She was about to do that, about to force herself to escape, so as not to embarrass him, when she saw him flinch as if something had blown into his face.
He jumped back, and she heard him snap, “Dammit!” That was followed by another curse she couldn't quite hear, though the tone was clear enough.
And then, without any warning at all, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and, in one quick motion, he yanked it over his head and tossed it aside.
She saw the black stain as the white material went flying, and realized that somehow he’d been squirted with engine oil. That fascinating fact, however, was incidental to the real spectacle in front of her—Griffin Draper standing bare from the waist up, his jeans slung low on his hips, the cords and planes of muscles on his back sleek and perfect, then twisted and raw on his right side.
The scars rose in twisted ridges, the color almost like Texas granite, mottled shades of black and pink. She didn't know whether this was the result of his reaction to the skin grafts or simply the healing of the burns.
She didn't know, and she supposed it didn't matter. She was seeing the depth and the extent of the horror that had happened to him as a child. She was seeing the suffering that he had lived with for over a decade.
It looked painful, and she knew that it was. Not all the time, maybe, but in weak moments she had seen him shift uncomfortably in his chair, and she’d watched as he went into the kitchen, without mentioning it, to take the pain pills that she had once glimpsed tucked in behind the boxes of Earl Grey tea bags.
Her throat thickened with tears, and she longed to touch him. To run her fingers over the smooth skin on the left, soaking in his strength as she moved on to trace the ridges and pattern on the right.
She wanted those strong, muscled arms to pull her close. And she wanted his right arm wrapped as tightly around her as the left with no hesitation or shame or fear.
But that, she knew, wouldn’t happen. She was seeing something he kept hidden. Something forbidden.
Guilt rose within her. She should've eased away sooner. She shouldn't be seeing this. He wouldn't want her to.
Finally spurred into action, she took a step back and heard the crunch of gravel beneath her heel. The sound cut through her like a live wire, and she flinched even before he turned, his eyes first going wide and then narrowing with anger.
“Jesus, Bev! What the hell are you doing here?"