Page 4 of He is… Creed: Part Two

My mind is already far removed from the purpose of the night’s festivities, but nevertheless, I force myself to halt and shake hands with the daughter of the visiting Mexican dignitary we’re honoring tonight. The idea around her presence, and mine, is to nurture our country’s newly formed alliance when facing the Zodius. And with Caleb and his Renegades close to unveiling some cutting-edge technology, which would even the odds against Julian’s Zodius soldiers, I’m hopeful peace is in our future. These were good things. Things that made my return to the States and my father’s side feel like the right decisions.

Finally, I manage to break away from the crowd, but nerves assail me, and I pause as I reach the double-glass doors, pressing my palm to my fluttering stomach—a reaction that has nothing to do with fear. Illogically, I’m not afraid of Creed, and the lift of fanciful laughter behind me drives home the irony of the blissful party when a silent war against humanity is well under way, and with Creed in our presence. As Creed is a part of that war, I remind myself he was always a part of the rebel cause.

I just didn’t know it.

Angry now at his deceit, at how he used me as a shield, I assume, meant to distract my father from the enemy that was amongst us, I yank open the door and step onto the patio, the hot night suffocating me with its eerie stillness. My nerve endings prickled, bristled, and screamed with awareness an instant before the wind gently lifted, blowing wisps of my long blonde hair worn straight and to my shoulders, around my face.

A musical sound shimmers in the air, drawing my attention to a wind chime dancing about at the edge of a walkway—Creed’s way of telling me which direction to follow. And much to my dismay, Creed’s way of using the wind to communicate warms my limbs, my body wickedly declaring how much I still want him. And that uncontrollable want, which borders on need, has done what the idea of the man has not—it’s terrified me. I can’t resist Creed, and that reality downright terrifies me. I should turn and go back inside, but he won’t leave until I go to him.

Shaking inside, I inhale a hard-earned breath and start walking, following the lighted walkway that twists and curves and guides me to a dimly lit gazebo. In the same instant I step inside the structure, he emerges from the shadows, potently male, with a presence that expands, consumes me, and downright steals my breath. A presence more powerful than I even remembered. The scent of him—male, musky, uniquely Creed—flares in my nostrils and unbidden, wind whispers on my nape, goosebumps lifting in its wake.

Because the wind is Creed in a way no one understands but me.

His long, black hair touches his broad shoulders and frames a powerful square jaw that I’d once touched and kissed, oh, so often. Already he is close—too close for comfort—and yet, not close enough. He’s bigger than I remember, bigger than life—broad, impossibly strong, his T-shirt and jeans doing nothing to hide rippling muscle. He towers over me, reminding me of a sleek, muscled panther, hungry and ready to feast.

On me.

And Lord, help me, as I stare into those intelligent, unnaturally blue eyes that to others would be black, I feel as if he sees straight into my soul, as if he knows my very soul.

“You look more beautiful than ever, Addie.”

His voice sweeps along my nerve endings with a velvety smooth slide, licking at my limbs with fire. I hug myself against the sudden heaviness in my breasts, the ache of my nipples—appalled at my heady reaction I cannot control, which no doubt has everything to do with the mark on my neck. This man tried to kill my father. He’s working to destroy humanity. He’s my enemy, and I would not want him of my own free will. I’m here for answers, and only answers—anything that might help me make peace and save our world.

I make my spine stiff. “Why are you here, Creed?”

“You’re in danger,” he warns softly.

I bristle, indignant at the entire idea. “If I’m in danger, it’s from you.”

“And yet, here you stand,” he points out, challenge etched in his chiseled features.

“To protect everyone else in that building,” I counter.

He arches a disbelieving brow. “So, you bravely put yourself in harm’s way.” It’s not a question, and one corner of his far-too-inviting mouth lifts. “Or maybe you simply remember I’m the kind of ‘dangerous’ you enjoy.”

It’s a familiar sensual taunt he’s used in the past, and unbidden, the words conjure an image of Creed’s hard body pressed tightly against mine, of his hand sliding up my dress. I squeeze my eyes shut and silently curse. Realization over my reaction pops my eyes open, accusation in the sharp look I cast on him. How powerful has Creed become? Can he place such a thought in my mind?

He laughs and holds up his hands. “Don’t look at me like that, Addie. Whatever thoughts that wickedly lovely mind of yours conjured up were all your own. And don’t tell me they weren’t wicked. We both know you have a way with creative imagery.” His hands slowly lower, those sensual lips lifting at the corners ever-so-slightly. “I do believe I’d like to hear what you were thinking now.”

“Oh, they were wicked thoughts, all right,” I declare. “And they were, indeed, full of creative imagery. I’ve had two years to contemplate all kinds of interesting ways to kill a GTECH as powerful as you.”

“And I’ve had two years to dream of touching you again.” He inhales deeply, his broad chest expanding. “You still want me. I can smell your arousal.”

My cheeks heat. “This is insane. I shouldn’t have come out here.” I turn and start to walk away, but quickly regret the action. Damn him. Damn him! I will not retreat. I’ve waited too long for this confrontation.

I whirl around to face him and suck in a breath as I find him in close pursuit. I barely keep my hands from settling on his chest as I steady myself. We’re now toe-to-toe, so close again that my body aches, so close that I could lean forward and touch him. And I hate myself for how much I want to touch him.

“What makes you think you have the right to say such things to me?” I demand, frustrated with the tremble in my voice. “You followed Julian and his Zodius movement. You tried to kill my father.” My words rasp deeper, my fingers curling in my palms.

“If I had wanted your father dead, he’d be dead.”

I swallow hard at the lethal quality in his voice and grind my teeth at the memory of Creed holding a blade to my father’s neck. “I was there. I saw the blade at his throat. I saw the blood.” The memory shakes me, and I step backward, a mistake when I’m so close to the edge of the stairs. I stumble, losing my balance and almost taking a tumble. Creed reaches for me, steadying me as if he were my protector, and now we’re thighs pressed to thighs and hips pressed to hips. The world disappears. The man and everything he’d meant to me reappears. In those few seconds, I both revel in the feel of him close to me again and silently cry at the loss of what can never be again.

“Let go,” I whisper, but I don’t push him away. I mean to, but I just don’t, and his eyes burn with defiance, just as my body burns with his touch. Desperation kicks in, and I shove against him. “Let go, Creed!”

He doesn’t let me go.

He pulls me closer and kisses me, one hand threading through my hair and the other molding my hips more firmly to his. His tongue possessively presses past my lips, coaxing a response. I try to resist, my hands firmly pressed to his chest, but heat sears my palms and spreads warmth up my arms. The taste of him, so wildly Creed, rushes through me like a gust of hot, sensual wind. Consuming me. Melting me. Oh God, melting my resistance.

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