The end result of Lyall’s interference was Dane being taken away, put into foster care, and Logan, who had been helping pay the medical bills by doing the same as me, had been arrested and sent to prison. He was the oldest out of the three of us, and was always trying to look out for us, protect us. Because of that, he’d stashed the weed in his room, and had insisted he take the fall for the drugs that were found completely.
Our small dysfunctional family had been torn apart, all because Lyall Deighton had wanted someone to punish for his own damn failings.
Cassy.
She’d been sixteen when I first saw her. There hadn’t been many times, but she’d made an impression. I’d been nineteen, tall, skinny as hell. Rough and hungry, hungry for every damn thing, every experience, every opportunity, any way to find a better life for my family. I’d gone with Chris to his property the first time he’d asked me to see what I could steal from that big fancy ranch house of his. Instead, we’d somehow ended up friends.
I’d changed a lot since I last saw her. It didn’t really surprise me that she didn’t recognize me. Not with the mess the right side of my face was now. And it wasn’t like she’d noticed me back then.
Those few times we’d been close, though, she’d been the only thing I could see.
Cassy had been long limbed, that same creamy, pale skin, long straight white-blond hair, never a strand out of place, perfect even then. Ice.
The only time I’d seen a genuine smile was when she’d been riding. Cassandra Deighton was born to ride. I’d watch her fly across a field, the sun making her pale blond hair glow, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. And that smile on her lips.
The first time those big blue eyes had landed on me, I’d felt it in the pit of my stomach. I’d never seen anything like her in my life. Her clothes, the way she held herself, the way she spoke. Shit, the way she’d smelled had made me damn near dizzy.
After that, she’d starred in every one of my dirty fantasies. It had been her face I imagined when I’d stroked my cock late at night. I’d wanted to mess up her hair, smear her glossy lips, leave a goddamn handprint on her pert little ass. I’d wanted to heat her up and make her fucking melt in my hands.
I’d wanted her to ride me.
How would she look straddling my chair, ass lined up with my dick, while I pressed in close, while I worked on covering the scars she thought I’d had a hand in putting there?
The idea made me hard. Maybe that made me a sick fuck, but I didn’t really give a shit.
I had to be insane to even contemplate it. I didn’t need this kind of complication in my life. I’d tried to put that day, the weeks, months, years following the accident, behind me. I didn’t need Cassandra fucking Deighton stirring that shit back up.
But for some reason, I hadn’t been able to turn her away, probably because a sick, twisted part of me wanted to know the kind of woman she’d become.
I’d always been too damn curious for my own good.
I ran a hand over my jaw.
I’d wanted to make Lyall pay for what he did to my family, for what happened to my brother, ever since Dane was dragged from my grandmother’s home, screaming for me and Logan to help him. After seeing my cousin, terror in his eyes, being cuffed and taken away by police. I never thought I’d ever have an opportunity.
Maybe my chance had finally come, and I didn’t even have to go looking—she’d walked right through the door.
Cassandra
Like I did every night, I walked to the barn to check on the horses. Tierra was eating her hay and I stopped to pat her soft nose. “How’s my girl?”
With the two new mares I’d purchased, all the stalls were nearly full. My grandmother had wanted to breed palominos for as long as I could remember. She’d been so excited when they arrived. I hadn’t seen her smile like that in years, and with her health the way it was, I was determined to do whatever it took to make her smile as often as possible.
Monte, our stallion, whinnied and shook his head. His bloodline had been in our family for generations. A lot of his descendants had been bred and lived on this property. My great-grandparents had loved horses; it had been their passion. Unfortunately, my father didn’t share their passion, much to my grandmother’s dismay.
But that was nothing compared to what my father did after my grandfather died. He’d sold most of the cattle we’d always raised here and a large portion of the land, breaking my grandmother’s heart.
We still had enough land to run a decent breeding program, though, and with my best friend, Ted, agreeing to take over management of the gallery I owned—my other passion—it freed up the time and energy I needed make a real go of it. That’s what I was determined to do.
I locked up the barn and headed for the main house. I’d moved into the guesthouse several years ago, in desperate need of my own space, but I made a point to visit with my grandmother every night. Thankfully, my father wasn’t about when I walked in. Hester was coming down the stairs as I was walking up. My grandmother’s nurse smiled when she saw me.
