I scramble in the shower without another word, and through the open door watch as Dayne leans against the sink and crosses his arms over his chest, staring at me.
Not knowing what else to do, I stand there under the showerhead, fully dressed, getting soaked.
As the minutes tick on, I see less of his wolf in his eyes, and he doesn’t seem as angry as before.
Finally, he uncrosses his arms and stands from the sink. “Get out.”
I fumble to turn the shower off and start toward him, even though I’d run the other way if I could. But since there’s only one way out of the bathroom, and Dayne is standing in front of it, it’s pointless to even hope for escape.
What is it with Dayne trapping me in the shower?
“Strip,” he demands, the second my bare feet touch the shower mat, and my hands go to my
