Page 5 of Beg for You
I didn’t know what it was, but it definitely wasn’t unpleasant. The man looked like a street thug, especially with all that ink and those wicked-looking scars, but something about him fascinated me.
He walked to the curtained-off room and held it open. “Through here.”
This guy was a professional. Like a doctor. He would have seen this kind of thing before, worse. He wouldn’t be disgusted or repulsed. At least, he wouldn’t show it. He’d keep his thoughts, the looks, to himself, like all good professionals did, right?
“All right. Let’s do this.” I hated that some of the strength in my voice had drained away.
I followed him in and watched as he sat on a stool with wheels. I got the feeling he did that for my benefit. That he was well aware his size, his looks, were more than a little intimidating.
There was a padded fold out table on one side of the room, and a massage chair on the other, the kind that you sat on backward and there were pads for your shins and arms, and a place to rest your head.
“Where’s the scarring?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“My back and side. But mainly my back.”
He stared at me, and when I didn’t do anything, he said, “Need to show me, babe.”
Babe.
I’m sure he called lots of woman that, but the endearment sent tingles across my shoulders and up the back of my neck. The good kind. I ignored them and turned to lift my silk shirt but couldn’t get it high enough.
“Lose the shirt,” he said.
I paused, that rough, dark voice making me shiver. Suddenly, I was incredibly nervous. Only one man had seen me with my shirt off, had seen what I had hidden under the perfectly put together exterior—it hadn’t ended well.
“So is Gloria your girlfriend?” I blurted for some unknown reason.
His lips curled slightly, the scar slashing through them making it look like he was almost sneering, but I knew he wasn’t because his eyes were steady, showing no emotion. “No.”
“Oh, but you…you were…” My face heated.
He was quiet a beat. “Some women…have a thing for monsters.”
The room became silent, uncomfortably so. I didn’t know what to say to that. Still, I opened my mouth to say something, anything to end the oppressive silence.
“Can’t ink you through your clothes.”
His voice rumbled through the room like an incoming storm, and I shivered before I could stop myself. What the hell is wrong with me? “Right.” I shook my head, face getting hotter still. “Of course you can’t.”
Sliding my fingers down the front of my shirt, undoing the buttons as I went, I took a steadying breath, slipped the last one free, and let the silk drop from my shoulders. I had on a white lace bra. It was modest and covered everything, which was why I’d selected it and not one of the beautiful sets I usually wore, but still I felt exposed.
I’d spent all my life trying to be perfect, pretending to be something I wasn’t. Now this ruggedly beautiful, terrifying man was seeing me without my designer armor. I felt ashamed over my vanity. He couldn’t hide his scars. He couldn’t pretend they weren’t there. It was stupid, I didn’t know him, and after this was done, I’d probably never see him again, but right then I was glad it was him who was seeing me like this, that it was him seeing me for who I truly was.
This was me. This was Cassy.
Right then Cassandra was nowhere to be found. Her armor had disintegrated at her feet.
I felt more vulnerable than I ever had in my whole life. I was putting my trust in this man’s large, brutal-looking hands, and hoping like hell he didn’t crush me. Something inside me broke when it had happened the first time, when the guy I’d been seeing looked away from me in disgust.
If Cal flinched away, if he cringed at what he saw…
I straightened my shoulders.
The stool squeaked and I heard the thud of his boots as he rolled up behind me.
“You thinking a full back piece?” A pause. “Or something…just down the side here?”
His fingers slid over my bare skin, over the scar tissue marring my flesh from shoulder to waist on my left side. Goose bumps rose on my arms. “I, ah…I thought down one side.”
