Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)

By: Carly Phillips & Erika Wilde



She couldn’t remember ever being so flirtatious and shameless with a man, but the alcohol had loosened her inhibitions, and her strong attraction to him, aided by her newfound confidence, had bolstered her courage and encouraged her brazen behavior. Well, the night was over, and she had no choice but to face him, she thought, and made her way to the adjoining bathroom to freshen up.

Considering what she remembered happening in this room the night before, everything was now clean and orderly. She used the facilities, and when she washed her hands, she noticed a brand new toothbrush in its original packaging sitting by the sink. Grateful for his thoughtfulness, she vigorously brushed the fuzziness from her teeth and gargled with the mouthwash on the vanity. When she finally looked in the mirror, the reflection staring back startled the hell out of her.

She looked like the hot mess he’d called her last night. Her normally straight blonde hair was wavy and disheveled—a far cry from the smooth, sleek, silky style that her mother insisted she wear. Any trace of makeup was gone, and her face was scrubbed clean except for the smudge of liner around her eyes.

She had a few makeup items in her handbag, but she had no idea where her purse was. Or her clothes, for that matter, though she did find her bra and panties hanging over the shower rod. They were dry to the touch, and she slipped on her underwear, feeling much better about greeting her white knight while wearing panties. With a deep, fortifying breath to calm the sudden flutter of nervous butterflies in her stomach, she opened the bedroom door, which led directly into a small living room and attached kitchen. The place was incredibly compact and sparsely furnished, and she found him quite easily.

Sitting at a small dining table with four chairs, he was hard to miss. Not because of his size—though he was tall and well built everywhere—but because of his commanding presence that made her very aware of him physically. He watched her from across the room, a speculative look in his gaze. His hair was a rich chocolate brown, his eyes equally dark and intense. Not to mention shrewd and perceptive.

Even from a distance, his discerning gaze made her shiver. Her skin prickled, and her entire body flushed with heat, rendering her breathless. A deep inhale of much-needed oxygen, and her breasts rose beneath the cotton T-shirt she wore. Her sensitive nipples rasped across the material, puckering them into tight, hard points that beaded against the fabric.

Even in the light of day, without the interference of any liquor, her attraction to him was instantaneous and undeniable. Thrilling and unlike anything she’d ever felt or experienced with Harrison…or any other man, for that matter. A sizzling heat settled deep in her belly, and a sudden aching need coiled between her thighs.

Oh, yeah, he was still freakin’ hot.

Judging by the way his gaze lowered ever so slightly and the nearly negligible clench of his jaw, he’d noticed her body’s response. Closing the open laptop on the table in front of him, he lifted his eyes back up to her face, his expression carefully composed.

“Morning,” he murmured in a low, deep voice that was sexier than she remembered. Combined with the dark, rugged scruff on his chiseled jaw, the man was a woman’s sinful fantasy come to life. He had a bit of a bad-boy edge to him that tempted the good girl in her to take a walk on the wild side.

The thought was incredibly inviting.

She tugged absently on the hem of the shirt. “Hi,” she replied as she forced herself to move toward him. She smiled, suddenly feeling shy because the man had literally seen her at her worst.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair across the table from him.

She had no idea what to expect of him, but at least he wasn’t kicking her out right away. When she was settled, he stood up and walked into the kitchen. With his back to her—God, he had a great ass in those soft, worn jeans—he filled a glass of water, then shook out a few pills from a bottle before heading back toward her.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, but considering he set the water and ibuprofen on the table in front of her, he knew exactly how badly she was suffering.

“Better than last night,” she admitted sheepishly. “But my pounding head and sore body are clearly protesting all those drinks I indulged in.”

The faintest hint of amusement twitched the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, you’re definitely a cupcake.”

She recalled him using the term with her a few times. “Why do you keep calling me that?” she asked, right before she tossed all four tablets into her mouth and washed them down with most of the water, which tasted delicious sliding along her parched throat.

“Because you’re a lightweight and can’t handle your liquor.”

She couldn’t even be offended by his statement, because it was the truth.

He grabbed the mug from his end of the table and returned to the kitchen. “Want some coffee?” he asked as he refilled his own cup.

She wasn’t sure that coffee would help her hangover, but hopefully the caffeine would give her a much-needed jolt of energy to figure out her next plan of action. “Sure. With cream if you have it.”

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