Fallen from Grace

by Laura Leone

  Praise for Fallen From Grace

  * Rita Award Finalist for Best Contemporary Romance

  * Desert Island Keeper, AllAboutRomance.com

  * No. 29 on DearAuthor.Com's list of the Top 100 Romance Novels

  "Fallen From Grace is an amazingly powerful, emotional and thought-provoking book... Leone's gift for storytelling shines in a truly provactive, gritty, tender and unforgettable story."

  —Romantic Times

  "In this realistically gritty, sometimes violent, and gripping tale, Leone reveals the seamier side of society's manueuvering while she spins an unconventional romance between two unhappy people who find that love, like respect, can grow out of friendship and shared experiences and that new beginnings are indeed possible for those with the determination and courage to pursue them."

  —Booklist

  "Laura Leone will keep readers up all night with this fascinating, passionate and emotional novel. This unusual love story, told with freshness and authenticity, gives new meaning to the term 'tortured hero' and illuminates the healing power of love."

  —Susan Wiggs, bestselling author

  "Fallen From Grace is a romance novel as rich and adult as coffee laced with brandy. Laura Leone has delivered a dangerous brew of sin and redemption that goes where few romances dare to wander—a refreshing and deeply satisfying book. I loved it!"

  —Barbara Samuel, award-winning author

  "Fallen From Grace is provocative, powerful, and passionate. Laura Leone leads the reader on a tender, sexy journey through the human heart."

  —Teresa Medeiros, bestselling author

  Fallen from Grace

  by

  Laura Leone

  © 2003, 2011 by Laura Resnick

  w/a Laura Leone

  Published by: ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417-002-0

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Thank You.

  To editor Russell Davis,

  who was the first person to believe in this book.

  Prologue

  Afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows as the woman in his arms gasped with startled passion and arched her back off the bed. Her hands moved uncertainly over his naked shoulders as she sought something more from him.

  He obliged by lowering his head to kiss both her nipples, then he took one in his mouth and sucked—gently at first, then harder when she started stroking his hair.

  "Mmmm..." He moaned in his throat, wordlessly praising her, then caressed her torso with slow, admiring hands... and turned his head to take a discreet glance at the clock on the nightstand.

  They had about twenty minutes left.

  She had wanted more foreplay than he'd expected, given that she'd only set aside an hour for this. Since this was their first time together, he wasn't sure how long it would take her to climax, let alone how long she'd want him to stick around afterwards. And since he was supposed to be out of here by four o'clock... he now set about rushing her without seeming to rush her.

  He nibbled on her breast, urgent without being rough. As she shifted restlessly, he slid his hand between her legs and started stroking her.

  Damn.

  She wasn't as ready as he'd hoped.

  Nerves, undoubtedly. Women were often like this the first time, unless they'd done this before with someone else and felt confident about what they were getting into.

  He was experienced enough to have sized her up quickly, so he knew that his best bet was to do too little rather than too much. He let his hand go still on her barely-damp mound and just pressed the heel of his palm there, exerting a subtle, steady pressure as he lifted his head and gazed into her eyes.

  Oh, yeah, he thought, studying what he saw there. Nerves.

  He brushed his mouth against hers, letting his lips caress hers with intimate laziness.

  Give her the control. Give her the power... And hope that she can get off fast once she relaxes.

  "Do you want me inside you?" he whispered, nibbling all around her mouth as he spoke.

  "Uh..."

  "I don't have to," he murmured, pressing the heel of his palm against her. "Not this time. Not if you're not sure."

  "Um, but you're, um..." She sighed and tilted her head back, eyes closed. He was kissing her throat and under her chin as she said, "You know. Hard."

  He nudged her hip with his erection, letting her know that it was okay to talk about it, that it was nothing to fear. "It doesn't matter."

  He started circling his hand against her. Just a little. Barely moving at all.

  She swallowed. "But... don't you want—"

  "Yes, but I can wait until next time. Or the time after." He kissed her with exquisite gentleness. "It's only going to happen when you want it. When you're sure."

  She met his gaze again.

  Ah...

  There it was: a little relief in her expression, a little relaxation of her facial muscles.

  "Then maybe..." She licked her lips.

  "You want to wait?" He nodded as he asked this, so that she'd know she could say it.

  "Yes." Now she nodded, too. "I, uh, I want to wait."

  He could tell it surprised her. Not just that she had a choice about it, but also that this was the choice she now made, after having come here.

  "Then we'll wait," he agreed.

  A slight quiver of a smile. "Okay." Now she let her breath out on a sudden puff of stifled laughter. More of the tension leaving. "I thought I..."

  "This is for you." He kissed her shoulder. "This is whatever you want. Whatever you want."

  Well, within reason. If she wanted him to stay late, she'd have to live with the disappointment.

