Passion Awakened (6 page)

Shayla glanced down at her plate and the remains of her cold
dinner. She didn’t know what to say or how to make things better. Damn. But how
many people had experienced or could relate to a virgin time-traveler
houseguest who was basically going into heat.

“Son of a…” Creed blurted, jerking her back into the moment.
He shoved from his seat.

“What’s wrong?” Shayla glanced at the TV screen. Patrick
Swayze and Jennifer Grey lay entangled in the bed, the scene leaving no doubt
they were having sex.

“I have to get out of here.” Creed yanked the front door
open.

“I’m sorry!” Shayla called out to his back.

For a second, his steps faltered on her words, but then the
door slammed behind him.

Well, that did not go well.

Shayla collapsed back on the cushions. She’d known about the
love scene but had hoped the tender romance depicted would show Creed that the
emotions and sensations overwhelming him weren’t all bad.

She switched off the DVD player and TV with a couple clicks
of the remote and gathered the dishes, stacking them in the sink. A wave of
exhaustion rolled over her and her eyelids shuttered. The last few days had
been too much. She locked the door and turned out the lights. The mess in the
kitchen would have to wait until tomorrow along with the storm on her front
porch.

She stripped off her clothes and slid into bed, quickly
falling into a restless sleep.

A loud bang jolted Shayla from her dreams. Rolling from her
bed, she grabbed her robe in the process, and darted into the living room. A
quick scan of the cabin revealed an empty room.

Outside.

The noise must have been Creed.

What if that guy, Thomas, was back?

Her heart lurched up into her throat, nearly choking her.
A
knife.
Yes.
She’d have one of her own waiting for him this time.
Shayla ran and snatched one from the block on her counter, then crept toward
the front window.

The wood planks on the porch creaked, relaying the movements
of whoever skulked on the other side of the pane. Shayla eased back the
curtain.

Creed paced the length of the covered space. She scanned the
rest of the area. No other shadows or movement. She switched her gaze back to
her Double T. Shayla’s gut twisted at the sight. Even in the moon’s low light,
the narrowed eyes, crossed arms and flat line of his lips were easy to read—he
was in pain.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Shayla went to the
door and jerked it open.

“Creed,” she called out and stepped onto the wood. Creed
ground to a halt, his back to her, but he didn’t turn around.

“Go back inside, Shayla,” he commanded, his voice deep,
rusty.

“Creed…” She sighed. “You’re in pain.” Shayla edged closer.

“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t—get away from me. I can’t…I
won’t do this to you or myself. I
have
to leave this time period with my
head on straight.” Both of his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“But if you would only—” She took another step.

“Go away!” he groaned and spun around, his fingers diving
through the short bristles of his hair as if the act helped him to hold on to
his sanity.

She gasped, but not solely because of the words. The twisted
agony of his expression stole the air from her lungs. God, her presence was
hurting him even more. She had only wanted to help.

“I’m sorry.” She backed away in the direction of the door.
“I’m so sorry.”

He whirled and slammed his fists onto the rail with a
thud
.
“It’s not your fault,” he said, the words strained as if forced from between
his teeth. “It’s just best—for both of us—if you’re out of range.” His head
dropped, palms spread wide. “I don’t trust myself right now. Not that I’d ever
harm you.” Creed swung his head to the side, facing her, his gaze dark with
swirling, unspent lust. “I think you know what I mean.”

Shayla’s nipples pebbled and a shiver ran up her spine, but
not from the cool air. Oh no, there was no use lying to herself. The gooseflesh
stemmed from the look in his eyes. The implication in his words.

She shouldn’t be so attracted to a man she barely knew.
Worse, one who if she ever told his story to another soul they’d have her
checked into the nearest psych ward.

But Creed Donovan struck a nerve deep in her core.

An intangible spot that, when triggered, created the need to
not only care and protect him, but the desire to touch—be touched by the man.
But they were never meant to be. They weren’t even meant to be in the same
century, much less each other’s lives or beds. Besides, it remained obvious
that even though Creed’s body burned for an intimate connection with her, he
found the idea distasteful.

