Книга - Luke

Luke
Jill Shalvis


E.R. head Dr. Luke Walker saves all of his bedside manner for his patients. With the hospital staff he's outspoken, tough, no-nonsense…until now. Disciplinary action from the hospital board has landed him a three-month stint at the Healing Waters Clinic. And working around aromatherapy, acupuncture and yoga seems to be having a remarkable effect on him. But not nearly the effect Faith McDowell–the fiery redheaded director of the clinic–is having on his libido!The truth is Luke and Faith clash over everything–except their passion for healing people…and their passion for each other. Making love to Faith has a remarkable healing effect on Luke, putting a sexy smile on his face. Problem is, Luke Walker, who has done his best not to need anyone, finds himself needing her. So now he has to use his most persuasive bedside manner to convince Faith that this passion is for keeps.









“It’s just lust,” Faith gasped when they came up for air


“Are you sure?” Suddenly—shockingly—Luke wasn’t sure himself.

“Extremely. Lust is just a bodily function, right? So…we deal with it.”

“Are you trying to say we should have sex?” he asked, incredulous.

“Well, not here,” Faith said. They were in a storage closet. At the clinic. With patients just down the hall. “But after work. Just on the Saturdays you’re still honor bound to give me.”

“What about after that?”

“Well, you’d just have to let me go. I’m sorry, Luke, but like we said, we’re just too different.”

Luke should’ve been doing the happy dance. But he didn’t feel like dancing. “Faith, you deserve more than that.”

“It’s what I want.” She arched, letting her tight, hot nipples rub against his chest. “Are you going to turn me down, Luke?”

The thought made him want to cry. “No. Definitely, no…”


Dear Reader,

I think a bigger-than-life hero is fun to read about—there’s something so inherently sexy about him. I’m hoping you think so, too, as Dr. Luke Walker is both bigger than life and extremely sexy. He’s certainly sure of himself…maybe more than any other hero I’ve ever written. He’s a black-and-white kind of guy—no middle ground for our Dr. Luke. So it was fun letting Faith McDowell have her way with him and show him all that gray in between.

And getting to do this miniseries with Lori Foster (Riley, June 2003, Temptation #930) and Donna Kauffman (Sean, July 2003, Temptation #934)…talk about exciting! I hope you enjoy our AMERICAN HEROES, readers!

Happy reading,

Jill Shalvis

P.S. Be sure to visit me at my Web site, www.jillshalvis.com.




Luke

Jill Shalvis







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Lori Foster and Donna Kauffman,

for graciously sharing their readers with me.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue




1


THE TWO NEARLY NAKED WOMEN frolicked in the waves only yards away and Luke Walker yawned. Yawned.

Oh, definitely, he was on the edge of burnout. On the edge and skating on thin ground. Behind him stood his home on the Malibu bluffs. In front of him were the bikini babes.

And inside him…exhaustion. Actually, he was far beyond exhaustion and heading straight for brain dead, but who was keeping track?

Unfortunately, even sleep couldn’t help him, not today, not when every time he closed his eyes, he transported himself back.

Blood soaking his hands, splattering across his scrubs as he knelt on the moving gurney next to the far-too-still six-year-old boy. Orderlies racing them down the hallway towards surgery as Luke barked orders, held the boy’s wound shut and prayed to a God he wasn’t sure could hear him.

“So why aren’t you down there frolicking with the babes?”

At the heavily Spanish accented voice, Luke groaned and opened his eyes. Carmen DeCosta took great pleasure in thinking she knew him well enough to boss him around. She stood there with her hands on her ample hips, waiting for an answer.

Was everyone going to give him that bug-on-a-slide look today? “Don’t go there,” he warned. “I’m trying to take a breather here.”

“Good. You don’t do that enough.” With a spryness that belied her chunkiness, the dark-haired, dark-skinned—or should he say thick-skinned—woman dropped to the sand next to him, apparently taking a break from her duties cleaning his house to offer him her opinions on his life. Nothing new. She liked to boss him around. She liked to fuss over him as well, and he knew she thought of herself as a surrogate mother since his own was gone.

But he didn’t need one. Actually, he’d never needed one. And yet somehow he’d never managed to convince her of that.

He looked out at the pounding surf, at the ridiculous bikinied beach babes, and saw nothing but Dr. Leo Atkinson from South Village Medical Center frowning at him. Luke was head of the E.R., but Leo was head of surgery. He was also director of all the various department heads. So while technically they were peers, Leo, sitting on the hospital board and also town council, had far more power. Which was fine with Luke, who just wanted to be left alone to heal people, not navigate the bullshit, ass-kissing waters that was hospital politics.

You went too far, Luke, Leo had said. You’re a marketing nightmare, and now, unfortunately, something has to be done or you won’t be named E.R. Head again in this century.

He was referring, of course, to when Luke had let out a statement regarding the idiocracy of the bureaucrats running their hospital after he’d learned they’d helped fund Healing Waters Clinic, a place where conventional medicine wasn’t even practiced.

The comment had been leaked to the press, who’d gleefully reported it in the Los Angeles Times and The South Village Press, among others. The fallout had been immediate. The owner of the clinic had called the hospital board, who’d gone to Leo, who’d gone to Luke.

Fix it. Retract the statement.

Not that easy. To Luke things were black and white. Give him a medical emergency and he could either fix it or not. Mostly he could.

No gray areas, no middle ground.

But Healing Waters Clinic…They worked in that gray area with aromatherapy, massage therapy, acupressure…yoga.

That the board funded such a place when the hospital turned away patients who couldn’t pay, patients who legitimately needed their help, was asinine.

In his humble opinion.

Which wasn’t so humble, apparently. He was going to be punished for his outburst. In the worst way possible.

“It’s just the way it is,” Leo had said in only slight apology. “You’re amazing with your patients, but when it comes to everyone else—the board, your staff, everyone—they say you’re a nightmare, and even I have to agree. You’ve got to learn to soften your approach, Luke, or good as you are, you’re going to get your walking papers. In light of that, you’re going to volunteer your services at the Healing Waters Clinic every Saturday for three months.”

