Amazing Grace (The Saints of Boston #3)

1. Chapter 1

Grace

“Nobody gets in who isn’t on the list.” The bouncer’s voice cut past the murmur of the crowd, and more disappointment drifted from the couple standing in front of him with each passing moment. Did he say the list? What list? Behind us, the line started to grow impatient.

“Oh, come on.” A woman in a dress too short to be considered appropriate for a fundraising gala put on her seemingly most charming smile and stuck her chest out.

“Can’t you make an exception just this time?

I just feel so passionately about kids and…

art, you know? And Lamara Jordan is my favorite singer.

” Even when she fluttered her lashes, the bouncer was unfazed.

He shook his head. “Nope. Keep moving.” The girl scoffed when he pointed instead of letting her past the velvet rope—likely treatment she wasn’t used to receiving.

She narrowed her eyes and scowled at him more when he let another couple by without questioning them.

He simply gave them a quick nod and let them go. “Next.”

My heartbeat competed with the click of my heels when I stepped forward. I wasn’t on the list, just like the girl now crying behind me while her boyfriend failed to console her. “I told you to buy the tickets!” she wailed.

“So good to see you again,” I said confidently when I stepped up next to the bouncer, trying to ignore her cries.

He scrunched his brow quickly, like he was looking for familiarity that wasn’t there, but the low-cut neckline on my dress drew his stare to my chest and down to my hips before he argued it.

I leaned forward while he gave me a once over, and I was thankful for the long, fitted black gown I wore, because it held his attention long enough for me to scan the names. How well did he know the people on this list?

“Your name?” he asked when he decided he didn’t recognize me from any angle and that he’d had his fill of my cleavage.

“Samantha Singer,” I said, repeating the first name I had been able to read completely. When his eyes widened, a rush of anxiety choked me. Shit.

The bouncer cleared his throat, nearly tripping over himself to unhook the velvet rope. “Of course. I should’ve known. I’m so sorry, Ms. Singer. I didn’t recognize you. You look lovely.” He waved to invite me into the venue, as if he couldn’t get me through the door quickly enough.

Candles sparkled next to elegant centerpieces, and jewels hung from the ceiling.

It was straight out of a movie I definitely didn’t belong in—like one of those parties you’d only see celebrities at.

“Ms. Singer, may I take your coat?” I had to remind myself that was me when I turned to face the hostess.

“We’re so honored to have such a prominent philanthropist, especially one of your stature, with us tonight. ”

“Sure, thank you. I’m very happy to be here.

” I slid my coat off and passed it to the young associate, who was fawning over me like she knew exactly who I was.

Who was I? I wasn’t even completely sure what a philanthropist was, but she wasn’t stopping me to ask me any questions. She was letting me walk into the party.

“Champagne, ma’am?” A server walking by paused with a tray of sparkling glasses and gave me a look of approval when I grabbed one. The bubbles tickled the tip of my nose when I took a sip, and I swallowed them with a giggle.

“Thank you,” I said as he walked away. I turned back, scanning the extravagantly decorated ballroom.

Large bouquets of flowers lined the stage Lamara Jordan would be performing on later, once speeches by a bunch of people I hadn’t heard of and the mayor were done.

People dressed in simple black uniforms busied themselves setting up the final details, careful to dance around guests as they did.

I took another sip of champagne I was most definitely stealing from a party I wasn’t on the list for.

It tasted better than any champagne I’d ever had.

The crowd floated around me like a choreographed routine they had been doing their whole lives—one I had never imagined I would have to pretend to know.

I held my confidence with each step toward the bar, setting the empty champagne flute on the countertop with a gentle smile that grabbed the bartender’s attention.

“Can I grab you a new drink, Miss…?” His voice trailed off as he made his way toward me, and another crowd of people rolled in through the front door.

“Singer,” I said, growing more confident with the name by the minute. “Another champagne?” The bubbles were already twirling with the nerves in my stomach, but I was pretty sure another glass would make it better.

“Miss Singer, huh?” The voice behind me was low and somehow less impressed than everyone else had been. When I turned around to face him, I was met with golden eyes rimmed with intimidation I felt in my core.

I straightened my back and stuck out my hand exactly the way I imagined a prominent philanthropist would. “Samantha Singer,” I said. “And you are?”

The man chuckled, and his eyes darkened when the smirk previously on his face was replaced with a scowl. “I am fully aware you’re not Samantha Singer.” My stomach fell to the freshly waxed marble floor.

