Freeing the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 1 Read Online Free

“We won’t hurt you.”
    “Yeah, right. You’re just going to slice out part of my brain.”
    She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Only your memories of being here. There’s no surgery involved. We’re not zoned for that. Constance will simply lay her hands on your head and—”
    “No.”
    Becca squeezed her fingers so hard her knuckles turned even whiter. “Please try to understand. You’ve seen things here that you really shouldn’t have.”
    “Says who? I came here for a makeover, all right?”
    Becca leaned forward. “You’re not mortal?”
    “If I were would I be in this nuthouse?”
    She waited until one of her client’s piercing howls quieted. “What are you exactly?”
    “I’m Eric,” he said. “Di-let-to.”
    He’d pronounced his last name very slowly, as though it should mean something to her.
    “Uh-huh.”
    “I didn’t always go by Eric,” he muttered. “I changed my first name when I was twelve. Got tired of having to fight, you know?”
    Maybe. She’d had her own scuffles when anyone dared call her fat. Gently, she said, “Tell me your real first name. Please.”
    He sagged to the sofa as though his bones had turned to dust. “You’ll laugh.”
    “Never.” Becca came around her desk, but stopped when he leaned away from her, clearly needing distance between them. “I don’t make fun,” she pledged. “I don’t bully. I had enough of that when I was a kid to know how much it hurts.”
    He nodded sympathetically. “The other kids made fun of your hair?”
    “No.” She curled her upper lip. “There’s something wrong with my hair?”
    He held up his hands in appeasement. “Not at all. I really like the color and the way you wear it.” He gestured to his own head to demonstrate her bob and bangs. “It’s great.”
    Sure. And Santa Claus was a card-carrying Communist. “The other kids made fun of my weight.” There, she’d said it. No need to pretend there wasn’t a four-ton elephant in the room.
    “Really?” He took her in, loitering on her ample cleavage, the curve of her belly, the flare of her hips before shaking his head. “I think women today are too skinny.”
    Becca smiled, seeing he meant it. “What’s your real first name?”
    He groaned and lay on the sofa, arm draped over his eyes, as though he was a patient and she was his shrink.
    “Come on,” Becca said. “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what the problem is. It can’t be that bad.”
    “Wanna bet? My real first name is Eros.”
    With lightning speed, the pieces fell together for Becca. His last name was Diletto. Italian for pleasure. She recalled the tat on his ass. Holy moly. He was an honest-to-fuck Greek god. “You come from the line of Psyche and—”
    “Cupid,” he growled. “Otherwise known as Eros or, as the boys in middle school used to say, ‘we’re-gonna-pound-your-pussy-ass-into-the-ground’. Yeah, that’s my family tree.”
    Becca gave him a moment to calm down. When his huffs had quieted somewhat, she said, “I’m confused. Given how you feel, why’d you get a heart tattooed on your ass?”
    “It’s not a tat,” he muttered. “It’s a birthmark. I went to several laser specialists. They worked on it dozens of times. It keeps coming back.” He bunched his shoulders. “You shouldn’t have seen it.”
    “Sorry.”
    He shrugged.
    “I’m still confused,” she admitted, then explained. “From Crud to Stud helps clients to suppress the beast. You don’t have one. You’re a perfect gentleman. Normal to the outside world.” Except for his birthmark, which Becca wasn’t crazy enough to mention. Hell, that would be cruel. “What in the world could you want to change?”
    “Ever hear the term ‘nice guys finish last’?”
    She frowned, not getting it. Then she did. “You’re losing out on the babes because you’re too nice?” Impossible. He was gorgeous, kind, funny, hung—
    “Women say they want a nice guy, but they don’t