Ryan lay in the bed, every bit as sweaty as Quinn, and debated following her. She was struggling with something. Maybe the same thing he was—the donor issue. Listening to his gut, he went to the bathroom and opened the door without knocking. He left the door ajar to allow the clouds of steam to escape. “Can I come in?”
She froze. Her silhouette behind the frosted glass paused with a shampoo bottle in hand.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her voice hesitated, but she stuck her head out the door with a smile. “I can’t carry you out of here if you drop dead.”
He slid the door all the way open and stepped in. “I promise not to keel over.”
He actually wasn’t looking for a second round. He wanted to be with her. Taking the shampoo from her hand, he filled his palm and lathered her hair.
