and though she was hardly the only one wearing a bikini, no other woman at the Maverick Manor pool wore one quite so well.
The black satin was a stark contrast to her creamy skin, the narrow straps cutting across her collarbones and molding to the curves of her breasts. Her stomach was smooth and flat, the indentation of her hip bones hollowing out ever so slightly right where the bikini bottom stretched across her belly. Her waist was slender enough that he could likely span it with both hands, and just the thought of feeling that smooth skin sliding against his palms had Hank breaking out into a sweat.
Long-ingrained manners had him taking her hand, instantly registering the delicate bones, as he gruffly murmured,
