Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1) Read online

  Her nose wrinkled as she finally got a whiff of herself. “I…I need to take a shower,” she announced, and tried to stand.

  She wavered on her heels as she tried to push herself upright, and he caught her upper arm before she fell on her face. Even then, she stumbled against his chest, smearing that foul-smelling vomit all over his T-shirt and jeans.

  Fucking great, he thought, gritting his teeth.

  Even though he agreed that she smelled offensive, there was no way he was letting her get into a slippery tub in her condition. “How about you put one of my shirts on and lie down on the bed and take a nap?” And when she woke up in the morning, then she could deal with getting cleaned up.

  She frowned at him. “But I stink.”

  “Yes, you do.” There was no denying the truth.

  She pushed away from him and once again staggered in those ridiculously high shoes as she attempted to unbutton her blouse. “And my hair… It’s got stuff in it.” She made a sour face. “If I don’t take a shower…the awful smell is going to make me sick again.”

  Her brow furrowed in concentration, but her clumsy fingers couldn’t figure out how to slip a button through its hole. But judging by her determined expression, Clay knew there was nothing he could say or do to make her change her mind. Not that he blamed her. The stench was making him nauseous, as well, and he had a strong stomach.

  Figuring it was best to just get this done and over with so he could put her into bed and she could pass out for the night, he brushed her hands aside and quickly unfastened her blouse. Pulling the hem from her pants, he pushed the stained and silky material off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She reached up to unhook her sexy, pale pink lace bra that did an incredible, mouth-watering job of displaying her full, creamy breasts like an offering, and he knew if those beauties spilled free, the temptation to touch and taste would sorely test his restraint.

  Hell, everything about Samantha was making it difficult for him to keep his hands off her in a sexual way, despite the fact that she’d just puked her guts out. Letting her get naked right in front of him wasn’t an option, even though his straining cock argued otherwise.

  “Leave it on,” he said, grateful that her uncoordinated fingers couldn’t manage to unclasp her bra. Did the woman have no sense of modesty? Then again, he was well aware how alcohol could loosen a person’s inhibitions, and she was obviously well beyond caring about acting appropriately. No doubt she’d be mortified in the morning, but for now, she didn’t care.

  “But I need to—”

  “No,” he bit out, harsher than he’d intended. In the kind of authoritative voice that normally commanded a person’s attention.

  She dropped her hands to her sides and exhaled a petulant sigh. “You don’t have to be so grumpy,” she muttered, clearly not at all fazed by his sharp tone.

  Yeah, he was grumpy and fucking horny, and it was about to get worse. As quickly as possible, he unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, and had to bend down to help her out of her shoes, then took off the last of her clothing. Her balance faltered as she stepped out of her pants, and she reached out for something to grab, which ended up being his hair.

  He winced as her fingers tightened in the strands, and in his current position, crouched in front of her, his face level with her blush-colored lace panties, he imagined her clutching his hair for a different reason altogether. Not to steady herself but to push his mouth between her soft, smooth thighs so he could lick her with the deft slide of his tongue and get her off.

  Abruptly, he stood back up and propped her ass against the vanity for support while he removed her pearls and the diamond-encrusted watch that probably cost a small fortune. He turned on the water to let it get hot while he stripped out of his T-shirt, jeans, socks, and shoes.

  She watched him as he undressed, taking in the width of his chest, and followed the definition of his abs down to the waistband of his black boxer briefs that he’d left on. Licking her lips, she stared shamelessly at the thick shaft outlined by the snug cotton. Her breathing deepened, and a flush of arousal swept across her cheeks.

  “You are so freakin’ hot,” she whispered in awe, obviously not cognizant enough to realize just how many times she’d already told him that.

  His blood heated in his veins, his own unwanted desire for her making him a little crazy because he couldn’t control his reaction, despite his best efforts. He briefly considered a cold shower but knew that wouldn’t be fair to her.

  “Come on, Cupcake,” he said, holding out his hand for her to grab. “Let’s do this.”

  Her pretty blue eyes widened acutely. “We’re going to do it?”

  He groaned, low and deep, as she once again misinterpreted his words, though she certainly didn’t look opposed to doing it in the way she was insinuating. “You wanted a shower, remember? You aren’t getting in there alone when you can barely stand without falling over.”

  Before she could argue, he grabbed her hand and helped her step into the tub. He faced her toward the spray of hot water, and as detached as possible, he helped her wash her body, then he shampooed and rinsed the crap from her hair. This wasn’t something he’d ever done with or for another woman. It was all about getting in, fucking hard, and getting out. Taking care of them? Not part of the deal. Then he made the mistake of glancing at the water running rivulets over her soft skin, turning the silk of her bra and panties into a see-through vision. His entire body pulsed with lust and need. Fuck.

  They were in the shower for less than ten minutes, but the warmth of the water loosened her muscles and turned her lethargic, so he practically had to hold her up, which didn’t help his state of arousal. By the time they were finished and he’d dried her with a towel, she was swaying unsteadily where she stood, and obviously done for the night.

