Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)(57)

Clay instinctively cringed, certain a man like Conrad Jamieson hadn’t been happy to discover Clay’s past. No doubt the other man felt Clay wasn’t good enough for his daughter. Yet he’d left Samantha alone for three weeks, with him. “If Conrad knew where Samantha was, why didn’t he just come and get her?”


Harrison shrugged. “There was something in your background report that assured him that you were trustworthy, so he figured that Samantha just needed to sow some wild oats before she settled down and married me.”

“For the sake of the investment firm.”

“That would be correct,” Harrison said with an impassive nod. “I know Samantha doesn’t love me, and quite frankly, I don’t love her, either. She’s too spirited, way too independent, and I know she’d be miserable in a structured marriage like ours would be. She wants to have her own life, her own career, and the fact that she gave it all up and agreed to her father’s terms, in exchange for this money, tells me just how important you are to her.”

It was as if Harrison was giving him permission to go after Samantha, and maybe, the other man would be grateful for not having to go through with the arranged marriage, too.

“Why are you telling me this?” Clay asked.

“Because despite everything, I’d rather see Samantha living the kind of life she wants to, with the one person who will support her and make her happy,” Harrison said, his voice ringing with sincerity. “And I know that man is not me.”

Fuck yeah, because Clay was that man. And he’d do whatever it took to fight for Samantha, to make sure she knew she was his in every way and belonged right here, with him.

“Have a good afternoon, Mr. Kincaid,” Harrison said, then turned around and walked back toward the entrance.

Once Clay heard the door shut, he sat down in the nearest chair, his heart pounding so hard in his chest it was like a roar in his ears. He caught sight of the envelope of cash that Harrison had left behind, once again in awe of what Samantha was willing to sacrifice for him.

The ironic thing was, he didn’t need the money. Hell, he had more than enough in the bank to pay off Wyatt—not that Clay needed to do that any longer—and for them to buy a real house and furnish it any way she wanted. Yeah, he was jumping ahead of himself, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted everything with Samantha, and he wanted it now.

Clay’s first instinct was to take the money to Conrad Jamieson and bring Samantha back where she belonged. But he couldn’t, not just yet. Not until he knew for certain that Wyatt was off the streets and there was no threat to Samantha’s safety.

But once that happened, he was going to get his girl.

* * *

CLAY SPENT THE next day pacing in his apartment like a caged animal, anxious and edgy as he impatiently waited for Levi’s call that Wyatt was in custody. Hours passed, and just when Clay thought he was going to climb the walls, his brother finally contacted him. The sting had gone off without a hitch.

While Wyatt had initially taken off running when he realized he’d been set up, he’d been surrounded by a dozen undercover cops who apprehended him before he could get away and charged him with first-degree murder. The best part? Levi had been the one to look the prick in the eyes as he read Wyatt his Miranda rights.

As soon as Clay disconnected the call with Levi, he picked up the envelope of cash on the table, along with his car keys, and headed out to his truck. Levi, being the awesome brother that he was, had given him the address to the Jamieson estate in River Forest, and Clay headed in that direction, not caring that he was driving over the speed limit. He’d risk a ticket for Samantha. Hell, he’d risk anything to be with her.

When Clay arrived at the address, he reached his first roadblock. The house was secured by a massive gate that required him to press an intercom and announce himself. It made sense that someone as wealthy and high-profile as Conrad Jamieson would have an elaborate security system, and Clay reluctantly gave his name to the person on the other side of the speaker and told them that he was there to see Conrad. Once Clay settled things with Samantha’s father, he’d head straight for her.

The intercom went silent, and, filled with dread, Clay waited for some kind of reply. For a long moment, he thought he was going to be denied entry, but finally those huge iron barriers parted to let him in. And it was damn good thing, too, because Clay was not opposed to scaling the fence in order to get to the house and Samantha.

The driveway leading up to the enormous house was long, ending in a circular drive in front of the mansion. He parked his truck, and, envelope in hand, he got out of the vehicle and rang the doorbell. Seconds later, a middle-aged woman dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks greeted him and politely requested he follow her to Conrad’s study.

The old man was obviously waiting for him.

The inside of the house looked like a palace. Hell, it was a palace compared to anyplace he’d ever lived—shockingly ostentatious and an obvious showcase for all the wealth that Conrad had amassed. And it was so not reflective of the woman he’d come to know over the past three weeks. No, Samantha had been sweet and unpretentious, and completely at ease without all this opulence and grandeur.


It felt as though they’d walked a mile before the housemaid finally stopped in front of a set of closed double doors and turned to him with a smile. “Mr. Jamieson is waiting for you inside,” she said, then left him standing alone.