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?”
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.�
�
Mason’s jaw dropped open in shock, and he snapped it shut again, his disbelief rendering him momentarily mute. After a few seconds passed, he shook his head at Clay. “What the fuck? Are you serious? Did you take in another stray and decide to keep her like you did Xena, Saint Clay?”
Clay clenched his jaw against Mason’s sarcastic remark and sent Katrina a thanks a fucking lot glance before addressing his brother to tell him what he’d explained to everyone else so far. “It’s temporary until she can find a place of her own, and before you ask, no, we’re not hooking up.”
“Too bad for you,” Mason said in male sympathy, then he grinned like a rogue. “That’s gotta be hard, letting her sleeping in your bed without you in it.”
“Oh, you’re ‘punny’,” he said of his brother’s double entendre.
Mason slid off the barstool, obviously ready to move on to another form of entertainment. “I’ll see you later, Kitty-Kat,” he said to Katrina as he wound the purple-tipped ends of her hair around his finger to give it a playful tug. “And I might be in a little late tomorrow morning, depending on how my night ends.” He winked at her.
“Not too late,” she grumbled. “You have an eleven o’clock appointment with a woman who specifically asked for you. She wants a tattoo of a lock and key on the inside of each of her inner thighs.”
Mason’s gaze lit up. “Damn. I can already tell that tomorrow is going to be a great day since I’ll be spending it between a woman’s legs.” And with that raunchy remark, he returned to what he did best…man-whoring.
Katrina expelled a deep sigh, the sound rife with fatigue that wasn’t so much physical as it was emotional. “And that’s why I don’t come here on Monday nights,” she said, reaching for her purse as she stood. “Your brother is here, and he drives me crazy for at least eight hours a day at the shop. No need to subject myself to any more torture than I’ve already put up with.”
When she pulled out her wallet to pay, Clay waved away her attempt. “Your drink is on the house, and I’m sorry Mason can be such a dick sometimes.” That, at least, got a smile out of her. “Have a good night, okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, you, too.”
Chapter Six
By eleven o’clock that evening, when the bar finally closed for the night and all the customers were gone, Samantha looked like she’d been put through the wringer. Clay actually felt bad for her. Her face etched with exhaustion, she helped Tessa and Amanda clean the dirty glasses and plates from the tables, occasionally wincing as she bent over, then straightened again to put the items on her tray. Her back was obviously killing her.
He knew every inch of her body had to be tired and sore after working nonstop, but never once had she complained about the physical exertion. Hell, he’d hired other more experienced bar waitresses in the past who hadn’t been able to handle the brisk, hectic, and fast pace at Kincaid’s and had quit the first night. Not Samantha. She’d dealt incredibly well with the wide variety of people and the different personalities that she’d encountered over the course of the night.
Despite every snobby, pretentious stereotype he wanted to believe about a woman who was more a wealthy socialite than a blue-collar waitress, Samantha had proved to be incredibly friendly, engaging, and likeable. Everyone who worked at Kincaid’s had already welcomed her into the fold and made her feel like one of the team, and they tended to be a tough crowd when it came to new hires.
The girls finished wiping down the tables and chairs, which was all Clay required them to do at the end of their shift. He had a crew who came in every morning to sweep and mop the floors, take out all the trash, and handle any other tedious chores so his employees could leave at a reasonable hour on a weekday. By eleven forty-five, everyone was gone except for him and Samantha, who plopped herself into a chair at one of the tables and let out a weary groan, as if she couldn’t bring herself to move another inch.
He came around the bar, wanting to check on her. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She grimaced as she arched her spine to stretch her back muscles, which effectively thrust her breasts out and drew his stare to her stiff nipples poking against the cotton fabric of her T-shirt. “I feel like I have a hangover and I didn’t even drink anything tonight. And my feet are killing me. Oh, and I’m starving.”
Reluctantly dragging his gaze from her chest, he thought about the one piece of toast she’d had this morning for breakfast and wondered if she’d eaten anything since. “Did you have lunch before starting your shift?”
“I had a burger at a fast-food place with Katrina after we went shopping, but that was almost nine hours ago.” A small smile quirked the corner of her mouth. “Damn, I burned a lot of calories tonight running around, and my stomach has been growling hungrily for the past two hours.”
