“It’s Clay.” He leaned back in his seat and took a drink of his steaming coffee. “Clay Kincaid.”
Kincaid matched the name of the place the cab driver had dropped her off at. “So, the bar is yours?”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but what did she expect? It wasn’t as though they had some kind of relationship and he’d invited her to spend the night. She picked at her toast and took small bites while searching for something to fill the awkward silence between them.
“How did your cat lose its eye?” she asked curiously.
“I found her behind the bar when she was just a kitten,” he said as he glanced at the feline with a fond smile. “She was scrawny as hell, full of fleas and mites and eating bugs to survive, and her left eye was badly infected. I’m not sure what caused the wound, but I took her to the vet, and they had no choice but to remove the eye and stitch it shut.”
The fact that this man had rescued such a helpless creature made Samantha even more infatuated with him. “And you kept her.”
“She needed a home.”
He shrugged as if it were no big deal, but she knew he could have taken the cat to a shelter and not spent the money on an expensive operation to save the weak and defenseless animal. But she was quickly coming to realize that Clay Kincaid was a man who took care of people, and things—just as he’d come to her rescue last night.
“What’s her name?” she asked, and took a drink of her coffee.
“Xena.”
Samantha grinned. “Because she’s a warrior?”
He nodded. “And a survivor.”
As if the cat knew they were talking about her, she jumped down from the windowsill and scampered over to Clay’s chair and meowed. Without hesitating, he reached down, scooped her up, and settled the feline on his lap. Xena rubbed up against his chest affectionately, and shamelessly head-butted his hand for him to pet her, which Clay did. Within seconds, the cat was purring contentedly.
Samantha ate the last of her toast as she watched Clay’s big, strong hand stroke along Xena’s spine in a slow, soft caress that made her jealous of the cat and made her wonder what it would feel like to have Clay’s palm sliding over her body and his fingers touching her so attentively. The seductive image in her mind made her shift restlessly in her seat, and she forced her thoughts to a much safer topic. Like apologizing for her uncharacteristic behavior the evening before.
She cleared her throat, which caused him to shift his attention from Xena to Samantha’s face. His dark gaze focused on her mouth longer than was polite or casual, then lifted to her eyes. There was enough heat in the depths of those brown orbs to tell her that this crazy fascination she felt toward him was mutual, even if he was better at keeping his attraction under control.
Samantha absently licked her bottom lip and spoke while she still had his attention. “Clay…I’m really sorry about last night.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Which part?”
She couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not, he was that good at keeping his emotions concealed. “All of it, but especially about getting sick, and you having to deal with me staying here at your place because I had nowhere else to go.”
He continued to pet Xena, who was now curled on his lap, with her furry tail wrapped around his wrist. “Where are you going to go this morning?”
“I…I don’t know,” she replied honestly. She hadn’t thought beyond leaving her parents’ estate and escaping their rules and expectations, and she didn’t feel any differently this morning. “But I’m not going back home.”
A frown formed, and concern flashed in his eyes. “Samantha, are you in some kind of trouble?” His voice was low and deep and direct. “Last night you said something about your father cutting you off, and that you got rid of your cell phone because you didn’t want him to find you.”
She cringed. Yeah, that sounded bad. Really bad. She wasn’t in a dangerous kind of trouble, but considering everything Clay had done for her this far, she owed him the truth. She wanted him to know the truth, because she desperately needed to talk to someone about her predicament. She had a few girlfriends, but none of them would understand her reasons for leaving home and turning her back on such a luxurious life, and they would criticize her for refusing to marry a successful man like Harrison even though they didn’t love one another. She’d learned last night that love didn’t factor into business mergers.
The life Samantha had walked away from was so superficial and one-dimensional, and it wasn’t a world in which she wanted to live in any longer. It was a scary thought, being alone and on her own, in a rougher part of the city, without any money or a place to live, but there was no doubt in her mind that the alternative—heading home and accepting Harrison’s proposal—would eventually destroy her.
Which meant she needed Clay’s help.
* * *
Patience wasn’t one of Clay’s strongest traits, but persistence was. Right now, he was straddling the line between the two as he waited for Samantha to answer the question he’d asked about her being in some kind of trouble, because that was his main concern. If she was facing some kind of threat, he’d make sure she had help and support. His brother Levi was a cop, and sometimes having a sibling in law enforcement came in handy. Though Mason, the delinquent in the family who’d spent most of his youth breaking the law, would beg to differ.
From across the table, he continued to watch Samantha struggle with some kind of internal battle, and quietly let her sort things out in her head. She’d trusted him with her welfare and care last night, although, in truth, she’d been too drunk to do much of anything except let him have his way. He clenched his jaw at the thought of what could have happened to her if anyone but him had found her in such an inebriated, defenseless state. Still, he hoped she’d come to the conclusion that she could trust him now, so he could make sure she remained safe.
After a few more moments, she exhaled a deep breath, met his gaze, and spoke. “I’m not running from trouble, and I’m not in any danger. But it’s true that I don’t want my father to find me.”
It was a start, at least. “Why not?”