  In his adjoining bedroom, he grabbed a clean T-shirt from his dresser and pulled it over her head and down her gorgeous, curvy body while she yawned and her eyelids drooped sleepily. Before she could put her arms through the sleeves, he reached beneath the material and removed her wet bra, then shoved her equally wet panties down her legs, all while keeping his gaze averted.

  When she was decently covered, he guided her to his bed, pulled down the sheet and comforter, and helped her up. She crawled onto the mattress and flashed him her bare, delectable ass before settling onto her back. With a groan of pure torment, he pulled the covers up to her chest.

  She blinked up at him drowsily. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispered, her lashes drifting shut.

  In that moment, she looked so vulnerable and alone, and Clay felt his chest tighten with a protective instinct he had no business feeling for her. He didn’t want to care about Samantha or her situation. Didn’t want to get involved with whatever had prompted her to ditch her cell phone and walk into a bar on the wrong side of town to get drunk.

  And he especially didn’t want to be attracted to her, but no doubt about it, he so fucking was.

  He’d sleep out on the couch, and by morning she’d be clear-headed and full of embarrassed regret. As for him…he’d have the night to regroup and shore up the fortitude to shut down any unwanted emotions for the cupcake he’d never see again.

  Chapter Three

  Samantha’s head felt as though it was going to explode. The pressure, the pounding, the slightest movement increased the throbbing against her skull. With a soft groan, she pried her eyelids open and squinted in the too-bright room. She didn’t recognize her surroundings, and panic rushed through her, kicking up her heart rate.

  As she glanced around, hazy memories of last night finally filtered through her brain, giving her a semblance of relief, which didn’t last long as mortification swept through her aching body. Not only had she had way too many drinks, she’d flirted outrageously with a gorgeous stranger, and had to admit that it’d felt damn good to be a little bad.

  She groaned out loud, only to be caught up by a harsher recollection. Her father had completely and t
otally cut her off, just as he’d said he would. The pounding in her skull increased to epic proportions.

  Unfortunately, her humiliation wasn’t finished yet. Not only hadn’t she been able to pay her bar bill, she’d burst into tears in front of The Gorgeous One, blabbered about her personal woes, then vomited in spectacular fashion, missing the toilet completely. Then there was the shower, where her savior had stepped in along with her, helping her clean herself up and dress again after. Her utter mortification was complete.

  Careful not to jostle her head too much, she gently rolled to her back and slung her arm over her eyes to shield them from the shaft of daylight coming in through the window. She definitely needed a few more minutes to gain her bearings before she attempted to get out of bed. Which gave her too much time to think about her behavior the evening before.

  Getting drunk, on any occasion, so wasn’t her. She’d never been a party girl, and she knew her limits when it came to alcohol—one cocktail and no more. Last night, she’d consumed more shots of liquor than she could remember, but they’d all tasted so good, and she’d secretly loved the fact that each drink had a dirty name. At the time, indulging in a few Royal Fucks, Screaming Orgasms, and Blow Jobs had been a fun and harmless way to thumb her nose at all the rules and social norms her parents had placed on her for so long.

  But her bold act of rebellion had come at a steep price, because now she had no money, no job, no car, and no place to live. She literally had nothing. She was twenty-six years old and ashamed to admit that everything she owned had been given to her in one form or another. She’d accepted each and every item without complaint, but with her lifestyle came certain expectations that, up to this point, she’d fulfilled like a good, obedient daughter.

  She couldn’t live that way anymore. Tucking her tail between her legs like a bad puppy and going back home wasn’t an option. Samantha knew exactly who and what was waiting for her there. More enforced decorum and etiquette, and chastisement and punishment for her defiance. No, thank you. Now that she’d had a small taste of freedom, she wanted to experience more. She wanted to live life on her terms, without restrictions, and she wanted to make her own decisions and mistakes along the way.

  She didn’t fool herself into believing that starting over with nothing would be easy, but somehow, she’d find a way to be independent and successful, without her parents’ financial support. She needed to find herself—the woman she was without the confinements and restrictions of home.

  But before she could do any of those things, she needed to haul her ass out of bed and face the day. And the hot, sexy man who’d been her savior last night. She might be mortified, but she damn well knew that without him and his kindness, she had no idea where she would have woken up this morning or what might have happened to her in the state she’d gotten herself into.

  With effort, she sat up on the edge of the mattress and waited a few seconds for her head to stop spinning. Her queasy stomach growled, reminding her that she was empty inside, and her mouth tasted like… Um, no, she didn’t even want to think about it.

  Catching sight of her pearls and wristwatch on the nightstand, she once again counted herself lucky a decent guy had come to her rescue. She checked the time, shocked to realize that it was nearly eleven a.m. She dragged a hand through her hair and winced as her fingers snagged on the tangled strands. Obviously, The Gorgeous One hadn’t used conditioner when he’d scrubbed her hair in the shower, but she was grateful that she at least smelled clean—and quite masculine, considering her skin held traces of a citrusy-fragranced body wash.

  Feeling the tug of a smile, she gingerly stood up. The men’s shirt she was wearing fell to mid-thigh, but it was the caress of cool air on her bare sex that brought forth another memory, of being stripped out of her wet bra and panties by very large, warm, capable hands. The man had been nothing short of a gentleman the entire evening, despite the fact she’d draped herself all over him and given him every signal imaginable that she’d be up for more. He hadn’t taken advantage, and for that she was grateful.

