Griffin: Bad Boy MMA Romance

by Ashley Hall

  I covered my mouth with a hand, swallowing my gasp as we narrowly avoided colliding with two other cars. Griffin swerved and I clutched at the door handle for dear life as he continued to accelerate, passing cars both on the left and the right.

  He had absolutely lost his mind.

  Somehow, I tore my eyes from the road before us to look at the madman next to me, and to my utter shock, he was smiling. The first time I had ever seen him smile. It was a wide, genuine grin that took my breath away – or, at least, what little breath I had left knowing that I was about to be enveloped in a fiery ball of death.

  When he smiled, he looked like a completely different person. All that obtrusive bad-assery faded away, and all at once, he was just a man. A man who hadn’t quite hit thirty and was enjoying one of the many thrills life handed him.

  Maybe his enthusiasm was contagious. Maybe I’d left my common sense back at the office, or maybe for a moment I had an out of body experience – but his excitement suddenly triggered my own. I found my heart thudding against my ribs for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. As I watched the speedometer creep up from ninety to one hundred and beyond, I felt a rush of exhilaration.

  I suddenly wanted to roll down the window and let the wind whip through my hair – to feel the acceleration as well as hear it.

  It was so totally unlike me that I should have immediately recognized how dangerous the feeling was – but I was much too caught up in the moment. We were on a public road, and the speed limit was probably around forty-five – but Griffin didn’t care. The speedometer’s meter crept further and further upwards until outside activity was a blur and I could hardly breathe.

  As excited as he was, however, the man was also very focused. He switched gears effortlessly, and his eyes never left the road. We missed other vehicles by scant inches, and yet he never even flinched.

  But our luck couldn’t hold forever. We were headed towards a major intersection, and it was close to rush hour. I watched as the light changed, almost as if in slow motion – and suddenly our one hundred eighty miles per hour speed went from amazing to completely reckless. I gripped the dashboard, my breath stolen from me as the light flashed red less than eighty yards in front of us.

  At that point, I didn’t even have the air to scream.

  I expected us to blast through the light and then get ripped to shreds by the ensuing traffic – but, fortunately for my overactive imagination, none of that happened.

  Instead, Griffin hit the brakes and we skidded to stop within five car lengths, just a hairsbreadth from going over the line.

  I was so shocked that for a moment, I couldn’t comprehend what had happened. The light for the cross lane changed, traffic passed in front of us, and I realized that Griffin had risked my life to show off.

  I wanted to yell at him – to insist that he turn his ridiculous car around and take me back to the office – but I couldn’t. My blood still ran hot from the thrill I’d just experienced, and damned if it didn’t feel…good.

  The most excitement I’d had up until that point in my life was a school graduation or a work party. I wasn’t the thrill-seeking type. I scoffed at sky-diving, didn’t do clubbing, and the furthest I’d even ventured away on vacation was the Bahamas.

  That little one-mile jaunt had been the most thrilling thing to happen to me in my twenty-six years.

  I opened my mouth, shut it, and opened it again, trying to remember how to form words. Luckily for me, Griffin filled the silence.

  “Stops on a dime. The perfect machine with the perfect engine.” He was talking about the car, I knew, but he was looking at me, and my cheeks flushed.

  “You could have killed us.” I found my words, and, to my embarrassment, my voice trembled slightly. I uncurled my fingers from their death grip around the door handle and ran a hand through my hair. “We could have been pulled over.”

  “I doubt the cops would have been able to keep up.” Griffin’s reply was seamlessly cocky, and I rolled my eyes.

  But I was unable to help the way my mouth kicked up at the corners in a smile of unbridled amusement. He was a reckless, under-educated daredevil…and far too appealing for his own good. “I’m not going to have to clean up the seat after you, am I?” The cheeky bastard winked at me and, incredulously, my smile stayed in place.

  “I’m very in control of my bodily functions, thank you very much.” My reply made him chuckle, and, as the light turned green, we accelerated again – though this time much more slowly.

  “What a shame.”

  The rest of the trip was much less eventful. Webb managed to stay just above the speed limit, and we didn’t play chicken with any more cars. However, when we reached the edge of the city, he just kept going, and my suspicious were triggered.

  I gazed out the window to see the setting sun in the distance, squinting to read a sign that signaled twenty miles to the coast. I didn’t usually visit the beach, and anyway, with the end of summer quickly approaching, it was getting a little too chilly. But, that was beside the point. “Where are we going?”

  Griffin’s smirk returned. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m taking you to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere to torture you.”

  I inhaled sharply, glaring at him. It was funny, when he mentioned torture, I didn’t exactly picture pain. Instead, I imagined the man stringing me up from the ceiling of some ramshackle room and stripping me naked…before having his way with me. “That’s…” I swallowed thickly. “That’s not funny. You don’t exactly have the best track record with women.”