Luke had stared at him for one full moment. “Why don’t you just take away my license,” he’d finally said. “It would be less painful.”

Leo had laughed over that, then slapped him on the back. “Enjoy it, Luke. This is your last chance to prove you’re a team player.”

A team player. Woo hoo, his biggest goal. Not. He glowered at the ocean, brooding.

“Nice view.” Carmen nodded to the bikini crowd.

He shrugged. Damn it, he was a good doctor. A great doctor. That should be all that mattered, not how well he could spin a tale for the press, or appease the people around him.

“So…” Carmen leaned back on her elbows, looking as if she didn’t plan on more cleaning anytime soon. “How many patients did you see today?”

Luke sighed. “A lot.”

“Any interesting female patients? Say…someone interesting enough to date?”

Why was it a single man was always such an irresistible setup? “Why?”

“Because one of them left you some cookies. Must have made a huge impression on her, Dr. Luke.”

One big wave after another hit the shore, causing shrieks of joy from the bathing beauties. Luke inhaled the salt air, then slowly let it out.

“Don’t you want to know who left the cookies? Let me help you remember. Blond, tall, gorgeous. And…” Carmen cupped her hands out in front of her chest. “Stacked.”

Inhaling more salt air…

“Are you listening?”

“I’m trying not to.”

“Oh, you. Do you know who left the cookies or not?”

Lucy Cosine. He’d stitched her up earlier in the week when she’d neglected to stop at a red light and had plowed into a mail truck, putting her head through her windshield. She was late twenties, rich, husband-searching based on status (her words, not his) and apparently Luke fit the bill.

Too bad he wasn’t on the market. “Are the cookies any good?”

“Bah.” Carmen made a face. “Mine are better.” In front of them, one of the two women went down under a wave and came up laughing like an idiot. “Tough job you got there, doctor. Hard to believe you can’t manage to find yourself a woman.” She looked him over critically. “Maybe you have a problem with your attention span?”

Luke studied the sharp, blue sky, amazingly void of Southern California smog today. “Funny.”

“Love is a good stress reliever, you know.”

“We are absolutely not going to discuss sex.”

“I said love. Not sex.” Carmen’s voice was filled with mischief. “But sex works too.”

A rough laugh escaped Luke at that. Always, no matter how bad things got—and they’d been pretty bad here and there—Carmen could somehow provide the comic relief. “You’re ruining my bad mood for me.”

“Good.” Carmen beamed, and reaching over, she noisily kissed his cheek. “I just want you to be happy, Luke. Everyone deserves a little happiness.”

“I am.” Or he had been happy enough anyway, until Leo’s ultimatum today.

“Nah, you need a woman for that, one to share your heart, your home, your bed, and not necessarily in that order.”

Luke would take the woman in his bed part, just about any night of the week—if he had the time and wasn’t on call—but a woman in his heart? Not a chance in hell, not when he lived and breathed his work. What woman in her right mind would want a man who didn’t have anything left to give?

And what woman in her right mind would want a man, a doctor, who’d just been slapped with a disciplinary action that was likely going to kill him?

Working in a natural healing clinic for God’s sake. For three months. Unbelievable.

Truly, he couldn’t think of a worse fate.



WHEN HER HOROSCOPE SAID the stars weren’t aligned in her favor, Faith McDowell should have believed it and pulled the covers back over her head.

But lounging in bed had never been her style. As to what was her style, she hadn’t quite figured that out yet. She didn’t have much time for that.

On autopilot, she turned on the shower, cranked up the radio, and lit a jasmine candle guaranteed to uplift and stimulate.

Soaping up, she sang at the top of her lungs, because singing was an excellent energy releaser. It worked for all of sixty seconds, which was how long it took for her brain to refuse to be sidetracked by music and scents, and face reality.

Her reality wasn’t easy to face.

Just this week, she’d had to give herself a pay cut as Director of Healing Waters Clinic. That meant a lot of macaroni and cheese in her immediate future.

But at least she still had a clinic, and a lovely building in South Village to house it. She’d opened the place last year, right on North Union Street, the main drag of the town that rivaled Sunset Strip in pedestrian traffic. She’d opened it after four years of being a nurse practitioner.

Working in a San Diego E.R. she’d seen it all, every kind of suffering, and had always felt modern medicine wasn’t doing all it could. But no one had wanted to hear her ideas of natural healing, of homeopathic healing, of all the ancient and established methods that really worked, not when there were multiple gunshot wounds, motor vehicle accident injuries and other emergency traumas to deal with every day.

Here, in her healing clinic, she could concentrate on those ideas considered outside the lines of conventional medicine, she could finally concentrate on easing suffering in less invasive ways. Shockingly, the powers that be at the local hospital had been willing to refer people to her, and later had even helped fund her efforts, and she’d never been happier.

Until one of the local doctors, a Dr. Luke Walker, had publicly raised his nose at her work there. She’d faced such disdain before, only she’d underestimated Dr. Walker’s reputation and following. Once the public had heard his opinion, once they’d realized she didn’t have his support, she’d ended up spending a good part of her day answering questions and debating medical practices, which in turn meant more time with each patient, creating more backlog and long waits. As a result, people weren’t coming back.

Mercifully, the hospital had stepped in, promising a quick fix. They were giving the clinic an extra hand, one that belonged to Dr. Walker himself, as a matter of fact, for three months of weekends. There, she thought, with her first smile of the day. A silver lining. So there fore, her horoscope had to be wrong.

She was so sure of it, that when she ran out of hot water with conditioner still in her hair, it was a shock. Then the bathroom scale decided not to be her friend, and to top it all off, she couldn’t find clean socks.

Already wary of the day and it wasn’t even seven o’clock. She went downstairs. There was one negative thing about living over the clinic on a major street in a major town filled with people who got up early. The street was already filled with joggers, bicyclists, early shoppers and workers; the majority of them young, hip, urban, and far better put together than she had ever been at seven in the morning.

She located her newspaper, which hadn’t made it to the stoop, but had instead landed in the small patch of wet grass. Picking it up with two fingers, the soggy, chewed mess fell apart like confetti. With a sigh, she looked up into the face of her neighbor’s eighty-pound Doberman. “Again, Tootsie?”

