After what could only be called a successful day, I was buzzing with excitement. After this morning with Adam, and then Marco, I'd had a brilliant lesson on Roxy with Charlie. The gorgeous little mare never disappointed me, and I felt as safe as anything on her.

Charlie was grinning from ear to ear when I told her what Marco had said to me. "He's totally into you, Lou. I told you so, didn't I?"

I blushed, finally accepting that I may well have captured the attention of the finest male specimen on the planet. "How are you getting on with Jonny?"

She glanced around, making sure we were on our own. "He's hot," she said. "Like smoking hot. And—" she grabbed my arm "—he cooks, Lou. He actually cooks. And I don't mean a microwave burger—proper food. Do you know what I had for tea last night? Mushroom tagliatelle in a creamy cheese and chive sauce, and lemon soufflé for dessert. I don't even go to restaurants anymore that serve food like that. Gourmet food to John is a burger that isn't chargrilled black."

I giggled. "Has he been serving your food topless?"

"No," she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. "But he came out of the bathroom last night with just a towel wrapped around his waist. I nearly fainted. If it wasn't for the fact I've not shaved all week, I'd have jumped him there and then."

Bursting out into laughter, I didn't doubt her words for a second. I faked shock horror, and said, "You're a married woman, Charlie Moreton!"

She visibly winced, the smile dropping from her face like an anchor through water. "It's not been right for a long time. The age gap is causing issues. I'm broody—I want kids. He doesn't want to be an old dad, so he won't entertain the idea. He says he likes his independence too much."

"Charlie, no. Why didn't you tell me? How long has this been going on?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she appeared totally indifferent. "A while. Probably about a year."

Tears welled up instantly. "Charls, why didn't you tell me?"

"You had so much of your own crap going on, you didn't need mine on top of it. Besides, it's not like we could talk much, is it?"

We both attempted to giggle but ended up hugging each other, crying. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I hate the thought of you dealing with that on your own. Don't ever do that again, got me?"

She nodded. "He's extending his trip in America. Giving us both some space. He won't be back much before September."

I gasped. "You're joking?"

"No. The longer he's gone, the easier it is to accept the reality I might be divorced by the time I'm thirty-one. Then I've got to start the whole dating thing again." She groaned, and rolled her eyes. "I can't be doing with that. Too much hassle."

"I'm sorry, Charls. You come to me about anything, even if it's just to cry down the phone."

She nodded.

I gave her a serious look. "And no jumping Jonny." She pouted. "We can't have him distracted whilst Adam is lurking around."

"I have patience," she said, grinning.

Tyson padded around the corner, Jonny following behind. The poor bloke looked confused when we both exploded into fits of giggles.

***

I couldn't wait to see Jake. Despite the dark cloud of Adam still lingering in the background, I was feeling a torrent of happiness I'd never thought possible. After Marco treated us to his culinary skills with some pasta, a jar of chopped tomatoes, and some grated cheese, I was feeling tired after my day of excitement. Just wanting to chill out in bed with the TV on in the background, I announced my intentions to Jake.

"Try not to overheat the PlayStation again," I told them both, smiling.

Twice now, they'd played a variety of games from Call of Duty to Grand Theft Auto until the small hours, only stopping because the console froze after reaching temperatures of goodness knows what. Marco ended up standing outside with it for twenty minutes to let the chilly night air cool it down.

"Actually, I might come up with you. If you're ok with it?" Jake said.

My heart stopped dead. Was he suggesting something sexual? Leaping back into the rhythm of a galloping racehorse, my heart pulsed adrenaline through me as if my life depended on it. I opened my mouth to respond, only to realise I couldn't because my throat had gone so dry.

I nodded and gave him a nervous smile. Perhaps if I beat him upstairs, I could change into my pyjamas before he reached my room. Then there would be no hints or insinuations, and he wouldn't have to see the ugly scars painted all over my body.

