Dirty Sexy Saint
NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHORS
Carly Phillips
Erika Wilde
Copyright © Karen Drogin 2016 and © Janelle Denison 2016
Digital Edition
CP Publishing 2016
Cover Photo and Design: Sara Eirew
“Steamy, sexy and emotionally charged.”
—J. Kenner, NY Times Bestselling Author of the Stark Series
New York Times bestselling authors Carly Phillips and Erika Wilde bring you a dirty, sexy, smoking hot series featuring three bad boy brothers bonded by shocking secrets and their damaged past. Sinful, addicting, and unapologetically alpha, these men are every woman’s erotic daydream … And your ultimate dirty fantasy.
Are you ready to get Dirty Sexy with a Saint?
Clay Kincaid knows he’s more a sinner than a saint. Especially when it comes to women. With a rough and damaged past that has left him jaded, he doesn’t do committed relationships. But he does like sex—the hotter and harder, the better. He likes it fast and filthy, which is why he refuses to even touch someone as sweet and guileless as Samantha Jamieson. Until he discovers that she likes it just as down and dirty as he does. Let the sinning begin . . .
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Thank You
Dare to Love by Carly Phillips
The Awakening by Erika Wilde
About the Authors
Chapter One
“I think it’s time you proposed to my daughter, Harrison.”
Samantha Jamieson stopped short of knocking on the door leading into her father’s study as Conrad Jamieson’s matter-of-fact statement made her heart jolt hard in her chest. She’d been dating Harrison Blackwell III for the past eight months, but recently she’d thought more about ending their relationship, not marrying him. Apparently her father had other ideas, and Samantha remained rooted to the spot just outside the room.
“I know it might feel like I’m rushing things along,” Conrad went on in his deep, commanding voice, “but you’ve proven yourself as a top-level executive, and it’s time to move you into the CEO position. Marrying Samantha would accomplish that goal, and will also ensure that the company stays in the family.”
“Conrad, I’m honored you think of me that way,” Harrison replied evenly, in that unemotional way he had about him. “In fact, I’d hoped this would be the end result of my time with Samantha.”
Disgust rose in her throat as she realized that Harrison’s determined pursuit was all for the sake of the firm and securing his position within the company. It had nothing to do with any romantic interest in her. She was a business transaction to both men and nothing more. And even if she’d contemplated breaking up with him, she’d been in the relationship for honest reasons. He, clearly, had not.
Her father’s company, Jamieson Global, was a hedge fund enterprise and major investment firm, originally founded by Samantha’s grandfather, who’d passed away of a heart attack over ten years ago. Her father had taken over the reins, and with Samantha as an only child and having no interest in any aspect of the family business, Conrad had obviously decided to set up an arranged marriage to a man who’d come from an equally wealthy and powerful family.
The arrangement between her father and Harrison shouldn’t have surprised Samantha. All her life, she’d been well aware that her parents were grooming her for this position—from attending an exclusive all-girls academy to making certain she was well trained in handling herself in high-society situations. And for the most part, she’d been the quintessential good girl—obedient and respecting her parents’ wishes for the past twenty-six years of her life while squashing the side of her personality that wanted to rebel against being molded into a perfect Stepford wife. That rebellion was scratching its way to the surface fast and furiously now.
She leaned against the wall and swallowed back a pained laugh as her father and Harrison continued to discuss her as if she were a commodity, and not a woman with emotions and desires and dreams that went beyond being a well-trained, subdued wife and hostess to a successful man who merely saw her as an asset. Just like the role her mother, Cassandra, played to Samantha’s father—a beautiful and dutiful wife who enjoyed her elevated status and all the perks of being a wealthy and prominent Jamieson.
“Cassandra already bought an engagement ring she knows is Samantha’s taste and style, which saves you from that tedious task,” her father continued in a business-like tone. “All you have to do is put the ring on my daughter’s finger, and Cassandra will start the wedding preparations.”
Samantha would have no say. Not in the groom, the ring, or in her future. The assumption that she’d automatically say yes prompted her to move into the study and take control of her own life.
Without knocking, she pushed the door open the rest of the way and walked into the room, startling both men with her sudden and unexpected appearance.
She stopped next to the leather chair Harrison was sitting in and met his wary gaze. “I’m not marrying you, Harrison, so don’t bother asking.”
“Samantha.” Her father barked her name as a reprimand, using the harsh tone of voice that would normally bring her back in check.
Not this time. She stood her ground, refusing to give in or back down. She realized in that moment that she was facing a pivotal point—obeying her parents as she’d always done or finally living her life for herself.
Harrison’s lips flattened into a thin line. “I take it you overheard our conversation?”
He didn’t even have the grace to look guilty for getting caught bartering her for a promotion at Jamieson Global. “I heard every word. I’m not a piece of property for either of you to use to secure a business deal.”