Tootsie lifted his chin and gave her a doggie smile before trotting off.

“That’s what you get for living at your work.” This from Shelby Anderson, her co-naturopathic practitioner at Healing Waters, and Faith’s best friend. She came up the walkway and followed Faith into the back door of the clinic, looking more like an actress in her flowered scrubs than the real thing.

Faith knew Shelby couldn’t help the fact that her blond hair was always just right, and that she needed hardly any makeup to glow, or that her long, willowy body was the only one on the planet that scrubs actually looked good on, but it was still a little irksome, especially so early in the morning.

“I live above my work, not at my work,” Faith corrected, tugging at her scrubs, which most definitely were not nearly as flattering on her as they were on Shelby.

“Above work, at work, same thing,” Shelby said. “Both suck.”

Faith looked down at her chewed newspaper. “Okay, sometimes, yes.”

Shelby set down her purse and leaned against the counter, sipping at the herbal tea she’d brought. “Would you like some? You look beat already.”

“Gee, and I thought I’d used my makeup concealer correctly.”

Shelby smiled. “You don’t wear any makeup, much less concealer, so stop it. Just remember, every time you let yourself run down, you get the flu.”

Complete with exhaustion, sweaty shakes and a killer headache. She’d been plagued by a pesky tropical virus for years, more so lately, since she’d opened the clinic, but she didn’t intend to let it get her again.

She’d caught the virus in Bora-Bora years ago while there as a child with her missionary parents, and ever since she’d been susceptible to it. She’d been extra careful, getting rest, eating right—not difficult since she loved food—and for the most part ate extremely healthy. If one didn’t count her secret and shameful chocolate addiction.

Oh, wait, she’d given up chocolate. Really. And not because her mother had a tendency to be chunky and Faith was afraid of getting the same way, but because she wanted to practice what she preached. She wanted to live a healthy life.

Her body just didn’t always agree with her. “I’m fine,” she told Shelby.

“Why don’t you do an herbal treatment today? Or better yet, let me do it for you?”

“Maybe.” She needed to get the clinic back on track first. It shouldn’t take too much. For the most part, the clinic itself was successful. People loved the services they offered. The problem was that most insurance plans didn’t cover those services, so she was forced to charge far less than she should. As a result, she was understaffed, and didn’t have the budget to hire more people.

The good news…Dr. Walker’s services were going to be free. For three months.

“Do you really think Dr. Walker is going to help us?”

“Yes, and before you ask…he’s late. I know.”

Shelby looked at her watch again. “Twenty bucks says he’s not going to show.”

He’d better—the hospital had promised he’d be here with bells on, and a smile to boot, doing his best to give support and reverse any publicity damage he’d caused.

Faith was counting on it. Dr. Luke Walker was extremely well respected in the community. People listened to him. With any luck, he’d be far kinder to the clinic once he’d seen them in action, and he’d spread the word. “He’ll show.”

“Okay, but only a few minutes until patients arrive, and if he’s not here…”

“I know, I know.” Back-Up City, with patients grumbling, complaining, leaving…something she couldn’t let happen.

Still, they waited fruitlessly for him for thirty minutes, and when they were indeed backing up, get ting behind schedule, Shelby and Faith again met in the hallway with twin worried expressions.

“It is his usual day off,” Faith said. “Maybe he’s sleeping in by accident.”

“Then we’re screwed.”

“No we’re not.” Nothing if not determined, she grabbed her keys. “Tell me we have his address.”

“It’s on your desk.” Shelby smiled. “Going to haul him out of bed?”

“If need be. I know we’re already so backed up, but if I get another practitioner in the house, it’ll be worth me leaving for a little while.” Faith chewed her lip. “Better wish me luck.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll wish you luck. You’re going to need it.”



FAITH STOOD OUTSIDE Dr. Luke Walker’s house on the coast and knocked again. When no one answered, she checked the address against the piece of paper she held. It had to be right. The house was a block-and-glass palace fit for a prestigious doctor, as was the forest-green Jaguar in the driveway.

She glanced at her late-eighties Ford Escort and sighed. She wasn’t a confrontational person by nature despite her innate stubbornness and her fondness for being right. Truth was, in a fight she figured she’d roll over like a puppy and show her belly. But with her clinic’s destiny at stake, she felt like a protective momma bear.

Make that a mountain lioness, and her claws were out.

The curse of the redheaded temperament, she supposed, and self-consciously patted her long, red—and unruly—hair. Well, tough. He’d asked for her temper by being late. He had a duty, this Saturday and every Saturday for the next three months, to her and the clinic.

She knocked again, louder now. Waited with what she thought was admirable patience. And started tapping her foot when no one answered. She glanced back at the car that assured her someone was indeed home.

And knocked yet again, listening with some satisfaction to the echo of her pounding as it reverberated through the house.

Sleeping, was he? Damn the man, snoozing blissfully while her life went down the tubes—

Then the door whipped open, and suddenly she was staring right at a man’s bare chest. Tilting her head up, and up, she found her Dr. Luke Walker, and swallowed hard.

She’d heard about him, of course, in the occasional article in the newspaper, especially once he’d made his infamous comments about her clinic. But Dr. Luke Walker in the flesh was like nothing she’d ever experienced. He was leaner, harder than she’d expected, the lines of his face more stark, his nearly naked body far tougher than she would have imagined.

“Yes?” His vivid blue eyes had landed right on her, and for some odd reason she couldn’t find her tongue much less form a sentence.

His dark, slightly wavy hair was short and bed-ruffled, his mouth grim. At her silence, a muscle in his cheek ticked.

Oh, and he wore nothing but low-slung sweatpants that he hadn’t bothered to tie.

Bad attitude personified, all one hundred eighty pounds of him.

Clearly, she’d indeed gotten him out of bed, and yet there was nothing even halfway sleepy about his searing gaze as it swept over her. “Who are you and why are you trying to knock my door down?”

“Faith McDowell,” she said, trying really hard not to notice all his corded muscles and sinews, all his smooth, tanned skin. For some reason the sight of him, up close and personal and practically naked, made her feel a little insecure.

