Passion Awakened (3 page)

“Are you feeling okay?” Creed lifted his brows and met her
gaze. Her pulse rippled under the effect. Irises so blue they battled with the
Appalachian sky behind him, held her in their grips, and she didn’t know which
one would steal her breath away first.

The sky lost.

“I’ll be fine.” Creed glanced back to the hillside. “As soon
as I’m out of here,” he muttered under his breath, but she didn’t miss the
remark.

“Well, if you can tolerate my company long enough, I have
hot coffee in the kitchen.” Shayla spun and headed back inside.
What an ass.
He’d slept on
her
porch and then acted as if
she
had annoyed
him
.

At the counter, Shayla grabbed a cup from the cupboard.
Behind her, Creed cleared his throat then spoke.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate a cup of your
coffee.”

Shayla stilled, drew a deep breath, then nabbed a second
cup. “Cream and sugar?”

“Black.”

With both mugs prepared, Shayla placed them on the bar
separating the living space from the small galley kitchen. Creed sat on the
other side. He wrapped his palm around the ceramic and lifted his head.

“The comment earlier wasn’t about you or your home.”

“Oh.” Shayla perched on one of the stools and took a sip of
her cream-and-sugared blend. “Sorry. I misunderstood.”

“I was referring to the supplies I’m in need of back in my
time period.”

“I see.” Shayla eyed the bandage covering his right biceps.
“Can I help in any way?”

Creed shook his head. “No. I do appreciate your offer. But
like I’ve said, what I need is not available in the twenty-first century.”

“All right then.” Shayla straightened. “How about something
to eat? We do have food in this century, and I’m hungry. Eggs and toast?” She
stood.

“That would be very kind.” He smiled. An actual smile lit
his face, the effect stealing the memory of her next step.

“You should do that more often.” The words popped out of her
mouth before she could yank them back.

“What’s that?”

“Smile. It looks nice on you.”

Creed’s gaze dropped to his coffee, and he lifted it to his
lips. “Thank you,” he mumbled against the rim of his cup. A flush of color rose
from his neck to his cheeks.
Wow.
She guessed that was one way to pinken
his complexion. Shayla grinned to herself on the way to the fridge. How long
had it been since she’d made a grown man blush? Her heart rate quickened. Damn
if that wasn’t fun.

Thirty minutes later, and after a few bites into breakfast,
Shayla swallowed her last mouthful of eggs and decided she’d be the brave one
and crack the frustrating silence between them. “So, Creed, where are you
from?”

His jaw ground to a halt on the piece of toast he’d stuffed
in only moments before. He leaned back onto the stool’s wicker backrest, his
Adam’s apple doing the up-and-down action. “Do you mean where I was procreated,
or where my designated parental couple housed me after I turned five and became
ready for school?”

“Whoa…what?” Shayla dropped her fork and then eased forward,
placing both forearms on the bar. “What exactly does all that mean?”

“I wasn’t born anywhere.” In an identical move, Creed leaned
in, setting his elbows onto the Formica and met her stare. “In the
twenty-seventh century children are created in a procreation facility, nurtured
in a brood group home until they’re five, then if a couple is available, the
rest of their rearing takes place with them.”

Shayla cocked her head, her mind ticking off all the
implications of what he’d laid out before her. “You mean nobody…? Couples
don’t…?”

Creed closed the distance between them, his lips a few
inches from hers and whispered, “Are you asking if couples in my time engage in
sex?”

Shayla jerked back, her elbow knocking her fork onto the
floor with a nerve-shattering clatter. She glanced down at the lost utensil
then back to Creed. He was already up, his back to her, and heading toward the
door.

“Thank you for the meal, Ms. Murphy. I’ll do my best to stay
out of your way and unnoticeable.”

“Umm, wait.” Shayla jumped from her seat and rounded the
bar. He stopped in front of the door, pivoted, and his head craned in her
direction. “You didn’t answer my—”

“No, we don’t,” he answered before she could finish her
sentence. “And I spent most of my life in central South Carolina.” Creed turned
back around before she could respond and opened the door. He started across the
threshold, then came to a halt when his knees buckled, his hands going to the
doorjamb for support.

