Chapter Eighteen

Hal

Izzy gives a loud, involuntary “Ow!” and her body jerks beneath me.

Alarmed, I withdraw immediately and stare down into her wide eyes as she blinks several times. I push up and sit back on my heels, and together we glance down at my erection. There’s blood on the tip of the condom.

“Fucking hell,” I say without thinking. “Izzy, are you a virgin?”

She looks at the condom. “Well, now I’m not.”

I’m too shocked to laugh. She swallows hard and her face crumples. She lifts up on the bed so she can swing her leg across me, after which she scoots to my left and goes to rise.

I’m quicker, though. I discard the condom, move to the edge of the bed, and grab her arm as she goes to walk away. She falls back, sitting between my thighs, and I hold her tightly.

“Hey.” I kiss her hair, rub her arms slowly, terrified she’s going to push me away. “It’s okay. Shh.”

“I’m sorry.” Her spine is stiff and she’s quivering, and I’m reminded of a beautiful beagle I had in my surgery a few months ago. She’d been mistreated by her previous owners, and her new ones said she didn’t trust anyone. They were amazed that within minutes she let me hold her and see to her injured paw.

I continue to whisper to Izzy, trying to tell her with my body language that it’s okay, it doesn’t matter, and everything’s going to be all right. It takes a while, but I’m patient, even though my own heart hammers and my head spins with the revelation that she’s never been with a guy. I’m her first. Holy shit.

I force myself to breathe slowly and relax, knowing she’ll pick up on it. Sure enough, after a few minutes her heaving breaths calm, and slowly, gradually, she relaxes back against me.

I feel a huge surge of relief that she didn’t run out of the room. Sliding my arms around her, I kiss her ear, her neck, her shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask her softly.

“I’m nearly thirty,” she whispers. “I didn’t think it would be like that at my age. I thought you probably wouldn’t notice.”

I admit I wouldn’t have thought she’d bleed at her age. Usually once women use tampons and ride bikes the hymen’s no longer a problem. Allegedly. I’ve never slept with a virgin, so I wouldn’t know firsthand.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Izzy, that doesn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you just tell me you’ve never been with a guy?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d want to sleep with me if you knew.”

I puzzle over that. “What do you mean?”

She looks over her shoulder, although her eyes are downcast. “You’ve been with a lot of girls, Hal. I didn’t think you’d want someone who was clueless in the bedroom.”

I let out a long breath. “I wanted you, Izzy, no matter how many partners you’d had.” I still can’t believe what’s happened. “Honey, you’re gorgeous, funny, sexy… How on earth have you stayed a virgin so long? You went out with guys, didn’t you?”

“I had a few dates.”

“But none of them wanted to get you into bed?” Immediately, I know the answer. “Fuck,” I say. “That’s where it went wrong.”

She’s quiet for so long I don’t think she’s going to answer. Then, eventually, she says, “His name was Eoin.” She pronounces it Owen. “E-O-I-N,” she clarifies. “He was Irish.”

“Red hair?” I ask her, vaguely remembering the guy.

She nods. “I was nineteen. We dated for a few months, and then one night he asked me back to his place. I wanted to go—he seemed nice, and I was eager to find out what all the fuss was about. He took off my shirt. I didn’t want him to, but he talked me into it. He knew about the scars, but when he saw them…” Her bottom lip trembles. “There was a look of… revulsion on his face, and he said, ‘Ugh.’ That was it. I put my clothes back on and walked out. And I’ve never let a man see me since.”

We sit there in the semi-darkness, listening to the rain hammering on the windows. The lamp outside emits a faint light, casting a reflection of the rain across us. It looks as if water is running down her, rivulets flowing over her face and the arms of her T-shirt. It’s a beautiful sight, and I wish I had a camera.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I wish you’d told me.” I cringe now as I think of how I tossed her on the bed and jumped on her. And in the bathroom at Leon’s house… Jesus. Now it all makes sense—her hesitancy, her reticence. She’d never had a man touch her intimately before, and I shoved my hand in her underwear without asking and made her come in front of me. That she let me and didn’t slap my face is a miracle. “I should have been gentler,” I tell her. “I really am so very sorry.”

She turns her head and kisses my fingers where they rest on her shoulder. The touch warms me through. “You were gentle,” she says. “The fault’s not yours.”

She thinks I’ve been gentle. I’m filled with shame.

I’m going to have to start all over again.

I run my hands down her arms over the wet T-shirt, then back up, and rest them on her shoulders. “Izz,” I tell her. “You’re going to have to let me see the scars.”

Immediately she stiffens. “No,” she says firmly.

“Sweetheart, I’m a vet. We both are. I’m not going to recoil at the sight of burned skin. And your fear will stand between us until you let me look.”

A tear runs down her cheek, and she dashes it away. “I can’t.”

“Izzy. Look at me.”