Unbidden, her hand rose to the base of her neck and found
the small gold cross hanging there. She wrapped her fingers around the symbol
for strength and sacrifice.

“I’ll go,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Shayla stepped over the threshold and closed the door. Her knees wobbled,
sending her back into the doorjamb for support. The pulse at her throat bounded
in rapid succession against her fingers. She had to let him go. Let him work
through this, and get him out of her mind.

Shayla pushed away from the door and retreated to the
kitchen. But what she wanted from there she had no idea. She just needed some
distance between her and the exit that led to Creed. Her body ached for him. If
she
felt like this, Shayla had no idea how he seemed able to deny the
raging need that had to be coursing through his veins. She grabbed a glass and
filled it with ice water. Yes, that was exactly what the doctor ordered.
Something to cool her down.

After last night, watching his orgasm, the pleasure that had
racked his body, she’d had to take matters into her own hands for release.
Logically, she’d understood he had no idea how to respond to what had happened
between them. The aftermath had been more than awkward. But she’d left before
he’d returned, so she wouldn’t make the situation worse by doing something
crazy like begging for him to make love to her.

How was she supposed to go back to bed knowing Creed
remained out there in pain? He’d never experienced sexual need, and this wasn’t
a mere case of horny teenager. Years of suppressed arousal lambasted him,
slamming into him full force. The magnitude of which she couldn’t even
comprehend. Not to mention understand how he even stood out there and hadn’t
crawled in his sleeping bag with his dick in his hand. He was amazing.

Shayla tossed back another swallow from her glass, cooling
some of the heat in her body. If only Creed would allow himself to quench some
of his own thirst.

His reasons for holding back were clear—he didn’t want to
become a slave to the pleasures and desires of her time. He wanted to go home.
Believed in his century’s laws and way of life. But why did that mean he had to
suffer in the here and now? Wouldn’t fully experiencing a life without Sustain
make him a better enforcer? He would have been where the rebels were. Felt what
they felt and have decided to return. He’d be proof that it could be done, and
Sustain was his choice.

Yet one question chilled her, kept her rooted to the kitchen
floor. Could her heart survive after their time together ended, and he chose
the life he’d left behind? The one that didn’t include her. She lowered the
glass and breathed in a steadying lungful of air.

Who was she kidding?

Creed would be going home.

He didn’t have a choice.

It was a fact, and she had better get that through her head
and her heart if she wanted to be with him for the next few days. In the
physical sense. More than just the view from her window and the occasional
conversation on her porch.

Decision made, Shayla set her jaw and pushed away from the
counter. She would have to make him understand somehow. Watching him suffer and
wear a trench into the boards on her porch was not going to work. Not for
either of them.

On the other side of the room, she reached out, wrenched the
doorknob, and pulled. Her breath hitched at the sight. Creed stood like a wall
of solid muscle and hard determination on the other side. Both of his large
hands clutched either side of the frame. Sweat beaded his forehead. Her gaze
dropped lower. His pupils nearly filled the entire iris, and a cloud of lust
shadowed what remained of the blue. His nostrils flared right before his lips parted.

“Shayla,” he groaned.

No other words were needed.

She brushed her fingertips along the heated flesh of his
cheeks.

“I’m here for you,” she breathed.

Chapter Five

He was surely dreaming.

That had to be the only explanation. At some point, he must
have passed out from the unrelenting need burning in his veins, and he was
dreaming. There could be no other logical reason for her to be there, offering
herself to him.

Creed had no idea how long he’d stood frozen at her door,
refusing to allow himself to knock or go inside. The raging desire had carried
him to the threshold, but he’d be damned before he’d insult her more than he
already had the other night. And then he’d imagined she opened the door.

He lifted his hand and allowed the pads of his fingers to
brush the dark-brown locks cascading over her shoulders. “Such a beautiful
illusion.”

