DAMN.
Luke leaned against the wall and watched as Devon Manning disappeared. She moved fast for such a skinny thing. She smelled good, too. Soft, sweet, clean. Almost too soft for the life he knew she lived.
He hadn’t seen her since the day she’d brought Ellie in, and Luke figured that was almost two months ago. That job of hers had to be hell. He didn’t know how she did it. Yeah, he saw some shit cases around here, but they weren’t everything. Since she was a social worker, he had to wonder how many happy endings she saw.
Certainly weren’t a lot of happy moments when she showed up in the ER. As much as he liked seeing her, Luke had learned fairly early on seeing a social worker usually meant the ER would be treating some abused child, a battered woman, a strung-out teen. Either that, or the ER had been forced to call Social Services, and those times weren’t exactly fun, either.
And none of it was very conducive to romance.
Pretty much from the first time he’d seen her five or six months ago, he’d wanted to ask her out. There just didn’t ever seem to be a good time for it. Before Ellie, the last time she’d come in, it had been because one of her cases, a mom addicted to meth, had beat the crap out of her daughter. Hadn’t been a good time then, either.
Studying the picture, he realized the perfect opportunity had been in front of him, but he’d been too slow to react, and once more, she slid away. He could still see her, walking down the hallway, her head bent, fiddling with that damn phone.
Shoving away from the wall, Luke headed toward her.
There wasn’t going to be a better time. He could at least try to get her phone number. But he never made it. His own phone started to ring, and he grabbed it, swearing as he read the display.
So much for getting her number. He slid the picture of Ellie into his pocket and tossed back the rest of his coffee. Back into the trenches.
BY the time his shift ended, Luke had been cried on, yelled at, bled on, kicked at, and stepped on. At least the only body fluids were blood and tears. Some shifts, he spent an hour in the shower and still didn’t feel clean. Today wasn’t so bad. He’d been prepared for the worst when he had first seen Devon Manning. But whatever case she’d been in for couldn’t have been a bad one, or all the nurses would have been buzzing over it. He hadn’t heard anything through the grapevine.
It had been a long week, and he had three precious days in a row off. Three whole days. He didn’t have to be back at work until seven Sunday night, and he was going to enjoy it. Luke was dead tired, but considering this was the first night he’d had off in nearly a week, thanks to staffing shortages, going home was not what he had on his list of things to do. At least not yet. He wanted a real meal he didn’t have to cook, and he wouldn’t mind a few drinks. Company wouldn’t be a bad thing, either, but when he tried to think of somebody to call, the only face that came to mind belonged to Devon Manning.
But he hadn’t been able to get her number before he got called back to the ER, and by the time he had a few spare minutes, she was long gone.
Luke didn’t even know if she lived in the city or not. More and more people were commuting back and forth to Lexington for work. Some even made the hour and change drive between Lexington and Louisville, although he doubted a social worker would work that far out. Most of them had to take turns working on call, and somebody living an hour away wasn’t going to be able to get on scene quick enough.
Luke could get the number. Had been tempted a time or two. If he wanted to breach some codes of ethics, he could get it from the hospital, but he wasn’t too sure that would be the best way to go about asking her out.
Hell, he could find the number on his own, if he wanted. Wouldn’t really take much, even if she was unlisted. He hadn’t been the computer genius of his unit, but he knew his way around the Web. An unlisted phone number might be a little harder for the average civilian to get, but Luke wasn’t an average civilian.
Somehow he suspected the lady wouldn’t like him getting her home number using anything other than the normal methods—like asking her.
“Then why in the hell didn’t you just ask her?” he muttered as he headed for the parking garage. Should haves, would haves, and what ifs—they all added up to jack.
Next time, he told himself. He’d get it next time. He’d seen that responding heat in her eyes. She’d backed off quick, real quick, but he knew what he’d seen. If her damn phone hadn’t gone off, if he had taken a minute to concentrate on something beyond the fact that she’d been standing close enough for him to smell the soft, faint scent of lotion that clung to her skin, he could have had been having dinner with the pretty social worker, seeing if he couldn’t coax a smile or two out of her.
