Passion Awakened (5 page)

“Oh shit,” he cried out. “Yes! D-don’t stop.” Creed thrashed
his head from side to side, pistoning his hips. His balls tightened. Pressure
building. Intensifying. He moaned under the onslaught. Dear God, he was coming
unglued. A burst of electricity shot out through the tip of his cock and
arrowed up his spine in a blinding arc of pleasure, locking the air in his
chest. He watched in stunned ecstasy as wave after wave of semen jetted from
his shaft, dripped from Shayla’s hand, and splattered his abs. Every pump of
her fist milked another stream from his cock in what seemed like an unending
session of pleasure. When he didn’t think it could get any better, Shayla
leaned in and wrapped her lips around the head of erection. His back spasmed
and he gasped. The sensation jerked his diaphragm back into action. She licked
him clean, then straightened, giving Creed the most satisfied smile.

“Wow…” Shayla stretched over his chest and placed a teasing
kiss to his lips. “That was intense.” The salty taste of his own fluids leached
onto his tongue, jolting his taste buds and his brain with the harsh reality of
what he’d just allowed to happen. He’d officially crossed the line and become
the rutting animal he said he despised. Creed swallowed the now-bitter evidence
down his throat.

“Creed?” Shayla placed a palm to his cheek, turning his gaze
toward her.

“Yeah,” he managed to get out. “Intense.” He pressed his
hands to her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, shifting out from under her.
“I’m sure there’s some social protocol for what happens next, but I-I…” He
grabbed the sheet from the sofa and homed in on the direction of the bathroom.
“I have to…” He glanced back and caught a glimpse of Shayla’s stunned
expression. His gut clenched. Oh Christ. This was such a disaster. He was a
disaster. “I just need a minute to breathe.”

Chapter Four

The morning sun sliced through the branches of the large
oaks shading the front porch. Creed stepped onto the wide boards, the warmth of
the wood seeping into the soles of his feet. It was beautiful out here. He
could see why Shayla would want to spend time in the place. Creed leaned onto
the railing, allowing the rays to heat his bare chest. As soon as the sky had
gone from dark to light, he’d thrown on a spare pair of black denim from his
pack, along with a matching short-sleeved shirt he’d left open, and stepped
outside for some fresh air.

Last night when he’d returned from the bathroom and had
regained some ability to think straight, Creed found the living room and the
sofa empty. He’d retraced his steps, noting the closed door to Shayla’s bedroom
with no light shining from underneath.

He didn’t blame her.

He’d been an ass.

Despite the fact she barely knew him, she’d been open and
caring in regards to his state of mind and his pleasure. But he’d been so
caught up in the swirling mess inside his head, he’d dismissed her. For Shayla,
their time together had been “intense”. He’d agreed at the time, because it was
all he could gather inside his head to express. But for Creed, “intense” barely
defined the experience.

The aroma of coffee wafted into his nostrils. Shayla was up.
Somehow he had to try to make this right between them. Creed was stuck there
for the next several days, and he didn’t want to hurt or alienate her.

Creed stepped back inside. Shayla stood at the kitchen bar,
coffeepot in hand. She lifted her head at the sound of the door and lowered the
glass decanter.

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” he replied. Well, that was…good. At least
she was speaking.

Shayla plucked another cup from the cabinet and placed it on
his side of the bar. “Help yourself.”

He slid onto the stool and poured himself some of the dark
brew. Shayla took the seat across from him, her attention glued to her own
swirling concoction of caffeine, cream and sugar. Cup in hand, Creed inhaled
deep. There was no easy way to approach the subject, and they had to start
somewhere.

“For the record…” Someone had to go first. Creed figured it
might as well be him. Shayla lifted her lashes and glanced over the rim of her
mug. “I apologize for my actions last night.” He closed his eyes and released a
harsh sigh. “I wasn’t myself.” Creed opened his eyes and lowered his coffee to
the table with a
clunk
. He met Shayla’s gaze, held it, making sure she
felt the sincerity in his words. “I’ll move back outside. This was a bad
decision on my part, and I’ll make sure you’re not put in that situation ever
again.”

“Stop. Creed…” Shayla shook her head. “You don’t have to
sleep outside.” She sighed. “Last night wasn’t all your fault. I’m the one who
pulled out the tequila.” A metal pop sounded from the counter behind her,
signaling her toast was ready. Shayla pushed from her stool and after buttering
her bread, returned to her seat. “You want something to eat?” She held up her
glistening sample and his stomach rebelled.

He gave a dismissive wave to her offering. “No thanks.” Food
was the last thing on his mind, but what did hover there sparking his neurons
and begging for his attention, Creed refused to pull into focus. The images of
Shayla’s mouth wrapped around his shaft were seared in his brain, but as long
as he kept them at bay, maybe he could survive. Maybe he wouldn’t end up
obsessed with the idea of burying himself in every one of her orifices. Would
her pussy be even hotter? His cock swelled. Reflex had his grip tightening on
his mug.