“Creed!” Shayla darted for him and circled her arm around
his torso. His body sagged against hers. Oh my God. Her heart raced. As one,
they shuffled back inside and over to the sofa. Sweat beaded across his
forehead, his breathing reduced to short pants.

He plopped onto the seat and fell back against the cushions.
Creed lifted a palm and covered his face.

“Shit,” he drawled. “I’m so sorry about this.”

Shayla stood over him and rubbed her hands together as if
the action would somehow kindle an idea in her head of what to do. “Is it your
arm?”

Creed shook his head. Well, more like lolled his head from
side to side. “No. Not really.”

What the hell did that mean? “Maybe it’s infected?” She
leaned in and placed the back of her hand to his forehead. Creed dropped his
arm and gave her a glassy-eyed stare. “You feel warm.” She straightened, headed
for the kitchen, and grabbed a bottle of pills from the shelf. After filling a
glass of water, she made tracks back to her patient. Shayla dumped two white
tablets into her palm. “Here.” She placed them and the glass in front of his
face. Creed reached up, grasped the medicine, tossed them in his mouth, then
gulped a mouthful of the water.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, his eyes glassy. “If you don’t
mind…maybe I could,” he drooped onto his right side, “lie here for just a few
minutes.”

“Okay.” His eyelids shuttered. “Umm. Sure,” she added. But
she had a feeling the words fell on deaf ears. Shayla tapped his shoulder.
“Creed?” He didn’t budge. “You okay?” She leaned in a little closer. His
breathing was nice and even. “Oh damn.” He’d passed out. Now what? “Don’t do
this to me. You were supposed to be gone. I’m supposed to be making headway on my
book, not nursing some guy who believes he’s a time traveler,” she groaned.
“You are so messing up my schedule.”

Shayla grabbed him by the shoulders and repositioned him
onto his back, then shoved a pillow under his head. She stood back and crossed
her arms under her breasts, studying his profile. He was so pale. Alabaster
skin, raven lashes that brushed the high crest of his cheekbones alongside a
straight, aristocratic nose. Dark stubble shaded his jaw and above the full
curve of his upper lip. He kept his hair closely cropped to his scalp. The
midnight color of what covered his head and shadowed his face only added to the
fairness of his complexion.

Striking.

He was definitely a man worthy of a few girls’ late-night
fantasies.

Giving herself a mental shake, Shayla blinked. She needed to
stop daydreaming and get him awake, back to his old self, and out of there. Her
life didn’t have room for this kind of stuff. Handsome princes who swept in
from faraway places to bring desire and romance to the lonely heroine didn’t
exist and lived only between the pages of one of her books.

Besides, more than likely this guy was a nutcase.

After a quick trip to her medicine cabinet, Shayla had put
together a few first-aid supplies. She pulled up a chair and placed a cool, damp
cloth to his forehead. Unbidden, her fingers trailed across his temple, then
down the length of his face. The coarse hairs of his beard pricked her
fingertips, sending a shiver down her spine. She jerked her hand back and
rubbed both palms along her thighs. He was the one with the fever, not her.
Right?

She lifted the scissors from the kit and carefully cut away
the makeshift bandage he’d placed around his biceps yesterday. Shayla peeled
back the layers from his flesh, dried blood causing the gauze to stick to the
open injury. She grimaced. Thank God he was out cold. All his symptoms had to
be a result of the stabbing. She assessed the area. It was red, slightly
swollen, but it wasn’t very hot to the touch. Not any more warm than he already
felt. Nor did the wound drain. Maybe this wasn’t the source of his illness?

Shayla rinsed the cut and started to apply an antibiotic
salve when something caught her eye. She left his side, nabbed the lamp from
the nearby lounge chair’s side table, and brought it back to her work area.
After propping it in the seat of her straight-back chair, she drew it in close,
then peered into the open wound. Before having Madelyn, this would have totally
grossed her out. Amazing how childbirth and the resulting years after rearing that
little one could change a girl. Using a gauze sponge, she pulled back the edges
of the torn flesh.

What in the world is that?

A clear, long tube lay ripped in half inside. With the tips
of her fingers on her other hand, she palpated the skin around the injury. At
the top, something hard rotated under the pads of her fingers—a round disc of
some kind. Did it connect to the tube in his arm like a port she’d heard some
cancer patients had for chemotherapy?