He frowned at her. “You should have taken a break and ordered something from the kitchen. All employees eat during their shift at no charge.” He shook his head as that natural inclination to take care of her surfaced. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“As if I could even move now that I’m sitting down,” she said as she absently rubbed a hand along the back of her neck and moaned as she kneaded the taut tendons there. It was all he could do not to push her hands away and take over himself, easing the knots out of her sore muscles. “I might just sleep right here with my head on the table,” she added.
Resisting the continuing urge to take over and give her a relaxing massage himself—any excuse to touch her again—he went to the kitchen, which was a much safer option. He heated up a few appetizers in the microwave and grabbed a small bottle of water from the refrigerator.
When he returned to the table, she was counting out the tips she’d made, and had created two separate stacks of dollar bills.
“Here, you need to eat,” he said, setting the plate of food and drink to the side before taking the chair across from her.
“Thank you. I will in a minute,” she replied, her focus on the task in front of her. “I just want to get this counted out.”
He leaned back in his seat, enjoying the quiet moment of just watching her. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, and when she absently bit her bottom lip, a distinct heat pooled low in his belly. This morning’s memory of how she’d brazenly nipped at his own lip and tugged it between her teeth flooded his mind, followed by the sweet taste of her mouth and her uninhibited response to his aggressive kiss.
He wanted to kiss her again. Badly. Hell, if he was completely honest with himself, what he really craved was the feel of her soft, curvy body straining beneath his as he held her down and drove his cock hard and deep inside her, claiming her completely. He ached to wrap his hands tight in her hair and hear her whimper and moan and beg for him to give her the release she so desperately needed. And he’d make damn sure she came long and hard, until she was weak and sated and sore in the best way possible so she’d forget every pansy-ass bastard who’d come before him.
His cock pulsed at the erotic fantasy playing in his head, and he shifted in his chair. He’d never had such an instantaneous attraction to a woman as he did now with Samantha. And he’d never had to struggle so much to keep such a tight rein on his desires. Samantha made him want to lose control, in her and with her, and that scared the crap out of him because it would lead to complications…and the kind of strings he didn’t allow in his life.
“I had no idea what to expect tip-wise since I’ve never done this before, but this is way more than I’d anticipated,” she said, drawing him out of his private thoughts.
A hint of pride threaded through her voice, and she pushed the larger bundle of cash across the table toward him. “Here’s part of what I owe you for the clothing and toiletries I bought today. I kept a little bit for myself for incidentals, but if I do this well every night, I should have you paid off in a few days, and then I can start saving up for another place to stay and be out of your way.”
He opened his mouth to say he didn’t mind her being
there, then closed it before the words could come out. What the hell? How was it that in just one day he’d become attached to her and didn’t want her to leave? Jesus, he was so fucked.
“You did well tonight,” he said instead, indicating the money she’d made.
She gave him a smile, and there was no mistaking the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “You sound surprised.”
“Maybe because I am,” he admitted with a shrug. “You picked things up pretty quickly for not having any experience.”
She tucked the smaller amount of money back into the pouch in her waitress apron, then moved the plate of food so that it was in front of her. “Just because I’m blonde doesn’t mean I’m ditzy,” she teased as she picked up a potato skin loaded with melted cheese, bacon, and sour cream. “I’ll have you know I graduated summa cum laude from Northwestern University with a degree in political science.”
He watched her polish off the appetizer in two hungry bites, appropriately impressed by her education. He knew she wasn’t bragging, just stating that she wasn’t a slouch. Not that he’d ever thought she was, nor had he doubted her competence. She was beautiful and a billionaire heiress, but in the short time he’d known her, he’d already come to the conclusion that she was also intelligent, not to mention a woman who prided herself on being independent—something she apparently hadn’t been allowed while living at home.
Curious, he asked, “So what have you used that fancy, illustrious degree for?”
She finished off a chicken finger, the lighthearted glow in her eyes dimming at his question. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “I attended a private university because that’s what had been laid out for me, and paid for, since I was child. I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I went with political science to challenge myself and because government and world events interest me. I thought about going to law school, but my parents nixed that idea. Allowing me to pursue any ambition might have hampered their plans for me to marry well. And soon.” She drew a deep breath. “In the end, the degree was all for show, and my parents were able to brag about the fact that I graduated at a prestigious university with the highest honors.”
Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1) Page 7