“Have you ever heard of Jamieson Global?” she asked quietly.
He nodded. Jamieson Global was a huge conglomerate and one of the biggest, most well-known investment firms in Chicago. He didn’t know the business on a personal level, but the name was familiar enough to most people who lived in or near the city.
In the next second, realization dawned as he made the connection…Samantha Jamieson.
Fuck. He stared at her in shock, feeling as though someone had just punked him. Even Xena, sensing the sudden tension stiffening his body, jumped off his lap.
The moment he’d seen Samantha in the bar, he’d suspected that she came from an affluent family, but holy shit, this propelled her into another stratosphere of wealth. The kind that was untouchable and way out his realm and the modest life he lived. A woman like her had absolutely no business being on his side of town.
“Yes, that Jamieson,” she confirmed, taking advantage of his stunned silence. “I found out last night that my father expects me to marry the man I’ve been dating for the past eight months. His name is Harrison Blackwell III, and my father has been grooming him for the CEO position, which apparently comes with the stipulation that Harrison marries me so the company stays in the family.”
Her blue eyes blazed with indignant anger, though Clay wasn’t sure what, exactly, the issue was, considering she’d been seeing the guy for a good length of time. It wasn’t as though the dude was a stranger. “Are you upset that he’ll be marrying you for the promotion and to keep your father’s company in the family?” he guessed.
She sat up straighter, her pretty pink lips pursed in exasperation. “No, I’m furious that my father is demanding I marry a man I don’t love!”
“Demanding?” The notion seemed so archaic to him, and he couldn’t tell if she was being dramatic or not.
“Yes, demanding. As in, not giving me a choice in the matter and expecting me to fall in line with his wishes and do as I’m told,” she said, her chin jutting out stubbornly. “Being the daughter of Conrad Jamieson comes with certain obligations, and one of them is obviously an arranged marriage I have no desire to be a part of.”
Her chest heaved with frustration, and Clay couldn’t say that he minded the slight trembling of her unbound breasts beneath the T-shirt. She had great tits, generous and full enough to squeeze in his hands or cushion his thick cock as he tunneled his shaft between that soft flesh. Yeah, he’d spent the better part of last night tossing and turning on his couch, fantasizing about all the dirty, filthy ways he’d like to fuck her. The way her nipples would taste in his mouth, the feel of her long, gorgeous legs clutching around his hips as she came on a soft, sweet moan…
“I won’t let anyone dictate who I spend the rest of my life with,” she said, clearing those distracting thoughts from Clay’s mind. “Especially not my father.”
He forced his gaze to remain on her face. “So, you ran away from home?” he said, his tone light and teasing.
“Yes,” she said, suddenly looking defeated. “I’m twenty-six years old, and that sounds so…juvenile. And yet it’s one hundred percent accurate.” Sighing, she combed her fingers through her wavy hair and winced as they caught on the still-tangled strands. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve relied on my parents for everything.” She didn’t meet his gaze. “Honestly, I should have left a long time ago, and I hate that I’ve let them run my life for this long.”
His coffee had gone cold, and he absently traced a finger around the rim of his cup. “So, now that you’ve left home, what do you intend to do?”
“I didn’t have a plan beyond getting away,” she admitted, then worried her teeth along her lower lip as her serious gaze met and held his. “I still don’t. And I know this is more than I have a right to ask…but can I stay here until I can figure things out?” she asked quickly, the words tumbling from her lush lips. “I won’t be in your way. I can sleep on the couch, and I swear you won’t even know I’m around.”
Oh, fuck no. This woman was already wreaking havoc on his self-control. He couldn’t imagine her crashing in this tiny apartment, filling it with her scent, using his shower, tempting him with her mere presence.
But before he could nix her idea, she quickly continued on.
“My father did cut me off. Completely. I have no money, no place to stay, and I can’t even pay for a hotel room or a meal.” She winced in embarrassment, and her hands fidgeted in her lap before she set them back on the table. “Obviously, I didn’t think things through last night, but I don’t regret leaving home, and I’m determined to make it on my own. I can work at your bar to make some money until I save enough to find a place of my own, which shouldn’t take long. Please?” She raised those big eyes to him.
Was she fucking kidding? No, the look in her wide blue eyes was completely serious and so damned determined. A part of him admired that fortitude of hers, but one look at her perfectly manicured fingernails and the soft skin on her pampered hands, and he knew she was the last person he’d ever hire to work in his bar. Within a few hours, her hands would be chapped and dry, her nails chipped, and her uncalloused feet would be screaming for relief.
She’d be an entertaining novelty to all his regular customers, and with all that wavy blonde hair, those big, guileless blue eyes, and her killer curves, she’d pose a major distraction to every man who entered the bar. As the new girl, she’d be the focus of rude comments and bold, assertive hands that wouldn’t hesitate to test her limits.
The younger crowd at Kincaid’s was rowdy, mouthy, and after a few drinks too many, they were assholes who didn’t give a shit that Clay had a hands-off policy when it came to the women who worked for him. Tara and his other bar waitresses could handle the more aggressive advances. But Samantha? She’d be like fresh, tasty meat to a tank full of hungry sharks. She’d never survive.
