Page 11 of Beg for You

She’s the enemy. Remember that.

“You want me to…” She motioned to the massage chair I often used for back and shoulder pieces.

“Straddle it.”

Her face flushed darker, and I almost groaned aloud. Not cold.

Not fucking cold.

“Right.”

She did as I asked, and her pants tightened across her ass, dipping low at the back, when she put her legs on the support pads, giving me a glimpse of upper ass cheek, the very top of her crease. I actually reached down and adjusted my dick. It was either that or strangle the thing when I sat down.

Taking my stool, I rolled up behind her. “I’m doing this freehand.” Focus, asshole. I planned my next words out in my head, finding it easier to put my next sentence in some kind of order without her looking at me. “Scar tissue is…tricky, holds the ink differently. Some of the edges might not be as clear. Freehand makes it easier for me with this kind of work…to work with the scars.”

“Okay,” she said softly.

I grabbed a pair of latex gloves and was about to put them on when my gaze slid back to that bra. Usually, I’d ask the client to undo it, and if they couldn’t, I’d get their permission first. I dropped the gloves, and before I could stop myself, reached for the clasp. Cassandra Deighton had walked in here tonight and had fucking thawed in front of me. She’d given me smiles, had blushed, had given me goddamn tears, and for some messed up reason, I wanted more. I wanted to know what else she’d give me if I pushed. So instead of asking, I let the tips of my fingers graze her skin and reached for the clasp. She shivered, and I watched in fascination as goose bumps lifted before my eyes.

Was that a shiver of disgust? Did my touch repulse her? How did she feel having some ugly, scarred monster touching her rich-girl skin?

“All right?” Jesus, my voice sounded wrecked, but I had to ask.

She nodded.

Not very convincing. I should stop. Get her to do it, but being the asshole I was, I undid her bra and let it fall away. The sound of her soft exhale when it did was the most erotic sound I’d ever heard in my life.

“Ready, Cassy?”

She stiffened.

Fuck. Only Chris had called her that. He’d told me himself.

“Cassandra,” she said, voice tight. “We’re definitely not familiar enough for you to call me that.”

At least now I knew what she’d give me if I pushed. All warmth had left her voice. The ice queen was back. “Whatever, babe.”

The room seemed to drop ten degrees and I was sure I could see the ice forming on her skin. She said nothing else.

“Some people feel nothing when I ink their scars; some, it hurts worse. If it’s too much, we can get an anesthetic cream to numb you up. Not sure which you’re gonna be, but I need you to stay nice and still for me.” The words were coming easier now. Probably because I wasn’t thrown anymore. I was pissed off at myself for letting her get to me. “If it gets too much, you need a break, reach back and tap my leg. I tend to zone out when I’m working.”

She nodded again but still stayed quiet. Her body tensed when I started, but after a few minutes she relaxed some, the tension easing up, and I knew she had gone inside herself. A lot of people did that when the pain was intense, either that or scream like fucking babies. Cassandra was tough—not a surprise. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.

I couldn’t let those blushes and smiles, that fucking tear, get to me. She was a Deighton. She’d always be what she was: a cold trust-fund princess.

I was glad she’d let her true colors shine through again. It made it a fuck of a lot easier for me to do what had only been a crazy idea until a few moments ago.

Lyall Deighton had hurt my family, had torn it apart.

He was about to learn exactly what that felt like.

Chapter Four

Cassandra

As I drove up the curving driveway to my father’s house, I cursed when I saw whose car was parked out front. Dammit. He’d set me up. He’d actually done it.

My father had been dropping not-so-subtle hints about Spencer and me for a while now. Spencer Livingston and his family owned the property next to ours, and it was his family who had bought our land when my father sold a large portion of it in a deal no one knew about until it was too late.