Mason’s jaw dropped open in shock, and he snapped it shut again, his disbelief rendering him momentarily mute. After a few seconds passed, he shook his head at Clay. “What the fuck? Are you serious? Did you take in another stray and decide to keep her like you did Xena, Saint Clay?”
Clay clenched his jaw against Mason’s sarcastic remark and sent Katrina a thanks a fucking lot glance before addressing his brother to tell him what he’d explained to everyone else so far. “It’s temporary until she can find a place of her own, and before you ask, no, we’re not hooking up.”
“Too bad for you,” Mason said in male sympathy, then he grinned like a rogue. “That’s gotta be hard, letting her sleeping in your bed without you in it.”
“Oh, you’re ‘punny’,” he said of his brother’s double entendre.
Mason slid off the barstool, obviously ready to move on to another form of entertainment. “I’ll see you later, Kitty-Kat,” he said to Katrina as he wound the purple-tipped ends of her hair around his finger to give it a playful tug. “And I might be in a little late tomorrow morning, depending on how my night ends.” He winked at her.
“Not too late,” she grumbled. “You have an eleven o’clock appointment with a woman who specifically asked for you. She wants a tattoo of a lock and key on the inside of each of her inner thighs.”
Mason’s gaze lit up. “Damn. I can already tell that tomorrow is going to be a great day since I’ll be spending it between a woman’s legs.” And with that raunchy remark, he returned to what he did best…man-whoring.
Katrina expelled a deep sigh, the sound rife with fatigue that wasn’t so much physical as it was emotional. “And that’s why I don’t come here on Monday nights,” she said, reaching for her purse as she stood. “Your brother is here, and he drives me crazy for at least eight hours a day at the shop. No need to subject myself to any more torture than I’ve already put up with.”
When she pulled out her wallet to pay, Clay waved away her attempt. “Your drink is on the house, and I’m sorry Mason can be such a dick sometimes.” That, at least, got a smile out of her. “Have a good night, okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, you, too.”
Chapter Six
By eleven o’clock that evening, when the bar finally closed for the night and all the customers were gone, Samantha looked like she’d been put through the wringer. Clay actually felt bad for her. Her face etched with exhaustion, she helped Tessa and Amanda clean the dirty glasses and plates from the tables, occasionally wincing as she bent over, then straightened again to put the items on her tray. Her back was obviously killing her.
He knew every inch of her body had to be tired and sore after working nonstop, but never once had she complained about the physical exertion. Hell, he’d hired other more experienced bar waitresses in the past who hadn’t been able to handle the brisk, hectic, and fast pace at Kincaid’s and had quit the first night. Not Samantha. She’d dealt incredibly well with the wide variety of people and the different personalities that she’d encountered over the course of the night.
Despite every snobby, pretentious stereotype he wanted to believe about a woman who was more a wealthy socialite than a blue-collar waitress, Samantha had proved to be incredibly friendly, engaging, and likeable. Everyone who worked at Kincaid’s had already welcomed her into the fold and made her feel like one of the team, and they tended to be a tough crowd when it came to new hires.
The girls finished wiping down the tables and chairs, which was all Clay required them to do at the end of their shift. He had a crew who came in every morning to sweep and mop the floors, take out all the trash, and handle any other tedious chores so his employees could leave at a reasonable hour on a weekday. By eleven forty-five, everyone was gone except for him and Samantha, who plopped herself into a chair at one of the tables and let out a weary groan, as if she couldn’t bring herself to move another inch.
He came around the bar, wanting to check on her. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She grimaced as she arched her spine to stretch her back muscles, which effectively thrust her breasts out and drew his stare to her stiff nipples poking against the cotton fabric of her T-shirt. “I feel like I have a hangover and I didn’t even drink anything tonight. And my feet are killing me. Oh, and I’m starving.”
Reluctantly dragging his gaze from her chest, he thought about the one piece of toast she’d had this morning for breakfast and wondered if she’d eaten anything since. “Did you have lunch before starting your shift?”
“I had a burger at a fast-food place with Katrina after we went shopping, but that was almost nine hours ago.” A small smile quirked the corner of her mouth. “Damn, I burned a lot of calories tonight running around, and my stomach has been growling hungrily for the past two hours.”
He frowned at her. “You should have taken a break and ordered something from the kitchen. All employees eat during their shift at no charge.” He shook his head as that natural inclination to take care of her surfaced. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“As if I could even move now that I’m sitting down,” she said as she absently rubbed a hand along the back of her neck and moaned as she kneaded the taut tendons there. It was all he could do not to push her hands away and take over himself, easing the knots out of her sore muscles. “I might just sleep right here with my head on the table,” she added.
Resisting the continuing urge to take over and give her a relaxing massage himself—any excuse to touch her again—he went to the kitchen, which was a much safer option. He heated up a few appetizers in the microwave and grabbed a small bottle of water from the refrigerator.
When he returned to the table, she was counting out the tips she’d made, and had created two separate stacks of dollar bills.
“Here, you need to eat,” he said, setting the plate of food and drink to the side before taking the chair across from her.
“Thank you. I will in a minute,” she replied, her focus on the task in front of her. “I just want to get this counted out.”
He leaned back in his seat, enjoying the quiet moment of just watching her. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, and when she absently bit her bottom lip, a distinct heat pooled low in his belly. This morning’s memory of how she’d brazenly nipped at his own lip and tugged it between her teeth flooded his mind, followed by the sweet taste of her mouth and her uninhibited response to his aggressive kiss.
He wanted to kiss her again. Badly. Hell, if he was completely honest with himself, what he really craved was the feel of her soft, curvy body straining beneath his as he held her down and drove his cock hard and deep inside her, claiming her completely. He ached to wrap his hands tight in her hair and hear her whimper and moan and beg for him to give her the release she so desperately needed. And he’d make damn sure she came long and hard, until she was weak and sated and sore in the best way possible so she’d forget every pansy-ass bastard who’d come before him.
His cock pulsed at the erotic fantasy playing in his head, and he shifted in his chair. He’d never had such an instantaneous attraction to a woman as he did now with Samantha. And he’d never had to struggle so much to keep such a tight rein on his desires. Samantha made him want to lose control, in her and with her, and that scared the crap out of him because it would lead to complications…and the kind of strings he didn’t allow in his life.
“I had no idea what to expect tip-wise since I’ve never done this before, but this is way more than I’d anticipated,” she said, drawing him out of his private thoughts.
A hint of pride threaded through her voice, and she pushed the larger bundle of cash across the table toward him. “Here’s part of what I owe you for the clothing and toiletries I bought today. I kept a little bit for myself for incidentals, but if I do this well every night, I should have you paid off in a few days, and then I can start saving up for another place to stay and be out of your way.”