That had to be the only explanation. At some point, he must have passed out from the unrelenting need burning in his veins, and he was dreaming. There could be no other logical reason for her to be there, offering herself to him. Creed had no idea how long he’d stood frozen at her door, refusing to allow himself to knock or go inside. The raging desire had carried him to the threshold, but he’d be damned before he’d insult her more than he already had the other night. And then he’d imagined she opened the door. He lifted his hand and allowed the pads of his fingers to brush the dark-brown locks cascading over her shoulders. “Such a beautiful illusion.” Shayla placed her palm over his wrists. “I’m real. I’m right here.” She brought his fingers to her face. “Touch me.” The warmth of her skin seeped into his pores, sending a tingling rush over his flesh, lifting the hairs on his arm. His heartbeat stuttered. His shaft throbbed. Every ounce of resistance—denial—faded from his mind.