Damn, damn, damn.

“Whether I was drunk or not,” he added through clenched
teeth, “doesn’t matter, and it’s not your fault. I’m an adult.” He took a deep
breath and loosened some of the tension on his jaw. “The fact that does matter
is I’m off Sustain, and I need to keep my distance until I’m retrieved.” Creed
took another large gulp from his cup, then pushed from his perch. “Thanks again
for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, her words soft.

Creed gathered his few items and stuffed them in his pack.

“This really isn’t necessary.” Shayla rounded the bar,
heading for him.

“Yes.” He craned his head in her direction. “It is.”

“You have no idea how long you’ll have to camp out there.”
Her hands went to her denim-covered hips. “It could be days, weeks.”

“Two weeks, tops.” He hauled his pack up, placing one of the
straps over his shoulder.

“Creed…” she drawled.

“I need the distance, Shayla.” Maybe she’d detected the tone
in his voice, or perhaps noticed the way he couldn’t help but touch her
face—her body—with his gaze, but realization finally sparked in her eyes.

“Okay.” She nodded. “We’ll give each other some space.”
Shayla turned for the kitchen, but stopped halfway and glanced back. “There’s
always coffee on, and I hate to eat alone.” She smiled, and the effect on his
groin confirmed he’d made the correct decision.

He needed to keep his ass outside.

* * * * *

Shayla replaced the phone on its charger, having gotten the
latest on her little girl and blown her a few kisses over the line. She
swiveled to the stove, pulled the meatloaf from the oven, set it on top, and
yanked her heatproof purple mitts from her hands. Leaning in, she inhaled. It
didn’t smell half bad, if she had to say so herself.

Since she and Maddie had moved in with her mother, Janice,
she hadn’t cooked in months. Janice was fabulous in the kitchen and enjoyed
taking care of them. Besides, her ex had never been happy with anything she
ever tried to cook, so she’d given up trying, and he’d be even more thrilled
with the extra ten pounds she’d gained since moving back home.

Creed was such a refreshing change from her last experience
with a man. He never looked at her as if she needed to be fixed. The way his
gaze roamed over her made her feel pretty, desired. If things were different,
Creed was a man she’d really love to get to know better. She smiled. Through all
his gruffness, he made her feel good about herself. Even through all the pain,
the detox, he made every effort to put her comfort first.

Nothing like Brad. His wants and needs had been priority.
The expression on his face every time he’d glanced her way had resembled
disappointment. From her cooking to her weight, he’d found her wanting. Shayla
had no idea why she’d allowed herself to live like that for so long. She
sighed.

Tonight, the effort had felt good to put together something
more than a sandwich and a bowl of soup, and she had to admit, she was worried
about Creed.

She’d checked on him periodically throughout the day when
she’d taken a break from her PC. But she didn’t have to look out the window to
know he’d been restless. The boards creaked with his every movement, and he’d
moved
a lot
. Except for the sound of the wood, he’d been quiet, only
venturing inside a couple of times to use the bathroom. Even then, he’d made
every effort to keep his distance and remain silent.

One last check on the veggies, and the time to invite her
Double T inside arrived. Her stomach flipped, and for a second, her knees went
all watery. She gripped the Formica for added support. The last twenty-four
hours had been so out of character for Shayla. Opening herself up to a man like
she had last night, even if she had been a little more than tipsy, and now
cooking dinner this evening for the guy. After Brad’s multiple betrayals that
everyone seemed to know about except her, she’d erected a shield against men.
For over a year she’d been in such a bad place that the concept of romance,
even between the pages of her stories, felt too far out of reach. Too
unbelievable.

Maybe the fact that Creed appeared to need someone as badly
as she did, then toss in the factor there was no chance it would ever go beyond
the cabin, made letting her guard down feel less risky. In the seclusion of her
mountain retreat, Shayla could be that woman she’d rarely, if ever, unleashed.

Shayla tucked her hair behind her ear, smoothed the front of
her pink V-neck tee, and headed for the porch. With one glance, she located
Creed in one of the rocking chairs, studying some text on his cool 3D handheld
computer.

“That thing is so awesome,” Shayla said, edging a little
closer.

Creed looked up. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Just doing a little
reading from some of the stored files.”

“Find anything of interest? Something that might help?” She
crossed her arms under her breasts.

“Not really.” The disappointed sigh that followed tugged at
her heart.

“Well, I don’t have the long-term solution, but I do have
something that might help you feel a little better for the next few hours.” She
moved in front of him.

