Beg For You ~ Chapter 1 sneak peek!

Beg For You is just 3 days away! I'm so excited about this sexy new series and these characters, I thought I'd share a sneak peek of the first chapter with you!





CHAPTER ONE

Cassandra

If my father ever found out about this…
Nerves had rioted inside me during the thirty-minute drive from Springhaven, and they didn’t appear to be letting up.
I doubted very much that any of my father’s friends would be visiting Rocktown—the small town was not a place “our kind of people” would ever be seen dead in—but I still found myself glancing over my shoulder.
I reached for the door then dropped my hand again. Dammit. I’d been standing here like an idiot for close to ten minutes.
I stared at the fluorescent blue sign hanging above the tattoo parlor’s door: Rocktown Ink—then flinched when the music coming from inside was turned up so loud the glass door vibrated. It was giving the thumping bass coming from the dive bar across the street a run for its money.
The door of the place—The Lucky Mule, going by its own glowing sign—opened then closed with a crash and someone laughed, voices carrying over. I gripped the strap of my bag tighter as wind blew through me off the surrounding mountains.
God, I was positive I could hear my father’s disapproving voice booming all the way from our ranch. Just the thought of him had my hands sliding down the sides of my designer skirt and up to my hair, making sure nothing was out of place, perfect, as was expected.
I gritted my teeth.
Stop it, Cassy.
I was twenty-six years old, for God’s sake. I chose what I did with my body. Nobody else got to have an opinion. I was done being someone’s puppet. Done being guilted into attending functions, schmoozing with my father’s associates, and playing the charming, dutiful daughter.
Just…done.
Today the real Cassandra Deighton stood up. Well, at least, here’s where she began, where the road to finding her began.
I had no control over my father’s thoughts or feelings. But I could do this, for me.
There was no erasing the memories of that day, the most painful day of my life, but I could transform the ugly reminder I carried on my body into something else, something beautiful.
The only time I felt alive was when I was riding, the cool wind on my face and in my hair, at one with my horse Tierra as we cantered across our property, or what was left of it.
I wanted that feeling, needed to experience it in other aspects of my life. I was more than the scars on my body.
God, I felt like a caterpillar stuck in a cocoon, never fully growing her wings, restrained, confined, desperate to break free. No, I wasn’t going to run off and join a circus or have an affair with the hot mechanic who serviced my car—not that I’d know what to do with him if the opportunity arose—but that wasn’t the point. The point was, I could…if I wanted to.
I stared at the artwork taped to the windows again and took a steadying breath. Whoever drew these was extremely talented. They were nothing like the pieces I displayed in my gallery, but they were equally impressive in their own way. My father would have said they were tacky and cheap…
Enough.
This time when I put my hand on the painted wooden doorframe, I pushed it open.
Heavy rock hit me as I walked in, the bass moving through my body, right to the soles of my feet. Another wave of apprehension swept over me, gnawing at my confidence as I took in the room. It was small but brightly lit. There was a worn leather couch by the window and a glass counter opposite filled with jewelry. The walls were covered in more of that amazing artwork—pictures of the work they’d done here, some faded like they’d been there years, others new and bright.
I toyed with the strap of my bag then gripped it so tight the leather dug into my fingers. I’d never in my life been to a place like this. I had no idea what to expect. What was expected. I hated this feeling of being out of my depth, unsure.
“Hey there, sweetheart.”
I jumped, and spun around, then got annoyed with myself for my overreaction. I curled my lips up in what I hoped was a friendly smile and not a grimace, aiming it at the young blue-haired guy standing in front of me, while doing my best to battle the nerves erupting in my belly like mini firecrackers. “Hello.”
He was probably in his early twenties, maybe even late teens. He had a lot of facial piercings, and tattoos covered every bit of exposed skin.
“You in the right place?” he said, a smirk curling his lips.
“Um…” Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. My determination of a moment ago started to wane. Surely there was somewhere else, somewhere less…less…this.
“You looking to get some ink?” he asked, brow hiked high, eyes scanning me from head to toe. He licked his lips. “We don’t get many women like you in the shop.” His eyes slid over my designer outfit again, right down to my shoes then back. “You sure you wanna mark up that pretty skin of yours?”
Too late for that. “Well, I…” I refused to take a step back, even when my body demanded I did exactly that. Coming here had been a stupid idea. Maybe I could get someone to come to the guesthouse at the ranch? Were there tattoo artists that made house calls? I cleared my dry throat. “I was just…I, um…”
“Don’t be shy.” His smirk turned into a grin as he strode toward me.
“I’m not…I’m…”
His fingers curled around my elbow and he led me to the couch before I knew what was happening. “Someone will be with you in a bit.” He waved his hand at a stack of folders. “You can check our guys’ latest work in these.”
I stared at the stack, curiosity getting the better of me. “You’re not the tattooist?”
“Nah, apprentice. For now, I just do piercings.”
Relief loosened the knot in my belly. No way would I let this kid anywhere near me with a needle of any kind. “Right. I’ll take a look. Thank you.”