Squeaking a quick goodnight to Marco, I took the stairs two at a time, nearly falling over as I yanked my t-shirt off on my way up. I ran in my room, unhooked my bra, pulled my vest top on, and started on my jeans. I was just wriggling my way into my soft pyjama bottoms when Jake came in.

"I'm even getting too fat for my pyjamas," I said, looking at him in despair. I'd barely gotten them over my hip bones.

He chuckled. "I know you women freak out about weight, but you do need to put some on, Louisa. It would make me feel a lot easier knowing you're a healthy weight rather than borderline anorexic."

I looked down at myself, thinking over his words. I'd never been bigger than a size six in my entire life. Before I could really develop womanly curves, Adam's claws were too deep into me, and my mindset had always been to keep stick-thin.

"I...I've never been this big. This is strange for me." I stared down my top at my fried egg sized breasts. I'd always wanted nice boobs. Maybe this was the way to finally get some.

"Maybe," he said, closing the door and walking towards me. "Maybe you'll find yourself being a lot more settled and confident with everything once your body is on top form. Deprivation of nutrients does funny things to the brain and the body."

He had a valid point. Maybe he was right. A cheeky thought crossed my mind. I had to say it. "So you're saying that at the moment I'm unstable and unattractive?"

He grinned. "I was waiting for that. Seems we need a reminder about how you take compliments."

"How was any of that a compliment?"

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached for my hand, and pulled me between his legs. "Because I was saying that you could be even more amazing than what you are now."

I laughed. "That is so corny. Have you memorised some sort of 'things not to say to women' book?"

He continued to smile but said nothing. Breaking our eye contact, he turned his focus to my exposed midriff. In my hurry to change, I'd managed to cover my boobs, but had been so preoccupied with my shorts, I hadn't finished covering myself properly.

I noticed where his eyes were trained—on the three-inch red scar to the right and just below my belly button. A ball of nerves constricted my throat. Reality hit me square in the face, sending my head into a spin. The moment had come. Someone was seeing my tortured past with their own eyes for the first time. And that was just the beginning.

Jake moved a hand up to my stomach, making me flinch. He stopped several inches away, and glanced up at me.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Lou. I'd never raise a hand to you in that way."

Adam used to say that. No, stop it. Positive. Think positive. This is Jake, not Adam. They are not the same. Marshmallows, marshmallows, marshmallows...

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. I could do this. Heck, I made a move to kiss the guy last weekend, I sure as hell could handle him running a finger over an old scar.

"I know," I replied.

"Look at me," he said, squeezing my hand. I opened my eyes to see his perfect blue sapphires shining back at me. "Just keep looking at me, ok? Tell me what you see in my eyes."

I felt exposed, bare, like all the things I liked about him were no longer going to be just mine to enjoy. All I wanted to do was pull my top down and dive under the covers.

"What colour are they?" he said, keeping my attention.

"Blue," I said. "Like sapphires. They make me think of sparkling sapphires."

"Sapphires are a pretty stone," he said, smiling. "I like that comparison. Do they make you think of anything else?"

I stared deeper into his eyes, feeling almost hypnotised as I focused fully on them. "A perfect, clear ocean. Like what you see in a catalogue of exotic beach holidays."

"Ah, the kind with the white sand, scorching sun, and a private butler who serves you delicious cocktails all day whilst you swing in a hammock?"

I giggled. "Yes, totally that kind. A piece of heaven on earth."

"Well," he said. "The next time you feel uncomfortable, I want you to go to that beach, in your mind, and think of me feeding you marshmallows. Now that really would be heaven on earth."

Laughing, I nodded. "Hopefully my clothes will fit when I'm there."

"They will."

And that was when I felt it—the first brush stroke of his thumb over my scar. I looked down, preparing myself for my fit of fear. But it never came. I watched him run his fingers over it, one by one, each one making me think this would be the one where I freaked out, but it didn't happen.

"Calm down, sweetheart. You're breathing like you've just ran against Linford Christie. Am I hurting you?"