On second thought, if that was the case, maybe she shouldn’t
place a lot of the antibiotic ointment in there. Considering what she’d found,
Shayla decided to simply redress the injury with a clean bandage until she knew
more.

Shayla had just finished putting the last of her supplies
away when a groan came from the other room. She stopped in her tracks and her
pulse quickened at the sound. Thank goodness he was coming back around. She
shoved the last item in a drawer and rushed back to the chair beside him.

His expression said he’d had much better days. He lifted his
arm and covered his eyes with his palm.

“Hey there,” she said. “You back with me?”

In a slow, precise movement, he lowered his hand and scanned
his surroundings. “Shit,” he drawled, then looked her way. “I must have blacked
out. I apologize. I’ll get out of here.” Creed lunged forward, but swayed and
landed against the sofa’s back cushions.

“Whoa there.” Shayla steadied him with one hand to his
shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t need to jump up this very minute. Take a moment
and get your bearings.”

Creed inhaled deep, then let out the breath nice and slow.
His gaze went to his right upper arm, taking in the new bandage. He flicked his
attention to her. “You did this?”

Shayla released a slight chuckle and looked around the room.
“Don’t see anyone else here, do you?”

“No. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Shayla reached over and retrieved the
glass of water she’d left near the sofa and handed it to Creed. He nodded and
accepted the offering and took a large sip. “Are you feeling a little better?”

“Yes,” he said after swallowing. “I think the medicine you
offered me has helped.”

“Good.” Shayla studied the washed-out blue coloration of her
jeans, following the worn lines with her finger. Curiosity gripped her by its
claws, and she didn’t know how much longer she could go without asking him
about the thing in his arm. Peeking up, she watched as he finished off the
glass of water. “Do you mind if I ask what kind of implant that is in your
biceps?” There. She’d done it. Shayla captured her lower lip between her teeth.

Creed stopped mid-swallow, then lowered the empty glass. His
gaze met hers and his Adam’s apple bobbed as the liquid finished its path down
his throat. Once again, his stare held her fixated. An intensity that went
beyond her exterior shell. If she didn’t know any better, she swore Creed could
read her deepest thoughts, desires. She should feel exposed, but for some
illogical reason, Shayla didn’t mind. The almost intimate connection with
another soul felt…nice.

“
That
is the reason why none of your ‘help’ will
matter with my injury.”

“Are you ill? Is that a port for some kind of medicine?”

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and
bringing them closer. “You are a curious woman,” he said, his tone
matter-of-fact.

“Guilty.” She quirked a smile. “Comes with the territory.
I’m an author, and one could say I’m either blessed or cursed with an
insatiable curiosity.”

A slight smirk lifted one corner of his mouth before
suddenly disappearing as if she’d imagined its formation. “I need to step outside.
There’s something in my bag that will answer your questions, and perhaps give
you the proof you need to believe I’m telling the truth.”

“By all means.” Shayla rose from her chair to give him room.
“If you think you’re ready to get up?”

He eased to his feet. “I’m fine.” And he seemed to be. Creed
took a slow step forward as if testing his balance, then proceeded on to the
door and beyond. Good. He appeared to have bounced back. That meant he would be
ready to leave as soon as possible. Yeah. She rubbed the outside of her arms,
suddenly chilled. That was a good thing.

A few seconds later, he returned, carrying his backpack.
After grabbing a seat on the sofa once more, he reached inside and pulled out a
slender black… What was that? A ruler? Holding it between his thumb and
forefinger, he tapped twice on one end. Up popped a three-dimensional clear
display.

“Wow.” She couldn’t hold back the word or the incredulous
note in her voice. “I haven’t seen anything like that except in the movies.” On
automatic, Shayla retraced the three steps that placed her back in her chair
beside Creed. She had to have a closer look.

“Search,” Creed stated at the display. The display
brightened and a blank field formed at the top with a blinking cursor. “Sustain
origin and usage.” The words auto-filled the defined area, and a half second
later, the device beeped. A picture appeared within the perimeter of the 3D
display as well as a rolling screen of text. Creed glanced Shayla’s way, then
held the device out to her. “Here. This will explain my arm as well as why I
need to remain here until I’m found and can be returned to my time. As soon as
possible.”