Boston, Massachusetts

Blinking awake slowly, I take in my surroundings. A warm, beautiful, curvy woman is wrapped around me, and the familiar scents of peach and jasmine fill my senses, like a drug.

I never want this night to end. Maybe it doesn't have to.

It's still dark, so I roll over her, kissing my way down her body until I feel her stir awake beneath me. Her eyes fly open when I bite the inside of her thigh as I push them open, spreading them and hooking her legs over my shoulders. The soft, ivory flesh beckons me, as does her heat.

"Griff..."

The sleepy moan, followed by a catch of her breath in her throat when I close my mouth over her core, is the only encouragement I need. My fingers flex hard against the skin of her thighs as I hold her in place, taking exactly what I want from her.

I tease her with a combination of tongue, teeth, and torturous suction, bringing her to the precarious edge of reason again, then backing off, only to start all over again. Her nails scrape against my scalp as her hands spasm in my hair, and I fucking love it.

When I'm drunk on the taste of her, I slide two fingers inside her, coaxing her across the edge with no mercy until she's crying out in my arms, her body writhing beneath me as wave after wave of pleasure slams through her.

My eyes are locked on her face; I don't want to miss a fucking second of this.

So I push her to that brutal edge again until she screams my name—and fuck is it a beautiful sound. It's the only sound I want to hear— again and again, for days. Hell, maybe forever.

I give her only the time it takes for me to rip open another foil packet and slide the condom on her to recover. Then my hands are on her again, gripping her hard and flipping her over to straddle me, urging her down on my hard, heavy, pulsing erection.

Her wet heat closes around me like a vice, and I arch off the bed, pushing deeper still, urging her down further.

My hands grip her hips, shifting as she finds her rhythm, that rhythm that drives me wild. Fuck, it hasn't been like this with anyone else before. Not since that first time with her.

Sensation batters me, emotion floods me, pleasure consumes me. Memories pull me under her spell.

I close my eyes, groaning as Belle swivels her hips in a sinfully sexy figure-eight motion, moving faster, rocking harder, pushing me deeper inside her. I can't tell where I end and she begins anymore.

Her nails bite into the skin of my chest, and the sting turns me on. She tips her head back, letting her hair fall behind her to tickle the skin on my thighs. I snap up so I can slam my lips against hers; so I can fist my hands in her glorious hair; so I can swallow her screams as she comes again.

This time, I let myself follow her over the edge, pulsing hard and deep inside her as I explode; years of need and longing hardly satisfied, even though this is the fourth time I've had her tonight. Or is this the fifth?

Vague memories of her rising over me like a siren in the night whisper at the edges of my mind, but perhaps it was only a dream. My mind has been playing tricks on me tonight, confusing past and present, all while breathing oxygen into the flames of hope burning inside me for a future.

We collapse back onto the soft mattress, and her satisfied, sleepy, sated sigh makes my chest expand in some primal way.

"I missed this," she whispers. "I've missed you. It's never been like this for me with anyone but you, Griff. Even when I tried to hate you, I missed you."

Always only with you, I think. "And when I missed you, I tried to hate you." But even when I hate you, I love you. I can't bring myself to say the words to her. Not now. God, we're so fucked up.

She doesn't respond—her steady, even breathing and limp hand curled on my chest tell me she's fallen back to sleep. Her delicate fingers rest on the monstrous tattoo on my chest, in screaming contrast to her soft, sweet beauty.

The small, red, crescent moon shaped nail marks are still visible from her passion, just above the tattoo. I'd gotten it to remind myself of my nature. That a beast can only destroy beauty. The wolfish hellhound in black contrasts against the flowering rose clamped between its teeth, dripping it's wilting, dying, scarlet petals like blood.

Once, I was asked if it was a representation of my own heart clenched in the mouth of hell, where it belongs. I'd punched the reporter who'd dared ask the question in the face, then gotten my ass sued for damages. He'd been the one harassing me in the first place.

But Belle doesn't seem to mind the beast inside me. She never has. So I hold her gently, aching with the regret of the past three years and wondering if I can ever untangle us from our past mistakes.

I trail my fingers over her soft, smooth skin, reveling in the way her curves fit against my body. Where I'm all hard edges, rigid muscle, and unstoppable mass, she's all soft Botticelli beauty.

I suppose, like the mythical lovers, we couldn't be more different. Like Venus and Mars, like Persephone and Hades. What do these lovers have in common? One's a beauty, the other's a beast. One lives for war, the other for love. One rules hell, the other floats in the heavens. Are opposites like this ever really meant to be together? Do I care? All I know is I want her, maybe as much as I've ever wanted anything.

When my phone buzzes, I grab it, squinting against the bright light. It's not even five in the morning, and my agent's calling. Thomas Kincaid flashes across the caller ID screen.

Since it's him, it can't be about my behavior with the ladies; his partner, Jolene, handles that side of our relationship. So, it must be business.

Sliding out from under Belle, I pull the blankets back up and smooth my hand over her wild, tangled hair when she snuggles into the warm spot my body left behind. I already can't wait to fuck her awake again.

Closing the door, I head into the conference area of the suite. I flick the gas fireplace on, then wrap a towel around my hips from the second bathroom. I brew a single-serve mug using the hotel coffee machine and drop into the chair to call Tom back.

He answers on the first ring. "Thank fuck, man. I've been calling you since midnight. What, did you turn into a fucking pumpkin or something?"