Neither man denied her statement, and her frustration and anger grew.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Harrison asked in a placating tone as he stood up, forcing her to tip her head back to look up at him.
He was lean and tall, and she hated when he used his height in a way that was meant to assert his authority over her. It was something she’d begun to notice lately, that if Harrison didn’t get his way, he resorted to subtle intimidation tactics.
“I’m hardly overreacting.” Her mother had often called her obstinate, and Samantha didn’t hesitate to embrace that tenacity now. “I don’t love you, and you don’t love me.” In the eight months of them dating, they’d never said those words to one another. Their relationship had lacked intimacy and passion and respect—all the things that made a person fall in love—and Samantha refused to spend her life in a loveless marriage, as her own mother had, for the sake of the family business.
Harrison pushed his hands into the front pockets of his slacks, impatie
nce etching his features. “I care about you, Samantha. That’s enough for me.”
She shook her head, while her father stood by, saying absolutely nothing. He wouldn’t change his mind and stand up for what she wanted. None of this was really about her, anyway.
“It’s not enough for me. I want more than just you caring about me. I deserve better, and I will not marry you. Ever.”
Conrad sighed in extreme annoyance. “Stop being so dramatic, Samantha. The arrangements have been made. You and Harrison will be getting married.”
The mandate made her stomach pitch, because she knew if she stayed in this house, she’d eventually end up Harrison’s wife. “It’s going to be hard to have a wedding when there isn’t a bride,” she said, then turned and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” her father demanded.
That booming tone never failed to make her heart race in apprehension and usually caused her to obey. But she showed no signs of fear as she stopped and faced her father again. “I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t care. I’m leaving this house, and I’m not coming back anytime soon. Not until you accept that I will not marry a man I don’t love.”
Conrad narrowed his gaze, his expression shrewd. “If you walk out of this house tonight, you leave with nothing but the clothes on your back.”
Her father wasn’t bluffing. The threat was real, because Conrad Jamieson would do anything to ensure he won this battle of wills. He very well could win, considering she depended on her parents for everything—a deliberate tactic on their part, and now she knew why. But she was more than a pawn in her father’s business, and if she hated how weak and vulnerable her dependency made her feel, it was time she did something about it. The threat of being cut off from the conveniences she’d always taken for granted was a terrifying prospect. But not as terrifying as remaining subservient to her father, marrying Harrison, and being miserable for the rest of her life.
Decision made, she continued her exit out of the study.
“Don’t worry, she’ll be back,” she heard her father reassure Harrison. “She’s not going to get very far without any financial resources.”
Tears of anger tightened in Samantha’s throat, and she swallowed them back. The fact that her father thought she was that incapable of taking care of herself felt like a knife in her heart and only helped to solidify her need to prove him wrong.
She rushed into the hall and nearly ran into her mother, who was standing just outside of the study, so beautiful and ageless, courtesy of fillers and plastic surgery. Judging by the horrified look on her face, she’d done her share of eavesdropping tonight, as well.
“Samantha, you can’t leave,” Cassandra said, a desperate note to her voice. “Why don’t we have Maggie make us a cup of tea and we can talk about this.”
Samantha loved Maggie—their sweet, kind, live-in housekeeper for the past twenty years. The older woman who’d rocked her to sleep at night when her own mother couldn’t be bothered and who’d dried her tears when some boy hurt her feelings.
Samantha swallowed hard and held firm to the choice she’d made. “There’s nothing to discuss, Mother. I love you, but I won’t be bartered in a business deal, and I won’t marry a man I don’t love.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Samantha. Let’s sit down and talk. You can’t possibly mean to leave all this behind.”
“My life has to be about more than this,” she said, encompassing everything around her with a wave of her hand—the ostentatious twelve-thousand-square-foot estate home they lived in and the wealth and opulence she’d grown up with that had provided her with the best of everything.
“Your father is right. You’re not going to get very far before you realize what a huge mistake you’ve made,” Cassandra said in an attempt to change her mind.
She smiled sadly at her mother. “That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”
She headed to the foyer and grabbed the Louis Vuitton handbag she’d left on the entry table earlier and kept walking right out the massive double front doors. Car keys in hand, she slid into the Maserati GranTurismo her parents had given her on her twenty-fifth birthday. Her mind never stopped churning as she drove away from the massive estate in River Forest, until she’d reached the outskirts of Chicago.
Knowing it was just a matter of time before her father tracked her car to its location, she pulled into a parking lot of a twenty-four-hour grocery store. She brought her car to a stop in a front row slot so the security guard on duty would be able to keep an eye on the vehicle for a few hours. Because she was sure that’s all it would take for her father to locate the Maserati.