“Oh really?” Both of his brows shot up, and a corner of his
sensual mouth quirked in a half smile.

“I do.” She grinned and stuck out her hand. “Hand me that.”
Creed cocked his head but complied, and placed his device in her palm. Shayla
set it down with the rest of his supplies and spun on her heels. “Come with me,
Mr. Donovan.” She beckoned with one finger and marched back to the door. At the
threshold, she glanced over her shoulder. Creed’s eyelids narrowed as he rose.

“And what do you have planned, Ms. Murphy, if I do?”

“If I tell you then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
She shrugged.

Creed halted in his tracks. “I don’t do surprises.”

“Of course you don’t.” Shayla rolled her eyes and laughed.
“This will be fun.” She pivoted, grasped his palm, and tugged. “Come on.”

He dropped his gaze to their joined hands, but didn’t move.
Apprehension darkened his expression.

“Creed.” She squeezed his fingers and he looked up. “It’s
dinner.” Shayla made an attempt at an encouraging smile. “That’s all.” He
lifted his chin and then nodded. “Good.” She released her hold on his hand and
moved inside, Creed on her heels. “That and maybe a movie.”

“A movie?”

“Yes, a movie,” she called out over her shoulder. “Don’t you
watch movies in your time?”

“Some do on occasion.”

“And the
some
, I’m assuming, didn’t include you very
often?” Shayla glanced at Creed. He sent her a what-can-I-say expression.

“Never had the time,” he added.

She plucked a large spoon from the utensil drawer and
slathered the red sauce she’d prepared over the meatloaf. “I thought we could
watch a movie while we eat. Help to pass the evening, you know.” Shayla looked
his way. The words “without feeling awkward around each other” hung unspoken in
the air.

Sauntering in closer to the stove, Creed eyed the lump of
meat in the baking dish. “What exactly is that?”

“Meatloaf. Don’t tell me your childhood didn’t include the
American classic dinner.” Shayla gasped in mock astonishment.

“I don’t believe so.” He leaned in and sniffed. “I think I’d
remember that.”

“Oh my God,” Shayla cried out, snagged a dishtowel, and
swatted him. He blocked with one arm and backed away on a laugh. “Just for
that, you have clean-up duty.”

With their plates in one hand and drinks in the other,
Shayla led the way into the living room and nudged the coffee table closer to
the sofa with her shin. Creed followed suit and helped with the other side.
Shayla set her dinner on one end and headed over to the DVD player. After
gathering a few of her favorites from the top of the player, she held them up
for Creed’s inspection.

“Okay, so what do think?” Shayla wiggled the fan of cases. “I
have a little something for everyone.” She glanced at the first cover then back
to the man on her sofa. “
Terminator
for the action lover.” Creed’s
eyebrow lifted. “Umm, all right then,
Dirty Dancing
, my favorite for the
romance and underdog lover.” Creed gave her an are-you-serious look. “And last
but not least,
Pitch Black
, for the horror lover and for the women of
the world who can’t get enough of Vin Diesel.” She sighed.

“Vin Diesel?” Creed leaned back against the sofa cushions.
“What’s that?”

“Oh my God,” Shayla scoffed. “Not what. Who?” She shook her
head. “Never mind. So what’ll it be?”

“Whatever your favorite was. That’s fine with me.” He leaned
forward and lifted his glass of sweet iced tea.

“Okay.
Dirty Dancing
it is then.” Shayla couldn’t
help the smile on her face. This should be interesting. The man who was
allergic to romance and all things sexual watching one of the sweetest,
romantic and sensual movies of the eighties. She popped the disc in, grabbed
the remote, and returned to her seat.

Halfway into the show, Shayla couldn’t help but notice that
Creed had done more staring at his plate and rearranging his food than he’d
done eating and watching the DVD.

“You didn’t like it.” Shayla set her glass on the table.
“I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It was really good.” Creed glanced up and smiled,
but the action appeared like a chisel etching stone rather than a natural
occurrence. “I just wasn’t very hungry.” He stabbed a small piece of the
meatloaf and stuffed it in his mouth.

“Is it the movie?”

“This generation…” His fork to dropped to the plate with a
clatter and he sat back, his gaze focused on a distant spot on the wall. “It’s
all very chaotic compared to my century, from the rampant crime to the
caveman-like lust.” He pointed to a particularly gyrating dance scene on the
screen.

“Caveman?” Shayla laughed. “You’ve never been to this time
period?”

“I have.” His gaze flicked to Shayla. “But never for more
than a few hours. We all study the history of our country, but seeing it…” He
breathed deep and released the air on a sigh. “The awakening feelings, urges…”
Creed massaged his temple and returned his attention to the TV. “This is the
same Earth, but it’s like I’m an alien on my own planet with some repressed
genetic sequence that’s been switched to
on
.”