He winked but didn’t make a move to leave, staring at me intently again. He tilted his head to the side. “You’re from Springhaven, right?”
“Yes.”
His gaze grew intense, something shining through that made me shift in my seat. “Slumming it, huh?”
“No…I just…”
“Okay, let me guess.”
“Guess what?”
“What you’re here for.” His gaze slid up my calf to my thigh. “You want a butterfly inked on your hip? No, a heart?”
I frowned up at him and shook my head. “No…”
“A quote?” He tapped his lips with the tip of a finger. “Something about love? Forgiveness? Something inspirational perhaps?”
“No.”
His eyes were sparkling, glittering down at me. The smug little shit was making fun of me. He’d pegged me instantly as some stuck-up rich girl in the mood to do something reckless to piss off Daddy. I was used to being judged, being found less than. Well, I was done with that as well.
I straightened my spine and forced a smile to curve my lips. Subtle jabs, insults masked as something else weren’t new to me. My world was full of sharks, but I could bite back when I had to.
“Actually, you’re right,” I said. “I was thinking a quote might be nice. What do you think of”—I lifted my hand and pointed to my middle finger, curling down the ones either side—“Go screw yourself, right here?”
His eyes widened for a second, then he barked out a laugh. “Little Miss Springhaven’s got teeth.”
The curtain just down from the counter slid open right at that moment, and I twisted toward it. A woman walked out—though that seemed too plain a word for her. She was striking. With the way she was dressed, the way she swung her hips, the knowing smile on her lips, I knew instinctively no one would tell her what to do. This woman knew what she wanted, and I bet she went after it, too.
Jealousy spiked through me instantly.
I was staring at her, awestruck by her obvious confidence, the self-possession she exuded, when her eyes dropped to my hand and my middle finger. It was still saluting Mr. Blue Hair, who had been in front of me a second ago but now…wasn’t.
“Excuse me, bitch?” she said, charging in my direction. “You did not just flip me off.”
I quickly dropped my hand, shaking my head. “Oh, sorry! No. I wasn’t doing it to you, I was doing it to…” I glanced across the room and pointed to the little prick who was now leaning against the counter, still laughing. “Him.”
“Gloria,” an extremely deep, rough-as-gravel voice called behind her.
My gaze slid to the source of that bone-melting rumble.
Holy mother of God.
The other woman stopped in her tracks and turned back around.
A man stood across from me in the curtained doorway. He was tall, his head brushing the top of the doorframe, and he was big, everywhere. His arms and neck were covered in bright tattoos, and though I couldn’t see them, I knew the rest of him would be as well. The T-shirt he wore was plain black and fit his monster chest and shoulders in a way that hid nothing. This man had a lot of muscles. In fact, I was pretty sure he was all muscle. My gaze dropped before I could stop myself, checking out the rest of him. His long legs were encased in black denim, heavy black boots on his feet. He was…terrifying. Huge.
Pure sin.
I wasn’t sure what kind—good, like overindulging in chocolate, or bad, like beating a man to a pulp just for looking at him sideways—but I got the feeling he’d be more than proficient at whatever form he chose to undertake. There was no doubt in my mind that this man was exactly what he advertised. There would be no monster lying in wait, hiding under a beautifully tailored suit and a charming smile. If this man had a monster inside him, he wouldn’t bother to conceal it.
My gaze slid to the front of his jeans, to the way the soft denim hugged the impressive bulge there…
I swallowed, trying to get some moisture back in my suddenly dry throat, and quickly looked back up. Half his face was concealed in shadows, but I could see his eyes were dark, almost black, and he was staring back, gaze unwavering. I blinked. Something about them gave me pause—they were familiar? But I couldn’t hold them long enough to work out what it was I thought I saw, and instead I stared at his mouth. A scar slashed through his lips on one side, starting just out from his nose and finishing halfway down his chin.
Gloria sashayed over to him, and I watched in horrified fascination as she plastered herself against him and went up on her toes. He leaned in and kissed her deeply.
Humiliation burned my cheeks and something curled tight in my lower belly, my skin suddenly too hot. He lifted his head and said to her, “Next week.”
Then his dark, extremely intense eyes were back on me. I jolted in my seat. God, I needed to get out of here. I didn’t belong in this place.
And wasn’t that just the story of my life?
I stood, swung my bag over my shoulder, and headed for the door, right behind sashaying Gloria in her skyscraper heels.
“Hold up,” that gravelly, jarringly deep voice said from behind me.
A shiver arrowed down my spine, and I stopped so fast it was like I was tethered to the owner of that rumbling brutal voice. Instead of bolting for the door, I found myself turning around before I could command my body to do otherwise.
He wasn’t in shadow anymore, he’d taken a step toward me, and the scar on his lip wasn’t his only one. Another ran down his cheek. It started at his jaw and carried on up, above his ear and across his skull, leaving a thin white line through his cropped hair.
“You here for me?” he said. “Bull’s not on tonight.”
I stumbled back a step before I could stop myself, like he’d roared the words at me. And what kind of a name was Bull?
He ignored my reaction, the rude way I stared at him, and lifted a hand to the doorframe above. His colossal bicep bulged.
