Side Trip(72)

“Don’t worry. We’re safe here,” Dylan said. “Come on. Let’s get out of the rain.”

They grabbed their stuff from the car and ran into the room. Joy dumped her luggage and purse on the floor and immediately toed off her sneakers. Dylan shut the door and turned on the desk lamp.

The room was drab, the decor dating back to the mideighties, and smelled of cigarette smoke. But it was dry; they had a roof over their heads and a working box TV. Dylan turned it on.

Joy dropped her soaked shoes by the door and closed the curtains, giving them some privacy since their room was on the ground floor. She hadn’t wanted anything above that and had been willing to hang out in the hotel’s front office if they didn’t have any rooms on the first level.

“Dancing in the rain seemed like a good idea at the time,” she said, shivering.

Dylan looked at her, a question in his expression.

“It was fun, though,” she added.

“It was. I wouldn’t give up a chance to dance with you again, rain or not.”

His words warmed her in a way the dry room couldn’t. “Me neither.”

Dylan’s gaze roamed over her. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She smiled, suddenly feeling shy and exposed, and her knees knocked.

“The front desk clerk said we’re in the clear, but I’ll keep an eye on the weather if you want to take a shower and warm up,” he said.

“Good idea.” She didn’t hesitate because she couldn’t wait to get out of her wet clothes.

She scooted into the bathroom, shut and locked the door, and stripped. Leaving her clothes in a wet heap on the floor, she turned on the shower and stilled. A storm raged outside, who knew for how long. They were stuck inside. Together, until the hail stopped and the winds calmed.

She was feeling everything but calm.

Water sprayed the floor. A toilet flushed in the room above. Muffled voices could be heard from the room. Dylan had turned on the news.

Joy eyed the door. She didn’t want a shower, and she doubted Dylan wanted to watch TV. She recalled each good night kiss on the cheek he’d given her. Chaste, but not. Respectable, but loaded with longing. She thought of his what-if in the rain. What had he been trying to tell her? She needed to know.

Before she lost her nerve, Joy wrapped a towel around her torso and returned to the room. Dylan spun around at the sound of the bathroom door opening and froze. He stood by the TV wearing nothing but navy-blue boxer briefs.

“Joy,” he said, alarmed.

“Dylan. What—”

Words failed her. She forgot all about the question she’d wanted to ask him as she took in the sight of him.

Beads of water dotted his broad shoulders and firm chest. His ribs expanded with each breath. She watched his breathing grow more shallow, rapid. His stomach rippled behind the dry tee he gripped.

“You’re supposed to be in the shower,” he said.

“I . . . I changed my mind,” she fumbled.

“I was changing into dry clothes. I didn’t expect you to . . .” His gaze darted to the bathroom behind her. “The shower is still running.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t you going to turn it off?”

She slowly shook her head and took a step forward. “Earlier, on the highway. What were you trying to say? About this trip,” she added when he frowned.

“I, uh . . .” He visibly swallowed. “I don’t remember.” His gaze slid over her and his entire demeanor changed. Whatever had him hesitating around her, whatever uncertainty he felt toward her, seemed to dissolve before her eyes. His eyes darkened with arousal and his face hardened with determination. He tossed the shirt on the bed and crossed the room, right past the friend zone and into her personal space. She could feel the heat of him. Her breath ruffled the smattering of dark hair on his chest. Slowly, she looked up at him and met his intensely dark eyes.

“Joy.” He breathed her name. Lifting a hand to her face, he gently cupped her cheek. “Take a side trip with me.”

She frowned. That’s what he wanted to ask? But she heard herself say, “Where to?”

He traced his thumb across her lower lip. “Us.”

Oh.

Joy exhaled just a fraction. Her body shivered. This time it had nothing to do with a chill.

Dylan delicately touched her hair as if she were the most fragile thing to him. He slowly drew a finger across her cheek, along her jawline, and down her neck. That single finger trailing over her damp flesh was the most sensual thing she’d ever felt. He hooked the finger in her towel, right where she clutched the stiff white terry to her breasts. Her chest heaved.

Dylan lifted his eyes to hers and held her gaze for an intense, drawn-out moment.

“What happens on the road . . . ,” he began and cocked a brow.

“Stays on the road,” she finished with a whisper. Her heart beat once. Twice. She let go of the towel. It fell at her feet.

Dylan’s eyes followed. He sharply inhaled. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Her entire body flushed. She looked at the towel on the carpet as his words sank in. They settled in her stomach before spreading outward, lighting her up. She’d never had such a strong reaction to a man’s compliment. She’d never felt so aroused by a simple statement.

“Dylan,” she whispered, looking up at him. She ached everywhere. She ached for him.