I shook my head, still entranced by his touch. My flesh had a slight dip where the scar was. I'd spent hours running my own fingers over it, thinking how he'd carved a piece of me away without even realising it. The skin either side of it was slightly puckered, giving it an even more distasteful appearance.

"You know I was touching you before you even said the word 'sapphires'."

I stopped staring at my belly, and looked at him. "Really?"

He nodded. He stilled his hand and placed his entire palm over the damaged area. "You know what that tells me?"

I shook my head.

"That tells me a lot of your fear is all in your head. It's not the physical scars you're scared of, is it?"

My eyes brimmed with tears instantly. "No," I whispered.

"It's the pain of the memories attached to the scars."

Nodding, I shook some tears free, biting down on my lip in the hope of stemming any further flow.

"Hey," he said, reaching up to my cheek with his other hand. "Don't cry. It's ok, I promise." He paused for a moment and looked around the room. Patting the bed, he said, "Lay down for me."

"I...I..."

"It's nothing sexual, Lou. Nothing is going to happen there until you tell me you're ready, ok?"

After a moment of hesitation, I did as he asked and laid on the bed. He propped the pillows up and told me to lie back on them. Flicking the bedroom light off, he switched the TV on and handed me the remote.

"Find something you want to watch and just forget about me. I'm not even here, ok?"

He climbed over me and laid on his side next to me. He stayed with his head level to my stomach, his focus fixed on it. The heat from his body covered me in goosebumps, and the spicy musk of his aftershave teased me into temptation. I skipped through the channels, settling on re-runs of Friends. I'd seen each episode dozens of times, but they never failed to make me laugh. Comedy was something I needed right now to keep me in a positive mind frame.

One of my favourite episodes had just started—The One Where Paul's The Man—and I was giggling away almost instantly. In the shadowed depths of my room, I relaxed into this weirdly intimate situation. How could something so non-sexual feel so intimate and profound?

By the time the break came on, I was so chilled, I found myself wanting the careful, slow figure of eight Jake was tracing over my belly. His touch was so soft, so smooth, it entranced me, lulled me into a state of ease I'd never known existed.

"That's really nice," I said, not even thinking to keep my thoughts to myself.

"Good," he whispered. "I want you to want my touch, to enjoy it like you should. But most of all, I don't want you to ever feel ashamed of any scars. No mighty warrior ever lived through a battle without a scar—and they wore them with pride. You should too."

I laughed. "When you say 'mighty warrior', it makes me think of a naked man running around with a spear and war paint all over him."

"Well, I think you'd be brave enough to run alongside any one of them."

"Best not put any more weight on then."

He chuckled. "Nice comeback."

Just as Friends restarted, I felt his hot breath skimming over my skin. I shivered. With each gentle trail of his fingertips, he was slowly melting away my mental barriers, showing me new, and strange, territory. I realised that this right here, was far more personal than sex. Like he'd said earlier, it wasn't the physical side I was afraid of, it was the emotional side. And in the space of a mere half an hour, my clever, handsome man had completely turned my perspective around, made me eager for his hands on me, instead of eager to cover myself.

The way he seemed to be inside my mind, to know how to make me relax and accept all these new sensations, was just incredible. It terrified me in one aspect, but in another, it made me feel completely whole again, like there was hope for me. Hope for me in a steady, normal relationship where I could be me once more.

He touched his lips to my side, treating me to a velvet covered kiss. I gasped and closed my eyes, reeling in the tender move. Bundles of throbbing tingles shot straight between my legs, waking my heart into double speed.

"That'll do for tonight," he said, moving up the bed.

He kissed me on the lips, stroking my bottom lip with his tongue. I opened my mouth, inviting him in to explore. He stroked my tongue with his—a leisurely, affectionate caress of not just my body, but my soul.

When he pulled back, I found myself wanting the kiss to continue, to be completely and utterly absorbed in him whilst he sent me to heaven. He left me breathless, heated, and absolutely besotted with him.

Just like the wise Aretha Franklin once said, it's in his kiss.