Page 63 of Revere

His eyebrows pinch, his gaze sweeping down. “You don’t need to be shy around me. I promise you that you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Patience.”

“You haven’t seen me yet.”

“I’m not talking about your looks.” He dares to take a step forward, cupping the side of my face so he can tap my temple with his finger. “You’re a beautiful girl physically, but it’s what’s in here that has my attention.”

“What’s in there is a mess.”

His eyes narrow. “That’s the last bad thing you’re going to say about yourself in front of me.”

“Or else what?”

Jacob’s smile tilts at the challenge as he closes the distance more with another step. “Or else I’ll put you on your knees and give your tongue something better to do than talk down about the girl I’m falling for. Understood?”

I nod, processing what he said.

Falling for.

Maybe this isn’t one-sided.

“Understood,” I whisper.

“Good girl.” His gaze drops to my shirt again. “Now tell me the real reason you pulled away.”

“I just needed a second.” My heart races.

I can barely hear through the blood coursing between my temples.

“And now?” He drifts his fingers at the hem of my shirt again, but this time I don’t stop him.

“Now I want you to touch me,” I admit.

He may not want to after he sees me, but that much is the truth.

“It means a lot to me when you’re honest like that,” he praises, slowly peeling my shirt up.

I’m holding my breath. On pins and needles, feeling absolutely everything.

His breath, this close.

His short nails, skating over me as he strips my shirt off.

When he tosses it aside, his gaze falls to my chest, and I’ve never been more vulnerable.

I really should have worn something prettier than a plain white bra with no underwire. But I wasn’t expecting this when I got dressed tonight. At least Jacob doesn’t seem to mind. His jaw ticks when he takes me in until his gaze moves to my elbows, and his expression hardens.

“This is what you were hiding?” Jacob’s tone is deathly cold.

He turns my arm gently to get a better look at the thick scars on my elbow. First inspecting one arm, then the other. Ugly patches where the skin ripped open too many times to heal properly.

“That’s part of it.” I swallow hard.

His eyes snap to mine, and he takes a step back. I don’t blame him. It’s not pretty, and these aren’t the worst of them.

“Show me,” he cuts me off. “I want to see you, Patience.”

I search his eyes for disgust, but there’s none there. Which is why I reach for the button on my pants, heart racing as I slowlyshuffle them down my hips. I strip them off with my socks. And when I stand tall again, my knees are on display for him.

Those scars are worse than my elbows because I spent more time kneeling than with my head pressed to the concrete floor. But none of these scars come close to the marks on my back. Which is why I hold my breath as I finally turn around, pulling my long braid over my shoulder so he can get a full look at the worst of me.