"Chill out, Tom. What's up?" I sip the fragrant coffee, letting it stimulate my sex-dulled, sleep-deprived senses back to life.

"You're getting traded. You're shipping out to the Broncos for your final rookie year, with a two-year contract tag-on. The deal was done last night. I managed to get a franchise deal for the two-year tag-on to sweeten the pot, at least, so it won't be a bust. I know this wasn't what you wanted, but I did the best I could. I did manage to get a no-trade clause in this contract, so no more surprises. The Pats are interested in having you join them once you're a free agent again, but they think you're too hot right now. They think you need to mature with another team. Build up some leadership skills. Then, the Bronc's want you for all the other reasons, so we'll have fun navigating that balance."

What the fuck? "Are you fucking with me?"

"No. Some shit about getting some first and fourth-round picks from the Bronc's. I don't have all the details with me here. I'm heading back from the office, but I'm swinging by your hotel. Be ready in ten, or I'm coming up and dragging your ass out of there in whatever state you're in."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The line goes dead, and I step back into the bedroom. I scrawl a short note to Belle, then place it on the mattress beside her. I grab the few things I need off my desk, then thrown on a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and my old duster boots. I swipe my heavy leather jacket off the hanger and shrug it on.

With a final look over my shoulder, I head downstairs, stopping by the reception desk to order a late breakfast for us for room service.

I hope I can wrap shit up with Tom before then.

Even though it's dark and cold, I slide my sunglasses over my eyes and tug the collar of my jacket up, hoping to avoid any lingering paparazzi. Luckily, it's a clear path to Tom's car.

He barely spares me a glance as I settle in and close the door. "Where's your shit? God, did you even shower?"

"Good morning to you, too, asshole." I shift in my seat, stretching my long legs out, as the car pulls into traffic.

He looks up at me from his phone. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well? Have good dreams?"

I flip him off, then tip my head back on the seat.

"Seriously, Griff. Where's your stuff?"

"In the hotel room, where else would it be?"

"What part of 'be ready' didn't you understand? We're headed to the airport. We're booked on the Bronc's jet to Denver in twenty minutes. Never mind, I'll call the hotel and have them pack it up for you. They can FedEx it to your new place. I found you a private rental in the mountains, by the way. You're welcome."

"Why didn't you tell me we were leaving the Goddamned state, Tom?"

Suddenly, the note I'd left behind and the breakfast I'd ordered feel like a joke. Was the universe so set against us? When I'd finally thought that I could repair my past mistakes, this is what happens?

"When has it ever mattered where we were going? You never give a shit before. What crawled up your ass today?"

I grit my teeth against the flash of rage that floods through me. "Take me back to the Beacon."

When Tom stays silent, I pound my fist into the leather seat across from me, right beside his head.

"Take me back, right fucking now." I rap on the partition between the driver and us, but it doesn't lower. Fucking soundproofing. I scan the roof for the intercom, but Tom's right. I don't know how any of this shit works because I never gave a shit before.

Tom rolls his eyes. "We knew this might happen, Griff. It's what we talked about. You'll take this opportunity, raise the standing of the team, then you'll be back out here in no time if that's what you still want. You can't refuse the trade, Griff, you know that. We're meeting with the coaches there in just a few hours."

"Tom. Stop the fucking car."

Tom eyes me curiously, then sighs, "What, did you leave your date tied up in the hotel room? It's not the first time you've left a woman tied to the bed; it probably won't be the last. I'll call Jolene to deal with it. Chill the fuck out, man. We're here to do business. You always said the game came first, so prove it. This is do or die time— it could make or break your career."

"Don't you fucking call Jo." I grab my phone, planning to text Belle, only to realize I don't have her number. I scroll through my contacts, desperately looking for someone who might have her contact information, but I come up short.

A light snaps in my brain. I left a stack of business cards on the desk. I can call the reception desk and make them give one to her, and tell her about the note. I can leave my number with the front desk for her. I can still salvage this.

My thoughts cycle through my mind at a speed I can barely control. I struggle to focus, simultaneously needing an outlet for my anger, but knowing I need to pull my shit together.

I quickly look up the hotel's number, leaving my slightly manic and somewhat aggressive message with a very harassed sounding woman.

When she hangs up, I settle back. It wasn't perfect, but maybe, just maybe, I can make something work.

I take the chance to text Jo as well. The short, simple message leaves no room for questions: Find Annabelle Durand's contact information. For clarity's sake, I inform Jo she can find her asleep in my bed at the Beacon, a least for the time being.

The ball of dread in my stomach feels something like what I imagine swallowing a cannonball would be like, but I climb the stairs to the jet, ducking through the door as I step into the plush interior.

Worrying serves no purpose now. All I can do is look ahead and try to salvage what I can. If I can. When the sense of calm settles over me again, I immediately realize how stupid I've been. The plane taxis to the runway and the engines fire up. I set a reminder on my phone to try to call directly up to the room when we land.

I stare out the window as Tom rattles off team stats, coaching styles, and player trivia, all while we fly closer to the supposed dream I want and farther away from the woman of my dreams.

- - - 

Was on a roll yesterday so I decided to do a second update this week to make up for not being on time with my last update! 

Let me know what you think in the comments! If you love the story so far, please consider voting. 

So, do you believe in fate? It sure seems like it's working against Annabelle and Griff here, that's for sure. 

I'm having so much fun with this story! I hope you're all having fun with me. 

Xx Toria