Luke(11)

They stood so close she could see his eyes weren't just that light see-through blue, they had specks of a darker blue dancing in them. Combined with the shadow on his jaw and his sleepy eyes, he seemed edgy, almost unbearably, effortlessly … sexy. Damn him.

And he still smelled like woodsy soap and one hundred percent perfect pure man. How annoying was that when she knew the only thing that she smelled like was disinfectant soap.

Pass the chocolate, please.

"Long couple of nights," he admitted, and something about the weariness in his voice caught her because she suspected this was an actual moment of vulnerability, something he didn't often show to a mere mortal like herself.

Then Shelby poked her head around the corner. "There you are. Amy Sinclair, in room three with another migraine. We've got aromatherapy and acupressure going but she asked for you, Faith."

When she was gone, she felt Luke's tension and braced herself.

"Aromatherapy." He said this like it was a bad word. "As in … candles?"

"Essential oils."

"For a migraine?"

"Or for any of a hundred other things. With essential oils you can treat sinus problems or use the oils as a sedative. Or even stimulate cell regeneration. They're also useful as an antiseptic—"

"You realize there are conventional medicines for such things."

"Conventional medicine hasn't worked for this patient."

"Have you tried—"

"Yes."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"She's tired of drugs, Luke." And she was tired of this argument. "She's done with the pain, and our methods are working for her. This is what she wants from us, Dr. Universe. Are you in or not?"

"Dr. Universe?" His eyes darkened. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that you, like most doctors, have a God complex."

His mouth fell open a little before he snapped it shut. Then, without another word, he turned and stalked off.

Faith waited for the surge of triumph. She'd actually won a round.

But it never came.

*

When the last patient was gone, Faith headed toward her office. She hadn't seen Luke in a little while, not since they'd dashed again—in patient room five this time—over whether or not acupressure could ease the chronic pain of a man who'd broken his back the year before in a car accident. Luke had wanted to try muscle relaxants, but the patient, sick of drugs that didn't work, wanted to heal in a more natural way.

Luke had been gracious about it, with his usual warm bedside manner, and hadn't let one single iota of his frustration show. Not to anyone but Faith, of course, from whom he never seemed to try to hide a thing.

He was probably in the staff room now, waiting for her, brooding, pouting, and she sneaked past, heading for her office. All she wanted was five minutes on her couch with the lights off. She wanted that more than she wanted a candy bar, and that was saying something. Her head hurt, her body trembled, and she wanted to cry in frustration at the thought of getting sick now.

She opened her office door and made a beeline for her couch. She was so intent on this, it took her a moment to realize it was already taken.

Luke lay there, on his back, sprawled out, fast asleep. His feet hung off, as did one arm, making him look cramped and uncomfortable, but he lay there, head turned to the side, dead to the world.

At least he didn't snore. She eyed his long, lean, muscular body, now dressed in those ridiculous flowered scrubs she'd given him, and had to let out a soft laugh. He made them look … fun. He'd made a lot of things look fun today, all from the viewpoint of her patients. She had to admit, the man had a way with people.

Patients, she corrected. The man had a way with patients. Not with people.

Certainly not with her.

He sighed in his sleep, and shifted, pulling his arm back up. His usually intense face was slightly softened, and … well, boyish. She could almost forget that he had a sharp tongue and even sharper wit. Almost.

His arm fell off the edge again. What a waste of incredible God-given masculinity, she thought with a roll of her eyes and nudged his foot with her own.

"What?" He sat straight up, eyes open and alert, like most medical professionals, quite used to being woken for any variety of emergencies.

"What's the matter?" he asked. The only sign of lingering grogginess was a wide yawn that revealed teeth as perfect as the rest of him.

"You're on my couch."

"Sorry." He stood, and once again stretched that long, magnificent body. "More patients?"

"No, I just need the couch." His yawn was contagious and she fought her own.

"Is that it for today then?"

"Yes. Thank you," she added. "I know we had a few differences of opinion—" He laughed, and she glared at him. "I was trying to be nice."

"What we have is more than a difference in opinion, Faith. Try major differences in life philosophies." His eyes met hers in a long, knowing look. "There's no prettying that up."

"But you stayed."

"Not much of a choice," he pointed out.

"Yeah, because you're a marketing nightmare."

His smile was grim. "Don't you know it."