“Well, Faith McDowell, what do you want?”

“I…” What did she want? Oh, yes, her clinic, her life. Her lioness claws came back out. “I came to drive you to the clinic, because clearly, your car isn’t working, which would explain why you didn’t show up at the clinic an hour ago when you were supposed to.”

He just looked at her.

She tried valiantly not to look at her watch or rush him along. “We have patients scheduled for you, remember?” Tell me you remember.

“I remember.” He said this in a voice that assured her going to the clinic was the last thing he wanted to do, right after, say, having a fingernail slowly pulled out. “I just wish I didn’t.”

“So…your alarm neglected to go off?” This time she didn’t hold herself back and purposely glanced at her watch. And then nearly panicked at the time.

“It isn’t time for it to go off.”

“Right, because as a doctor, you can breeze into the clinic more than an hour after it’s opened, with no concern for how that would throw off our schedule.” How could she have forgotten the arrogant God complex of doctors? “Look, I’m sorry you don’t want to do this, but we have a full load of patients today. Thanks to your tardiness, we’re already far behind. The longer I stand here waiting for you, the worse it’s going to get.”

“My tardiness?”

“If we get much more behind before lunch, trust me, it’s not going to be pretty.”

He ran a hand over his jaw, and the dark shadow there rasped in the morning silence. “I was told 9:00 a.m.”

“Seven.”

“That’s not what I was told.”

A misunderstanding then. Fine. Annoying, but they could get past this. “I’m sorry, but you were told wrong.”

He scratched his chest, the one she was trying not to gape at. Obviously, he did something other than treat patients all day long because that body of his was well-kept, without a single, solitary inch of excess.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to seven,” he said. “Seven is too early.”

“Well, for three months’ worth of weekends, get used to it.” Surely, it had to be against the law to be so mouth-wateringly gorgeous and such an insensitive jerk at the same time. It was his fault he was in this spot. People were waiting for him right this very second, though she imagined that was the story of his life. Dr. Luke Walker had been born to heal, or so leg end claimed at South Village Medical Center, one of the busiest hospitals in all of Southern California. His hands held and delivered miracles every single day. His patients worshipped him because of it.

The people who worked with him; the other doctors, nurses, staff—everyone understood and respected that extraordinary gift, but according to gossip—and there was never a shortage of that in her field—there weren’t many who held a great love for him personally. Faith knew much of that was simple pettiness and jealousy. After all, he was only thirty-five, and the rumors predicted he’d be running the hospital by the time he hit forty.

If they could fix his habit of speaking his mind, that is.

Because while he was astonishingly compassionate and giving and tender with his patients, he did not generally extend those people skills to anyone else, such as the people he worked with. Faith had heard the stories and figured he didn’t mean to be so gruff and hurried and impatient, he just didn’t suffer fools well.

But now, she had to wonder if maybe he was just missing the be-nice-to-people gene. “I realize this isn’t important to you, working at the clinic, but you promised.”

He let out a rough sound that managed to perfectly convey his annoyance, and for Faith, it was the last straw.

“And really, this is your own fault anyway,” she pointed out. “If you hadn’t made that statement that got out to the press saying you thought our clinic was worthless, you wouldn’t be stuck paying penance for three months’ worth of Saturdays. You could be out golfing—”

“Golfing?” His eyes widened incredulously. “Golfing—”

“Or whatever it is you rich doctors do with all the money you make off your patients.”

“My God, you have a mouth on you.”

Yes. Yes, she did. It had gotten her into trouble plenty of times, but damn it, this was important to her.

Still, what was it her mother had said…You could catch more flies with honey? With a sigh, she swallowed her pride. “I’m…sorry.” Not words she used often. “It’s just that we really need you.”

With his arms crossed over that bare chest, and a frown still masking his chiseled-in-stone face, he looked far more like a thug than a doctor. A beautiful thug, but still a dangerous, edgy one. He let out a disparaging noise, shoved his fingers through his dark hair, making it stick up all the more. “I’d like to get one thing straight here. I never said the clinic was worthless. What I said was I didn’t understand why the hospital gave your clinic money when—” He took in her humor-the-jerk expression and broke off. “Okay, forget it. I’ll be there soon.”

“I’ll just wait and drive you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I think it is.”

“Why? Is there an emergency waiting for me right now?”

“Uh…”

“Are you in need of medical attention of any kind?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then I’ll be there. On my own. Soon.” He actually turned to go inside the house, dismissing her.

Without stopping to think—a personality disorder she’d been saddled with since childhood—Faith slapped a hand on his front door and held it open. “I’d really rather wait for you.”

Still turned away, Dr. Walker let out a long-suffering sigh, which brought her attention upward past the sleek, powerful flesh and sinew of his back to the widest, most tension-filled shoulders she’d ever seen.

Unfortunately, he turned then, and caught her in the act of ogling him. Not a word came out of his mouth, but no words were necessary, not when his highly vexed expression did all his talking for him.

She cleared her throat and tried to ignore the blush that crept over her face. Another redheaded curse. “You do understand the clinic’s already full—”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, then lifted his hands to his temples. The untied sweatpants shifted down an inch or so on his hips, revealing more flat belly.

A hot flash raced through her body. That pesky tropical virus again. It had to be.

“I don’t get it.” He sounded baffled. “Why do you even want me there? You know I’m into conventional, modern medicine. The good, old-fashioned, scientific stuff. So—”

“Actually, the alternative means of medicine that we use is the good, old-fashioned way, thousands of years old in some cases. So really, your ‘conventional’ medicine, at only a couple hundred years old, is the baby.”

His jaw ticked again. “I still don’t see what massage therapy, aromatherapy, acupressure, yoga and herbs have to do with me.”

“The alternative practices can be blended in with the more conventional ones, and with that, we can offer people something more. Something better.”

“But I don’t know how to treat people that way.”

“It’s just a way of life,” she said. “You’ll have plenty to offer. Mostly credibility at first, but…” She broke off when he put his hands on his hips.

