Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)(8)
“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, f*cking 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 f*cking 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 totally 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.