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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