The bathroom door burst open. Dakota whirled around and gasped: In the door was the good-looking biker.
His hand went to the towel around his waist and he didn’t say a word.
They stared at each other across the small space. Despite her mental, physical, and emotional upheaval something pulled tight down the line of her body and she blinked a few times. A quick shake of her head. But that only made the vertigo worse and she whimpered, hanging her head.
“Fuck, stop breaking yourself.”
He was next to her in what seemed like less than a second, his still damp hand supporting her elbow as she hunched over the chair feeling like she was going to faint all over again. “Follow me.”
Dakota was useless as he led her back to the bed and set her up so she was lying on a mound of pillows while he clung to that awfully small towel. The biker made taking care of her seem like it was second nature, like they weren’t strangers. Drops of water from his damp hair settled across her clothing and sunk into her skin.
“Why did you bring me here? What the hell happened?”
Despite the fact that they kept eye contact, he said nothing. His emotions remained completely in check and his face gave nothing away—a blank slate. The least he could do was give her the rundown while she was pathetic and reeling. Instead, he threw a fast food bag in her lap and strode back into the bathroom and shut the door.
“When you come out of there, I expect answers, biker boy,” she said.
Silence from behind the door.
“You have to come out some time.”
Images of his finely chiseled chest with a smattering of hair covering it burned into her brain. Dakota shut her eyes and clenched her jaw. Yeah, like sheer stubbornness could clear away the stab of arousal that coursed beneath her skin.
This is a crock of shit. So he has a good body.