Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy 1)

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.”