Luke(29)

"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


? ^ ?

The 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.