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inside.
Shayla handed one to him.
    “I think we both could use a shot right about now to help us
relax.”
    Creed sniffed the colorless contents. The fumes slammed into
his nostrils and he jerked back with a cough. “What is this?”
    “Tequila, Mr. Enforcer,” she said and plopped down beside
him. “You don’t drink much in your time?”
    “The job and alcohol don’t mix.”
    “Well, you’re stuck here for the meantime, so I’d say you’re
off the clock. And based on the way you’re working the enamel on your molars,
you need a drink real bad.” Shayla lifted her glass in salute and then tossed
back the contents. A loud wheeze followed on the heels of a cough. She covered
her mouth with the back of her hand. “Wow. Haven’t done that in a while,” she
managed to squeak out. “Your turn.” Shayla tilted her head to the side and
lifted a brow in challenge.
    His cock twitched.
    Dammit. Creed dropped his gaze and studied the inside of his
glass. Why the hell not? Getting drunk couldn’t be worse than what he was
experiencing at the moment. He brought the tumbler up, opened his throat, and
poured the full dose of liquor inside. Fire licked at his esophagus. He
squeezed his eyelids shut, the burn a welcome distraction from the heat searing
his groin. When he could breathe again, he shoved the glass back in Shayla’s
direction.
    “Again,” he croaked.
    Shayla grinned. “You sure? You said you don’t drink.”
    “I do tonight.”
    “Okaaay.”
    Twenty minutes and at least four shots later—he may have
lost count—a warm buzz had crawled into his veins and up into his brain. And
yeah, Creed had to admit he kind of liked the way everything seemed so much
less damn serious.
    Shayla giggled, listed to her side, and bumped into his
shoulder. “So tell me, were you dreaming about me, blue eyes?” The question
came out in that I’m-trying-to-whisper-but-the-whole-room-can-really-hear-me
kind of voice. Creed glanced down at her. Her palm covered her mouth, but he
couldn’t miss the smile behind it.
    “According to the research data, vivid dreams are a common
occurrence during withdrawal.”
    “Vivid dreams are a common occurrence,” she mocked and then
burst out with another laugh. “So you were dreaming about me.” Shayla
reached out and brushed her fingers over his hair, the sensation stoking his
core temperature higher than the alcohol had managed.
    “Maybe.” He couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his lips.
    Her head rolled back between her shoulders and she drawled,
“Oh please tell me your dream had me at least twenty pounds lighter, my hair
with a better cut, and I wore something much sexier than terrycloth.”
    He had no idea what possessed him to touch her, but before
he could stop himself, Creed had her nape in his palm, locking his gaze with
hers. “There is nothing wrong with the way you look this very second. You’re beautiful,
Shayla. Don’t ever doubt that.” He shook his head.
    Who moved first, Creed had no idea, but somehow their mouths
had become fused. Their tongues joined. Tasting, teasing, teeth clicking.
    He’d never kissed.
    Why the hell had he never kissed? It was the most delicious
act. His arms encircled the vision from his dreams. His heart raced, pounding
away in a mad jungle beat. The ache had returned with a vengeance inside his
cock. Creed groaned into Shayla’s mouth and broke away on a gasp. “Oh God… I
need…” Shit. He couldn’t find the words to describe the engulfing desire
burning him alive.
    “Shh…” Shayla brushed her palms over his cheeks, then
trailed a path of kisses down the side of his neck. Creed lowered his back onto
the sofa, dragging her with him, unable to deny her access to anything. If she
didn’t touch him, he’d surely combust. She wiggled out of her robe and tossed
it to the wood floor. The heat of her body next to his radiated through his
flesh. Drawing him like a man stranded in the arctic tundra to a raging fire.
    Creed