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  Falling Into You

  An Erotic Novella by Maureen Smith

  FALLING INTO YOU

  Copyright © 2013 by Maureen Smith

  Originally published in 2007

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either 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.

  For questions and comments about this book, please contact Maureen Smith

  at [email protected]. Visit her official website at www.maureen-smith.com.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  New Releases from Michelle Monkou and Celeste O. Norfleet

  Coming Soon

  Chapter

  1

  “Looks like tonight is your lucky night.”

  Rebecca Edmonds glanced up from setting down a tray filled with empty glasses to look at her coworker through the slits of a black lace mask. “Lucky?” she echoed as if the word was foreign to her. “How’s that?”

  Stacey Brenner leaned in the doorway of the kitchen with one hand propped on a shapely hip as she gazed out into the smoke-filled nightclub. Onstage, a trio of topless dancers slid up and down long silver poles as they performed to Donna Summers’s “Love to Love You Baby.”

  “The sexiest man in Baltimore—hell, the state of Maryland—just walked through the door,” Stacey explained. “And guess whose table he was seated at?”

  “Lucky me,” Rebecca muttered, unimpressed. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing remotely sexy about a man who got off on watching women strip in public. Although The Sultan’s was known to be one of the city’s classiest gentlemen’s clubs—with hefty cover charges to show for it—the place still drew enough of the kind of patrons that made Rebecca’s skin crawl.

  “You’d better get out there,” Stacey told her. “You know how Bruno feels about keeping customers waiting.”

  Bruno Rossi, the owner of The Sultan’s Gentlemen’s Club, had built his reputation on taking excellent care of his customers, starting from the moment they stepped through the doors until they departed several hours later—at least five hundred dollars poorer. He prided himself on having the best exotic dancers and waitresses in Maryland. If any of his employees failed to deliver on this promise, he had no qualms about firing her on the spot. He’d been known to dock the paychecks of waitresses who kept customers waiting too long to be served, or cooks who prepared less than satisfactory meals, or dancers who stumbled once or twice onstage. When it came to his establishment, Bruno Rossi had little patience for imperfection.

  These thoughts ran through Rebecca’s mind as she left the kitchen and made her way across the crowded nightclub. The plush décor evoked the decadence of ancient Rome, complete with faux marble columns and expensively reproduced Pompeian wall paintings. A thick cloud of cigar smoke hovered above the tables, all of which were occupied with men—and more than a few women—sipping drinks and watching the naked acrobatics onstage. Because it was Halloween, many customers wore costumes. While some of the getups were creative enough to warrant a second glance, none were elaborate enough to compete with the main attraction—the exotic dancers.

  Rebecca passed a waitress balancing a tray laden with food and drinks. She smiled encouragingly at the young brunette, Nina, who’d been a victim of Bruno’s displeasure last week when she showed up fifteen minutes late to work. Nina knew, as did everyone else, that she was just one misstep away from being fired.

  Mentally praying that the girl wouldn’t drop her tray, Rebecca kept walking until she reached a table in a private corner of the club where a lone man sat, idly perusing the menu.

  “Welcome to The Sultan’s,” Rebecca began cheerfully. “My name is Rebecca and I’ll be your—”

  The rest of her spiel died on her lips as the stranger’s dark head slowly lifted, and she found herself staring into the most arresting pair of eyes she’d ever seen. Black as coal, with the power to zero in on a woman’s face and leave her utterly breathless. Those piercing eyes were accentuated by chiseled cheekbones, a slightly crooked nose and a square jaw. A neatly trimmed goatee framed full, sensual lips that made Rebecca wonder—shockingly—what they’d feel like against her own, and on other parts of her body.

  She fought to regain her composure. “My name is Rebecca, and I’ll be your servant— I mean, server, tonight,” she quickly corrected herself, blushing as that sinful mouth curved into a knowing smile.

  She cleared her throat, grateful for the mask that partially concealed her face. “Is this your first time at The Sultan’s?”

  “Yes, it is,” the man answered in a deep, husky voice.

  Never before had Rebecca felt more exposed as his dark, penetrating gaze raked over her body, taking in her black leather bustier, matching micro-mini shorts and stiletto heels. But rather than repelling her, his slow, deliberate perusal left her feeling hot and tingly in unspeakable places.

  She tapped her pen against her notepad. “What can I get for you this evening?”

  His gaze returned slowly to her face, a hint of that sly smile lingering on his lips. “What do you recommend?”

  “Depends on what you’re in the mood for,” Rebecca said.

  In the background, Donna Summers sighed and moaned her way through a simulated orgasm. Rebecca’s face heated as the stranger’s smile turned downright wicked. Before he could respond, she quickly recited the house specials, mortified by the breathlessness she heard in her own voice.

  “Tell you what, Rebecca,” he drawled when she’d finished speaking. “Why don’t you just start me off with a glass of whiskey? We can work our way slowly to the main course.”

  Rebecca nodded jerkily. “Coming right up.”

