Page 23 of Striker
He wrapped the towel around his waist. As he brushed his teeth, he realized he’d left his clean clothes in his bag. Shit.
Placing his hand securely on the top of the towel so he didn’t accidentally drop the fucking thing, he opened the bathroom door.
His gaze shot to the bed. Molly lay on her side, unmoving. Unease crept over him. Had she fallen asleep? He hadn’t been in the shower long, and she’d said she was going to call her family.
Carefully he crept to the bed. His phone lay on the covers, and her hand was nestled under her cheek. Relief relaxed his shoulders. He backed away. The floor creaked, and Molly’s eyes snapped open.
She gasped and sat straight up. “Ohmigod, you scared me.” She clapped her hand to her chest. Her gaze sharpened on his face, then leisurely slid down his chest and stopped on the towel before climbing back up.
Pink tinted her cheeks. Her tongue swept over her bottom lip and his cock tightened. Heat scorched the back of his neck. Her eyes found his face, and she seemed to blink the lust away.
“Sorry,” he managed. “I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t passed out or anything. Did you speak with your family?”
She ducked her chin. “Yeah, I talked to my mom. She was pretty upset. It was an exhausting phone call.”
“Shit. I wish I hadn’t woken you.”
“No, it’s fine.” She shifted. “I know your friends are coming soon.” Her gaze drifted down and settled about six inches from his eyes.
His scar.
Not something he wanted to talk about right now. She opened her mouth, but he took a step in retreat before she could say anything. “I’ll be right back. Just going to get dressed. Once the guys get here, I’m going to run out and get you a few things. I’m sure you don’t want to wear my clothes forever.”
She gave him a weak smile.
He took a change of clothes from his bag and returned to the bathroom. After shutting the door, he braced his hands on the counter.
Christ, he had a problem.
Every look from Molly haunted him. Before, it’d been her fear that affected him. Now, it was something personal.
Something primal.
He wanted her.
And that was more than a goddamn problem.
If Molly didn’t look away, she’d have to wipe drool from her chin. The fact that the room was full of ripped alpha men should’ve been the reason for her swooning.
But only one of these soldiers held her interest, and he’d just returned from the store with a plastic bag dangling from his fingers.
“I tried my best,” he said with a rueful grin, passing her the bag. “Not much to choose from this far from the city, but at least you won’t sweat your ass off in my joggers.” He spoke over the din of the other men.
It was bad enough she’d seen him in a towel and gotten a front-row seat to his glistening manliness. The bag stuffed full of clothes he’d bought her made her knees even weaker.
She compressed her lips, stifling a shy smile. “Anything clean is great. I’ll change.”
She stood from the edge of the bed, and six pairs of eyes pinned her to the spot. She cleared her throat, her face heating. “Um, excuse me.”
“Need something, Mol?” asked the man who’d introduced himself as Wraith. He wore a smile and had a faint accent she couldn’t place.
Atlas swung his gaze to his friend, and irritation billowed off him. Molly glanced between them.
Wraith held up his hands. “What’d I do?”
“You’re an idiot,” Atlas said simply, his tone void of emotion.
Viper snorted. “That’s an understatement.”
