Read Online A Baby to Care for (Mills & Boon Medical) by Lucy Clark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lucy Clark
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wince.’
Iris nodded. ‘I did. I’m guessing you’re not as macho as you make out, either.’
Dex stepped outside. ‘I’m a lonely, wimpy little boy on the inside,’ he said, and Iris was surprised at the seriousness evident both on his face and in his words.
‘And on the outside?’
‘I’m a rugged superhero.’ He flexed his arms, his biceps rippling very nicely beneath his T-shirt. A second later he dropped his arms and rolled his shoulders, massaging one of them with his hand. ‘Seriously, though, I wear a mask. Just like everyone else. Even you.’
Iris wasn’t sure what to say to that so she said nothing.
‘See you tomorrow, Dr Tennant,’ he continued. ‘Sleep sweet.’ And with that he disappeared into the night.
*
Iris was up bright and early the next morning, mainly because she’d found it difficult to sleep. To know that Dex’s apartment backed onto hers, to know that he was on the other side of the wall was something of which she was acutely aware.
During the week she’d spent in Didja, she’d occasionally heard noises coming from his apartment but after last night, after she’d seen a completely different side to Dexter Crawford—a side she most definitely liked—she’d actually found herself listening.
Last night, he’d not only shown her compassion, he’d shown her he had far more depth than she’d credited him with. Dex had held her in his arms, had been supportive rather than inquisitive. As she’d lain in her bed, the ceiling fan whirring above, she’d replayed the entire conversation, the entire scene in her head and it was only then she had realisedher own mistake. Embarrassment had swamped her as she’d remembered Dex mentioning her scars.
‘He was speaking metaphorically, you twit,’ she told her reflection as she dried her hair. She turned the hairdryer off and brushed the long locks back so she could plait it and keep it out of the way. ‘He didn’t know about your physical scars.’ She glanced at her upper arms as she spoke, the stretched, distorted skin mocking her.
Now Dex knew. He knew she was scarred. He’d felt the unevenness on her back and he’d been repulsed by what he’d inadvertently touched. She didn’t blame him. She was repulsed herself. Iris flicked the completed plait down her back and stood straight, looking at herself. The white bra with tiny pink flowers was a complete contrast against the scars on her upper torso. One was pretty, the other was ugly.
She turned sideways to look at the marks on her back. The skin was worse here, more raised, more prominent if someone were to touch them. Someone like Dex. Iris raised her hands to her face, covering her eyes, unable to look any more. She knew the contour of every mark, she felt the emotional pain and anguish every time she looked at them.
They were a constant reminder of how she’d failed to save her husband’s life. The cruel twist of fate that had allowed her to live whilst Tim had suffered and died. She’d been there. She’d watched him die and there had been nothing she could do. The firefighters had smothered the flames that had caught her clothing, they’d wrapped her up and carried her out. Her last conscious sight had been that of Tim, lying there, surrounded by fire and thick smoke…dead.
Sniffing, she raised her head and forced herself to concentrate on taking deep breaths. She was due at the clinic in ten minutes and she needed to pull herself together. Work was wonderful. Work helped and at least today she wouldn’t be having to avoid Dex all the time. It was Saturday. She was thedoctor on call and he was off…somewhere, no doubt with a string of pretty bimbos following him as though he were the Pied Piper.
Ignoring her scars by not looking at them, by pretending they weren’t there, Iris blew her nose and then finished dressing. After a quick cup of tea and a piece of toast, she headed to the little hospital.
‘Good morning, Iris,’ Bub said as Iris walked into
Iris nodded. ‘I did. I’m guessing you’re not as macho as you make out, either.’
Dex stepped outside. ‘I’m a lonely, wimpy little boy on the inside,’ he said, and Iris was surprised at the seriousness evident both on his face and in his words.
‘And on the outside?’
‘I’m a rugged superhero.’ He flexed his arms, his biceps rippling very nicely beneath his T-shirt. A second later he dropped his arms and rolled his shoulders, massaging one of them with his hand. ‘Seriously, though, I wear a mask. Just like everyone else. Even you.’
Iris wasn’t sure what to say to that so she said nothing.
‘See you tomorrow, Dr Tennant,’ he continued. ‘Sleep sweet.’ And with that he disappeared into the night.
*
Iris was up bright and early the next morning, mainly because she’d found it difficult to sleep. To know that Dex’s apartment backed onto hers, to know that he was on the other side of the wall was something of which she was acutely aware.
During the week she’d spent in Didja, she’d occasionally heard noises coming from his apartment but after last night, after she’d seen a completely different side to Dexter Crawford—a side she most definitely liked—she’d actually found herself listening.
Last night, he’d not only shown her compassion, he’d shown her he had far more depth than she’d credited him with. Dex had held her in his arms, had been supportive rather than inquisitive. As she’d lain in her bed, the ceiling fan whirring above, she’d replayed the entire conversation, the entire scene in her head and it was only then she had realisedher own mistake. Embarrassment had swamped her as she’d remembered Dex mentioning her scars.
‘He was speaking metaphorically, you twit,’ she told her reflection as she dried her hair. She turned the hairdryer off and brushed the long locks back so she could plait it and keep it out of the way. ‘He didn’t know about your physical scars.’ She glanced at her upper arms as she spoke, the stretched, distorted skin mocking her.
Now Dex knew. He knew she was scarred. He’d felt the unevenness on her back and he’d been repulsed by what he’d inadvertently touched. She didn’t blame him. She was repulsed herself. Iris flicked the completed plait down her back and stood straight, looking at herself. The white bra with tiny pink flowers was a complete contrast against the scars on her upper torso. One was pretty, the other was ugly.
She turned sideways to look at the marks on her back. The skin was worse here, more raised, more prominent if someone were to touch them. Someone like Dex. Iris raised her hands to her face, covering her eyes, unable to look any more. She knew the contour of every mark, she felt the emotional pain and anguish every time she looked at them.
They were a constant reminder of how she’d failed to save her husband’s life. The cruel twist of fate that had allowed her to live whilst Tim had suffered and died. She’d been there. She’d watched him die and there had been nothing she could do. The firefighters had smothered the flames that had caught her clothing, they’d wrapped her up and carried her out. Her last conscious sight had been that of Tim, lying there, surrounded by fire and thick smoke…dead.
Sniffing, she raised her head and forced herself to concentrate on taking deep breaths. She was due at the clinic in ten minutes and she needed to pull herself together. Work was wonderful. Work helped and at least today she wouldn’t be having to avoid Dex all the time. It was Saturday. She was thedoctor on call and he was off…somewhere, no doubt with a string of pretty bimbos following him as though he were the Pied Piper.
Ignoring her scars by not looking at them, by pretending they weren’t there, Iris blew her nose and then finished dressing. After a quick cup of tea and a piece of toast, she headed to the little hospital.
‘Good morning, Iris,’ Bub said as Iris walked into
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