Her gaze glued itself to his loose sweat bottoms, her breath blocking in her throat. If they slipped just another fraction of an inch or so—

“Look, I had a really long night.” His weary tone drew her eyes back up to his exhausted ones. “And I thought I had an extra few hours. I’ll hurry, but I don’t need an audience, so if you don’t mind—”

“Well actually, I—”

The door shut in her face.




2


CARMEN SHOWED UP IN LUKE’S inside hallway, having clearly just let herself in the back door. She blocked his path to the stairs with that look on her face that told him he was getting no peace until she spoke her mind.

“Gee,” she said. “Hard to imagine how a man with all your charm could still be single.”

Ignoring her, he headed wearily up the stairs. He’d been up all night, shifting through nightmares that forced him to relive losing six-year-old Johnny Garcia to the war zone that had become Los Angeles. “Just wake me in ten minutes, okay?” If he could catch a few more minutes, he’d be okay. He’d be human. He’d be able to remember that on most days he loved this life, loved what he did for a living.

“She was a sweet girl,” Carmen said, disgusted. “Coming to pick you up. And you chased her off.”

“She was a woman, not a girl.”

“So you did notice.”

Yeah, he’d noticed. Faith McDowell’s sexy softness contrasted with her cool voice and clear green eyes, and any red-blooded male would have noticed. She had long, curly hair the color of a fiery sunset and had worn a pair of scrubs decorated with smiley faces covered by a lightweight, open sweater that hugged her body, showing off creamy skin and lush curves. Disgusted with himself, Luke put a hand on the wood banister and started climbing.

He’d definitely been too long without sex if scrubs with smiley faces had turned him on.

But now, if he was very lucky, he could close his eyes for a few more minutes. Sleep was far more important than sex these days. Then he’d shower, grab some steaming, black coffee, and maybe, just maybe, feel sane again.

“How are you supposed to start a family someday if you chase off all the women?” Carmen called up the stairs. “Answer me that.”

He answered that with one concise muttered word.

Carmen tsked. “You were rude, and isn’t she your boss at the clinic?”

Yeah, and just what he needed, yet another politically correct bureaucrat telling him what to do. And yet…Maybe Carmen had a point. If he tried harder, added a smile, even turned on the charm he used to relax his patients…he might actually get his sentence reduced.

Luke pictured the woman’s wild, gloriously red hair bouncing in the morning sea breeze. The sparks in her eyes. He thought of the way she’d drawn in a huge deep breath just before she’d blasted him, as if she was so amazingly angry she could hardly think.

Nope. He doubted he could get her to reduce his “volunteer” time. She wanted his head on a platter—her platter. He’d written his own death sentence, damn it.

The doorbell rang.

“Ah, hell, what now?” He looked down at Carmen. “I’ve had five hours sleep in two days.”

Carmen’s entire face softened. “Yes, baby. You work too hard.”

“I just need a few more minutes of shut-eye. You can chase her off, okay?”

“What if it’s an emergency?”

“It’s not. It’s just Red, looking to take a piece out of my hide for being late.”

Carmen grinned. “She did seem to be a natural, temperamental redhead, didn’t she? You know, rumor has it you used to be able to soothe a woman. They say you even used to like women.”

He still did. In bed. But right now he was too tired to think of sharing his mattress, plus he doubted Faith McDowell would be interested anyway. She seemed to expect more out of a person than what he had in mind.

He didn’t have more. He gave it all to work and his patients, gave everything he had so that at the end of the day, there wasn’t anything left.

Maybe it was the way he’d been raised, with parents who’d rarely taken the time for him or his brother, Matt, pawning them off like unwanted luggage on everyone and anyone who’d take them. Maybe it was because it’d been so long since he’d taken a breather, he could hardly remember who he really was. He didn’t care.

He wanted sleep.

The doorbell rang again.

“Tell her I’ll be there soon.”

“Clearly, she needs you now.”

With a groan, he padded back down the stairs, glaring at Carmen, who unlike everyone else in his life, didn’t back down from him. “This is why I hired you, you know. You’re supposed to scare people away.”

“Stop being so curmudgeonly.”

Stopping in midstride, he stared at her. “Curmudgeonly?”

“It’s someone who’s grumpy, and—”

“I know what it means, and I’m not—Oh, forget it.” He settled his hand on the knob and hauled it open, finding himself looking down into the intelligent, and still fuming, eyes of the woman who was to be his boss at the clinic for the next three months’ worth of Saturdays.

You used to like women.

Oh, but he definitely still did. He just wasn’t used to being looked at as if he was pond scum, especially by a wildly attractive woman with steam coming out of her ears.

Absolutely too long without sex.

“You’re still not ready,” she said exasperated.

Deciding there should be a law against facing a furious woman before having a cup of coffee, no matter how lovely she was, he shook his head. The question was, would he ever be ready for a day full of aromatherapy and yoga? God save him. Despite his to-the-bone-fatigue, his lips quirked. “I need more than sixty seconds.”

Her gaze appeared to be riveted on his chest. “We don’t have more than sixty seconds,” she murmured.

He’d stumbled half-naked out of bed to get the door earlier, and now, given the way she looked at him, he glanced down to make sure his sweats covered all the essentials. Yes, he was covered, but if she kept staring at him like that, as if he was a long, tall glass of water and she was dying of thirst, those essentials were going to make themselves known regardless of his irritation.

“Here.” Carmen materialized from behind him and wisely shoved a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He nearly cried in gratitude, and might have actually hugged her, but then she said to Faith McDowell in apology, “Give him until the coffee’s gone. Two minutes tops, he’ll be human again. I promise.”

“Oh.” Faith smiled sweetly. At Carmen, not Luke. “Yes, I understand. Thank you.” Kindness and genuine caring poured from her. Her voice, light now that it was directed at someone other than him, was the most amazingly sweet, musical voice Luke had ever heard.

It reminded him of…sex. Unbelievable, what sleep deprivation could do to a man.

Carmen and Red—her hair was whipping around her shoulders, long and wild—watched him with twin expressions of expectation, waiting for his coffee to work the miracle that wasn’t going to happen, not to day. “I’m going upstairs now,” he said carefully. “To get showered and dressed.”

