Page 1 of Rescued By Love

Chapter One

Grace

I run the bright red lipstick over my lower lip one more time, then I stare blankly at the reflection in the mirror. I have on a ridiculously short black dress with a plunging neckline, five-inch strap heels, and dangling earrings with my wild red curls packed up in a fancy bun. I look like many other Chicago women on a Friday night, but nothing like myself.

Oh, Grace Winston would never have been caught dead in such a dress.

But tonight, I'm not Grace Winston. I'm a woman with no name. No identity. Tonight, I'll dare to be whoever I want. If only this one night.

My phone rings, and my heart sinks at the thought that it might be him. I glance down to see it's my twin sister calling. My chest tightens with something between relief and disappointment. I don't know what I would have done if it was indeed him calling.

I should pick up the call. I know what a worrywart Abbie is, but I don't think I can get any words past the lump in my throat. I'll call her back later.

Grabbing my phone and purse from the bed, I head out of the house, ignoring the niggling voice of doubt in the back of my head. Outside, I hail a taxi and slide in quickly, grateful for the instant warmth that envelopes me. I had forgotten to consider the freezing weather when I was picking my outfit for the night.

“Where to, ma'am?” the taxi driver asks, a pudgy man with a disgruntled expression.

“The nearest nightclub, please,” I reply.

He glances at me in the rearview mirror, his beady eyes silently judging as he pulls away from the curb. Ten minutes later, the taxi parks in front of a bustling nightclub downtown: Echoes.

I pay him in cash, ignoring his lingering gaze as I walk away. Inside the club is as busy as the outside with people packed to full capacity on the dance floor. Makes me wonder how the remaining people outside will fit in.

I carefully make my way to the bar, silently berating myself for wearing such high heels when I've avoided them my whole life. I send a silent prayer to the heavens to help me safely to the bar. I've been humiliated enough to last me a lifetime; falling on my face right now would be the icing on the cake.

I finally make it to the bar, sighing in relief as I slide onto one of the tall stools.

“What would you like, gorgeous?” the bartender asks, smiling widely. She's pretty even with the piercings all over her face.

“A shot of something strong, please.”

She smiles, her eyes flashing with an emotion akin to compassion. “Sure, hun,” she says before turning around to prepare my order.

I look around, taking in the scene around me. Now that I'm here, I wonder what I'm doing. The music is too loud, and my legs are aching like crazy. This whole thing is beginning to feel like a bad idea. Maybe I should have just stayed home and bawled my eyes out with a bowl of ice cream.

"Here you go, lollipop," the bartender says, sliding a glass of clear white liquid toward me, her smile unwavering.

“Thanks,” I mutter, and she winks in response before turning away to attend to someone else.

I take a sip from my glass and wrinkle my face at the harsh burning sensation in my throat. I down the whole shot, hoping the sting will clear some of the fog in my head. The past twenty-four hours have been a blurry whirl and I've moved through it in a daze, wishing someone would wake me up.

It must be a really bad dream. It has to be.

“Hey, beautiful.”

I look up and into the greenest, most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. The owner is an equally beautiful man with a perfectly-chiseled face and a head full of rich, tousled, dark curls. He looks like a supermodel with his height and broad shoulders, yet there's a ruggedness about him that makes it hard to imagine him on a runway. Maybe it has something to do with the black leather jacket and ripped jeans…

He has the easy air of someone confident in their skin and pick-up skills. This one's a heartbreaker for sure.

"Hi," I murmur, looking away from him to stare into my now-empty glass.

He's standing close. Too close.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing at the empty stool beside me.

“Free world,” I reply with a shrug, grateful for the distraction. A very distracting distraction, by the way.

He slides onto the stool and leans forward, resting his forearms on the counter.

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