Stranded

seemed completely unaware of how low the towel hung on him, exposing the indent of lean hip muscles.
    When she didn’t say anything, he continued, without looking up, “Lopez dropped him off at the vet hospital. The Holiday Inn doesn’t have any more rooms. Tully said I could crash with him.” He was intent on the map, bending at the waist now and running an index finger over it in search of something. Then suddenly Creed glanced up at her. “I’m sorry. We should have cleared it with you.”
    “No, don’t be silly. It’s fine. And there’s plenty of room. Two double beds in both rooms.” Now she was babbling and she wasn’t a woman who babbled. Why did she just tell him how many beds there were?
    “How’s Grace?” she asked, wanting to take her mind off his long legs and broad shoulders. He could be the poster model for six-pack abs.
    “She’s good.” He stood up straight, his thoughts back to Grace instead of the map. His hair was still damp and tousled from the shower. His jaw, dark and unshaven. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I waited until she woke up before I left. I wanted to stay long enough to make sure she understood I was there. That she was okay. Not scared. Well, you know, you’ve got dogs. You reassure them as best as you can.”
    She kept her eyes on his as she listened and witnessed yet another transformation of this man. Over the course of two days she had watched him go from quiet, proficient professional to frantic, macho protector to sullen, contemplative rescuer to this: a concerned, gentle—totally hot—caretaker.
    She didn’t realize that they were staring at other each for a beat too long until he smiled.
    “So what exactly are you doing?” She dropped her eyes to the map but she could feel his still on her.
    “I bought this map downstairs.” Thankfully, his mind wasback to his search. “It has South Dakota and Iowa, Nebraska and Kansas. I thought there might be some connection, some pattern, to the highway sections he’s chosen. Interstate 70 goes all the way to Washington, D.C. Take a look.” And he gestured for her to come around to his side of the bed.
    “I don’t mind waiting if you want to throw some clothes on.”
    “I don’t have any. My duffel bag’s still in the Jeep.” He looked up at her, again. She hadn’t moved. “If you’re uncomfortable—”
    “No, of course, not.” She made herself take one step, then another, until she was at the end of the bed, hitching her neck to the side so she could see the map without coming around the bed and standing right beside him.
    “Okay, so show me what you’ve got,” she said and immediately blushed at her poor choice of words.
    Creed didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he was giving her a pass. She pushed a strand of hair back behind one ear. Then planted her hands on her hips and stared at the map.
    Focus, O’Dell
, she told herself.
    This close she could smell his freshly scrubbed skin, the hotel’s shampoo. A quick glance and she noticed a scar on his jawline, a half inch of white more pronounced in the unshaven bristles. Her body was still too conscious of his. She was exhausted, that’s all. It was more difficult to shut down basic physical responses when the body was fatigued. This time when he glanced up at her, he did notice. And his eyes locked on hers.
    She wasn’t sure how it happened. But she knew she had done nothing to stop it. It started with a kiss, gentle and tentative, almost as a test. When he pulled her against him, Creed lost his balance and fell backward onto the bed. An accident? Intentional? At that point it didn’t matter. He fell and didn’t let go, bringing her down on top of him.
    She had one chance to call it all an accident. In an attempt to catch her balance, she ended up with one outstretched arm on each side of him, holding herself up, mere inches keeping their chests apart. But the rest of her body was already pressed against his. He could have pulled her down the rest of the way, but he left the decision to her. Left her on her own to fight the magnetic field. Eyes serious. No hint of humor. Locked on each other again. Creed arched his back and lifted his head, eyes still not leaving hers. His lips teased her chin, then her jaw, her neck, and moved down to her collarbone.
    The knock on the door sounded like a warning gunshot.
    “Hey, Creed, it’s Tully. I forgot, I gave you my key card.”
    In an instant, Maggie felt like a busted teenager getting