  Griffin snorted, running a hand over the stubble on his chin as he effortlessly switched lanes. “I’ve never laid a hand on a woman in my life…unless she wanted.”

  “Oh, so it’s voluntary torture.” I quipped dryly. “I’ll be sure to put that in the article.”

  “Don’t forget to add the part where you wet your panties over my driving.”

  My cheeks went scarlet. Christ, this man had a mouth on him – he seemed to care little what people thought of him – an uncommon trait in someone always in the limelight. At any rate, he didn’t care what I thought of him. “I’ve heard about your charm, but you keep surprising me, Mr. Webb.” I injected as much poise as I could into my tone. It helped me to ignore the fact that even if his driving hadn’t aroused me, his words certainly had.

  “It’s Griffin,” He growled in return, his voice dangerous enough to make me shiver. “And you can take that stick out of your ass, Sadie. I brought you out here to relax.”

  I flinched, affronted. “And where is here? I have no idea where we’re going. I was trying to get to bed at a reasonable hour tonight.”

  “And you will.” He returned, his voice suddenly almost soothing as he glanced over at me. “You’ll get your interview and I’ll get you home safe and sound. So just pipe down and enjoy the ride.”

  If he were any other man in the universe, I would have slapped him silly. But he was Griffin Webb.

  And it was obvious that I was way out of my league.

  The rest of the trip was made in uneventful silence, and I took the opportunity to try and enjoy the luxury of Griffin’s car. That, and admire the man himself. He appeared completely at ease in the driver’s seat of such a powerful vehicle – but that was probably because he was pretty powerful himself. I’d read somewhere that afternoon that the fastest punch in the martial arts world clocked in at forty-three point three miles per hour. Griffin’s strikes were estimated to fall somewhere between thirty-five and forty.

  And he had won half of his fights by knockout.

  Slightly transfixed, I stared at the bulge of his biceps beneath the dress shirt he wore. How easily, I wondered, could he lift me? How easily could he pin me against a wall and…

  “I hope you’re hungry.” I was snapped out of my trance by Griffin’s gruff statement and my eyes snapped up to his. His smile was a little too knowing for my tastes, and I quickly turned to let myself out of the car.

  And stopped dea
d.

  I’d hardly noticed where we were driving, but once my heels touched the pavement, I realized that we were right on the edge of the beach. Beneath the fading sky, the waves rolled in on the sand, and I was struck by the ethereal beauty of the place in the dying light. As I stood to take it all in, however, Griffin interjected on my reverie.

  “Wanna take a swim?”

  I shot him an imperious look that only made him shake his head before he gestured back away from the parking lot. When I saw the low, gleaming white stucco building with its black roof, my heart skipped a few beats.

  “Eireen’s.” It was one of the most popular restaurants in the region– just opened last year and already the waiting list was two years long to get into the place. Celebrities from all over the country dined here – but the one time I’d attempted to call ahead, they’d merely informed me that they were booked for the foreseeable future.

  Apparently, that wasn’t a problem when you were an internationally recognized MMA superstar.

  “Wait, don’t tell me.” Griffin held out his large hands, staying any further comments on my part. “Check my ego at the door, right?”

  I blinked, my mouth snapping shut before I scowled. What else was there to say? It would be pretty hard for me to get my interview if the man got arrested for brawling in a high-class restaurant. “Just try to behave.” I finally snapped, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He smirked, giving me a small, mocking bow. “After you.”

  Jesus Christ, he was insufferable.

  ...So why was I hiding a smile?

  Eireen’s lived up to expectations. The establishment was a single floor, with the front wall made of one long pane of floor-to-ceiling windows to provide a wonderful view of the ocean beyond. Low candlelight lit tables covered in white cloths, and a live band played jazz in a corner.

  The place was absolutely packed – I could see why it was hard to get a reservation. There were several people waiting for tables when we entered. Griffin, however, was having none of that. He swaggered over to the hostess’ stand to present himself and the young woman there flushed three different shades of red as he whispered in her ear.

  Within minutes, we were led to a secluded rear portion of the restaurant that was divided into six private rooms. To my surprise, the hostess directed us into one of them.

  It might have been charming. The eight-foot by eight-foot space was just big enough for an intimate booth, a wine stand, and a few pieces of art decorating the walls. However, the moment the hostess left me along with Griffin, I realized that the space was much, much too small.

  My palms were suddenly damp, and I swallowed thickly as the man’s rich scent swirled around me. The curtain swung shut behind the hostess with loud finality and I turned to face my cover – my salvation –

  And the man that could very well be my undoing.