“Is that going to take more than five minutes?” His new boss glanced at her watch, quivering with impatience.

“Ten,” he said, then paused as if he really cared what she thought. “Is that okay?”

She considered this. Considered him. “Just remember, the patients are counting on you.” Her voice was cool again. The wind picked up, and with a sound of annoyance, she tossed back her wild hair. Her sweater, thin and ineffective against the chill, slipped off one shoulder, revealing the fact she was…chilly.

In an odd reaction, considering he didn’t like her, Luke felt a physical stirring at the sight.

Sleep deprived, he reminded himself. A dangerous thing.

Shrugging back into the sweater, Faith crossed her arms over her chest. “This is really a two-way street, you know. I’ll be helping you, too.”

“How, exactly, is that possible?”

“You’ll be practicing—and hopefully improving—your people skills.”

It was one thing to be so tired as to be lusting after a woman who thought him an insensitive idiot, but it was another thing entirely to let her think he needed her in any way. He needed no one, and he certainly didn’t need help with his people skills.

“You might not realize this, but one of the basic people skills is charm. I can help you there.”

Carmen laughed at that, but when he whipped around with a murderous expression, she vanished into the kitchen.

“In order to charm,” Faith said. “You need to stimulate the people around you. Can you do that?”

He thought of the inexplicable way his body had reacted to her. “Stimulation isn’t a problem,” he managed with a straight face.

“Good, because this is very important. The clinic is very important, and we have so much to do. Today alone we have babies to deliver, allergies and sinus infections, healing bones and…”

Luke’s mind drifted back to her body. How was it she looked so good in those scrubs? But she did, she looked soft and curvy, and—

“Dr. Walker?” Hands on her hips, she cocked her head. “Are you still listening to me?”

Oh yeah. “Stimulate.”

Looking suddenly a bit wary, she backed out of his house.

Yeah, Red, I advise you to run like hell.

“Well, I’ll let you get on with getting ready….” She bit her lip as once more she ran her gaze down his body.

And this time, his body definitely reacted.

She took another few steps, backing down his porch now. “I’ll…uh…be waiting.”

It should have really ticked him off, but suddenly, that threat seemed far more like a promise. “Okay then,” he said, and wondered why maybe, just maybe, he’d be looking forward to it.



FAITH DROVE AROUND THE back of Healing Waters Clinic and parked, then glanced in her rearview mirror.

Yep, Dr. Luke Walker was still following her in his fancy car that screamed success. She’d heard so much about him before this morning, but no one, not a single soul, not a single article, had ever mentioned his see-through light blue eyes, his fiery expression, the incredible, drool-inducing body that brought to mind far too many things that had nothing, nothing at all, to do with doctoring.

Grabbing her purse, she took a quick moment to inhale a long, calming breath. She was an expert in long, calming breaths, and yet the technique utterly and completely failed her now.

Hell of a time to give up chocolate, as she could use it now. A vicious craving for the secret stash of almond Hershey Kisses in her glove box overcame her. Just one, she thought, and nearly reached for them….

But she heard his door shut and hastily straightened, getting out of her car to greet him with a cool, distant smile on her face that absolutely had better hide her thoughts—her desperate need for that chocolate, her unthinkable, ridiculous attraction to him—because the bottom line was, beneath that amazing flesh and sinew, beneath his remarkable talent, beat the cold heart of a man who’d blindly put down her clinic to untold hundreds.

Her success was important to her. After all, everyone in her family succeeded. It was sort of a McDowell requirement. But more than that, she wanted this for all the people out there she was convinced she could help in a way conventional medicine couldn’t.

And she wanted Luke to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one who could make a difference in others’ lives. She could too. And she’d prove it by showing him how invaluable the clinic could be.

Luke’s own face was unsmiling as he moved toward her, but it wasn’t even close to distant. He was still hot under the collar, and she had to say, the look was a good one on him. If one were to go for the dark, smoldering, attitude-ridden type of man.

Luckily, she didn’t. She didn’t go for any men—she didn’t have time.

Together they turned to face her building. As with all the buildings in South Village, this one dated back to the early 1900s but had been well preserved. The two-story brick structure had once been a brewery, fully restored in the fifties. Thanks to her green thumb, it was surrounded by greenery, wildflowers and herbs she grew herself to use in her clinic. The sign hanging in front proudly read Healing Waters.

It was her baby, brainstormed during all those long, long nights of working insane hours as a nurse practitioner. The days when science and conventional medicine had been the only way. The right way. The days when her ideas of going deeper, healing more than just the body, but also the heart and soul had been mocked and grossly misunderstood in the hustling, bustling world of the E.R. she’d worked at in San Diego.

She’d prepared for this, she’d studied, gotten accredited in a variety of naturopathic areas. Now she could run diagnostic procedures, give vaccinations, assist in natural childbirth and even write limited prescriptions.

Yes, she still worked long, long hours, but these days the crazy hours actually left her satisfied and fulfilled because she was following her dream, healing people in ways conventional medicine had failed them.

But all Luke knew was that she was interrupting his weekends. “Ready?” she asked, and when he nodded, she led the way inside. The staff room was filled with organized clutter; everyone’s personal belongings, files to be discussed, a small potted herbal garden she was babying along. As they walked through, she introduced him to any staff members they passed, while her mind raced ahead, trying to see the place as he would.

The waterfall in the reception area was on, the sound of the water cascading gently over a riverbed of rocks soothed the waiting patients, along with soft music she’d handpicked, the gentle lighting, and comfy ergonomic chairs. All in calming colors from the natural palette.

Definitely, deliberately, a world away from the E.R. Any E.R. “What do you think?”

“Well, no one is screaming in the waiting room,” Luke said. “Always a good sign. Hmm, I suppose I can forgive the beaded curtains behind the receptionist. Who do you have on staff?”

He was a man used to being in charge of everything and everyone around him, she reminded herself. She couldn’t fault that about him. He did have incredible skill, the reason she’d agreed to have him here in the first place. “Today we have two naturopathic practitioners, myself and Shelby Dodd, and also a massage therapist.” But adding an M.D. on staff, one with Luke’s prestige and incredible reputation, would surely boost her clientele.