Shayla placed her palm over his wrists. “I’m real. I’m right
here.” She brought his fingers to her face. “Touch me.”

The warmth of her skin seeped into his pores, sending a
tingling rush over his flesh, lifting the hairs on his arm. His heartbeat
stuttered. His shaft throbbed. Every ounce of resistance—denial—faded from his
mind. At that moment, he couldn’t remember one logical reason why he’d ever
pushed her away.

“I need you.” Creed seized her cheeks between his palms.
“God, I want you so damn much.”

“Creed…” His name was a sigh on her lips. And then he was
there, replacing the uttered syllables with his mouth, drinking her in. He was
famished, dying of hunger and thirst, and the woman beneath him was the cool
well sent to revive him—body and soul.

Into the house they stumbled, she moving in reverse, and
Creed holding on, pushing forward. No way in hell was he letting go. Shayla
gripped his biceps, her kiss giving and consuming. In every way, she was so
damn sweet.

Shayla’s back struck the interior cabin wall, bringing their
journey to an abrupt end.

Their tongues danced.

Teeth nipped.

The sharp sting of Shayla’s bite arced through his lower
lip. Creed hissed. But the warm metallic taste of blood only succeeded in
amping the rush of lust flooding his veins.

“Tell me what to do,” he whispered against her mouth.

“Whatever feels good. Just let go.” Shayla tore the open
shirt down his arms, then worked the button on his jeans free. He grasped her
hands, stilling them, then pushed the denim from his hips and to the floor. The
straining erection that had been driving him mad for too many hours sprang
free. He stepped out of the bundle and kicked it aside. She shrugged her robe from
her shoulders, allowing it to puddle on the floor around her. His heart
jackhammered against his sternum in anticipation.

Too slow.

“Your skin next to mine. Now.” Creed reached out, fisted two
handfuls of her sheer blue gown and split it down her front. The delicate
material fluttered from her arms. “Sorry.”

Shayla’s eyes widened, the warm brown rich and inviting.
Beckoning. He wanted to drown in their depths.

“No problem,” she breathed.

Creed tore his gaze from hers and shifted his attention
lower. Dear God. She was so beautiful. Full breasts with dark, rosy nipples
rose and fell with every pant. Below the gentle curve of her abdomen, a dark
mass of curls covered the vee between her creamy thighs. His cock flexed, the
head leaking a clear fluid that formed a wet trail down the backside of his
length. Damn if he suddenly didn’t feel like a cat fighting the overwhelming
desire to cover her with his body, rub, and mark every inch.

He braced his hands against the wall, palms bracketing her
head, leaving only millimeters between his chest and the hard tips of her
breasts. Their heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. Shayla looked up
through her lashes, and the desire smoldering inside her eyes accelerated the
inferno already burning him alive.

She wrapped her arms around him, her fingertips traveling
the length of his spine before closing the gap between them. His eyelids
drooped under the sweet sensation of skin against skin.

He had to move.

Needed more.

Creed slid his body over hers, pulling her in tight with his
arms.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned. His cock brushed her
lower abs and the spark zinged a line of pleasure up his spine. “So good.”
Shayla latched on to his nipple and the sharp sting of teeth to the bud had his
back arching, his cock straining even more. “Oh shit,” he moaned. “Shayla…”

“I want you,” she groaned against his chest. Creed slid his
fingers through the hair at her nape and pulled her head back, bringing them
face-to-face. Her lips were pink, swollen from the passion of their kisses, her
cheeks flushed. “Please,” she added.

“Yes. God, yes.” He lowered his knees, then with his arms
snug around her, he lifted. Shayla wrapped her legs about his waist, her arms
circling his neck, nearly crawling up his body. Creed stepped forward, allowing
the smooth surface of the wall to help brace them.

The head of his cock slid against her warm and damp folds.
Creed hissed. “Oh fuck. Shayla.” He grasped her shoulder between his teeth and
lips.