“How is she tonight?”
“She’s in good spirits. Her pain has been a lot better since Dr. Evans changed her medication.”
I smiled in return. “So a good day, then?”
“Most definitely.”
I headed upstairs, lightly knocked on her door, and poked my head in. My grandmother was tucked up in her big bed, reading, and smiled wide when she saw me.
I walked in. “Hester tells me you’ve had a good day?”
She took my hand and shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me about your appointment. How did it go?”
I grinned. “I almost chickened out, but he had a look at my scars and said he can do it. We start later in the week.” I remembered the way Cal’s fingers had felt grazing my skin and shivered.
She squeezed my hand. “Good girl. I’m proud of you.”
“I think…I actually think it’s going to be…beautiful. Cal, the man doing the work, is so talented.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
After my mother died and my father emotionally checked out, my grandmother became my and Chris’s rock. She’d never been interested in society, in the airs and graces my father loved so much. I wasn’t sure what I would have done without her. Without her encouragement, her unconditional love. Without her fun-loving spirit and wicked sense of humor.
When I thought I might spiral completely, she’d been there for me. She’d held me up. And I’d do that for her now. I’d do whatever I had to do to make the rest of her life a happy one. To make sure she spent it here, the place she loved most, and not in some retirement home or hospital like my father had suggested.
“Now,” she said, eyes bright with excitement. “Tell me about Monte, what you have planned for him and these new mares you’ve brought in.”
I’d told her many times before, and I didn’t think her asking me the same question almost every night had anything to do with her memory. Talking about the breeding program we’d come up with, carrying on what my grandfather loved, gave her joy.
I’d tell her every day, all day, if that’s what she wanted.
To see that smile on her face.
I started talking, and she clapped her hands with excitement, her entire face lighting up.
Yes, I would do anything for her. Anything.
Chapter Three
Cal
Anticipation had been a tight fist in my gut for the last two days, and I’d been clock watching all damn afternoon.
“Heading to the bar.”
So deep in my own thoughts, I hadn’t even heard Logan approach. For a big bastard—his nickname wasn’t Bull for nothing—he was fucking quiet.
My cousin—though he was just as much a brother to Dane and me as we were to each other—had worked and trained here as well. All three of us were artistic, could draw, which lent itself well to this line of work.
Bull had introduced me to Harvey, the guy who’d owned
this place, after my accident. My cousin was a damned good tattooist and he still helped out around here part time, mainly looking after his existing clients. Since he’d bought The Lucky Mule, the bar across the street, a few years back, he didn’t have time for much more than that.
Bull leaned his massive bulk against the doorframe, crossed his inked arms, and lifted his brows in question. The guy wasn’t much of a talker but was observant as fuck, which meant he hadn’t missed that I was on edge.
“What?” I said, playing dumb.
He rubbed his hand over his beard. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“Woman trouble?” he guessed, ignoring me.
I shook my head. “No trouble, just waiting on a client.”
Bull grunted in that way of his that managed to say “you’re full of shit” without actual words and pushed away from the door, shrugged, and walked out.
He never pushed because he knew if it was important, I’d talk to him. That’s how we did things.
Not this time, though.
I got back to cleaning up after my last client, and I’d just finished wiping down my chair when I heard a knock at the shop door. It was locked since I didn’t want any walk-ins, especially not tonight.
I forced myself to take my time and not stride to the door and yank it open. Cassy had been in my head since she walked out of here. It pissed me off. I’d spent more time than I should thinking about getting under those tight skirts and silk shirts, something that was never gonna happen. I’d regressed into a goddamn horny teenager.
I unbolted the door and pulled it open.
My eyes did a sweep of her before I could stop myself. She was in a suit. Dress pants, white, a pale pink jacket. All that soft looking white-blond hair pulled back in a long ponytail, enhancing her wide blue eyes. Her lips a deep pink.
Looking at her made me think of cotton candy. I wanted to sink my teeth into her.
A hesitant smile curved her lips and her cheeks flushed. “Hi.”
Not icy. Right then she was warm. My fingers itched to touch, slide my hands over that pale skin and see for myself. Christ. I stepped back, mind suddenly scrambled, vocal cords tight as fuck, and motioned her in.