She really needed to go home. “Samantha, I don’t think—”
“Clay, please,” she interrupted him before he could say no, her voice as soft and pleading as the look in her eyes. “I just need someone to give me the chance to prove myself.”
And she was asking for that someone to be him.
He scrubbed a hand down his face and along his taut jaw. Her words were an echo from Clay’s own past, hitting him where he was the most emotionally susceptible. Please, Jerry, just give me the chance to show you what a hard worker I am, a teenaged Clay had begged. I swear, you won’t be sorry.
Jerry had given him that chance, had believed in him—the bastard child of a known crack whore—when no one else would. And that one kind gesture had completely changed Clay’s, and his brothers’, lives.
He didn’t believe a job in his bar would alter Samantha’s life in quite the same way, but he understood how difficult it was to ask someone for help when you were at your lowest. And for Samantha, this was rock bottom.
His gut told him he was about to make a monumental mistake in aiding this woman, but considering how resolute she was, he didn’t doubt that if he made her leave, she’d try and find some kind of work elsewhere, and there was no telling who would try and take advantage of her. And where would she live with no money or credit cards that worked? No phone or vehicle? Who would make sure that she stayed safe in this rough area of town?
Fuck. His Goddamn conscience wouldn’t allow him to turn her away and leave her to her own devices. A woman like her, who’d grown up in the lap of luxury, hadn’t spent her youth honing her survival instincts like he and his two younger brothers had. She was too vulnerable, too defenseless, and too trusting. And there were too many people out in the world who wouldn’t think twice about exploiting her naiveté.
He was going to let her live in his apartment and work in the bar for the sole reason of being able to keep an eye on her so she stayed safe. There was no doubt in his mind that Samantha wouldn’t last long in this environment. Maybe a few days before she realized that this kind of life was tough and unglamorous, that working for a living was hard, strenuous, and exhausting, and marrying a wealthy CEO in her own social circle—love or no love—was exactly what she wanted, after all. In this case, she’d quickly discover that the grass was not greener on the other side of the city, and she’d be happy to return to her rich life.
“Okay,” he said evenly as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Consider yourself hired as a bar waitress. You start tonight. And you can stay here until you save enough to get your own place.”
He took in the T-shirt she wore, reminding him that her soiled silk top and pants were still on his washing machine because they’d had a dry clean only tag inside each garment. She needed practical clothes, and jeans and comfortable shoes to work in since she’d be on her feet for hours.
“I’ll call my brother’s best friend, Katrina, who can take you shopping for some clothes and toiletries.”
The gratitude shining in her eyes was unmistakable. “I’ll pay you back. For everything.”
He wasn’t worried about being reimbursed. He had more money than he’d ever spend in his lifetime, thanks to Jerry. His only concern was putting Samantha to work, because the sooner she experienced hard labor, the sooner she’d be on her way back home and his life could get back to normal. Which would also put an end to the fascination she presented.
Figuring they were done, he stood up, grabbed his coffee mug, and walked into the kitchen. He heard her following behind him, her bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. She set her plate and cup in the sink, then turned to face him. She took a deliberate step closer, her tongue nervously dampening her bottom lip, and the attraction and sexual tension he’d managed to keep at bay all morning flared inside of him.
The appreciation in her gaze was now gone, replaced by a feminine curiosity, and something a whole lot more tempting. Daring, even. He stood sti
ll, unsure what she intended, but he didn’t have to wait long to find out. She splayed her hands on his chest, and even through the soft cotton of his shirt, her touch felt warm and far more confident than it should have.
Anticipation and heat saturated his senses, making rational thinking nearly impossible as his body responded to her slow, subtle seduction. A dangerous ache coiled between his legs, and if she shifted any closer, she was going to get acquainted with the stiffening length of his cock.
Her eyes held his as she stood up on her bare tiptoes, and with her lips less than an inch away from his, she whispered, “Thank you, Clay,” right before she brushed her mouth across his and kissed him.
Chapter Four
Clay curled his hands into fists at his sides. He didn’t trust himself to move as Samantha gradually increased the pressure of her mouth against his, her gratitude shifting into something more sensual and intimate. The kiss was warm, soft, and undeniably persistent, and a needy sigh escaped her as her tongue flicked experimentally against his upper lip. Teasing him. Tormenting him. And testing his restraint in a way that was foolish and dangerous for a man like him.
A man who didn’t do soft or slow or sweet when it came to women.
Seemingly oblivious to the sudden tension thrumming through him, she slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, bringing her body flush to his. The heat of her firm breasts and tight nipples penetrated through her shirt and his, making him ache for her. The need inside him expanded, gnawing at his self-control. She had no fucking clue how close he was to feeding the hunger that had been twisting in his gut since last night.
He placed his hands on her waist, intending to push her away and end this madness so he could set some boundaries, until the vixen nipped at his lower lip and playfully tugged it between her teeth. Oh, fuck me…
Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1) Page 4