“Creed,” she moaned and sank over the length of his shaft.
Her tight heat engulfed him, punching the breath from his lungs. His legs
buckled, but he recovered before going down, pressing her shoulders against the
painted surface. “Oh God. Creed.” Shayla’s head fell back with a soft bump.
“You’re so deep.”

Then she moved.

The initial penetration, the squeeze of her core against his
shaft had been bliss. But nothing prepared him for the sheer mind-blowing
pleasure that came with the slide of her walls over his cock.

“Don’t stop,” he rasped.

“No way in hell.”

Up and down Shayla flexed her hips with Creed’s help. Within
seconds, his balls tightened, and the familiar tingling from the night before
grew at the base of his spine.

Too soon.

Oh fuck.

But like an out-of-control locomotive, there was no turning
back. Unbidden, his hips pistoned into her wet heat. Faster, and faster, taking
him higher and higher until finally the dam broke.

“Shayla!” The orgasm blasted from his shaft and a wave of
ecstasy so bright and intense rocketed through his nervous system, blinding
him.

She clung to his neck, rocking her hips through his release,
squeezing every drop from his cock. Creed held on tight, the woman in his arms
the only thing grounding him to the planet.

“I don’t want to ever let go.”

“Then don’t,” she whispered at his ear. “Take me to bed, and
stay with me tonight.”

A hard tremor rolled through his body at the thought. There
was nowhere else he’d rather be. He didn’t bother with a reply. Holding her to
his chest, Creed rotated, and with his rigid cock still buried inside, shuffled
the few feet to Shayla’s bedroom.

At the edge of the mattress he pivoted and lowered onto the
bed, Shayla astride his hips.

“Lie back,” she ordered with a smile that said she loved
being in control. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Shayla leaned forward, splaying her fingers over his chest,
then lifted her hips. The mouth of her core gripped the head of his erection
and Creed couldn’t have held back the groan that burst from his throat if he’d
tried. The action along his shaft lit every nerve ending. The recent orgasm had
left his cock in a hypersensitive state, and the detox from Sustain had his
erection switched on in a continuous fuck-me state. How the hell would his mind
survive?

She pulsed on his rigid length, her head thrown back,
breasts jutted out and swaying with every move. The dark-red blush of her
hardened nipples made his mouth water. Creed rose up onto his elbows and sucked
one of the tight buds into his mouth. Shayla mewled and dug her fingertips into
his scalp.

“Yes! Creed…” She panted. “So close.”

He shifted to her other breast. With his tongue, he circled
the dark areola surrounding the swollen nub, teasing her.

“Oh God. Please…Creed.” A fine sheen of sweat covered her
body as she worked up and down on his cock, reaching for her release. Damp
strands of hair clung to her cheeks and brushed his shoulders. Her lips parted
on a soundless cry and another surge of cum rose in his shaft.

“So damn beautiful.” He dragged his tongue across the tip of
her nipple, grazed it with his teeth, then latched on with his mouth, giving it
a hard suck.

Her body shuddered and the strangled sound that had failed
to breach the surface from her throat clawed its way out. Shayla’s walls
clamped down on his cock, and there was no denying the second orgasm boiling
inside his balls.

A hot wave of cum burst from his cock. Creed groaned through
the pulses, his shaft feeling more like a volcano that had blown its
top—overheated, fried around the edges, and spent. But relishing the expulsion
of the load it had held in its belly for ages.

Shayla’s trembles slowed. Creed stroked the curve of her
back as she rode out the last few twitches of her pleasure. Her head lolled
forward and their gazes locked. A satiated smile curved her mouth.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Creed Donovan.”

Unbridled laughter bubbled up from his chest and Creed fell
back onto the mattress, arms spread wide in exhausted surrender.

* * * * *

“Hey, Creed!” Shayla called out. “I think I have
everything.” She closed the picnic basket and hoisted it from the counter with
both hands. “You ready to go?” Creed appeared from the bedroom wearing a
freshly washed black t-shirt and matching jeans. He tucked the rolled blanket
he’d gathered for them under his arm, giving her his well-practiced look of annoyance.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into doing this.”