Or maybe he was going to have that chance after all, Luke realized an hour later. He stood at the bar of a popular steakhouse and watched as Devon made her way through the crowd. She kept a careful distance between herself and all the people around her. Pretty amazing. She managed to work her way through the tightly packed bodies without bumping into a soul.
Something about that extreme caution touched off a warning signal in Luke’s head, but he brushed it off. He’d get her number, and he was going to sit down with her and talk about something other than cigarette burns, malnourished toddlers, and spiral fractures.
Forcing his way through the crunch of bodies surrounding the bar, Luke intercepted her right before she slid onto a barstool. “Miz Devon.”
She jerked away, blinked owlishly like she didn’t recognize him, then a smile curved her lips. “Dr. Rafferty.”
Luke glanced down at the plain white button-down he wore. “I’m not wearing scrubs, a lab coat, or a stethoscope. It’s Luke.” He glanced around and saw that nobody seemed to be waiting for her. “You here alone?”
“Yeah. Came to do some shopping, and I got hungry. I was just going to have a burger or something at the bar.”
He nodded toward a couple vacating a bar table. “Me, too. Wanna join me?”
Devon glanced at the table and then back up at him. That caution he’d glimpsed earlier made a brief appearance, and he knew she was going to say no. Already disappointed, Luke started groping for something to say to change her mind. The little girl, Ellie. Yeah, they could talk about Ellie, right? Or her job, maybe. Something.
But before he had even formulated one coaxing, convincing argument, she gave him a smile. “Sure.”
Relief had him grinning like a fool, and he reached up, closing his fingers around her elbow. She went stiff for a second, but he didn’t even notice. He was too busy reveling in the warm, soft feel of her skin. Soft as satin. Warm. Over the smoke in the air, he could smell her. That scent, sweet and female, went straight to his head and made him think about things he really didn’t need to be thinking about, not unless he wanted to scare her away before they even managed to order an appetizer.
She always smelled so good, something warm, summery—sort of like honeysuckle. What was it? Some kind of lotion? Lotion—yeah, something she’d slick on when she climbed out of the shower . . . slick it on wet, bare skin . . . shit.
You’re into self-torment, he thought, grateful for the noise and the crowd pressing in around them. It gave him at least a minute to get a grip and focus as they made their way to the now-vacant table.
A couple of college boys came rushing up to grab the table as Devon started to sit down, and Luke shifted his body, putting it between them and the table. “Hey,” one of the kids said, shoving at Luke’s shoulder.
Luke gave him a look over his shoulder. “Table’s taken, kid.”
The hand on his shoulder tightened. Luke dropped a look to the hand, and then back up. Twenty-two, tops, Luke figured. Had the clean-cut, all-American college kid look going, and he was about as dumb as a box of rocks.
He saw Devon’s face from the corner of his eye and swore silently, about ready to just let the moron and his friends have the table. But one of the guy’s buddies had a little more sense and grabbed his
friend, pushing him toward a couple of open seats at the bar.
Sliding into the booth across from her, they were both quiet as a busboy appeared out of the crowd and cleaned up the table. “I’ve seen fights break out over less than a table in this place,” Devon said. “This close to the campus, half the people in here are probably college kids.”
“I wouldn’t have gotten into a fight over a table,” he said.
Devon smirked. “No. But you would have gotten into a fight when you punched him because you didn’t like him shoving you.” Then she grinned, her nose wrinkling a little. “Fortunately, the kid with him looked like he had half a brain.”
She gave him an easy smile and leaned forward so she didn’t have to shout. Luke did the same, and it brought him close enough that he could see the highlights in her hair; Devon had the prettiest hair he’d ever seen. A russet sort of red, but there were also strands of gold, strands of brown. If she had somebody doing that to her hair, they were worth every penny. He wished she wouldn’t wear it up all the time. Instead of the complicated twist she normally wore, she had it piled up on her head with a clip, curly little corkscrews springing out all over the place. Luke wanted to lean forward, take the clip out, and watch it fall around her shoulders. Then he could bury his face in it, see if it was as soft as it looked.
