CHAPTER 23

“I feel stupid lying here with only woolly socks on,” Isobel said.

“You’re the one who wanted to keep some clothes on. Now you’re officially partially clothed. And, for the record, your stretch marks turn me on nearly as much as all those gorgeous curves of yours.” Callum stroked Isobel’s arm.

“You’re old and your eyesight is obviously fading.”

He grinned at the ceiling. “There is that, but I’d have to be completely blind not to notice how stunning you are.”

“Idiot,” she grumbled.

She lay with her cheek on his chest, playing with the hair. She had one leg thrown over his prosthetics, as though they were real limbs.

“You said earlier that we’re together now?”

Callum honestly didn’t know what answer she wanted to hear, so he went with the truth. “Aye. We’re together.”

She stilled before resuming the circles she was drawing on his chest. “I don’t think I can do another relationship.”

He completely understood. With her experience, there was no way she could trust that he would be there for her. Even marriage hadn’t been a guarantee for her. The only way to prove he was different from the losers she’d known before was to show her. And that would take time.

For a minute, he was shocked to find himself thinking about a future with Isobel. About permanence. About living his life with what he had now instead of lamenting what he’d lost. She’d given him that. His miracle.

“One day at a time,” he said, and kissed her hair. “We’ve got enough to think about without planning a future. Let’s see how things go first.”

He felt her tense, and she looked up at him. “Callum, are you saying you want a future with me because you think I might be pregnant?”

“No. I’m saying it because you’re you.” He looked down at her. “It’s early days, but Isobel, you’ve got to know that you’ve given me more than I ever expected to have. If this is all I ever get, then it’s still a treasure worth having.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she pressed her cheek back against him.

“What’s it like—having prosthetic legs, I mean?”

The question would normally have sent him into a rage. Instead, he gave it serious consideration. “I’m getting more used to it now. These new legs have an amazing range of mobility. There are moments when I can even forget they aren’t my natural legs. I can run in them, twist around, walk backwards, go upstairs, cycle, even swim. The prosthetics I had before this were much more basic.”

“These sound like a real godsend.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Aye. They are. But it’s still different to having your own legs. You have to think about everything you would normally have taken for granted. Like in the morning, you’d swing your legs over the edge of the bed and walk to the bathroom. You wouldn’t even think about it. Now, I need to decide if I’m going to put on my legs first, or get there in my chair.” He stroked her thick hair and felt himself settle. “My body temperature has gone up—that’s another thing that’s different now. I rarely wear anything more than a shirt since the bomb.”

“Why’s that? The body temperature thing.” She pressed an absent-minded kiss to his chest, which made him smile.

“Less surface area to disperse the heat.”

“I would never have thought of that.”

“The other thing I struggle with is not feeling connected to the ground. Before, my feet would be there, feeling the texture and terrain, sending continuous messages to my brain about where I was standing. Messages I didn’t even register that I was receiving. Now, the ground seems far away most days.”

“Like you’re on stilts? Kind of.”

“Aye, kind of.”

She shifted to lie on her stomach, putting her chin on his chest. She humbled him with her beauty. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a more beautiful woman. Inside and out, Isobel Sinclair was stunning.

“It must have been so painful. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through.” There was compassion, rather than pity, in her eyes.

“It still is painful. Some days I go insane from the sensation of pins and needles in my lower leg or my foot. Phantom pains. On some level, my brain doesn’t realise they’re gone.” He swallowed his pride and gave her the rest. “The worst part for me was feeling incapable. Having to rely on other people and pieces of equipment to get me up and going. Feeling like I wasn’t a real man anymore.”

Her smile was sexy as hell. “Oh, baby, trust me. You are all man.”

He chuckled. “You’re a nut, you know that? I’m pouring my heart out here and you’re thinking about sex. Again.”

“I admit nothing. But if you’d like to start over, I wouldn’t say no.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Give me a minute to recover. As you pointed out, I’m an old man.”

“True.” She glanced down his body to his legs. “Will you let me see you with them off?”

He hesitated. “It isn’t pretty.”

“Cry me a river, Mr Universe. You have more muscles than are probably legal.”

With a shake of his head, he moved her aside and sat up. “You asked for it.”

She lay on her side and watched as he released the suction valve on each of the cups holding his residual legs. Without looking at her, he slipped the prosthetics off and put them on the floor beside the bed. He sat there, waiting for her verdict.

His head jerked up when he felt a smooth hand run over the stump on his left leg.

“Badges of courage,” she whispered as she traced a deep and ugly scar that ran up his thigh. “So much courage.”

He looked around at her and saw only understanding in her face.

“You need to kiss me now,” he said roughly.

She made a production of rolling her eyes. “Honestly, you are so demanding. Lie back and I’ll force myself to give you what you need. But I want you to remember that this is a huge effort for me.”

“I appreciate it.” He lay back on the bed, expecting her to lean into him.

But, as usual, Isobel didn’t do what he expected. Instead, she climbed on top of him and straddled his hips.

“Where are the condoms?” she said as she ran her hands up his chest. “I’ve decided to sacrifice myself for the cause.”

“In the drawer. Want to let me in on what the cause is?”

“Why, I’m surprised you don’t already know.” She reached into the drawer, the movement making her grind down on him and earning her a groan. “I’m sacrificing myself to bolster the male ego.” She bit the pack and ripped it open. “Apparently, even though you have more muscles than Jason Momoa, you still need your ego to be stroked.”

“Trust me, that isn’t the part that needs stroking.”

She handed him the condom. “Show me,” she whispered.

And he did.

Twice.

Not bad for an old guy.