And her checkbook. She hated to be so bottom-line about anything, but at the moment, hovering in the red, she had to be.

“Before we start,” he said in a low voice, turning from his inspection of the place to look at her. “I just want you to know, I never said the clinic was worthless.”

She stared up at his solemn features and nearly got lost in those light blue eyes. “The newspaper said—”

“They exaggerated.” When she raised a brow, he sighed. “The hospital let twenty-five housekeeping employees go, employees who were forced to work four hours a week less than the full-time hours required for full benefits. The hospital insisted on that to save money, and then they let them go anyway, stating budget issues. The next day they sent your clinic a tidy sum.”

“And you objected to that.”

“Yes.” His jaw went tight. “I objected to that.”

She stared up into his face and felt an unexpected connection. “I would have objected, too,” she said softly.

His eyes reflected surprise, but before he could say something, Shelby came around the corner and waved Faith down. “I just paged you. Woman in labor in room four. Fully dilated, fully effaced, freaking out, won’t push, won’t let us even take a peek anymore.”

Faith set her purse down and started walking fast with Shelby at her side. “First baby?”

“Oh yeah. And she’s a screamer.”

“Get Guy—”

“He’s already in there. If anyone can soothe a terrified pregnant lady…”

“Guy can.” Guy Anders, their therapeutic massage therapist, had a voice that could sedate a gangbanger, and hands from heaven. He was their ace in the hole in situations like this, but still, as they rounded the corner and heard the screams, Faith cringed, both in sympathy for the woman and the people in the waiting room. “Dr. Walker—”

“I’ll assist,” he said from right behind her, and in fact, pushed into the room ahead of her.

Shelby lifted a brow, and Faith sighed. “He’s used to being in charge.”

Shelby let out a low laugh. “Well, since you are, too, this is going to be interesting.”

They stepped into the room, where the screaming had stopped. Their patient, a woman in her midtwenties, lay in the bed, eyes huge on one Dr. Luke Walker, tall and leanly muscular, scrubbing his hands at the sink and talking to her the entire time. Then he hunkered down at her side, holding her hand, murmuring words too softly spoken for Faith to catch.

On the other side of the bed stood Guy, also tall and handsome, though unusually so with a purple stripe in his hair, and interesting tattoos and piercings. He shot Faith a bemused glance at being usurped, but didn’t say a word.

Luke lifted his head and searched out Faith. “Margaret’s ready to push now. I’m going to examine her first. Do you have a spare set of scrubs?”

“No!” Margaret sat straight up, not an easy feat with forty pounds of belly, and grabbed Luke by the collar. “No scrubbing, no changing! I want to push now!”

With her fists embedded in his shirt, Luke simply nodded calmly. “We can do that,” he said in a soft, utterly authoritative yet kind voice, accepting gloves from Faith and snapping them on. To everyone he said, “I’ll deliver in my street clothes.”

Faith had just scrubbed and was already moving around to the foot of the bed. As a nurse practitioner she’d delivered more babies than she could count, simply because the doctors tended not to make it in time. Since she’d opened the clinic, there’d been hundreds more. Delivering babies was her favorite part of the job.

But Luke beat her to it. Leaning in, he murmured for her ears only, “She’s obviously low pain tolerance, let’s get her an epidural—”

“Her chart says she requested no drugs when she arrived.”

He leaned in closer, stooping a little to stand eye-to-eye with her, and since they were eye-to-eye, she had no trouble seeing his carefully reined-in anger. “You don’t believe in epidurals?”

“She requested to do this naturally,” she repeated.

“Ah, the barbaric way then,” he said. “Have you ever had a baby naturally, Faith McDowell?”

“No, and I’m fairly certain you haven’t either. There are plenty of other methods of easing pain—healing touch, herbs, imagery, pressure point therapy—”

“Let the patient decide against conventional pain meds,” he said in a low, harsh whisper. “Let her decide in the moment, as in right now, not before she knows what she’s getting into. And don’t let your beliefs drive the decision, that’s unfair.”

“Fine.” She shoved her chin in the air. “Clearly you have this situation under control. I’ll tend to the other patients.”

Without responding, he turned his attention to Margaret, his big body leaning over hers protectively, talking in that same low, gentle voice he’d never used on Faith.

She should be thankful for small favors, because that voice he didn’t share with her made her tummy quiver and her legs feel funny. Boneless.

She really wished she’d had some chocolate.



MARGARET DELIVERED A beautiful eight-pound girl—without the epidural.

Faith delivered herself a pounding tension headache, the kind she’d had daily once upon a time, when she’d worked at the hospital.

“I need a new set of scrubs,” Luke told her a couple of hours later on a rare two-minute break between patients.

“Fine.” She strode down the hall, jerked open the supply closet and flipped on the light. She could smell him behind her, and one would think after hours of working with patients and running at a fast pace, he’d at least smell like it, but no. He smelled delicious, quite frankly. “How do you do that?” she asked grumpily.

“Do what?”

“Still smell good.” She didn’t point out how annoying that was. Or that her nose was straining to catch the scent of him.

“My mother always told me to smell good.”

That startled a laugh out of her. “Really?”

“No.” He was smiling. Good Lord, he shouldn’t do that, because like his voice, it did funny things to her insides. “My mom didn’t tell me anything,” he said. “She had the nanny do it.”

“Ah. Poor little rich boy, Dr. Walker?”

“Luke. And nah, not rich. My mother just didn’t like messy things, and my brother and I were about as messy as they came.”

No. No, she didn’t want to hear this, that he was human, that he’d had a mother who hadn’t mothered him, that he had a brother he’d obviously shared a lot with, that he…that he just might have had as lonely a childhood as she.

She found him a pair of scrubs, and as she pulled them off the shelf, she fought back a laugh. Pink flowered scrubs. Smiling at the petty revenge, she turned around to hand them to him and found him much closer than she’d anticipated, as he’d stepped into the supply room behind her, craning his neck to check out the shelves. The last time she’d been this close to him, this morning, in fact, he’d been only half-dressed and tousled. Now his short, spiky dark hair had been combed, though his jaw still showed a shadow, probably because she’d given him the bum’s rush, not giving him time to breathe, much less shave. It didn’t change the potency of being this close to him. So close she could have leaned in a fraction of an inch and—

“Nicely stacked.”