  "I guess..." She nodded again and started to look a little more comfortable. "Yes, I guess so. Whatever I want."

  He lowered his head to let his breath flow into her ear as he whispered, "But you do want to come, don't you?"

  Her breath escaped her in a rush. She gave a silent grunt of assent as he circled his palm more firmly against the juncture of her thighs.

  Experience—as well as a good mentor—had taught him that the brain was a woman's most important sex organ, and since he was starting to feel pressed for time, he turned his full attention to this one's mind to keep things moving along.

  "You want to come all over my hand, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

  "Um..."

  "Because I want that," he assured her, pushing her with words and images. "I want your legs spread wide..." He nudged them farther apart. "And I want you wet..."

  "Mmmm..."

  "And rubbing against me." He explored her with his fingers now, feeling her whole body quiver as he did so. "And slick... and sweet... and hot..."

  "Yes," she whimpered, starting to go there now, getting all tight and loose at once.


  "How does that feel?"

  "That feels... good."

  "And that?"

  "Oh!" She gave a convulsive buck.

  Okay, getting closer.

  "Is this what you want?" he murmured.

  Her head tossed on the pillow.

  "More?" he asked.

  "More, yes, more."

  She started moving her hips in response to his caresses, and her grip on his left shoulder was carelessly rough. Her other hand clutched the sheet, and her face was turned away from him as she started moaning freely, beginning to lose herself in sensation.

  He kept whispering to her, but he asked no more questions. Not now. He didn't want to distract her, make her lose momentum by interacting with him, because they had—he took a quick glance at the clock—barely ten minutes left. So now he just murmured erotic nothings to her, keeping her mind stimulated along with her body, praising her femininity, her beauty, her responsiveness.

  She came with pleasing clarity, ensuring that no guesswork need be involved. She cried out, arched off the bed, pumped rhythmically against his stroking hand... and finally collapsed, flushed, limp, and breathing hard.

  He held her for a few minutes, waited for her to open her eyes and look at him, and then commenced the post-game wrap-up. No multiple orgasms today. Not with three minutes left on the clock.

  "How do you feel?" he murmured, brushing her tousled hair away from her face.

  She looked simultaneously satisfied and wary. "I feel like... like we've just made love."

  Score.

  "We did." He kissed her gently and brushed his fingertips across her belly.

  "I didn't expect... I mean, I didn't think... I thought—"

  "Shhh." He kissed the corner of her eye, where fine lines showed. "This is whatever you want."

  She nodded. "Whatever I want."

  She hadn't had any plastic surgery as far as he could tell. Nature showed on her—unless she was coloring her hair. He nuzzled her neck, guessing she was about fifteen years older than he was.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Yes." She suddenly smiled. It made her look pretty. "I mean... Yes! I feel..." She laughed and said no more.

  "I have to go," he whispered.

  "Oh?" But she looked more relieved than sorry.

  He wasn't surprised that she wanted to be alone with this now. Maybe she'd call a friend and tell her the details, or maybe she'd take a long bath and pamper herself in solitude. Maybe she'd just lie in the sex-scented sheets for another hour and replay everything in her mind. Whatever she would do, she welcomed the privacy his departure would give her now.

  He rose from the bed, went to wash up in the impersonal but elegant bathroom, then came back into the bedroom and started dressing. He put his clothes on slowly, garment by garment, letting her study the body she'd been too nervous to stare at earlier, despite her obvious curiosity. She watched him zip his trousers over the bulge in his briefs.

  "Are you... Will that be all right?" she asked.

  "Don't worry about it." He smiled reassuringly at her.

  When he was ready to go, he returned to the bed and gave her a brief kiss.

  "I hope I'll see you again." He stroked her arm in tender farewell, then turned and headed for the door.

  When his hand was on the knob, she said, "Kevin, wait."

  He turned around. She rose awkwardly from the bed, dragging the sheet with her, unprepared to let him look at her the way she was entitled to look at him.

  She clutched the sheet to her breasts. "I don't think I realized just how anxious I was until you said... you know... that we didn't have to..."

  "I know."

  "And I appreciate..." She laughed nervously, then said in a more normal voice, "You're really very kind, aren't you?"

  He shook his head. "You don't have to—"

  "I don't mean that. Well, not specifically. I mean... overall. You made this..." She shrugged. "I... I enjoyed this very much. In a way that I didn't expect to."

  "I'm glad." He touched her cheek.

  "So I, uh... Well, of course, I already... And maybe you don't..."

  "What?" he asked.

  She suddenly crossed to the dresser, dug into her purse, and pulled out her wallet. She avoided his eyes as she said, "I don't want to insult... but, uh..." She removed a few green bills from her wallet, folded them around her fingers, and extended the offering to him. "Is this all right?"

  He grinned. "Always."