Instead, he just forced himself to smile.
She glanced around. “I keep forgetting how busy this place is. You’d think on Thursday night, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
Luke shrugged and glanced at the TV. “Football. And being so close to the campus.”
Devon grimaced. “Man, don’t say the F word. Fall’s coming, and that means half this town will have lost its mind within the next few weeks.”
“Not into sports, huh?”
She grinned. “Not the kind you have to watch on TV. I don’t mind going and watching a live game, but on TV? Just doesn’t appeal to me as much.”
“So if you’re not into sports, what are you into?”
They were interrupted before she could answer as a waitress appeared at the table. She had matte black hair, a nose ring, and what looked like a dog collar around her neck. The pseudo-goth might have worked okay, except her voice was too cheerful and her face too animated as she recited the drink specials.
“I’ll just have a Diet Coke,” Devon said.
Luke asked for a Bud Light and then looked back at Devon as the waitress disappeared. He smiled. “My first night off in almost a week. You don’t mind, do you?”
She shook her head. “Why should I?”
He shrugged. Normally, he wouldn’t have bothered asking, but he had been watching Devon for a while, and now that he actually had her outside the hospital, he didn’t want to blow it. If that meant bypassing a beer or two, he could handle that. “So if you’re not here to watch football, why are you here?”
Devon scanned the crowd and then shot him a grin. “You, being a guy and all, might not have noticed that outside this steakhouse with the loud TVs, wonderful wings, and cold beer, there’s this nifty thing called a mall. There are lots of stores: bookstores, music stores, shoe stores, stores where you can buy all sorts of girly stuff like lotion and clothes.”
Luke grinned at her. “So you’re shopping?”
“The coming of fall also means end-of-the-season clearance.” She rolled her eyes. “I just spent half of next week’s paycheck, and I haven’t even gotten it yet. I’m kind of bad about that.” She shot him a small grin and shrugged. “I have an addictive personality.”
Crooking a brow at her, Luke repeated, “An addictive personality. Addicted to what?”
Devon smiled. “Oh, all sorts of things. Books. Girly stuff like lotion. Shoes—oh, man, shoes. I love shoes.”
He craned his head around a little and glanced under the table. She had on a pair of glittery, strappy heels. Pretty feet, too. Her toe-nails were red. He hadn’t ever thought that he was the foot fetish type, but Luke had an overpowering desire to see her wearing those shoes—just the shoes. That simple thought was enough to heat his blood to boiling point, and Luke’s jeans were suddenly a little too tight. Straightening up, he forced a smile. “I like those.”
When she stuck her foot out from under the table to look at one of her feet, Luke almost groaned. The sparkly straps caught the faint light as she rotated her foot one way and then the other. The bones of her ankle and foot looked incredibly delicate. Luke had the urge to climb out of the booth and catch her pretty foot in his hand. Nibble on her instep. Kiss his way up over her ankle, over her calf, her thigh . . . she had on a long denim skirt that stopped just above her ankles, and he could see himself pushing it up as he went.
Damn it, Luke, you keep this up, and you’re going to end up trying to have her on the damn table. No. Not the table. Damn table would be too damned cramped to lay her down on. Maybe one of the barstools, yeah . . . That would work. Sitting on one of them, pulling her onto his lap, and pushing that skirt up, pushing her underwear out of the way . . .
He groaned and sat back. Under the confines of his jeans, his erection was forced into a damn uncomfortable position. Slumping in his chair, he met Devon’s gaze as she looked up from her shoes. “Spoils of war,” she said, winking at him. “Found them on the clearance table a few stores down from here, and I had to try them on. Once I did, I couldn’t take them off.”
“So how long have you been an addict?”
