Passion Awakened by Jessica Lee

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