  Griffin

  She was uncomfortable, and I didn’t plan on making things easy for her. Of course, she expected me to sit across from her, but the moment she slid into one side of the booth, I joined her there.

  I wasn’t going to let little Sadie Warner run away from me.

  Her face reddened as she sized me up, anxiety rolling off of her in waves. The suit that she’d changed into showed a good bit more skin than the dress she’d worn that afternoon and the color carried all the way down to the V of her tits. There were little freckles there too, I noticed, and I ached to taste them.

  It was a nice little navy number – her favorite color must be blue – and I took a moment to admire her in it, knowing she’d be getting hot under the collar.

  It got me hard watching her try and fight it – trying to stay away. But, I’d be a gentleman for the time being. I had promised her an interview, hadn’t I? So, she’d get her interview – among other things.

  “Didn’t you have some questions to ask me?” The scent of peaches still emanated from her, and like the lush, sweet fruit, I craved her.

  I wanted to devour her.

  “Y-yes.” She scooted as far away from me as she could on the seat before digging around in her bag. Within a few seconds, she pulled out a tablet and powered it on. I could see her troubled reflection in the glowing screen as she scrolled through a few lines of text. “Here we go.”

  Before she could start, a kid that looked to be in his early twenties popped his head in and introduced himself as our waiter. He also placed a bottle of Dom Perignon on the table in a bucket of ice and produced two glasses, which he began to fill.

  “Oh, no. No.” Sadie raised a slender hand to try and cover the mouth of her glass. “I won’t be drinking.”

  I frowned in disapproval, reaching out to snatch the glass from beneath her hand. “Yes, you will.” I presented it to the confused looking waiter, and at my intense stare, he quickly filled it before making a hasty retreat. When I made to hand it back to Sadie, she scowled at me.

  “I’m not drinking. I have work tomorrow.”

  “I have to train.” I took a swig from my own glass. I preferred a good whiskey, but the sparkly was for her sake. “One or two glasses won’t kill you. Besides, you seem a little tense.”

  Understatement of the century. Her shoulders looked tighter than my back after my first injury.

  She merely glared at me, those gorgeous brown eyes blazing defiance. Without even looking at her glass of champagne, she lowered her gaze to her tablet again, before clearing her throat.

  “What, in your opinion, is the hardest thing about participating in MMA?”

  I arched a brow at her question. I didn’t think there was anything particularly hard about it – trying not to kill people when I hit them, maybe. The funny thing was: out of all the interviews I’d given, I didn’t ever recall being asked that question.

  ‘Trying not to hurt anyone too badly.” I shrugged, watching with no small amount of interest as she took notes on the tablet. “Not getting fucked up. Though that part less and less these days.”

  Her eyes darted to mine, and I found genuine curiosity there. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “The longer you fight, the more ways you find to defend yourself. I might come out of matches with a bloody nose or something like that, but I can’t remember the last time I had a serious injury.”

  Her brows shot towards her hairline. “What, no broken bones? No bruised ribs?”

  I chuckled. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

  God, it was easy to make her blush. She must be even more innocent than I thought. Most women I associated with would have their lips wrapped around my dick by this point. But, of course, prim little Sadie was here with a motivation that had nothing to do with naked bodies.

  Which, all at once, interested me more than it should.

  “I’m not enthusiastic. Just curious as to how someone who fights for a living comes out unscathed.”

  “If ‘unscathed’ means ‘not fucked up,’ then that’s an easy question to answer: be good at what you do.” I wasn’t particularly humble about my profession. Why would I be? I worked hard to get where I was.

  “And how does one ‘get good’ at beating the crap out of someone else?”

  She was barely three questions in and I was already tired of talking about myself. I talked about me all the goddamn time – so much that it had all but become a part of my public image.

  “How does one get to write a story about an MMA fighter?” I returned, nodding when the waiter poked his head in to take our order.

  Sadie just stared at me as I proceeded to order for both of us. I’d been to Eireen’s a handful of times and I knew what I liked. That, and I was tired of watching underweight women order salads when they could make a damn salad at home. I ordered the prime rib for two, pleased by the gleam of hunger that lit in Sadie’s eye. After the waiter left, however, she merely frowned at me.

  “What if I don’t eat red meat?”

  I tossed back what remained of my champagne before pouring another glass. She was bluffing, but it
was cute enough that I let it go. “Then you’ll learn.”

  I enjoyed seeing the look of shock on her face every time I told her what to do. I wondered if anyone had ever really ordered her around. Sure, she probably listened to her boss like the little goodie-two-shoes she was, but had a man ever demanded for her to bend over and spread?

  I relished the thought.

  “Has anyone ever told you what an asshole you are?”

  I snorted in amusement. “Every damn day. You still didn’t answer my question.” She started, her lovely eyes darting around as she tried to recall what I was talking about.