  As she turned and headed toward the bar, she felt the man’s searing gaze on her back, burning away what scraps of clothing she wore. She shivered convulsively and walked faster.

  “I need a whiskey,” she told one of the bartenders working busily behind the counter.

  “Sure thing, beautiful.”

  While Rebecca waited on the order, Stacey sidled up alongside her, a knowing grin on her face. “What’d I tell you? Isn’t he a hottie?”

  Rebecca feigned ignorance. “Who?”

  Stacey laughed, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind one ear. “Nice try, Edmonds. You know very well I’m talking about that gorgeous specimen at your table, the one who couldn’t keep his eyes off your ass as you walked away.”

  Rebecca flushed. “Him? Sure, he’s attractive.”

  “Attractive?” Stacey snorted in disbelief. “Sweetheart, you need to get your eyes checked.”

  “Whatever you say,” Rebecca quipped as the bartender produced her drink. She scooped her tray off the counter and started away from the bar.

  She prayed for steady hands as she served the glass of whiskey to her sexy customer. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  “Your phone number would be nice,” he said lazily.

  Rebecca laughed, surprising herself. “Sorry. I never mix busin
ess with pleasure.”

  His eyes glinted with mischief. “Never say never,” he told her, his voice a silky promise she would remember long after she left his table.

  A constant flow of customers over the next two hours kept Rebecca too busy to dwell on thoughts of the seductive stranger. But as she bustled from table to table refilling drinks and taking orders, she was keenly aware of a pair of smoldering dark eyes that followed her, wreaking havoc on her nerve endings.

  The man seemed more interested in watching Rebecca than the topless dancers onstage. Once when she braved a look in his direction, she saw him being treated to a lap dance by Giselle, a stunning, voluptuous blonde who could have starred as a Playboy centerfold. The dancer seemed to be enjoying herself immensely as she gyrated against the man’s groin and fondled her large breasts to the tune of Sheena Easton’s “Sugar Walls.”

  As Rebecca watched the performance, her mind wandered, creating a fantasy in which she, not Giselle, was giving the lap dance….

  As her hips slowly and provocatively undulated in his lap, she could hear his breath quicken, becoming a shallow rasp in her ear. She could feel the bulge of his erection through his trousers. Long, thick and magnificently hard. It excited her, sent a rush of liquid heat pouring through her veins.

  As his hand lifted to touch her, she sent him a warning look over her shoulder. “Ah, ah, ah,” she scolded. “You know the rules. No touching.”

  His dark eyes simmered with desire and frustration. “Let me touch you,” he whispered raggedly. “Just once. Please.”

  She shook her head, her lips curving into a naughty smile as she continued gyrating on him. It thrilled her to know she could have this power over him, a man who was undoubtedly used to having any woman he wanted, whenever he wanted.

  A crisp fifty-dollar bill materialized between his long, lean fingers. “Can I give this to you?”

  She hesitated, pretending to deliberate as she eyed the money. After another moment, she nodded.

  As he slid the bill into the strap of her G-string, warm, callused fingers grazed the skin at her hip. Rebecca shivered at the brief contact, her nipples hardening as if he’d tongued them.

  Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Did you like that, Rebecca?” he murmured, his breath a hot, silky caress against her ear. “Do you want me to touch you again?”

  God, yes!

  Aloud she mumbled, “Of course not.”

  “Are you sure?” he whispered wickedly. “Because when I touched you just now, I could’ve sworn your body said something different. Here, let me show you.” This time his hand brushed against her thigh, and sure enough, Rebecca shivered again as heat pooled between her legs.

  “Mmmm. See what I mean?” he purred. “I bet if I touch you here—”

  Rebecca’s breath caught as she watched his hand curve around her thigh, trailing a hot path toward her pussy. He moved slowly, deliberately, drawing out the torture of anticipation. And then, just when she thought she would lose her mind, he slipped his finger beneath the lace crotch of her thong and touched her. She gasped sharply, then moaned as he began to stroke the slick nub of her clitoris. She arched her back as waves of pleasure tore through her, setting her body on fire.

  As his finger teased and caressed the soft folds of her pussy, she braced her palms on his muscular thighs and spread her legs wide, desperate for more. She wanted him, wanted him like no other man she’d ever wanted before. She didn’t care where they were, or that other people were watching them.

  She nearly sobbed with disappointment when he suddenly stopped rubbing her. “Looks like I was right again,” he murmured triumphantly in her ear. “You do want me to touch you, Rebecca. Say it.”

  She could feel her blood roaring through her veins. She licked her lips and rocked her hips against him, silently begging him not to stop, to keep going until she couldn’t take any more.

  Soft, sensual lips nuzzled her ear, then the nape of her neck, sending frissons of sensation down her spine. “Say it, Rebecca,” he urged a second time, his voice a low, husky command.

  “I want you to touch me,” she whimpered helplessly.

  She felt rather than saw him smile. “With pleasure.”

  She nearly came as one thick finger slipped deep inside her pussy. A sharp cry erupted from her throat, and she flung back her head. But she wasn’t the only one affected. She could feel the stranger’s erect cock throbbing against her ass, straining for release.

