“Really? Because it seemed like you got a pretty good look at me while I was in the shower.”
Delaney felt the heat stealing over her cheeks. She had gotten a pretty good look, but judging from the bulk pressing against her thigh right now, she’d actually underestimated him. “You ruined my book.”
“That book is fine. It just needed to dry.”
“It’s still ruined. I can’t read it now. Every time I open it I keep wondering which pages were pressed up against your . . . you know.”
Grant’s laughter was full of teasing. “Can’t you even say it? Pressed up against my what?”
The blush turned scorching. “Oh, you know. Your . . . penis.” She whispered the last word and glanced away, sending him into a fit of laughter.
“Wow, you really are a Girl Scout. How did you get to be twenty-five years old and still be so innocent?”
Her smile faded. She wasn’t twenty-five, and she sure as hell wasn’t innocent either. But it felt so nice having him think that. It made her feel shiny and new, untarnished by Boyd and her own bad judgment. She should tell him the truth now, but everything inside of her was glowing at his appraisal—even if it was misguided and inaccurate. If she told him the truth, he’d stop kissing her, and right now all she wanted in the world was for him to do it again. So she told him to.
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Chapter 12
SHE WAS SO INTENT ON Grant’s kiss, she didn’t know why he stopped, but he lifted his chest from hers and reached toward the door.
Then she heard it, a rapping at the window. A bare hand swiped at the snowy glass and bare knuckles knocked again as Grant tugged on the manual window lever. Snow whipped inside and swirled around, a miniblizzard leaving the driver’s seat speckled with crystals.
“Hey, in there!” a pleasant, masculine voice called in over the wind. “You folks need some help or are you too busy to care you’re in a ditch?” He stuck his head inside when the gap was large enough and grinned at the two of them.
Relief at being rescued mingled with disappointment at ending this interlude.
The man looked to be about her age, and he was wearing a brown hoodie with no overcoat. His eyes were espresso dark, and she could see enough of his face to know he sported elaborate, sharp-edged sideburns. He was cute, if a little devilish in appearance, but honestly, she was so cold that a trip to hell didn’t sound half bad.
“Yeah, we could use some help! We’ve been waiting on the police for more than an hour,” Grant answered.
“There’s a huge mash-up about two miles back that way,” the man said. “They’re probably stuck in that. We took a different exit but barely made it through ourselves. The roads are for shit right now and we’ve got the tour bus.”
Delaney almost burst out laughing. Tour bus? Of course it was a tour bus. With her luck, this guy was probably part of a Jesse Masterson cover band.
“Well, we’re sure glad to see you. Do you think you could give us a ride to the next town?”
“Of course, no problem. Come on.” He pulled open the door and a blast of arctic air carried along pellets of ice to slap at Delaney’s face. She instantly missed Grant’s body heat as he moved, but it was past time to be out of this car. He untangled his legs from hers and clumsily climbed toward the driver’s seat and out into the elements. The man popped his head back in to reach for Delaney.
“Watch your step there, honeybun,” he said, gently grabbing her arm and tugging. “You all right?”
“I’m good, thanks. I think you saved our lives.”
“My pleasure.”
She managed to grab her knitting bag, then clambered from the car. Her legs sank into two feet of snow. Grant turned back and caught her other hand. The wind was howling all around, biting at her face. A monster-sized tour bus loomed before them, just feet from where they’d skidded off the road. It was sleek and black and a welcome sight. Even if it was full of musicians.
“Is there any way to get our clothes and stuff?” she called to Grant. She had to shout to be heard over the storm.
He looked back at the car and shook his head. “I don’t think so. The trunk is jammed up in the snowdrift.”
“Let’s boogie,” their rescuer hollered from behind. “We can’t stay here long or somebody is going to crash into the bus and then we’re all screwed.”
Delaney stared for a second longer at the blocked-up trunk where her overnight bag was trapped. She hadn’t brought much for this journey. Just a few pairs of jeans, a few sweaters, and some toiletries and styling products. Damn, she really wanted her styling products. And her underwear. She wanted that too. She was now utterly and completely at the mercy of strangers. She would have cried then, but the tears would just turn to cubes on her face so what would be the point?