  She couldn’t remember ever being so flirtatious and shameless with a man, but the alcohol had loosened her inhibitions, and her strong attraction to him, aided by her newfound confidence, had bolstered her courage and encouraged her brazen behavior. Well, the night was over, and she had no choice but to face him, she thought, and made her way to the adjoining bathroom to freshen up.

  Considering what she remembered happening in this room the night before, everything was now clean and orderly. She used the facilities, and when she washed her hands, she noticed a brand new toothbrush in its original packaging sitting by the sink. Grateful for his thoughtfulness, she vigorously brushed the fuzziness from her teeth and gargled with the mouthwash on the vanity. When she finally looked in the mirror, the reflection staring back startled the hell out of her.

  She looked like the hot mess he’d called her last night. Her normally straight blonde hair was wavy and disheveled—a far cry from the smooth, sleek, silky style that her mother insisted she wear. Any trace of makeup was gone, and her face was scrubbed clean except for the smudge of liner around her eyes.

  She had a few makeup items in her handbag, but she had no idea where her purse was. Or her clothes, for that matter, though she did find her bra and panties hanging over the shower rod. They were dry to the touch, and she slipped on her underwear, feeling much better about greeting her white knight while wearing panties. With a deep, fortifying breath to calm the sudden flutter of nervous butterflies in her stomach, she opened the bedroom door, which led directly into a small living room and attached kitchen. The place was incredibly compact and sparsely furnished, and she found him quite easily.

  Sitting at a small dining table with four chairs, he was hard to miss. Not because of his size—though he was tall and well built everywhere—but because of his commanding presence that made her very aware of him physically. He watched her from across the room, a speculative look in his gaze. His hair was a rich chocolate brown, his eyes equally dark and intense. Not to mention shrewd and perceptive.

  Even from a distance, his discerning gaze made her shiver. Her skin prickled, and her entire body flushed with heat, rendering her breathless. A deep inhale of much-needed oxygen, and her breasts rose beneath the cotton T-shirt she wore. Her sensitive nipples rasped across the material, puckering them into tight, hard points that beaded against the fabric.

  Even in the light of day, without the interference of any liquor, her attraction to him was instantaneous and undeniable. Thrilling and unlike anything she’d ever felt or experienced with Harrison…or any other man, for that matter. A sizzling heat settled deep in her belly, and a sudden aching need coiled between her thighs.

  Oh, yeah, he was still freakin’ hot.

  Judging by the way his gaze lowered ever so slightly and the nearly negligible clench of his jaw, he’d noticed her body’s response. Closing the open laptop on the table in front of him, he lifted his eyes back up to her face, his expression carefully composed.

  “Morning,” he murmured in a low, deep voice that was sexier than she remembered. Combined with the dark, rugged scruff on his chiseled jaw, the man was a woman’s sinful fantasy come to life. He had a bit of a bad-boy edge to him that tempted the good girl in her to take a walk on the wild side.

  The thought was incredibly inviting.

  She tugged absently on the hem of the shirt. “Hi,” she replied as she forced herself to move toward him. She smiled, suddenly feeling shy because the man had literally seen her at her worst.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across the table from him.

  She had no idea what to expect of him, but at least he wasn’t kicking her out right away. When she was settled, he stood up and walked into the kitchen. With his back to her—God, he had a great ass in those soft, worn jeans—he filled a glass of water, then shook out a few pills from a bottle before heading back toward her.

  “How are you feeling this morn
ing?” he asked, but considering he set the water and ibuprofen on the table in front of her, he knew exactly how badly she was suffering.

  “Better than last night,” she admitted sheepishly. “But my pounding head and sore body are clearly protesting all those drinks I indulged in.”

  The faintest hint of amusement twitched the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, you’re definitely a cupcake.”

  She recalled him using the term with her a few times. “Why do you keep calling me that?” she asked, right before she tossed all four tablets into her mouth and washed them down with most of the water, which tasted delicious sliding along her parched throat.

  “Because you’re a lightweight and can’t handle your liquor.”

  She couldn’t even be offended by his statement, because it was the truth.

  He grabbed the mug from his end of the table and returned to the kitchen. “Want some coffee?” he asked as he refilled his own cup.

  She wasn’t sure that coffee would help her hangover, but hopefully the caffeine would give her a much-needed jolt of energy to figure out her next plan of action. “Sure. With cream if you have it.”

  He moved around the kitchen for a few minutes, and something to Samantha’s left caught her attention. She glanced over and found a gray-striped cat sitting on the nearby windowsill, lazily licking its paw and cleaning its face. At first she thought one of its eyes was closed, then realized that the socket had been sealed shut and the feline was missing an eye.

  “Here you go,” he said, placing the mug down, along with a plate with dry toast on it. “You need something in your stomach.”

  He sounded and acted as though he’d done this a time or two, or more. “Thank you…” Her words trailed off because they’d never been formally introduced. “I don’t even know your name.” Though he somehow knew hers, because he’d used it last night.