Luke (11 page)

"You
okay?"

Turning, he found Faith in the doorway watching him.
Was he okay?
He'd just watched her, as he had over and over again now, get thoroughly engrossed in her work. She'd panted alongside Ally, sweated and laughed and cried with her as well, giving, as she always did, one hundred and ten percent to every single patient she had.

God, he loved that about her.

"Want me to take him?" she asked, holding her arms out for the baby.

"I'm fine. He just came out hungry."

"Ally wants to try to put him to her breast. I thought I'd check his diaper first—"

"I already did."

She blinked. "Really?"

"Aren't doctors allowed to do that?"

"Well, yes, but—"

He stroked the soft, downy head of the little boy who was slowly winding up for another temper tantrum. "Because in case you haven't noticed, this patient and I are having a deep discussion on life's meaning."

She laughed. "It's just that M.D.s don't usually—" At his raised eyebrow, she stopped. "Okay, I have to admit, you're not the typical doctor."

Now that caught his attention. "There's a 'typical' doctor?"

"Yeah, at least from a nurse's perspective there is. They're egotistical, arrogant, impolite … just to mention a few character flaws."

"I have all those traits," he said quietly. "Just ask anyone I've ever worked with."

"Well, you've worked with me," she said just as quietly, moving closer, her eyes on his face. "And I have to say, I don't see it."

"Are you forgetting what landed me here in the first place?"

He stared at her, almost believing that. He hadn't realized there was anything wrong with his life before. Living for work had been all that mattered. Living for his patients.

But since he'd come here…

"You're the most compassionate man I've ever met," she whispered, putting her hand on his arm. "You're warm and giving, and—"

The infant in his arms let out one sharp howl, his eyes narrowed right on them. Then he opened his mouth, looking for all the world like a baby bird.

Faith laughed, and so did Luke, but his smile faded when he took a good long look at her. She was pale, and when she pushed a strand of hair from her face, her fingers shook slightly. With a frown, he reached out, stroked her jaw, and found her skin damp and clammy. "You okay?"

"Sure." But her smile wobbled and she didn't meet his eyes this time. "Just a long day."

Gently he bounced the baby, who was now crying, trying to soothe him as he kept his concentration on Faith. "After a long day, you yawn. You don't look like you're going to pass out." He stood up. "Sit down. Sit down," he repeated firmly when she weaved, and nudged her into the chair. "Faith—"

"It's probably just that stupid viral thing again," she said, leaning her head back, closing her eyes.

"When was the last time you had a physical?"

Her mouth tightened.

"Quite awhile, huh?"

"I'm fine."

"You're run down and something is off. Let me take a blood test."

"No."

"Faith—"

She curled up in the chair. "You want to be a good doctor? Then go take care of Ally while I catch five."

* * *

The next night Faith was actually taking it easy. She wore sweat bottoms, a tank top and her beloved bunny slippers, and sat in front of the television doing as she so rarely did—nothing.

She'd done her accounting, and had shocked herself by being able to pay a few more bills than she'd expected. She'd placed her order for supplies and she'd gone over staff scheduling.

She was, in short, unaccustomedly caught up. At first, she hadn't known what to do with herself, but she'd figured it out soon enough between a bowl of homemade caramelized popcorn and the channel changer.

When the knock came at her door, she nearly leaped out of her skin in surprise. An emergency? No, if it was a clinic emergency, they'd be knocking downstairs, not on her door up here.

Now if she'd ordered that Chinese food she'd wanted…

Padding to the door, wishing she hadn't left her handy dandy baseball bat downstairs, she squinted through the window on the door.

That unbearably familiar shadow spoke for itself. So did the way her insides tingled and her nipples hardened.

Oh God, he'd finally come for that wild, unencumbered, animal sex she'd promised him! At just the thought, her thighs quivered. Damn, when would she learn? She needed to lounge around in silk and lace, not torn cotton.

A single soft, decisive knock sounded. "You going to let me in?"