“Oh.” I scanned the room, looking for the quickest way to make a subtle exit. “I…”

“What are you drinking?” He stared at me, almost amused, and confusion ran over me. I tried to remember any of the other names on the list. When he took a step toward me, backing me against the bar, my heart started pounding.

“Uh, champagne,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. The bartender who had taken my order a moment earlier was just staring, his gaze bouncing between me and the well-dressed man seconds from framing me in.

The man nodded. “Two glasses of champagne,” he said to the bartender.

He winked, and my stomach flipped. I scanned the room again.

It was full. People were everywhere, and the murmur of conversation hung over the room.

“Thank you.” He took the glasses, passing one to me and tapping his glass to mine.

“Cheers.” He took a quick sip and then gave me a quick once over. “What is your real name?” he asked.

My blood ran cold. I couldn’t tell him that.

My real name wasn’t on the list and, judging by how this man knew the real Samantha Singer, his was.

There wasn’t an exit close enough for me to get away quickly—not with him standing as close as he was, and not in these heels.

For a moment, I knew I should be scared, but there was something in his eyes that demanded an answer.

“Grace.” I debated giving him a fake name, but I couldn’t remember any more from the list. And he definitely knew who they were even if I did.

“I’m Connor.” The man shook my hand, and when he smiled, the dimple in his left cheek drew my attention until there was a small commotion by the door. I heard grumbling before security started to scan the room, and Connor laughed. “You want to get out of here, Grace? Or should I call you Samantha?”

“Where do you want to go?” I lifted a brow. Did he not see where we were? Maybe he wasn’t as impressed by the party.

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but judging by the angry bouncers and men in suits coming your way, your cover has been blown.” When he pointed, the shuffling got faster, and I gasped.

Connor took my glass, setting both down on the bar before he grabbed my hand and slipped into the crowd.

He led me through groups of people with ease, guiding me to the corner opposite from the entrance.

Where were we going? While he led me through the swinging door and into the small kitchen, he didn’t let go of my hand.

“You can’t be back here,” an overly-concerned waiter said as we pushed past him.

“Excuse us,” I said quietly without stopping. Behind me, I heard the door open again, and the concerned waiter a moment earlier looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

“You can’t be back here!” He waved his hands when security pushed past him.

One of the two guards looked under the table while the waiter huffed.

“They went that way.” I imagined him pointing in the direction Connor and I ran, and my adrenaline started to choke me. What would happen if we got caught?

Connor pushed the back exit door open, revealing a darker-than-comfortable alley.

He didn’t even pause before he led us fearlessly into it and around the corner.

The brick was cold against my bare back when he pushed me against the wall, and when he put his hand over my mouth, my first instinct was to panic.

I sucked in a deep breath, preparing to bite him or scream when he leaned toward me.

“Shh, shh,” he hushed me quietly. “You have to be quiet.” I shivered, wishing I hadn’t checked my coat with the hostess.

“Did you see where they went?” one of the security guards asked from just around the corner. The light from inside the kitchen cast a beam into the alley, creating a shadow that moved with him while he looked side to side.

The other guard sighed. “Does it matter? They left. We know what she looked like. We won’t let her get back in.”

“Okay, fine,” he grumbled, but when the door slammed and the light went away, I felt relief. I felt more relief when Connor started to remove his hand from my mouth. It was like he had done this before. How many parties had he snuck into that he shouldn’t have been in? Who was this man?

“I think the coast is probably clear now,” Connor said, leaving his finger over my lips. My breaths were heavy in my chest, carrying the weight of the tension that came with his stare.

“That was close,” I whispered against his skin. He chuckled, moving his hand and planting it against the wall behind me, and the brick was no longer so cold against my back. “We should probably go now.”

He leaned closer to me, and the closer he got, the more I forgot about the sting of the cold wind—and about the fact that I’d only met this guy twenty minutes ago and knew nothing about him besides his first name.

“Yeah, we could,” he said, but he didn’t make any effort to step back. His gaze bounced to my lips and back to my eyes, and he looked at me like he knew everything about me. “In a minute.”

At first, his lips were gentle, like they were seeking approval.

Then, I whimpered, and the gentleness was replaced with intensity.

His hands moved to my hips, pulling me closer to him before he pressed both of us harder against the wall.

When my hands worked their way into his hair, I sighed again.

He tasted like champagne and risk until he pulled his mouth away from mine, but when he smiled, I felt it against my lips.

“Let’s get out of here, Grace.”