buttons,” she offered. She’d spoken quickly, not wanting him to have to listen to the silence, wondering if she was pitying him. Now, seeing the sudden fire that came to life in Nathan’s eyes, Faith wondered who was actually to be pitied here.
“It’s all right, Faith. I’d say that dressing me goes beyond the bounds of duty.”
It was also beyond the bounds of what Faith felt she’d be comfortable doing right now, but she’d promised herself to become more involved in Nathan’s progress, to stop shying away from him like a fresh-faced teenager faced with her idol.
“I’ve dressed patients before,” she said. But those other patients had been nothing like Nathan.
At her words his look turned dark and intense.
She moved to him, lifted her hands to tug on the edges of his shirt—and instantly felt warm, hair-roughened skin. Damp flesh pulsing beneath her fingertips. She inhaled and breathed in his scent—soap...man. Beneath the pads of her fingertips, she could feel his heart beating, or it seemed that way. Her fingers stilled. She looked up at him, uncertain how to go on.
“Maybe it would be better to leave your shirt unfastened,” she faltered. “You’re still damp.” Swift heat flooded throughout her body. “And it is warm in here.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he said thickly.
But as Faith stepped back, she wasn’t so sure. She could have had the buttons done up in a trice, and looking at the exposed muscles of Nathan’s chest was almost as unnerving as touching him.
“Hannah left your dinner,” she said quickly, looking for a change of subject.
Nathan let out a breath as if he, too, had been uncomfortable with their situation. He looked at the table, then turned back to Faith. “Care to join me? I’m starved. And frankly, I—I wouldn’t mind the company.”
What could she do when he asked so nicely? Nice for Nathan, at any rate. Managing a smile, Faith nodded. “Sounds good. Hannah left a meal big enough to feed the entire hospital.”
~ ~ ~
Nathan watched her as she walked across the room to where Hannah had left the food. He was relieved to have her move away from him, and yet he felt a vague sense of loss at her going.
Thank God she’d given up on helping him with his shirt. When her strong, capable fingers had rested on his chest seconds earlier, he’d been afraid that he’d give in to the urge to touch her, too; to slide one hand beneath all that long, honey brown hair he’d been staring at for so long and expose the vulnerable nape of her neck. To his eyes. His lips.
He watched Faith as she arranged food on the plates, slicing the too-thick pieces of ham that Hannah had left, rearranging dishes, swaying as she worked. She was so petite, and yet so graceful. Her hands were delicate, gentle, he knew. She slid one finger over the edge of a plate to push it deeper onto the table, and Nathan felt his mouth go dry. His mind made the leap.
Thoughts of that one slender finger sliding down his chest filled Nathan’s consciousness.
Angrily, he pushed the picture away, and tried to envision his Joanna.
He took four deep breaths, and felt himself relaxing a bit. Faith was helping him by getting his dinner, something that wasn’t in her job description. He should be helping her, and instead he was—no, he wasn’t going back down that path, not even to berate himself.
Pulling open a drawer, he clattered silverware about, biting down as he clutched up two forks, spoons and knives. He slammed the drawer shut, grasped the pull on a cabinet and grabbed two napkins, crushing them into his other hand.
“Nathan!”
Faith’s cry made the skin tingle all the way down his back. The damn knife. She must have cut herself while she was helping him.
Whirling, he turned to her. But she didn’t have a knife in her hand. She held nothing.
She was staring at him, a bright smile on her lips, a glistening teardrop rolling down her cheek.
“Faith? Faith, are you all right?
“It’s all right, Faith. I’d say that dressing me goes beyond the bounds of duty.”
It was also beyond the bounds of what Faith felt she’d be comfortable doing right now, but she’d promised herself to become more involved in Nathan’s progress, to stop shying away from him like a fresh-faced teenager faced with her idol.
“I’ve dressed patients before,” she said. But those other patients had been nothing like Nathan.
At her words his look turned dark and intense.
She moved to him, lifted her hands to tug on the edges of his shirt—and instantly felt warm, hair-roughened skin. Damp flesh pulsing beneath her fingertips. She inhaled and breathed in his scent—soap...man. Beneath the pads of her fingertips, she could feel his heart beating, or it seemed that way. Her fingers stilled. She looked up at him, uncertain how to go on.
“Maybe it would be better to leave your shirt unfastened,” she faltered. “You’re still damp.” Swift heat flooded throughout her body. “And it is warm in here.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he said thickly.
But as Faith stepped back, she wasn’t so sure. She could have had the buttons done up in a trice, and looking at the exposed muscles of Nathan’s chest was almost as unnerving as touching him.
“Hannah left your dinner,” she said quickly, looking for a change of subject.
Nathan let out a breath as if he, too, had been uncomfortable with their situation. He looked at the table, then turned back to Faith. “Care to join me? I’m starved. And frankly, I—I wouldn’t mind the company.”
What could she do when he asked so nicely? Nice for Nathan, at any rate. Managing a smile, Faith nodded. “Sounds good. Hannah left a meal big enough to feed the entire hospital.”
~ ~ ~
Nathan watched her as she walked across the room to where Hannah had left the food. He was relieved to have her move away from him, and yet he felt a vague sense of loss at her going.
Thank God she’d given up on helping him with his shirt. When her strong, capable fingers had rested on his chest seconds earlier, he’d been afraid that he’d give in to the urge to touch her, too; to slide one hand beneath all that long, honey brown hair he’d been staring at for so long and expose the vulnerable nape of her neck. To his eyes. His lips.
He watched Faith as she arranged food on the plates, slicing the too-thick pieces of ham that Hannah had left, rearranging dishes, swaying as she worked. She was so petite, and yet so graceful. Her hands were delicate, gentle, he knew. She slid one finger over the edge of a plate to push it deeper onto the table, and Nathan felt his mouth go dry. His mind made the leap.
Thoughts of that one slender finger sliding down his chest filled Nathan’s consciousness.
Angrily, he pushed the picture away, and tried to envision his Joanna.
He took four deep breaths, and felt himself relaxing a bit. Faith was helping him by getting his dinner, something that wasn’t in her job description. He should be helping her, and instead he was—no, he wasn’t going back down that path, not even to berate himself.
Pulling open a drawer, he clattered silverware about, biting down as he clutched up two forks, spoons and knives. He slammed the drawer shut, grasped the pull on a cabinet and grabbed two napkins, crushing them into his other hand.
“Nathan!”
Faith’s cry made the skin tingle all the way down his back. The damn knife. She must have cut herself while she was helping him.
Whirling, he turned to her. But she didn’t have a knife in her hand. She held nothing.
She was staring at him, a bright smile on her lips, a glistening teardrop rolling down her cheek.
“Faith? Faith, are you all right?
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