She watched his lips move, heard the words, and her jaw fell open as she looked down at the front of her scrubs, which so effectively hid her breasts. She had no idea how he’d—

“The shelves,” he repeated slowly, frowning at her reaction. “They’re nicely stocked. Organized.”

Nicely stocked. Stocked, you idiot. Good God, she needed to get it together. This was her arena, her clinic, and lust, or whatever had happened to her genes and hormones since she’d set eyes on him, didn’t have a place. Nope, no matter how big, bad and pulse-jerkingly magnificent the man standing close enough to grope was, she needed to ignore it all. “Um…thanks.” He’d complimented the clinic. Okay…maybe this could work, maybe they could find a happy medium—

“For a froufrou clinic,” he added.

Nope. No happy medium.




3


FAITH DECIDED IT MUST be a full moon, as besides their scheduled massage therapy, acupressure and aromatherapy appointments, they had an unusual number of women in labor, walk-ins and emergencies.

Either a full moon…or curiosity about Dr. Luke Walker. She decided it didn’t matter. She loved knowing people came to Healing Waters for help. She ended up eating lunch on the run, which she hated to do but it couldn’t be helped. And by late afternoon, she felt that familiar light-headedness—the one that signaled her resistance was down—and still had that monster headache that wouldn’t quit.

If she didn’t want to get sick, she needed a break, horizontal on her couch in her office. And she’d get it, she promised herself, as soon as she saw the seventeen-year-old waiting for her in room seven who wanted to get on birth control pills without her mother’s permission.

“Psst.”

Shelby and Guy were huddled behind a tall potted palm, frantically waving her over. With a low laugh, Faith looked conspiratorially right, then left, then joined them in their usual gathering place to exchange patient charts and any new gossip.

“Tell me one of you has something chocolate,” she said hopefully.

“Is that all you think about, food?” Guy asked, and slapped his pockets. “Sorry, I’ve got nothing.”

With a sigh, Faith pulled a granola bar from her own pocket and after splitting it three ways, stuffed her portion in her mouth. When she realized they were staring at her, she stopped in mid-chew, not easy with homemade granola. “What?”

Guy shook his head at Shelby. “She’s going to deny it, so don’t even bother to say anything.”

“Say what?”

“Say that the sparks bouncing between you and the good Dr. Walker are threatening to burn the place down,” Shelby said.

“Sparks?” Faith laughed. “Of course there’s sparks. We rub each other the wrong way. I’m just sorry you’re picking up on the temper between us. I know that’s not good for a calm work environment.”

Guy and Shelby looked at each other, then grinned.

Faith eyed them warily. “What now?”

“We’re talking about sexual sparks, Faith,” Guy told her.

“You remember the word sexual, right?” Shelby lifted her brow suggestively. “Even though you haven’t had any sex since the nineties.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Faith forced another laugh even though, pathetically, Shelby was right. “Of course I remember….” Sort of. “But there’s nothing between us, sexual or otherwise.”

“Really? ’Cuz I could have heated my lunch burrito off the heat between you two.” Guy studied his fingernails. He’d painted the pinkies dark purple, which matched the stripe in his hair. “Probably would have burned it.”

Faith’s stomach growled. “You had a burrito?”

“Concentrate, hon.” Shelby patted her perfect hair. “The good doctor is an amazing specimen. We know you noticed.”

Faith would rather talk about burritos, extra fat please. Of course, that’s why Shelby looked like a glamorous actress playing at being an overworked medical professional while Faith looked like…well, like an overworked medical professional.

“All that rough-and-tumble masculinity, combined with his take-me-as-I-am attitude. Wow.” Shelby fanned herself. “And his bedside manner…made my knees weak.”

“Mine, too,” said Guy, also fanning himself.

“So…” Shelby, a woman who liked men as much as Faith liked…air, looked at her. “Are you going to do him?”

Faith nearly choked on the last swallow of granola. “Not everyone is interested is ‘doing’ a man who is overly confident and too gorgeous for his own good.”

“Speak for yourself,” Guy muttered.

Shelby looked at her watch. “Look, sex is supposed to be fun. I realize you might have forgotten that, but…”

No, Faith remembered that much about sex. Barely. “I remember, but at the moment, I have to go talk to a seventeen-year-old who wants birth control pills.”

Both Shelby and Guy suitably sobered. “Well, don’t tell her how fun it is,” Shelby advised. “Kids shouldn’t know that.”

Faith walked down the hall, practicing her abstinence speech in her head, but it seemed old-fashioned, even if she wholeheartedly believed in it for all seventeen-year-olds. But these days she had to be more realistic, and she needed to be armed with more advice than look but don’t touch.

It turned out there wasn’t just seventeen-year-old Elizabeth Stone in room seven, but her boyfriend as well, if the fact that they were thigh-to-thigh and holding hands meant anything.

Oh, and one Dr. Luke Walker, sitting right in front of them, all comfy cozy in the third patient chair. Elizabeth and the boy were smiling, and so was Luke. He was leaning back, one long leg crossed over the other, looking utterly at ease as he discussed the advantages of condoms for sex, every single time.

All three of them looked up at her when she entered, and Luke handed her Liz’s chart.

“Thanks for the appointment,” Elizabeth said to Dr. Walker, and with a smile at Faith, she and her boyfriend left.

Faith looked at Luke. “What are you doing?”

“Your receptionist asked me to handle some of your patients. You’re backed up.”

You’re backed up. Not we. Of course not we, he wasn’t a part of them, he was simply fulfilling what he considered a punishment by his hospital. “What did Elizabeth say?”

“She refused to discuss abstinence so we talked about STDs until she turned green. Then we talked about condoms.”

Faith would’ve given them the same talk about sexually transmitted diseases so she had no idea why she felt the need to argue with him. Had she wanted him to disappoint her? Was she that shallow simply because he had been?

He yawned, and in an absent gesture, scratched his chest. Then he looked at his watch.

“Long day?”

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.”





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