Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)

By: Carly Phillips & Erika Wilde

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 said 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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