She hesitates. Then she slowly turns in my arms and lifts her face to mine. I bend my head and kiss her.

“It’s me,” I tell her simply. “Your best friend in the whole world. You know what I’m like. The kind of things I’ve seen in the surgery. You really think I’m going to be frightened off by a scar?”

“It’s bad,” she whispers.

“Is it as bad as that stray Pitbull from the barn?” The poor thing had been locked inside when the hay caught fire. It suffered terrible burns across a good deal of its body. We did what we could for it, but in the end I couldn’t bear to see it suffer anymore and I put it to sleep. I don’t mind admitting I cried when I did it.

Her brow wrinkles as she thinks. “No,” she says slowly.

“How about the pug who had the pot of boiling water over it?”

“No, I suppose it’s not that bad.”

“Then come on. You shouldn’t stay in a wet T-shirt anyway. You’ll catch a cold.”

She gives a short laugh. Still she hesitates. I’ve always known how worried she is about baring herself, but I suppose I didn’t realize how deep-rooted her fear is. Now I understand why she’s so reserved, so self-possessed. It’s like she’s wrapped herself in barbed wire to keep everyone away. Slowly, though, I hope I’m peeling the wire away from her. Let me in, Izzy, I beg her silently.

I can see her thinking, her mind whirring. The rain lashes on the window, and thunder booms. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to see anyway, but we’ve got to start somewhere.

She turns her head and looks up at me. Then she gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

I inhale with elation, although I don’t say anything. But I do slide a finger beneath her chin and lift it to press a kiss on her lips. Then I take her shirt at the base and peel it carefully up her. After lifting it over her hair, I drop it to the floor.

Izzy’s spine is stiff and she’s breathing quickly, but she doesn’t move; she sits there, head bowed, and lets me look.

I start with her back. It’s not too bad. I know the saucepan tipped the liquid onto her shoulder and mostly down her front. There are a couple of patches on her back. I touch them gently, feeling the puckered skin. Then I run my fingers down her right arm. The whole upper arm is damaged, tapering off on her forearm. The elbow’s fine, but the sensitive underarm skin is affected.

She turns her head, and she’s watching me now, but I’m in full vet mode, and I pay no heed to her gaze as I continue exploring.

I return to her shoulder and move my fingers to her collarbone. This is where the worst damage happened. Her skin here looks like paper that’s been crumpled up and then smoothed out again. It’s a landscape of ridges and valleys, and although it’s hard to tell in the silvery gray light, I know it will be light and dark pink, with patches of red. I stroke it lightly, conscious it might feel uncomfortable for her, and that the lack of elasticity in the skin must make it sore at times. Her right breast is affected, especially on the right-hand side. I brush a thumb over her nipple; it’s untouched, velvety smooth, but I don’t linger. The reflection of the rain shows me where the liquid must have run—between her breasts, and on the right side of her body, down her ribs. There’s a small scar on her right hip, but mostly it ends around her waistline.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” I tell her honestly, bringing my fingers up between her breasts, back to her collarbone. “Does this get sore?” I trace the thickened ridge of skin that runs above her breast that feels tight. I can imagine it tearing if she were to strain it.

“Sometimes.”

I think of how I handed her the dog at the farm that day while I climbed over the fence. She didn’t make a sound, but lifting heavy animals must make her skin feel taut and sore.

I look down at her breasts, at her soft nipples, and I’m pleased for her that they’re untouched.

“Why are you smiling?” she asks.

“I was thinking you’ll be able to feed a baby when we have one.”

There’s a sudden lull in the rain, and the room goes silent. Izzy’s staring into my eyes. “We?” she repeats.

I hold her gaze, conscious that our relationship pivots on this moment. “We.”

Her lips part, and then she gives me the most beautiful smile, her whole face lighting up. I smile back, happy that she’s happy.

She moves a little against me. “You’ve still got an erection.”

“I have a naked woman nestled between my thighs,” I point out. “She has extremely nice breasts. I’m only human.”

“You still want to…?”

“Oh yes.” There’s a mountain of vehemence in my words.

She looks down at the T-shirt on the floor. “Can I put it back on?”

“It’s wet, Izz.”

“I know…”

She still feels vulnerable, and I want her to be comfortable this first time. So I reach down beside the bed where I remember dropping the tee I wore yesterday and retrieve it. I turn it the right way out and open it up for her to slide her arms into. She does so shyly, and I pull it over her head and down her body.

“It smells of you,” she says, nestling back into my arms.

“Sorry about that.”

“In a nice way, Hal. Of custard.”

I laugh and move back up the bed to the pillows. “Come here.”

She follows me, and we get under the duvet. I pull it over us, even though it’s warm in the room, and flick on the fan, which circles slowly just down from the skylight. The rain’s started again, and lightning flashes, followed by a crack of thunder.

“Wow,” Izzy says, curling up by my side. “That’s some storm.”

I put an arm around her and hold her tightly. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”