Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy 1)

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.

He put his hand on the decorative gold doorknob and exhaled a deep breath. He’d thought he’d at least be intimidated about meeting Samantha’s father for the first time, especially under the current circumstances, but Clay was so certain of his feelings for the man’s daughter that any anxiety took a backseat to his intentions—if that’s what she wanted, too. Because he realized that for all his self-assurance, the two of them had never talked about being together beyond the temporary affair they’d agreed to.

Yeah, that’s because you were a grade-A idiot who clammed up anytime things got too emotional between you.

All that was about to change.

Shoulders back and head held high, he opened the door and stepped inside yet another lavishly decorated room that smelled like leather and some kind of exotic spice. Samantha’s father sat behind an enormous desk in an equally imposing chair that—no doubt deliberately—made him look like a king sitting on his throne.

Let the beheading commence, Clay thought with wry humor as he walked the rest of the way inside the study.

Conrad leaned back in his chair, deceptively casual as he watched Clay’s approach.

Clay wasn’t afraid of the older man, but he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit that it would be nice to have his approval. However, gaining Samantha’s parents’ blessing wasn’t a requirement for him to lay his heart out and give her the choice of being with him forever.

He stopped in front of the desk. “Mr. Jamieson,” Clay acknowledged with a nod, determined to treat the man with respect, despite the fact that he’d blackmailed his daughter into staying away from Clay.

He then pushed the envelope of cash across the surface, well aware of the other man scrutinizing everything about him. “While I appreciate the money you sent to help me out, I’m returning it all. I don’t want it. I don’t need it. In fact, you had to have known that I’ve got a couple million dollars sitting in the bank, since you did a background check on me. So why even bother?” Clay asked the question that had been swirling in his head ever since Harrison had left the bar.

“Two re

asons, actually,” the older man said evenly. “One, it worked to bring Samantha back home. And two, I wanted to know what kind of man you truly are.”

So it had been some kind of test? Clay kept hold of his temper, reminding himself that testing Clay was the man’s way of looking out for his child—as screwed up as that might be.

“To be honest with you, sir, I’m more than a little pissed to find out the money came with an ultimatum to Samantha.”

The corner of Conrad’s mouth twitched with something akin to amusement before he shrugged, his expression once again bland. “I was getting tired of waiting for my daughter to come to her senses and come home.”

“So you blackmailed her?” Clay swallowed back the bitterness threatening to surface. “You forced her to give up the life she wanted so you could use her as some kind of collateral to secure your business and marry her off to a man she doesn’t love?”

A spark of anger flickered in Conrad’s gaze. “She’s my child, and I want the best for her.”

“Then let her make her own decisions.” Clay braced his hands on the edge of Conrad’s desk and leaned closer, his impatience getting the best of him. “Let her live her own life.”

Conrad frowned at Clay. “That’s difficult for a man like me to do.”