She barely stirred as he slid out of the bed and shrugged into his
jeans. How they'd managed not to make love was a miracle. They had managed to make out like two horny teenagers in the backseat of a Volvo. From dry humping to third base, they'd covered it all--except for the main event.

Why the hell had he stayed? He could've left. He should've left.

A pain sliced through his chest, carving out a little niche in his heart. She gave to him last night more than she'd given any other man in six years. He'd felt it with each kiss—each touch. A small piece of her spirit found its home inside the dark cave of his soul.

The voice he'd been fighting roared loudly in his head. YES!

No. No. No. Not her. Fate couldn't be that cruel.

He had a mission and she was not a part of his master plan. Not anymore.

Before he walked out of the room, Beau made the mistake of looking at her once more. She had the face of an angel; sleeping so peacefully with a half-smile on her face. The only thing missing from the picture were wings and a halo, but Beau was quite certain after last night's escapade, she'd been demoted from halo-wearing-seraph to fruit-wielding-serpent.

And one taste of that forbidden fruit had cast him out of the garden and into the fire.