Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy 1)

He raised an inquisitive brow. The fact that Samantha’s family owned a billion-dollar investment firm wasn’t a piece of information he’d shared with Katrina, or anyone else. Maybe Samantha had told her, though he didn’t think it likely, considering she was attempting to create a new life, away from the Jamieson wealth and influence.

“And you know she’s rich based on what, exactly?” he asked.

Katrina rolled her eyes, as if it were obvious. “When I picked her up, she was carrying a three-thousand-dollar Louis Vuitton purse. At first, I thought it was a damned good knock-off, but when we walked into Target, she looked like a kid in a candy store. Although it was very cute how she tried to budget your money,” she said with an amused grin. “Then, she seemed overwhelmed by all the shampoo and body wash choices and kept asking me what was the best product for the best price. A normal person would know exactly what they needed, and what brand to buy, because it’s what they used on a regular basis.”

It was clever and accurate deductive reasoning, but Clay didn’t confirm or deny anything as he wiped down the service area. “Thanks again for taking her to the store and helping her to get what she needed,” he said, and changed the subject. “Ladies’ cocktails are half off tonight, so what can I get you to drink?”

“I’ll take a mojito, please.”

“Coming right up,” he said, and tossed mint and lime into a glass so he could muddle it together before adding the alcohol.

Katrina turned in her chair, content to watch the activity going on around her from afar. The bar was starting to pick up and get much busier—which was normal by six in the evening, when everyone was done with their day jobs and wanted to take advantage of the half-price appetizers for happy hour. By seven, the place was usually packed and at the peak of activity.

After serving Katrina her drink, Clay continued working behind the bar, restocking items and helping Tara and Gina to keep up with the increasing rush of orders as more women arrived. The dance floor filled up, and the place became standing room only. At a little after seven, his brother Mason and a few of his friends walked into the joint, but Clay immediately lost sight of them as they blended into the crowd.

Undoubtedly, his brother was already working the women in the room, pouring on the charm and lining up his own hit it and quit it for the evening, which was Mason’s method of operation when it came to females. And with his cocky, bad-boy persona, combined with his good looks and multitude of tattoos, he alway

s had an abundance of willing females to choose from. And he never failed to take advantage of that fact.

Another half hour had passed when Tessa came up to the bar next to Katrina, not to collect a drink order but to get Clay’s attention. She waved him over, her expression flushed and irritated.

“Everything okay?” Clay asked, immediately concerned.

“No.” More irritation vibrated in her voice. “Your brother is in the women’s restroom banging some chick, and I need to pee!”

He was so taken aback by her announcement that he frowned. “Mason?”

Katrina snorted, and it wasn’t a pretty sound. “Who else would it be? Do you honestly think Levi would do something so indecent?”

Yeah, Katrina had a point. Only Mason would be so ballsy as to have sex in a semi-public place, while people waited to use the facilities. Ever since he was a teenager, his brother had developed an I don’t give a fuck attitude that made him impulsive and careless, one that continued even now, at the age of twenty-seven. Mason had some of his shit together—he was a talented tattoo artist and owned his own shop—but their fucked-up childhood still affected him on an emotional level, and he dealt with all that painful shit in his own way. Namely by being reckless, wild, and pretending to be so aloof no one would even try to get close enough to crush him, the way their own mother had. Thus, his inclination toward one-night stands. Easy sex and no attachments. Ever.

Yeah, all three Kincaid brothers had mommy issues, and they each dealt with the residual effects in their own way. Growing up with a junkie for a mother who’d abandoned her kids for days at a time in order to get high, then had landed in prison for drug possession and prostitution, tended to leave a lasting impression on a kid. And that hadn’t even been the worst of what they’d gone through.

“Since Mason is ignoring me, can you please go and take care of the problem?” Tessa asked as she shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

Problem was too easy of a word for Mason. His brother was a pain in his ass. A thorn in his side. The shit on his shingle. There was nothing easy or predictable about Mason, and tonight’s escapade proved as much.

Clay exhaled a harsh breath, but just as he tossed his damp rag behind the bar, intending to cut short Mason’s fun, the man himself sauntered out of the crowd and headed toward the bar. By himself. But the arrogant swagger in his walk and the satisfied smile on his face definitely confirmed he’d just gotten lucky—and could easily get lucky again if he wanted to with one of the many females ogling him as he strolled by.

When he reached the end of the bar where they were gathered, relief flashed across Tessa’s features. “It’s about damn time, Romeo,” she grumbled, and quickly beelined it for the ladies’ room.

Mason merely smirked, which increased Clay’s annoyance. “What the fuck are you doing in the women’s restroom?”

“It’s called getting laid,” Mason replied as he slid onto the stool next to Katrina, who was frowning at Mason. “You should try it sometime, big brother. It might improve your testy mood and mellow you out some.”

“My mood is fine,” he snapped, unwilling to admit just how much he had been on edge since that morning’s hot, erotic kiss with Samantha. And watching her hustle around the place in those snug jeans and formfitting T-shirt wasn’t helping his intense attraction to her, either. His dick had been at half-mast since she’d arrived at the bar, with no relief in sight.

But this wasn’t about him. It was about Mason’s behavior. “I don’t appreciate you being so crass in my bar. If you were anyone else, I would have tossed you out on your ass.”

“Luckily I’m in good with the owner.” Mason grinned.

Clay reached into the bin of ice chilling the beers and pulled out a Sam Adams—his brother’s drink of choice until he moved on to the harder stuff in an hour or so. “Not that good, so don’t fucking press your luck.” He removed the metal cap and set the bottle on the bar.

“Jesus, Mason,” Katrina finally said, a sharp, chastising bite to her voice. “Can’t you keep it in your pants for one night?”

Mason laughed at the obvious displeasure in her tone, and she visibly bristled. “Now why would I want to do that, Kitty-Kat?” he asked innocently, using the pet name he’d given her so many years ago.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she responded sarcastically. “So you don’t catch something and your dick falls off?”