Zaps of electricity fired through my lower belly. What is wrong with me?
One of his eyebrows lifted.
I forced my brain to form words. “No, thank you. I…I don’t think so.”
“Were you here…for a consultation?” His head tilted to the side, and there was no mocking expression on his face, just curiosity.
I was gripping my bag strap so tight now my knuckles ached. “I’m sure this is a…a reputable establishment.” I inwardly cringed at the superior tone of my voice. I had a tendency to hide behind it when I felt threatened, and right then I felt threatened in more ways than I knew how to process. “But I think I’ve come to the wrong place.”
Hester, my grandmother’s nurse, said he was a specialist. Her daughter Emily had used him before. He looked more like a thug to me. A sexy, scarred thug with arms that bulged with muscle and thighs like tree trunks.
This couldn’t be the right man.
My mouth was dry again.
His hands came up, like he was showing me he wasn’t armed. I got the feeling he had to do that a lot. “Who were you looking for?” he asked.
I opened my bag and rummaged around for the piece of paper Emily had given Hester with the details. I stared down at it and shook my head. Not one for details was our Emily. I looked up at him. “Cal?”
He frowned a little. “That’s me.” Then he just stared at me, like he was waiting for some punchline, like there was some inside joke he expected me to catch onto and roll with.
“Right, well…” Now what? I could leave. I could walk out that door and forget this ever happened. I wanted to. I really wanted to.
If you don’t do this now, you never will.
I’d come here for a reason. This wasn’t some whim I’d woken up with this morning. I needed to do this, for me, for the life I planned to build for myself, the life I wanted to start. And for the past I was determined to leave behind, so desperately it was a constant knot in the pit of my stomach.
You can do it, Cassy. My brother’s voice echoed through my head, encouraging me to take the risk like he had many times before everything fell apart, before the accident.
No, it wasn’t really him talking, but that niggling voice in my head was right.
No one would make me feel guilty, or inadequate, or less than ever again, not Mr. Blue Hair who’d judged me as soon as I walked in here, and not this intimidating wall of man muscle staring at me expectantly.
I held his gaze, lifting my chin. I had nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing. “A friend of mine said you specialize in covering scars?”
He didn’t flinch or even blink as his gaze slid over me, like he was trying to see right through my clothes to where I hid the marks on my body. “Yeah.”
Don’t chicken out. “I’d like to get some work done, and—”
“Botched plastic surgery, huh?” Mr. Blue Hair said, still standing at the counter, that smirk firmly back in place.
Anger shot through me so fast I felt dizzy from the spike of my blood pressure. I didn’t deserve that. I was done letting people treat me like shit because of who I was, where I lived, because I looked the way I did. Especially this kid who knew nothing about me.
Cal’s expression turned thunderous, and his head twisted to the younger man before I could open my mouth. “What the fuck did you say?” he growled.
I felt it in the pit of my stomach…lower.
Blue Hair shrugged. “Come on, Cal, look at her—”
“I was burned…in a car wreck,” I said.
The room went silent, deathly so.
The younger man paled. “Shit. I’m sorry…I—”
“Out,” Cal said to him, voice lower than before and full of so much aggression and rage, even I took a step back.
“Cal, man…I’m—”
“Warned you, Dane.” Cal pointed to the door. “Get the fuck out.”
The younger guy stiffened, then he walked around the counter, and after cursing several more times, left. The bell above the door jingled as it shut behind him.
I turned back to the wall of muscle across from me. “You didn’t need to do that.” The boy was rude, sure, but firing him seemed a bit extreme.
Cal walked to the door, slid the lock, flipped the sign to closed, then turned back to me. He took a slow breath and his jaw worked. “That idiot was my brother.” Another breath. “He’s gone. Until he learns not to run his mouth.”
“Your brother?”
He dipped his chin and that stare turned probing. It unnerved me.
“Oh…well, I…” My eyes darted to the bolted door. Were we alone? My flight instincts heightened. I wasn’t completely sure why I had the sudden urge to run. I swallowed audibly and looked back at him.
“I look like a monster,” he said, reading my thoughts, eyes getting hard. “I don’t act like one.”
“Of course, I would never think…” I shook my head, not sure what to say. I’d offended him.
He kept distance between us when he walked back, and I felt ashamed of the way I’d reacted. I, of all people, knew what it was to be judged by appearances.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” I knew what I wanted. And something about the man in front of me made me feel…okay. Mainly he made me feel off balance, but suddenly, despite the way I reacted to him, he also made me feel…safe. That I was in safe hands. How could that be?
There was a tension sliding through my body I didn’t know what to do with, had never experienced before, and it got more intense every time Cal looked at me.
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.”
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.
But this feeling, it wasn’t just about the tattoo, was it?
I looked back over my shoulder to the small shop across the street—while loud voices and music echoed out from the bar just down from me, a soundtrack that seemed to throb through me—and I sucked in a sharp breath.
There was a large shadow at the window, a dim outline through the pictures taped on the glass door, but I knew what it was…who was standing there.
Cal.


Beg For You