Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)

By: Carly Phillips & Erika Wilde



“The room is starting to spin.” Her eyes squinted in a frown as she tried to focus on him. “And you look…a little fuzzy.”

Oh, yeah, the cupcake was drunk. He no longer cared about her bill, but he needed to figure out what to do with her. “Samantha, I need your cell phone so I can call someone to pick you up.”

“Got rid of it,” she murmured as she pressed her fingers to her temple. “Don’t want my father to find me.”

Her responses were getting stranger and stranger, and he had no idea if what she was speaking was the truth or the alcohol talking. Who got rid of their cell phone because they were worried someone would find them—unless they were running from trouble? And now she was his problem. Fucking great.

He gently pulled her forward so her arms were resting on the counter, supporting most of her weight so she didn’t tip to the side again. He quickly moved around the bar, then turned her around on the chair so that she was facing him. She blinked up at his face, looking so sad, so forlorn, that he felt an odd tightening in his chest.

He exhaled a frustrated stream of breath. “There has to be someone I can call. Or how about I get your address from your driver’s license and have a cab take you home—”

She shook her head wildly, sending that cloud of silky blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. “I can’t go home. Don’t make me go back home.”

He really wanted to be a cold, cruel bastard and send her home anyway so she was no longer his headache, but considering her emotional state, and the alcohol in her system, she was at a huge disadvantage and would never be able to deal logically with whatever she was running from.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She reached out and clutched a handful of his T-shirt, her eyes shimmering with moisture. “Oh, God, what have I done? I don’t have…anything. I don’t have any money, nowhere to go…” As if finally realizing how dire her situation was, she threw herself against his chest and burst into tears.

The woman had no boundaries, because she was suddenly plastered against him, her arms around his neck and her face buried against his throat as she had a mini breakdown—and he somehow became her lifeline. He was used to handling obnoxious drunks and disorderly bullies that came through the bar, but this… He had no clue what to do with a clingy, emotional female—and one that smelled so soft and deliciously feminine.

He tentatively wrapped an arm around her waist to make sure her legs didn’t give out on her, all too aware of the crush of her breasts against his chest, and how her curvy body fit his in all the right places. And, yeah, his stiffening cock noticed, too, and didn’t hesitate to make his interest known.

She finally calmed down and sniffled, and he almost laughed when she rubbed her runny nose against his T-shirt. The act was so unladylike, so unrefined, that he was certain she’d never do such a thing if she were clear-headed. But it made her seem more vulnerable and real. Not at all the cool, aloof socialite he’d originally pegged her for.

She let out a soft, shaky exhale, and her damp breath caressed the side of his neck. “I’m so tired, and I don’t know what to do, where to go…” Her whispered words trailed off, and she snuggled closer, trusting him, a stranger, with her welfare.

Clay clenched his jaw and made a quick, split-second decision he prayed he didn’t come to regret later. She was in no shape to go anywhere, and he wasn’t such an asshole that he’d just send her on her way to fend for herself, when she was clearly high on alcohol and her judgment was skewed.

He grabbed her purse, kept an arm secured around her waist, and guided her toward the back of the bar while shutting down the lights in the place as they went. She was wobbly on her heels, and she didn’t even question where he was taking her, just accepted that he was a nice guy and would keep her safe. Which was incredibly stupid on her part. He could have been a serial killer, for all she knew, and that thought just reinforced his decision to take her to his apartment upstairs and let her sleep off the liquor she’d consumed. And in the morning—and he was betting she’d be nursing a helluva hangover—she would be on her way and would no longer be his worry.

Getting her up the steps and keeping her steady on her feet was a test of his patience. She giggled each time she tripped, her mind already forgetting about the meltdown she’d just had at the bar as she flirted with him and told him once again how freakin’ hot he was. He really wanted to be annoyed, and he would have been if she’d ended up being high maintenance, but she was actually kind of adorable…until he got her into his apartment and her face suddenly turned pale.

She pressed a hand to her stomach and licked her dry lips, a panicked look in her eyes. “I’m so dizzy, and I don’t feel so good.”

Oh, shit. Clay knew exactly what was coming, and also knew the eruption wasn’t going to be pretty considering the array of drinks she’d had. Dropping her purse on the couch, he rushed her to the one bathroom in the small apartment, which was connected to the only bedroom in the place.

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