Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)(27)
He ended the kiss, and a needy moan escaped her lips as she opened her eyes. He ignored the clear disappointment in her gaze and the throbbing ache in his balls. “It’s late, Samantha,” he said. As an excuse, it was a pitiful one.
Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. “It is late, and I need a long, hot shower.” She slid off his lap and stood but held his gaze as a slow, daring smile touched her kiss-swollen lips. “Are you coming up?”
There was no mistaking the invitation in her words, but he shook his head and held firm, because he already knew how tempting it was to share a shower with her, and tonight she was completely sober. “No. Not for a while.”
Amusement etched her features, even as she pinned him with a gutsy look. “Afraid I’ll try and have my wicked way with you?”
“Not at all.” No, he was more afraid that he’d corner her like a lust-crazed animal and finish what they’d started. It wasn’t as though she was putting up any kind of struggle, and he honestly didn’t know how much longer he could turn down her advances.
“Okay then,” she said with an easy shrug and a too-knowing smile, clearly not believing him for a second. “Good night, Saint.”
Yeah, she was mocking him with the nickname, so he did the same. “Good night, Cupcake.”
She laughed, the lighthearted sound making him smile as she walked away, leaving him to wonder what her next plan of attack would be. And whether he’d have the strength and fortitude to resist.
Chapter Seven
SAMANTHA CLOSED THE hardcover novel she was reading—a current best seller that had been lying on the coffee table—and exhaled a frustrated sigh. Three long days had passed since the night in the bar with Clay, and he’d made himself deliberately scarce ever since. He was gone when she woke up in the morning, and he remained downstairs long after closing while she returned to the apartment alone. For all she knew, he slept downstairs at the bar, as well.
Clearly, he was avoiding being alone with her, but that didn’t change the sexual pull between them, which was obvious and glaring when she saw him during her shift. Even when they were in the crowded bar, surrounded by dozens of people, she’d catch him watching her with those dark brown eyes—not as her employer but as a hot-blooded man who wanted to ravish her.
The thought made her shiver, especially since she’d already had a sampling of Clay’s seductive kisses, which were so delicious they became habit forming. And just like a junkie hooked on opiates, she craved more of him, her body constantly on edge with desire and the need to experience every last sensation he generated. He was her drug of choice, and withdrawals were starting to settle in and make her restless.
Standing up, she made her way into the kitchen in Clay’s apartment and poured herself a small glass of apple juice. It was only eleven o’clock in the morning, and she was bored. Over the past few days, she’d managed to keep herself busy until her shift started. She’d cleaned up Clay’s place and used some of her tip money to replenish the basics in his refrigerator—milk, bread, butter, some protein and fruits and vegetables so they’d have things to eat. She did his laundry, and one morning she’d strolled the neighborhood to familiarize herself with the area and the nearby businesses.
She’d found a family-owned grocery store, an Italian restaurant, and even a trendy boutique called Dress For Less, where she’d purchased a few cute outfits, a pretty matching lacy bra and panty set, and sandals all for less than fifty bucks. Another afternoon, she’d looked up the name and address of Mason’s tattoo shop on Clay’s laptop, and using MapQuest for directions, she’d walked the city block to Inked and checked out the place. Katrina had been sitting at the receptionist’s desk and greeted her with a friendly, welcoming smile. She’d even taken a break so they could get an iced coffee and chat for a bit about the frustrating men in their lives—Mason and Clay.
After much deliberation, Samantha had decided to send her mother a postcard with a brief note, just so her parents would know that she was okay and her choice to not come home was a deliberate one. She didn’t want their input or interference when it came to her decisions about what she would do with her life and future. She was still trying to figure that out. But the more she thought back on her conversation with Clay about her desire to be a pastry chef, the more the idea appealed to her. He hadn’t laughed at her, which only fueled her determination to try. She just wished she wasn’t so self-conscious about her lack of experience, the one main obstacle that caused her to hesitate in pursuing her dream job.
Today, though, she was out of ideas to keep herself busy. She finished off the chilled apple juice just as she felt a soft stroke of fur brush against her ankle. She glanced down and found Xena looking up at her with her one good eye and meowing softly. Smiling, Samantha picked up the sweet, loving cat and cuddled the feline against her chest, remembering the story Clay had told her about how he’d rescued the kitten when most people wouldn’t have saved her based on her mangy appearance and vet expenses.
“Your owner is a softy, you know that?” Samantha asked as she scratched Xena behind an ear, and grinned when the cat purred in agreement. “He’s also stubborn and hardheaded, gorgeous, and so freakin’ hot he drives me crazy,” she grumbled in exasperation.
As if commiserating, Xena rubbed her head against Samantha’s palm, shamelessly demanding the attention and affection she wanted.