“You know you’re going to love it. You just won’t admit it.”
Shayla planted a kiss on his cheek and headed for the door.

“I never picnic,” he added, the sound of his footsteps
falling in behind her. Shayla couldn’t help but grin. She shuffled the weight
of the basket to one hand, opened the door, and turned to face him.

“First time for everything, isn’t there, Mr. Donovan?”

Before she could move, Creed had her in his grip, his large
hand planted firmly around her neck. His lips a mere breath away from hers. “Now
that
I can’t deny.” He claimed her mouth, her mind, as easily as he’d
already claimed her heart. Deep, fully, and unrelenting.

Damn.

The last five days had been the best in her life. And she
never wanted them to end. Too bad. She didn’t have a choice other than to let
him go.

You’re such a fool, Shayla Murphy.

Slowly, as if breaking the connection were an unbearable
act, Creed lifted his head. “Let’s go,” he rasped. “Before I change my mind and
we never get to the lunch in that basket.”

Shayla grasped her lower lip between her teeth, the feel of
his mouth still a tingling presence.

“Good idea,” she managed to reply and pivoted on her heels.
“There’s an area alongside the river that is really nice this time of year.”
She glanced over her shoulder, confirming he was close by.

“Sounds good,” he finally said.

After a short ten-minute walk, they made their way down the
slope and to her favorite spot. Near the bank, a beautiful large oak tree, with
its huge outreaching arms, provided some shade over a carpet of grass. On the
other side of the river, a weeping willow had found a perfect home, growing
tall and wide, its sweeping, curved branches dipping into the surface of the
water. Shayla inhaled deep, enjoying the clean mountain air and the faint scent
of the blooming rhododendrons growing nearby.

She cocked her head, drinking in the image of the man at her
side. His short ebony hair shone in the sun, his arms bulged under the snug fit
of his shirt. And something else. Something more than his physical
characteristics reached inside and squeezed her heart. For the first time since
he’d arrived, Creed looked at peace. Happy even. Absently, she placed a palm to
her chest, massaging the growing ache beneath the breastbone.

If only she could bottle the moment, cork it, and keep it
forever.

Before long, they munched on ham sandwiches, grapes and
cheese, the crash of water breaking over the rocks the only sound. A
comfortable type of quiet had developed between them. The kind of gentle, warm
silence a person shares sitting with a friend they’ve known for years. No words
needed.

“I like it here.”

Shayla swung her head in Creed’s direction at the sound of
his voice. They sat side by side, legs outstretched, boots and sneakers facing
the river.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” She reached over and smoothed her
palm along his denim-clad thigh. “I thought you’d enjoy it here.” With the
other, she flicked away a pesky ant from her own faded-jean-covered knee.

Suddenly his hand was in her hair, playing with the ends.
“You know, I’ve been so caught up in my drama that we’ve never talked about
you. All I know is that you’re a writer.”

“Not much to tell.” She shrugged.

“I doubt that.”

“Well…let’s see.” Shayla squinted, pretending to think
really hard for his benefit. “How about we trade info.” She glanced over her
shoulder.

“Fair enough.”

“Okay.” Shayla swung her attention back to the fast-moving
water. “How old are you, and where were you born?”

“I’m twenty-nine and was created in a facility in Chapel
Hill, NC.”

“And then later grew up in South Carolina?”

“That’s right.” He crossed his legs at his ankles. “Now your
turn.”

“I’m twenty-seven. Born and raised in North Carolina near
Charlotte.” Shayla pulled her legs in, Indian style, and faced Creed. “I’m an
only child. Any brothers or sisters?”

Creed shook his head. “Records show that there are no other
genetic links. No other siblings procreated from the same DNA sample.”

“I see.” Her stomach knotted at the cold, technical sound of
his birth. Shayla dropped her gaze to the frayed red-and-green blanket beneath
them and tugged at the coiled loose thread.