Page 6 of Beg for You

My brother and his friend had been in a car wreck a short distance from our ranch. I’d been behind them in my own car, which meant I was first on the scene. His friend, who’d been in the passenger seat, had been lucky—he’d been thrown from the truck and knocked unconscious. My brother had been trapped. I’d tried so hard to pull him free, but his truck had exploded into flames before I could drag him from the twisted steel trapping him.

The scars brought back those painful memories every time I saw them. The truth was, I’d lost my brother long before that night. These marks were just another reminder of how I’d let him down. I needed to let the pain and guilt go, for my own sanity. And if I didn’t at least try, I’d never break away from my father or the guilt and blame he wielded against me whenever I tried to gain the slightest bit of freedom.

“Do you think you can help?” My vocal cords felt unbearably tight.

He didn’t answer. Instead, I felt a rough-tipped finger on me again, this time sliding across my shoulder blade. I jolted. No one had ever touched that ugly damaged skin, no one but me since I left the hospital. It was a shock to the system.

He didn’t comment on my overreaction. “The scar tissue is dense in some places, but I can cover them.”

I noticed when he said more than a few words he spoke slower, like he was measuring each one. His voice also sounded deeper, rougher.

I shivered and quickly dragged my shirt back on and buttoned it up before turning back to him. “When can you start?”

He sat back on his stool, those dark eyes locked on mine again. His lashes were thick and black, gorgeous. The only soft thing on him.

“Day after tomorrow. This week’s booked solid. Can fit you in after hours, though. Ten?” he said in that slow measured way again.

“Yes. That’s perfect. Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Knowing my scars were finally going to be covered somehow cast light on the shadows that had been following me around. For the first time in a long time they weren’t quite so dark, so menacing.

His hands went to his thighs. Long, thick fingers, skin rough and dark. Big, like the rest of him. Nothing like my father’s hands or his friends’. They hired people to do the hard work, running their properties from behind desks instead of on the back of a horse.

Cal did his own dirty work.

“You know what you want?” He paused. He seemed to do that a lot as well. “I can get started on a sketch.”

“Yes, I know exactly what I want.”

“We can refine…make changes when you come in.”

I pulled out the pictures I’d found online and handed them to him. “I want something bright and beautiful. Lots of flowers. I especially love pink roses, so if you could add a few of those.” A smile tugged the corner of my mouth before the sadness could crowd in and ruin the memory. And the reason I’d chosen what I had—covering the bad with the good—my ugly scars with beauty. “My brother always gave me roses on my birthday. He stole them from our garden. It was always the pink ones.”

He didn’t reply, or really look at the pictures I’d given him, and instead grabbed a sketch pad from the small desk behind him and, head dipped, started moving his pencil across the page.

It was mesmerizing to watch the sure, confident strokes of his pencil, those huge hands creating beauty right before my eyes.

I forced myself to look away and took a step toward the door. “I should get going. I guess I’ll see you Thursday?”

He lifted his head. “I’ll have something ready…to show you then.”

More goose bumps lifted across my skin. God, his eyes were intense. Not quite black, but the darkest of dark chocolate. Rich and decadent. An image of him kissing that woman earlier flashed through my mind, along with some unsettling emotions.

Jealousy, all curled up and twisted with the kind of heat that had me squeezing my thighs together.

My lips started tingling, my body joining the party a second later. What would it be like to be with a man like him? I wasn’t tall by any definition of the word. How would it feel to be kissed by someone so big and muscular, so gritty and rough?

My face flushed hot when I realized I’d been staring at him. Because he was watching me as well, that look back on his face like he was waiting for me to say something more, like he was waiting for…

I had no idea what.

“Well…I…I guess I’ll go.” For some reason, I didn’t want to.

He didn’t say anything, just continued staring at me.

My face got even hotter. “Um…thanks again.” I awkwardly waved at him like a complete idiot, then fumbled with the curtain, trying to find the opening. I finally managed to fling it back and walked out of there so fast I nearly fell over my own damn feet.

I unbolted the door, the little bell above it jingling as I rushed out. I strode across the street to my car, my pulse racing, my skin feeling too tight for my body. I’d never felt anything like this. Excitement and fear all twisted together. But the good kind of fear, the kind that, if you did what you feared most and succeeded, you’d reap the best kind of reward.

I’d never taken any kind of risk in my life. I’d always done what was asked of me by my father, and for the first time, I was taking something for myself.