She followed me to my room, and I shut the curtain behind us. When I turned to face her, I had to fight not to grit my teeth. I was feeling a lot of things: anger at her and her family for what they did to mine, and heat, so much fucking heat I didn’t know what to do with it. She was covered from ankle to neck, but that didn’t hide her gentle curves. That sweet, long-limbed body.
My gaze slid to her throat in an attempt to distract myself. It was slender, delicate looking, and yeah, not helping me cool down because I wanted to suck and kiss it. Bite. Mark it. I imagined wrapping my fingers around it and holding her down while I drilled the fuck out of her from behind.
I spun away, trying to get my shit under control, which was fucked up. Nothing, no one, affected me like this, not anymore. She’d said one damn word to me, and I was hard as iron, my cock trying to punch through the front of my jeans.
After sliding my sketch pad off my desk, I handed it to her. Why the fuck did I suddenly care so much what she thought of it? Probably because you’ve obsessed over every flower, every damned petal, doing and redoing it until it was perfect. I cleared my throat. “Came up with this.”
Her gaze moved over the pad, the sketch, her expression unreadable.
I watched her and waited. She said nothing, just stared down at it.
“If you don’t like it…” I reached for the pad, but she gripped it tighter.
Her blue gaze finally lifted, meeting mine. “Don’t like it?” She shook her head. “Cal…”
My cock pulsed at the sound of my name on her lips, the breathy way she’d said it. No one ever used my first name, but for some reason, I wanted to hear her call me Joel in that same voice while I fucked her hard and fast.
“We can change it,” I said.
“No.” Her hand uncurled almost hesitantly from the edge of the pad, and fingers trembling, she trailed them across the sketch, tracing the flowers. She bit her lip and shook her head again, gaze following her movements. “No,” she said again.
“No?” I couldn’t take my goddamn eyes off her. Shit, it wasn’t just her fingers trembling. She had curves, but she was delicately made, and I could see her small frame was shaking. Even that was perfect. Pretty. Whatever she was feeling, she couldn’t suppress it. The look on her face, the way she held her mouth, I thought it might be pain. She wasn’t with me right then. And wherever she was, it was affecting her deeply.
Christ, even in pain, she was beautiful. Flawless.
Fucking untouchable.
I couldn’t stand looking at her like that another second, not when guilt started to creep in. “No changes, then?”
She jolted and lifted her head. “No…I love it, Cal. It’s…God, it’s stunning.”
The fist in my gut tightened even more. “Right.” I had to clear my throat and tried to unscramble the words in my head, searching for the right thing to say. All I could manage was, “Good.”
She looked back down at it, tracing a rose petal with the tip of her finger, and I felt it across the head of my dick.
“It’s perfect.” Her eyes flicked back up to mine. “More than perfect.” A tear streaked down her cheek. Just one.
I couldn’t fucking move, boots nailed to the floor. My skin suddenly felt too tight for my body. No ice. Fuck. There was no ice there, not one damn trace.
She quickly swiped it away, a soft, forced-sounding laugh escaping her lips. “Sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You’re just so talented…and, um, I own a gallery—I’m not sure if I mentioned that? And your work, it’s as good as anything I’ve displayed there.” She shook her head, pulse fluttering madly at her throat. “God, I’ve…I’ve wanted to put the day I was injured behind me for so very long.” She glanced up, giving me a soft smile as she handed me back the pad. “I’d be proud to have your artwork on my body.”
What the fuck was this? Who the fuck was this?
“We’ll get started, then,” I said, voice wrecked, rough as hell.
Her lashes swept down and she fucking blushed. The woman in front of me was no goddamn ice queen. That blush threw me. So much so that when she started undoing the buttons of her jacket, I was close to bursting out of my fucking skin. She slipped it off her shoulders, revealing a silky camisole, thin straps, some lace. It was classy and sexy as fuck all at once.
I swallowed hard as she lifted it over her head, revealing a pale pink bra—nothing special, not sexy in an obvious way, but that just made the innocent article of clothing hotter.
She placed them on the small table by the door and turned to me expectantly, and I realized I’d just stood there watching her undress like a creeper. “Sit. Back to me,” I said, way too harshly. I hadn’t had this much trouble with my speech in a long time. But this woman made me feel like my head had been put through a fucking meat grinder.
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.”<
br />
“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.”
Beg For You (Rocktown Ink #1) Page 3
