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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 ofnights," 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