Totally innocent question. But she didn’t react in an innocent way, and Luke felt his stomach sink as her lids flickered, and she glanced away evasively. Luke was no psych major, and he’d only taken the courses required to get his medical degree, but he had a bad feeling he recognized the look on her face.
Guilt. Shame.
Over a shoe addiction?
Not.
Well, hell.
FORTY-FIVE minutes later, Devon gave Luke a strained smile as he walked her out to the car. Dinner had taken forever to get served, and she’d eaten a burger that tasted like sawdust. Something she’d said had made him pull back.
She wasn’t under any illusions about what it had been, either.
The addict comment. She’d looked guilty. Hell, she was guilty, but not over a serious love of shoes. Those few years during her teens had left a mark on her, and although she dealt with her problem better than most people could expect, she knew the flaw was still there. She still had to fight the urges, and she still had to live with the guilt.
She hadn’t been quick enough to come back with the appropriate teasing response to his teasing question, and he’d seen her guilt.
Luke was a smart guy—seemed like the expected thing, him being a doctor, but it wasn’t just the book smarts. She’d met plenty of doctors who were dumber than a doornail when it came to people. Not Luke. He saw beneath the surface, and he read people as easily as some of those doctors could read a chart.
He’d seen below her surface, had read her, and now he’d gone and formed an opinion on something he didn’t know jack about. The friendly flirtation hadn’t stopped, but she’d recognized the difference. She’d tried to ignore it, but the more she thought about it, the more it pissed her off.
Abruptly, she stopped and turned to look at him.
“You don’t need to walk me to my car,” she said in a flat voice, not bothering to keep up the friendly, casual attitude he’d used throughout their meal.
His gray eyes slid sideways, met hers. “It’s not a problem.”
Folding her arms over her chest, she said, “It is for me.”
Luke turned to face her. “Okay. What exactly is the problem?”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes and just barely managed to keep from sneering at him. “You don’t know me, you know.”
He cocked a brow and gave her a puzzled look. “Considering this is the first time we’ve spent more than twenty minutes together, I’d think that’s kind of to be expected.”
Her smile felt damned bitter, so she couldn’t imagine how it lo
oked. “Yes. So it’s kind of weird you think you can go and make assumptions about me based on a couple of casual comments.”
Tilting his head to the side, he shrugged. “Not sure where you’re going with this, Devon.”
This time she didn’t bother wiping the sneer off her face. Grabbing the sleeve of her jacket, she rolled up the cuff, baring the faint scars on the inside of her arm. The faint scars were more than a decade old, and they’d faded considerably, but at this point, she knew they wouldn’t ever fade away completely. The needle tracks had been infected, and that infection, combined with her serious malnutrition and the drug addiction, had landed her in the hospital for a week after Eden had found her.
In truth, she was glad she still had them. They served as a reminder for her, a reminder of where she’d come from—that she’d lived on her own for six long months and done whatever she could to survive and feed her habit. They reminded her she wasn’t alone anymore, that she’d overcome that addiction.
More, they served as a reminder that she wouldn’t ever let herself go back to that hell again.
“I haven’t touched any kind of drug in thirteen years. I don’t even take Tylenol. When I was in a car wreck a few years ago, I wouldn’t let them give me anything for the pain, and I just suffered through it.” Turning her arm up, she exposed the scars marking the inside of her right arm. “I got hooked on drugs when I was eleven. When I was thirteen, a social worker picked me up. I ended up in the system, and a couple of people who gave a damn helped me get straight. I’ve been clean for close to thirteen damn years, and I don’t need your judgmental attitude over it.” With harsh, jerky motions, she shoved her sleeve back down and turned on her heel. She could hear him behind her, and the tension in the air was palpable.
“Devon . . .”
Digging her keys out of her purse, she sent him a scathing glance. The streetlight overhead fell across his face, highlighting the angles and hollows, revealing his turbulent eyes. She recognized guilt pretty well herself. “Save it, slick. You want to spend your time with some lily-white, perfect example of humanity, more power to you.”
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