Was she? A flash of them fulfilling her fantasies came to mind; both of them naked by moonlight, limbs tangled, rolling across her bed, breathless and hungry, devouring each other.

Oh yeah, she was going to let him in. She was going to let him—

"Open the door, Faith."

Yes, open the door, Faith. It took her a moment, mostly because her hands had gone a little slippery at the thought of him naked and willing, but she managed, probably with a far too needy expression on her face because he took one look at her and went utterly still.

Oh yeah, way to go, sexy momma. She patted her hair, which she had clipped up even though most of it had fallen back out. She tugged up the low-slung sweats that kept slipping, tugged down the thin tank top she'd washed so many times the pink had faded to light gray. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Stop." He put a hand on her arm to stop her fussing, then looked into her eyes. "You're so beautiful, Faith. I keep forgetting just how beautiful, then I see you and you take my breath."

By some miracle, she drew in some air. She might have laughed, but he wasn't laughing. Nope, his eyes were hot, hot, hot, and all that air she'd just dragged in got caught in her throat. "I—I didn't know you saw me that way."

"Then you're not paying attention."

"Luke—"

"Are you forgetting what it's like when we kiss?"

"Um … no."

"Good. Remember that, okay?"

Now she realized he was holding something behind his hands, looking at her … as if she was one of his patients.

"Let's sit down," he suggested. "What are you watching?"

He'd never taken an interest in anything as mundane as television, never. He'd certainly never been so … sweet. Narrowing her eyes, she held her ground. "Why are you suddenly using your best bedside manner on me?"

"What are you talking about? I'm always this charming."

When she just looked at him, he sighed. "Okay, truth…" He pulled his hands from behind his back. In them was a blood kit.

"No—"

"Yes." He slipped one of his big, warm hands in hers. "There's nothing to be afraid of, I'm actually really good at drawing blood—"

"I'm not afraid of a needle."

"Well, good, because I suspect you've got a problem with your blood sugar."

"I do not!"

"Look, Faith, humor me, okay? I know you think you've got that lingering flu virus—"

"I do—"

"But I think it's something else, and you can't just keep ignoring it, it's not safe."

What wasn't safe was how she'd actually thought he'd come here for another reason entirely, which was really humiliating when she dwelled on it, which of course she was. "I'll worry about myself."

"But that's silly. I'm right here and perfectly capable of getting those answers we need. We just get a little sample—"

She made an involuntary noise of angst and put her arms behind her back.

"It's just a finger prick."

What she really wanted was for him to vanish, to leave her alone with her fattening caramel popcorn and television set and overactive hormones, leave her alone to her very busy life which didn't have the room for a man. But before she could say so, he had her arm extended and resting on his thigh as he swabbed her finger with an alcohol pad.

"Okay, I lied. I don't like needles," she said, feeling absurdly nervous.

"Really," he said dryly.

Her heart was pounding, her palms sweaty. "Aren't you supposed to be distracting me?"

"If you're good, I'll give you a lollipop."

She tried not to tense. "You
have a lollipop?"

"Well, no…" He flashed a grin. "Okay, pick another prize. Anything."

You,
she thought inanely.
I pick you.

"Can't think of anything?" He stroked her arm. "I've gotta admit, I'm a little surprised, Faith. You always seem to know exactly what you want. Don't hold your breath… Relax, just a small poke—"

"Ouch!" she yelped, but she didn't really mean it, it was more the anticipation that startled her than the actual pain. He was, as he'd promised, good at it.

She had a feeling he was good at everything he set his mind to. He was intent on what he was doing now, squeezing a drop of blood from her finger—

"Ouch!" she complained again.

"Big baby."

"I am not, I—"

"Shh." Head bent to his task, he carefully bandaged her finger, then worked the kit to get her blood sugar count.

If he turned out to be right, and she was hypo- or hyperglycemic, it was going to be more than a little embarrassing. Here she was, a health professional, ignoring her own health.