She had a small amount of cash on her, and there was no telling how much longer she’d have access to her credit cards before they were put on hold. She called a cab company, then got out of the car, tossed the keys and cell phone beneath the seat—since her father could track that, as well—and manually locked the door.
Within minutes, a taxi pulled up to where Samantha was waiting. The driver was a friendly young girl in her early twenties, and she was counting on the other woman to find her just the right place to celebrate her first night of freedom. A place where no one knew her or would judge her or would expect her to be the good girl she’d always been.
“My name is Angie.” The girl glanced over her shoulder to the backseat with a friendly smile. “Where can I take you tonight?”
“To your favorite bar in the Chicago area.”
Angie’s brows rose in surprise as she took in Samantha’s designer purse and high-end attire. “Are you sure about that? My favorite bar is a far cry from The Aviary,” she said of the upscale lounge where the wealthy went to mingle and be seen. “The place I hang out at is a bit on the…unrefined side,” she said with a laugh.
Samantha grinned. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”
Chapter Two
Clay Kincaid took one look at the woman sitting at the far end of the bar and immediately pegged her as a cupcake—a term one of his female bartenders had coined for a lightweight drinker who couldn’t handle her liquor. Which seemed to be the case with the stunning blonde beauty who was studying the empty shot glass in front of her.
Then again, she could have been a cupcake for a whole other reason. She looked rich, sweet, and decadent, like the kind of irresistible gourmet treats he’d stared longingly at as a little boy from the outside of a bakery shop in town. He’d never had the chance to sample any of those sweets, but even now, at thirty-two, he could still remember the way his mouth would water for a taste, and how his always empty stomach would grumble and ache—until the shop owner chased him away because she didn’t want a low-life Kincaid, and the bastard child of a crack whore, to keep her customers from entering her upscale bakery.
This female version of a cupcake was just as tempting, and his wicked thoughts turned to taking a delicious bite out of her to see if she was as sugary as she looked, followed by licking her soft, creamy skin and defiling that perfect pink mouth and curvy body designed for pleasure and sin.
His dick twitched at the fantasy playing through his mind, but that’s all it would be. A filthy fantasy. The woman clearly wasn’t from the area. With that silky, shiny hair, her flawless complexion, and the strand of shimmering pearls around her neck, she screamed upper class and wealth. The rest of her attire—a pale pink silk blouse and cream-colored slacks—was also a direct contrast to the casual jean-and-T-shirt atmosphere of Kincaid’s.
He moved behind the bar, where Tara, his last bartender of the evening, was mixing a drink. At ten forty-five p.m. on a Sunday night, she’d just announced last call, which was what had brought Clay out of his back office, to relieve Tara of her post by eleven. Since it was the slowest night of the week and Kincaid’s was usually empty by ten after the hour, he didn’t mind closing up the place by himself.
“Who’s the cupcake at the end of the bar?” Clay asked Tara in a low tone of voice.
“I have no idea,” Tara s
aid with a shrug as she poured half an ounce of Kahlua into a shot glass. “I’ve never seen her here before.”
The pretty bartender, with her long, dark hair, exotic eyes, and a diamond piercing above her upper lip, was an intriguing combination of soft and tough. Soft with a huge heart, yet tough enough to handle any man’s bullshit. And considering how drunk and disorderly some of the male patrons could get sometimes, knowing that Tara was street smart and could kick ass when needed was one of the main reasons he’d hired her. The woman was fearless, as well as one helluva bartender.
Leaning a hip against the low counter, Clay let his gaze stray back to the blonde, who had her chin propped in her hand. Her entire body was relaxed, and even from the other end of the bar, he recognized the glassy, dazed look in her eyes that indicated she was well on her way to being drunk.
“Did she arrive with anyone?” he asked curiously.
Tara added an equal amount of Bailey’s to the shot glass. “Nope. She came in alone.”
“Is she lost?” It was the only thing that made sense to him.
“I don’t think so,” Tara replied, her mouth quirking with a grin as she topped the drink off with a generous amount of whip cream. “She slid onto that barstool, told me she wanted the dirtiest-named drink on the menu, so I served her a Royal Fuck. She downed the shot in one gulp and ordered two more, then told me to keep them coming, the stronger and the dirtier, the better. After three Royal Fucks, she’s gone through a Screaming Orgasm, a Slow, Comfortable Screw, and a Blow Job. She’s following that up with a Deep Throat,” she said, lifting the sexually explicit drink she’d just made.
Clay couldn’t help the amused laughter that escaped him. Damn. So, the cupcake had a bit of a naughty streak hidden beneath that affluent facade. And he had to admit, he was intrigued and wondered what had brought her to a rougher side of the city, when someone like her should have been sipping Cosmopolitans with her socialite friends in a safe, trendy lounge off of Lakeshore Drive.
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