  And she fully intended to give it to him.

  A loud crash intruded upon Rebecca’s erotic fantasy, jerking her back to the present. Shaken, she glanced around the club and saw that the young waitress, Nina, had dropped a tray full of glasses on her way to the kitchen.

  As Rebecca stood there debating whether to go help the girl or run to the restroom to wipe her damp crotch, she caught the stranger’s hot, bold gaze.

  His mouth curved in the barest hint of a smile, as if he knew she’d been watching him and fantasizing about him.

  Mortified, she hurried away to help clean up Nina’s mess before she made one of her own.

  ***

  Sometime after midnight, Bruno Rossi found Rebecca in the kitchen waiting on a platter of appetizers.

  “Edmonds,” he said without preamble, interrupting her conversation with the cook. “I need to pull you off the floor for a little while.”

  Rebecca arched a quizzical brow at her boss. Despite the late hour, he looked crisp and commanding in an impeccably tailored suit with leather Italian loafers that were polished to a high gleam. The scent of his expensive cologne mingled with the odors of cigar smoke, sweat and assorted foods that permeated the air.

  At thirty-five years old, Bruno had amassed a considerable fortune as a successful businessman. In addition to The Sultan’s, he owned principal interests in two Atlantic City casinos and a thriving chain of delicatessens in New Jersey. Although there had been rumors over the years that he had ties to organized crime, he’d never received so much as a speeding ticket, and the IRS had all but given up on auditing him.

  “What’s up, Bruno?” Rebecca asked curiously. “Why’re you pulling me off the floor?”

  Bruno scratched his ear, and for the first time since Rebecca had known him, he looked slightly sheepish. “I need you in the Platinum Suite. A customer has requested the honor of your presence, and I accepted on your behalf.”

  Rebecca’s eyes narrowed sharply on his handsome, olive-toned face. “Excuse me?”

  “Come on, Rebecca, don’t give me attitude. I’m only asking for a few minutes of your time—”

  Her temper flared. “If you think I’m giving some creep a lap dance, think again!”

  Bruno scowled. “Did I ask you to give anyone a lap dance? You think that’s what I pay you for?” So as to not attract the attention of the other occupants of the kitchen, he lowered his voice. “Look, Edmonds, the guy’s not expecting a lap dance or anything like that. He just wants to talk to you, get to know you a little better. You must have really made an impression on him.”

  “How much?” Rebecca demanded.

  Bruno frowned, nonplussed. “How much what?”

  “How much did he pay you for the ‘honor’ of my presence? Whatever it was, I’ll double it.”

  “Aw, come on, Rebecca, don’t be like that. You’re making this harder than it has to be! Look, I told the guy you’re one of my best waitresses, so I really can’t spare you more than twenty minutes. That’s all I’m asking of you—twenty minutes to make meaningless small talk with him, then you can be on your merry way. And you don’t have to worry about him trying nothing funny—Paulie will be posted outside the door the entire time, I swear.”

  Rebecca hesitated. Bruno’s willingness to loan her his own personal bodyguard was not lost on her, nor did it escape her notice that he was requesting her cooperation when he could just as easily order her to comply.

  Still, his eagerness to sell her to the highest bidder rankled. She
understood wanting to please a customer, but this was going too far.

  Seeing the adamant refusal in her eyes, Bruno tried another tack. “Do this for me,” he said, looking her straight in the eye, “and I won’t fire that clumsy little waitress you feel so sorry for.”

  Rebecca frowned. “That’s not fair, Bruno. Nina’s a college student—she needs the money.”

  His dark eyes flashed with triumph. He knew he had her. “That’s the deal, Edmonds. Take it or leave it.”

  “You play dirty,” she accused.

  He merely grinned.

  “Fine,” she snapped, yanking off her apron and tossing it aside. “Twenty minutes, Bruno, and not a second more, you understand?”

  He spread his hands wide in a conciliatory gesture. “That’s all I ask.”

  The Platinum Suite was located next to the VIP lounge on the second floor of the nightclub. The room was reserved for customers who wanted more privacy to receive lap dances or entertain business clients. As the name suggested, admission to the Platinum Suite was outrageously expensive, limiting its use to the club’s most affluent patrons. Dancers who were invited to join customers in the exclusive room considered it an honor, a symbol of their elevated status in the food chain.

  Rebecca wasn’t a dancer. And she was anything but honored by the invitation.

  “I’ll be right outside the door,” said Paul Colangelo, the tall, burly bodyguard who’d escorted Rebecca upstairs.

  She nodded, giving him a brief smile. “Thanks, Paulie.”

  He held the door open for her as she stepped into a lavishly appointed suite boasting crystal chandeliers and gleaming black marble floors. The lights were dimmed low, creating a soft, romantic glow throughout the room. There was a private bar in one corner, and a small seating area occupied by a plush white sectional that curved into a semicircle. The facing wall was dominated by a large glass aquarium stocked with a brilliant variety of tropical fish.