psychology but it appeared he’d literally hit the nail on the head. Iris was breathing rather fast, her eyes wide with confusion as she looked up at him. The trembling was getting worse and Dex tried to ease her back into the chair but it appeared she couldn’t move.
Dex wasn’t sure exactly what was happening or what he’d actually said to bring on this reaction from her, but what he knew right then was that she needed him—and it felt so good to be needed. His birth mother hadn’t wanted him, Catherine hadn’t needed him and his parents had lied to him. Yes. It felt good that he could do something to help someone else. Dex gathered Iris into his arms, showing her that he did indeed care about her.
‘I’ve got you. Shh. It’s OK. Lean on me.’
Iris closed her eyes, her mind whirring out of control with so many different emotions. How on earth had Dex figured out about her scars? One minute she was cross with him because he was so good-looking, so dynamic and was affecting her way too much and the next she was in his arms, trembling and unable to control the feelings coursing through her.
He’d said he hadn’t talked to Melissa or Joss about her past. He’d read her résumé and discovered she was a widow. Howhad he put two and two together and come up with four? Were her scars obvious? Could he feel them beneath her clothes?
‘I’m always so careful. I always make sure I’m covered. People stare and then they…they…’ She hiccuped as though trying to control tears that were threatening to escape.
‘They what?’ he encouraged softly. So that was it. Iris had scars—physical scars on her body. It was why she dressed the way she did, to cover the scars. When he’d mentioned scars before, he’d been speaking metaphorically, not literally. His heart swelled with compassion for this woman who had obviously been through something extremely traumatic if she actually had physical scars.
He only hoped she’d let him help her. He knew she wouldn’t think he was the first choice when it came to finding a reliable friend to confide in but he wanted to help because this woman, this unique and remarkable woman, was affecting him in a way no other woman had. Not even Catherine.
‘People become sympathetic. Poor Iris. Look at her scars.’ Bitterness tinged her words and Dex wanted to wipe it all away, to let her know that it didn’t matter, but he really had no idea what to say. He didn’t want to sound patronising, he didn’t want to preach about something he knew nothing about, so he simply stood there, holding her, letting her lean on him.
‘Or they want to know how it happened. They want to talk about it, to help me, when all I want to do is forget about it and I can’t. I can’t.’ She broke on the last two words and the tears started to flow. Deep tears filled with complete anguish. She buried her face into Dex’s chest and sobbed. He held her tight, rubbing his hands lightly up and down her back in a soothing manner.
He could feel the slight roughness of her skin through the shirt. She had scars on her back. She said she had them on her arms and he wondered just how much of her body had been injured. His medical mind worked quickly to come upwith possible scenarios for such extensive scarring and he finally settled on burns. Scars like this could only have been caused by fire. He’d been an A and E specialist for so long, he’d seen and treated everything.
He would patch people up, get them breathing again, get them sorted out. He would resuscitate and intubate, he would debride and bandage. He would do his job and then send them on their way to the ward or to a specialist or to Theatre. It was the type of medicine he’d always liked—fix ’em up and move ’em out. It had suited his personality of being in the thick of things but still holding himself apart. It was another after-effect of the lessons he’d learned with Catherine. Don’t give too much of yourself, keep your heart
Dex wasn’t sure exactly what was happening or what he’d actually said to bring on this reaction from her, but what he knew right then was that she needed him—and it felt so good to be needed. His birth mother hadn’t wanted him, Catherine hadn’t needed him and his parents had lied to him. Yes. It felt good that he could do something to help someone else. Dex gathered Iris into his arms, showing her that he did indeed care about her.
‘I’ve got you. Shh. It’s OK. Lean on me.’
Iris closed her eyes, her mind whirring out of control with so many different emotions. How on earth had Dex figured out about her scars? One minute she was cross with him because he was so good-looking, so dynamic and was affecting her way too much and the next she was in his arms, trembling and unable to control the feelings coursing through her.
He’d said he hadn’t talked to Melissa or Joss about her past. He’d read her résumé and discovered she was a widow. Howhad he put two and two together and come up with four? Were her scars obvious? Could he feel them beneath her clothes?
‘I’m always so careful. I always make sure I’m covered. People stare and then they…they…’ She hiccuped as though trying to control tears that were threatening to escape.
‘They what?’ he encouraged softly. So that was it. Iris had scars—physical scars on her body. It was why she dressed the way she did, to cover the scars. When he’d mentioned scars before, he’d been speaking metaphorically, not literally. His heart swelled with compassion for this woman who had obviously been through something extremely traumatic if she actually had physical scars.
He only hoped she’d let him help her. He knew she wouldn’t think he was the first choice when it came to finding a reliable friend to confide in but he wanted to help because this woman, this unique and remarkable woman, was affecting him in a way no other woman had. Not even Catherine.
‘People become sympathetic. Poor Iris. Look at her scars.’ Bitterness tinged her words and Dex wanted to wipe it all away, to let her know that it didn’t matter, but he really had no idea what to say. He didn’t want to sound patronising, he didn’t want to preach about something he knew nothing about, so he simply stood there, holding her, letting her lean on him.
‘Or they want to know how it happened. They want to talk about it, to help me, when all I want to do is forget about it and I can’t. I can’t.’ She broke on the last two words and the tears started to flow. Deep tears filled with complete anguish. She buried her face into Dex’s chest and sobbed. He held her tight, rubbing his hands lightly up and down her back in a soothing manner.
He could feel the slight roughness of her skin through the shirt. She had scars on her back. She said she had them on her arms and he wondered just how much of her body had been injured. His medical mind worked quickly to come upwith possible scenarios for such extensive scarring and he finally settled on burns. Scars like this could only have been caused by fire. He’d been an A and E specialist for so long, he’d seen and treated everything.
He would patch people up, get them breathing again, get them sorted out. He would resuscitate and intubate, he would debride and bandage. He would do his job and then send them on their way to the ward or to a specialist or to Theatre. It was the type of medicine he’d always liked—fix ’em up and move ’em out. It had suited his personality of being in the thick of things but still holding himself apart. It was another after-effect of the lessons he’d learned with Catherine. Don’t give too much of yourself, keep your heart
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