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. "Youhave 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
"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. "Youhave 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
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