Dirty Sexy Saint (Dirty Sexy #1)

By: Carly Phillips & Erika Wilde



He’d sleep out on the couch, and by morning she’d be clear-headed and full of embarrassed regret. As for him…he’d have the night to regroup and shore up the fortitude to shut down any unwanted emotions for the cupcake he’d never see again.





Chapter Three





Samantha’s head felt as though it was going to explode. The pressure, the pounding, the slightest movement increased the throbbing against her skull. With a soft groan, she pried her eyelids open and squinted in the too-bright room. She didn’t recognize her surroundings, and panic rushed through her, kicking up her heart rate.

As she glanced around, hazy memories of last night finally filtered through her brain, giving her a semblance of relief, which didn’t last long as mortification swept through her aching body. Not only had she had way too many drinks, she’d flirted outrageously with a gorgeous stranger, and had to admit that it’d felt damn good to be a little bad.

She groaned out loud, only to be caught up by a harsher recollection. Her father had completely and totally cut her off, just as he’d said he would. The pounding in her skull increased to epic proportions.

Unfortunately, her humiliation wasn’t finished yet. Not only hadn’t she been able to pay her bar bill, she’d burst into tears in front of The Gorgeous One, blabbered about her personal woes, then vomited in spectacular fashion, missing the toilet completely. Then there was the shower, where her savior had stepped in along with her, helping her clean herself up and dress again after. Her utter mortification was complete.

Careful not to jostle her head too much, she gently rolled to her back and slung her arm over her eyes to shield them from the shaft of daylight coming in through the window. She definitely needed a few more minutes to gain her bearings before she attempted to get out of bed. Which gave her too much time to think about her behavior the evening before.

Getting drunk, on any occasion, so wasn’t her. She’d never been a party girl, and she knew her limits when it came to alcohol—one cocktail and no more. Last night, she’d consumed more shots of liquor than she could remember, but they’d all tasted so good, and she’d secretly loved the fact that each drink had a dirty name. At the time, indulging in a few Royal Fucks, Screaming Orgasms, and Blow Jobs had been a fun and harmless way to thumb her nose at all the rules and social norms her parents had placed on her for so long.

But her bold act of rebellion had come at a steep price, because now she had no money, no job, no car, and no place to live. She literally had nothing. She was twenty-six years old and ashamed to admit that everything she owned had been given to her in one form or another. She’d accepted each and every item without complaint, but with her lifestyle came certain expectations that, up to this point, she’d fulfilled like a good, obedient daughter.

She couldn’t live that way anymore. Tucking her tail between her legs like a bad puppy and going back home wasn’t an option. Samantha knew exactly who and what was waiting for her there. More enforced decorum and etiquette, and chastisement and punishment for her defiance. No, thank you. Now that she’d had a small taste of freedom, she wanted to experience more. She wanted to live life on her terms, without restrictions, and she wanted to make her own decisions and mistakes along the way.

She didn’t fool herself into believing that starting over with nothing would be easy, but somehow, she’d find a way to be independent and successful, without her parents’ financial support. She needed to find herself—the woman she was without the confinements and restrictions of home.

But before she could do any of those things, she needed to haul her ass out of bed and face the day. And the hot, sexy man who’d been her savior last night. She might be mortified, but she damn well knew that without him and his kindness, she had no idea where she would have woken up this morning or what might have happened to her in the state she’d gotten herself into.

With effort, she sat up on the edge of the mattress and waited a few seconds for her head to stop spinning. Her queasy stomach growled, reminding her that she was empty inside, and her mouth tasted like… Um, no, she didn’t even want to think about it.

Catching sight of her pearls and wristwatch on the nightstand, she once again counted herself lucky a decent guy had come to her rescue. She checked the time, shocked to realize that it was nearly eleven a.m. She dragged a hand through her hair and winced as her fingers snagged on the tangled strands. Obviously, The Gorgeous One hadn’t used conditioner when he’d scrubbed her hair in the shower, but she was grateful that she at least smelled clean—and quite masculine, considering her skin held traces of a citrusy-fragranced body wash.

Feeling the tug of a smile, she gingerly stood up. The men’s shirt she was wearing fell to mid-thigh, but it was the caress of cool air on her bare sex that brought forth another memory, of being stripped out of her wet bra and panties by very large, warm, capable hands. The man had been nothing short of a gentleman the entire evening, despite the fact she’d draped herself all over him and given him every signal imaginable that she’d be up for more. He hadn’t taken advantage, and for that she was grateful.

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