  He had taught himself to accept tips in a graceful, easy-going way so that anyone who did it the first time would feel comfortable about doing it again. Preferably, every time. It was money he never had to share with Catherine. And now that he knew this woman was a tipper, he'd be more willing to put in a little overtime with her if he had to; Catherine wouldn't pay him for it, but as long as the client covered his time, he'd cooperate with good grace.

  He kissed her hand as he took the money, smiled at her as he slipped the cash into his pocket, and said, "Have a good weekend, Alice."

  "You, too, Kevin," she replied.

  Once the hotel room door was closed solidly behind him, he reached into his pocket and pulled the money back out to count it. Eighty. Not bad.

  He reached inside his jacket and found his cell phone. He hit the autodial and waited for an answer.

  "Hello?" Catherine said.

  "This is Kevin," he said, walking down the hall towards the elevator. "I just finished the Van Offelen appointment."

  "Did everything go all right?" Her voice was, as always, smooth, courteous, cultured.

  "Yeah, fine. You might want to suggest two hours to her next time."

  "There'll be a next time, then?"

  "I'm pretty sure." He stepped into the elevator when it arrived, already full of people heading for the ground floor.

  "Good. Just a minute." He heard someone else's muffled voice, then Catherine replying to it. After a moment, she returned to their conversation. "And you think she'd like a longer appointment?"

  "Yes."

  "Hmmm. Newly divorced women," she mused. "It's always hard to tell if they'll become regulars or are just looking for something to cleanse their palate."

  He shrugged, feeling the elevator's descent starting to slow. "I don't think she knows yet."

  "Is she going to ask for you next time?"

  "She liked me," he said non-committally as the elevator doors swished open and he stepped out onto the marble floor of the lobby.

  "That's not what I asked."

  Mindful that he was in a public place, although no one was paying attention to him, he lowered his voice as he crossed the vast lobby and headed towards the front exit. "Probably. I think she'll want the same guy every time. At least for a while."

  "Any singularities?"

  "No," he replied. "She's just shy and nervous. Being with a total stranger bothered her." Which wasn't unusual.

  "All right." Done with that business, Catherine changed the subject. "I've got the details now for this evening. You're expected at six-thirty."

  He checked his watch. "Where?"

  She gave him an address on Russian Hill. He memorized it and started mentally rearranging his afternoon plans to accommodate the appointment being earlier than he'd expected. As he left the hotel, a sudden gust of wind off the bay nearly blew him back inside.

  "Jesus!"

  "Kevin?"

  "Yeah, I'm here." Rush hour traffic was getting under way in San Francisco, raising the decibel level on the street. He couldn't make out her next comment. "What? Speak up."

  "I said it's formal."

  "A tux?"

  "Yes."

  He sighed in unguarded frustration as he handed his ticket to the valet waiting outside the lobby doors.

  Catherine asked, "Is that a problem?"

  "No. No problem." His tux was at the dry cleaner's. He'd have to stop off there, go home, shower, dress, then double back most of the way to Russian Hill. So much for the rest of the
day. "What am I doing?"

  "Escorting the client to a political fund-raiser. In her own words: bad food, worse entertainment, astronomical prices." Catherine made a sound of amusement. "I'll never understand why people get involved in politics."

  "Disgraceful, isn't it?" he said. "At least I give good value for your astronomical prices."

  She ignored that. She almost always ignored comments like that. "The client will decide this evening, after meeting you, whether or not she wants you to go home with her. If she does, she'll say so. Otherwise, she wants no overtures from you."

  "Understood." Some clients wanted the fantasy of an ardent lover; other women wanted a presentable escort who wouldn't pressure them for so much as a goodnight kiss.

  "Call me tomorrow to let me know how it turns out," Catherine said, "and I'll bill her accordingly."

  Catherine didn't charge for sex, of course; that would be crude—and so blatantly illegal that it would lead to busts on the basis of sheer stupidity. No, Catherine would charge the client for Kevin's time. And since he wanted to get paid for every minute he was working, he'd certainly tell her whether he and the client parted company after dinner, after a little sex, or after dawn.

  "Fine, I'll talk to you tomorrow." He hung up without saying goodbye, then pulled a couple of bucks out of his wallet to tip the valet when he saw his Infiniti pulling up.

  Great, he thought. He'd get into his monkey suit, look politely interested all evening at some excruciatingly dull event, and wait for the client to decide whether or not she wanted to fuck him before he could go home. Yes, indeed, so much for the rest of the day.

  Oh, well. That's what whores do. Get over it.

  Chapter One

  "Are you out of your mind?" Sara's sister demanded.

  "It's this sort of moral support that I really value in our relationship," Sara told her.

  "You've gone crazy! I'm not giving moral support to insanity!" Miriam insisted.