Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy 1)

Her unflattering comment didn’t even seem to faze him. “Not gonna happen. Condoms first, always,” he said, and took a long drink of his beer.

Katrina made a distasteful sound in the back of her throat. “You’re gross and disgusting.”

“So you’ve told me many times before,” Mason said, and suddenly grew more serious, which didn’t happen often since being a smartass was more conducive to keeping most people at a distance. “But you’re my very best friend, and I know deep down inside, you secretly love me despite my faults.”

There was the slightest teasing note to Mason’s voice that kept his reply from being too intimate, but the glimmer of something more briefly flashed in Katrina’s eyes—a longing and desire that Clay had seen in her gaze before.

Jesus, his brother was a blind idiot for not seeing what was right in front of him, that the one woman who understood him better than he knew himself was his best friend. And she wanted more than the sibling-like relationship Mason had boxed her into.

Clay didn’t know how his brother could be so obtuse, unless Mason deliberately kept Katrina squarely in the friend zone to protect his own emotions. Because if he didn’t take that chance, there was no risk of being rejected or deserted, and that was something Clay identified with all too well.

Whatever had passed between Mason and Katrina was gone in the next instant, when Samantha came up to the service bar to return a drink order. Her face was flushed from rushing around, and she looked a bit frazzled by the fast-paced environment, as well as trying to learn on the fly.

“I’m so sorry, I punched in the wrong order again,” she said with an apologetic grimace as she set a Tom Collins on the counter. “Who knew there were so many ‘Collins’ that a person can order? The guy wanted a John Collins,” she clarified, sounding flustered and contrite. “I realize this is the fourth time I’ve ordered the wrong cocktail, and I know I’m wasting your profits since you can’t resell the drinks. You can take the cost out of my paycheck.”

Clay wanted to laugh, because one, she looked so damned cute, and two, money and making a profit wasn’t a concern for him. But she didn’t know that, and it wasn’t something he made public. In fact, very few people—like a handful, and that included his brothers—knew just how wealthy he really was.

“Don’t worry, Cupcake,” he said, the endearment slipping past his lips much too easily before he could catch himself. “It’s all part of the learning curve.”

Clay grabbed a highball glass, filled it with ice, and reached for the bourbon.

Mason, who was sitting directly across from Clay and just a few feet away from Samantha, turned her way. Instantaneous interest lit up his blue eyes. “Cupcake?” he asked, presenting her with his most charming grin. “Is that your name? Because you look pretty damn sweet to me.”

Katrina groaned and rolled her eyes.

Samantha laughed, and Clay was stupidly relieved when she didn’t flirt back with Mason, something that didn’t happen often with his brother. Those tribal tattoos covering his muscular arms were pretty much guaranteed to seduce most women, and those piercing sapphire eyes framed by thick black lashes usually had a woman’s panties hitting the floor within seconds—just ask the girl Mason had just screwed in the bathroom.

“No, my name is Samantha,” she said as she placed extra cocktail napkins on her tray. “Clay gave me the nickname of Cupcake because I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking alcohol.”

“Did he now?” Mason’s gaze shifted to Clay, scrutinizing him as he raised a brow.

Oh, Clay knew that penetrating stare very well, the one that saw through many of his own defenses, as only a brother could. Before Mason said something inappropriate, Clay decided his best course of action would be to head Mason off at the pass with a change of subject and an introduction.

Clay garnished the fresh drink he’d just made with a lemon slice and set it on her tray. “Samantha, this is Mason. He’s—”

“A manwhore,” Katrina said tartly, cutting Clay off before he could say brother.

Samantha’s eyes grew wide as she waited to see how Mason reacted to that. Obviously, Katrina was still miffed with him.

True to character, Mason didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he grinned, as if she’d just complimented him. “Be careful, Kitty-Kat,” he said, leaning close enough so that when he spoke, his breath stirred against her blonde hair. “You’re starting to sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Katrina insisted as she jerked away from him. “I’m just telling Samantha like it is so she keeps her distance. You, Mason Kincaid, are the male equivalent of a slut.”

He put his hand over his heart and feigned a wounded look. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Katrina just shook her head and let it go.

“It was nice meeting you, Mason,” Samantha said as she picked up her tray, then made her way back into the throng of customers to deliver the new drink.

Mason turned his head and watched her the entire way, and Clay knew his brother’s gaze was on her tight, curvy ass. He managed, just barely, to swallow the possessive growl that was trying to claw its way out of his throat. The last thing he needed was his brother homing in on the fact that Clay wanted Samantha for himself. Not that it was going to happen, but he wouldn’t allow Mason to make a play for her, either.

Once Samantha disappeared from sight, Mason glanced back at Clay. “So, need some help breaking in the new bar waitress?” he asked wolfishly before finishing off the rest of his beer.

Clay glared at him, when he really wanted to punch his brother in the face. “Don’t be an asshole, Mase.”

“She’s off-limits,” Katrina suddenly announced. “She’s living with Clay.?

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