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frustration show. Not to anyone but Faith, of course, from whom he never seemed to try to hide a thing.
    He was probably in the staff room now, waiting for her, brooding, pouting, and she sneaked past, heading for her office. All she wanted was five minutes on her couch with the lights off. She wanted that more than she wanted a candy bar, and that was saying something. Her head hurt, her body trembled, and she wanted to cry in frustration at the thought of getting sick now.
    She opened her office door and made a beeline for her couch. She was so intent on this, it took her a moment to realize it was already taken.
    Luke lay there, on his back, sprawled out, fast asleep. His feet hung off, as did one arm, making him look cramped and uncomfortable, but he lay there, head turned to the side, dead to the world.
    At least he didn't snore. She eyed his long, lean, muscular body, now dressed in those ridiculous flowered scrubs she'd given him, and had to let out a soft laugh. He made them look … fun. He'd made a lot of things look fun today, all from the viewpoint of her patients. She had to admit, the man had a way with people.
    Patients, she corrected. The man had a way with patients. Not with people.
    Certainly not with her.
    He sighed in his sleep, and shifted, pulling his arm back up. His usually intense face was slightly softened, and … well, boyish. She could almost forget that he had a sharp tongue and even sharper wit. Almost.
    His arm fell off the edge again. What a waste of incredible God-given masculinity, she thought with a roll of her eyes and nudged his foot with her own.
    "What?" He sat straight up, eyes open and alert, like most medical professionals, quite used to being woken for any variety of emergencies.
    "What's the matter?" he asked. The only sign of lingering grogginess was a wide yawn that revealed teeth as perfect as the rest of him.
    "You're on my couch."
    "Sorry." He stood, and once again stretched that long, magnificent body. "More patients?"
    "No, I just need the couch." His yawn was contagious and she fought her own.
    "Is that it for today then?"
    "Yes. Thank you," she added. "I know we had a few differences of opinion—" He laughed, and she glared at him. "I was trying to be nice."
    "What we have is more than a difference in opinion, Faith. Try major differences in life philosophies." His eyes met hers in a long, knowing look. "There's no prettying that up."
    "But you stayed."
    "Not much of a choice," he pointed out.
    "Yeah, because you're a marketing nightmare."
    His smile was grim. "Don't you know it."
    "And because you like your position and prestige at the hospital."
    He eyed her for a heartbeat during which time she wondered why in the world she was baiting the tiger. "Yes," he said eventually. "I like my position at the hospital. I like it a lot."
    "So … after a day of being here, after seeing what we do for our patients, can't you maybe admit you were wrong about the clinic?"
    Another long moment. "I can admit you help people," he allowed.
    Was that the most she was going to get? Apparently so. And yet really, what had she expected? That he'd thank her for proving him wrong today? Yeah, right.
    Exhausted, frustrated, she sank to the couch and nearly moaned out load at the delicious body heat he'd left her. A good amount of her resentment faded, and snuggling in, she let out a serrated sigh.
    "Good?"
    "Better than good." She sighed again, softly, blissfully.
    His eyes heated at the sound and her tummy fluttered.
    He leaned over her, a long, warm arm on either side of her hips.
    The tingle in her tummy spread. She considered how she'd feel if he kissed her, and had just decided she might actually let him when the blanket drifted over her. "What are you doing?"
    "Tucking you in. Need a bedtime story?"
    Oh boy. "Doctor of the universe and a comedian, too."
    He tilted his head in a mocking bow.
    She closed her eyes so she wouldn't stare at his mouth, which was wide, firm, and she suspected,