Luke(38)

Undoubtedly she'd be grateful for the night off. After all, soon enough—in three weeks—they wouldn't be seeing each other at all.

*

Luke didn't come to her that night. Or the next.

And by Saturday, Faith wasn't sure what to think, except that she'd gotten way too dependent on his warm, strong arms, his melting smile, the way he made her feel.

She'd made a deal with him, a deal that was nearly over, and given his lack of appearances this week, it might already be over, and she would live with it.

Immersing herself in opening the clinic for the day, she was behind her desk going over the schedule when Luke walked in.

"Morning," he said.

Her heart had taken off before she even lifted her head from the schedule. He stood in the doorway already wearing his white coat over dark blue trousers that fit his long, powerful legs. Her head swam at just the sight of him, so she hoped he'd stay far, far out of her way for the day or surely she'd give herself away by drooling.

"Morning." Scooping up the schedule, she rose and walked around her desk, figuring she'd just walk right on by—without looking directly at him, because it was like looking directly into the sun, it was hazardous to her health—and go on with her day. Only she would know everything within her trembled to reach out for him. Only she would know she strained her nose to catch at least a little scent of him—

"Hey." His big, warm hand settled gently on her arm, stalling her retreat.

She studied his shoes. Nice ones. She wondered if his socks matched. Probably they did, since he was always so organized—

"Faith?" Bending slightly, he tried to peer into her eyes, and when she wouldn't let him, he captured her chin and slowly raised her face. "You're not okay."

He could see that? Well, wasn't that just fine and dandy. She spent a lot of effort trying to look like she felt perfectly fine even if her heart hurt. Come to think of it, her head hurt too. And damn if she wasn't just the slightest bit light-headed. "Of course I'm okay. We're busy today, so I'll just—"

"Did you eat breakfast?"

"I've told you, I can handle this thing."

"You need a snack?"

"I have a bagel on my desk. I'm going to get to it, I—"

"Get to it now." His thumb rasped over her lower lip, setting off a whole set of reactions in her body.

"You're pale."

"Fine." Tossing the schedule down, she picked up the bagel and stuffed a bite in her month. "Happy?"

"I will be." He waited until she'd swallowed. "More." He looked at his watch. After sixty seconds, he lifted his head. "Feel better?"

"Yes," she admitted, and found her throat tight.

"Faith, sometimes you'll be off just because. It's not your fault."

At the sympathy in his gaze, she nearly burst into tears.

"I want you to go on insulin."

That dried her up. "No." She was standing her ground on this. "Insulin isn't the answer for me."

"Because it's conventional?"

"I'm going to overlook that sarcastic and uncalled-for comment because I can see you're worried about me, but—"

"Damn-A-straight I'm worried about you." He pulled her close. "I think about you all the time."

"Really?" Because she couldn't handle the heat, the concern, the devastating affection in his gaze, she turned her back to him and crossed her arms over her chest. "Because you didn't come over last night. Or the night before." Or the night before, but who was counting?

"Faith—"

"Forget it." She covered her eyes with her fingers. "I didn't mean to say that, didn't mean to sound like a nagging wife. We talked about this, it's a casual sex thing, nothing else—" She gasped when he whipped her around.

She expected anger, or more frustration, not the sadness. "I stayed away from you," he said, "because yes, we agreed this was a casual thing, a weekend thing, an over-in-a-few months thing, and while I said it, agreed to it, I found myself…" He grimaced. "Look, just know that you're not the only one having trouble with this, okay? But it's all I have to offer you for now." His eyes were devastatingly regretful.

She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. "I knew that up front."

"I don't do hard-core relationships, I—"

"I understand, Luke."

"I give everything to my work, which leaves nothing else—"

"I said I understand," she repeated softly.

He stared at her, then winced and closed his eyes. "But how can you, when I don't?"

"I just do. We're really very much the same. I give everything to my work, too, and often." She lifted a shoulder. "There's nothing left. In the long run, you and I would burn out, I know that much. We wouldn't give enough to each other, we couldn't give it, that's just a fact."

Eyes solemn, mouth grim, he reached out and stroked her jaw. "Only a few weeks left," he whispered.

Unable to talk, she turned her cheek into his palm and sighed. "So maybe we should make the most of it."

"Yeah." His mouth came down on hers, and because her eyes were still closed, it made her dizzy, a good dizzy this time, so she flung her arms around his neck and let it take her.