But of course he was wrong. She just was overly susceptible to the flu, she—

With a sweet gentleness that made her feel more weak than the needle had, he lifted her finger to his lips. "All better?" he murmured silkily, and she melted. Might have melted right into his lap if his kit hadn't suddenly beeped into the air, startling her.

He looked at the little machine and all sexy playfulness left his face as he let out a low, long whistle. "I suppose you're going to tell me it's the flu, not that caramel popcorn that sent your blood sugar rocketing to twice the normal count right?"

Chapter 8

«
^
»

T
he next day Luke was still thinking about it. He'd come to care for Faith, more than he expected, and damn it, he worried. He worried the same as he worried about any patient.

Well, maybe not exactly the same.

She came to the lab at the hospital to get full blood work done. She was classified as borderline diabetic, which she could control by diet if she chose. She did.

He knew how Faith felt about natural healing, knew she'd follow proper diet, etc., get the proper exercise and that she would keep it all under control. Logically, he really did know this. She was smart, she was healthy, she knew what to do.

Which made the intense fear he felt for her way over the top. The urge to beat his chest and act all Neanderthal, insisting she let him help her, was horrifyingly strong.

Somehow he managed to rein it in, though when he went to her house the next night, she didn't answer the door. Fine. A clear message. He could deal with that.

On his next Saturday at the clinic, she played it cool.

So did he. He'd been e-mailing her all sorts of info regarding diabetes, which she'd been politely thanking him for. She wrote that she and Shelby had figured out a dietary plan to properly control her blood sugar and that she was fine, thank-you very much, and that she'd see him next Saturday.

No mention of hot sex, damn it.

Burying himself in his own hospital work helped. After one particularly brutal shift, he just happened to walk by the nurses' station, as he did a thousand times a day. Since he worked regularly with several of the women standing there, he nodded and smiled.

All talking abruptly stopped and they just stared at him.

He looked down to make sure he hadn't violated any social niceties, but his zipper was up and every button was in its place. "Uh … problem?"

One of the nurses let out a startled laugh. "No, you're … fine. I think."

"It's just that we've never seen you smile at us," said a dark-haired nurse whose name he was ashamed to admit he couldn't remember.

Had he truly never smiled at a nurse? Not once? "Are you sure?"

"Quite," said the third nurse, a tall, thin blond woman who didn't look so eager to forgive as the first two.

He shook his head. "I must have—"

"Never," she said, and when he still was unconvinced, she lifted a challenging brow. "Okay, then … what's my name?"

He hated that he didn't know, hated even worse that smug see-told-ya smile she sent him. Damn, he really was a jerk.

The first nurse seemed to feel a little sorry for him. "I've been wanting to tell you, I think that clinic is really working for
you. You seem to be … softening."

Softening? Luke started to frown but she leaned over the counter and patted his arm. "No, that's a good thing! Keep it up."

"And the smiling, too," the dark-haired one added. "That's a nice touch."

Then they waved at
him, and duly dismissed, he started walking again.

This time as he went, he kept his gaze up, instead of on the files in his hands. The oddest thing happened—people made eye contact back. Most even smiled.

But it was the smile of one certain sexy redhead he couldn't stop thinking about as he walked outside toward his car. He'd been giving a lot of thought to her offer, the one that involved both of them being naked and panting, and wondered how it was they'd never actually gotten there. Women in labor and blood sugar problems and life in general kept getting in their way.

He wanted to rectify that. He was so intent on figuring out how to do just that, he figured he was dreaming when he saw her in the parking lot of the hospital, standing next to her car, kicking her back tire.

Her flat tire.

"Take that!" She kicked it again, then swore and hopped up and down in a circle, holding her toe.

Moving in, he reached for her arm to help balance her. "Did you break it?"

At the sight of him she let out a squeal, lost the rest of her balance, and fell against him.

Which really worked out in his favor, because once again he ended up with a curvy, warm armful of woman. Taking full advantage of that, he ran his hands down her slim spine, buried his face in her wild hair and closed his eyes, pretending she meant to be against him like this.