A Ring For Christmas. Joan Elliott Pickart
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on her face, her lips moist and slightly parted, beckoning.
“Ah, Maggie,” Luke said, his voice gritty with passion. “I want to make love with you so damn much. From the moment I first saw you I…Do you want me, Maggie? Do you want to make love with me?”
“Yes, I do,” she whispered. “But—”
“Forget the jinx thing for now. We’ll tackle that later…later…yes. All I can concentrate on now is you, me, what we’ll share. But, Maggie, I would never take advantage of you, pressure you, attempt to seduce you into doing something you’ll regret.” He paused. “I guess what I’m saying is, it’s your decision.”
Oh, Maggie thought foggily. How could she decide when she couldn’t even think clearly? Okay, okay, she was getting a grip now, ignoring the fact that she was still being held in Luke’s strong arms, still molded to his aroused body, still…thinking. Yes, she was thinking.
And she wanted him.
She wanted to make love with him because she cared for him so very much and he cared for her, she knew he did.
And because when he realized that the Jenkins Jinx was true, he would chalk her up as being a very weird, creepy woman and keep her at a safe distance from him.
And because she intended to give herself this intimate joining with Luke St. John so she’d have a precious memory to make up for all she would never have because of the Jenkins Jinx.
“Maggie?”
“Make love with me, Luke,” she said softly, looking directly into his dark eyes. “I won’t be sorry. I’ll have no regrets, I promise. We have no future together. None. The jinx is real and I’ve accepted that. Nothing you can say or do will change my mind about it. But now? Right now? I want—I desire you. So, please, make love with me.”
With a groan that rumbled from deep in his chest, Luke captured Maggie’s mouth once again in a searing kiss. She returned the kiss in total abandon, holding nothing back, giving as much as she was receiving.
Luke lifted his head, then swung Maggie up into his arms. She pointed in the direction of her bedroom and he carried her there with long, purposeful strides.
He set her on her feet next to the double bed, absently registering that the room was femininity personified, just like Maggie, with a bedspread patterned with pale pink roses and a matching skirt on a small round table that held a clock and a telephone. The curtains were pink and the dresser was white wicker.
Maggie swept back the spread and blankets to reveal sheets with tiny pink rosebuds, then turned to face Luke again.
“I’m very nervous,” she said. “I really don’t have the kind of experience that I’m certain you’re accustomed to and I—”
“Shh,” he said, placing one fingertip gently on her lips. “We’re going to be wonderful together, Maggie.”
And they were.
With sudden confidence that came from a place she couldn’t fathom, Maggie nodded, and as Luke shed his clothes, she removed her own. They stood naked before each other, rejoicing in what they saw, what would be theirs, given willingly.
He lifted her into his arms again, settled her in the center of the bed, then followed her down, his mouth melting over hers.
It was ecstasy. They kissed, caressed, discovered each other’s mysteries with awe and wonder. Where hands traveled, lips followed, igniting the heat of their desire into leaping flames that threatened to consume them both.
Luke left her only long enough to roll on protection, then returned to her outstretched arms. When they could bear no more, he moved over her and into her with a thrust that filled her and brought a gasp of pure pleasure from her lips.
The rocking rhythm began, then increased in tempo until it was wild and earthy, wondrous, synchronized to perfection as though they had been lovers forever.
They soared. Higher. Closer. Calling to the other, clinging fast, then bursting upon the place they sought only seconds apart.
“Luke!”
“Oh, Maggie. My Maggie.”
They drifted slowly back, then Luke mustered his last ounce of energy to move off her and tuck her close to his side, his lips resting lightly on her moist forehead. She rested one hand on the dark curls on his broad chest, feeling his heart settle into a quieter, steady beat.
“Thank you,” Luke said quietly.
“And I thank you,” Maggie whispered, “for the beautiful memories to keep.”
Maggie’s lashes drifted down and she slept, content, sated, a soft smile on her lips. Luke held her, sifting his fingers through her silky strawberry-blond curls.
God, how he loved this woman, he thought, feeling a foreign ache tighten his throat. She had given of herself so freely, so honestly, to him. Him. She cared deeply for him, he knew that, might even be falling in love with him just as he was already deeply in love with her.
He couldn’t lose her. No, the mere thought of it was more than he could bear. He knew the name of the enemy now—the Jenkins Jinx. That he believed it to be crazy, borderline nuts, meant nothing because Maggie was convinced it was true and planned to never marry to protect her heart from being shattered.
The battle lines were drawn. He was literally fighting for his life, his future happiness, his forever. And he would be the victor, for himself, for Maggie, for what they would have together until death parted them and beyond.
He would win. Somehow. He had to.
“I love you, Maggie Jenkins,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her. “You are my life. My wife. Mine.”
A little over an hour later Maggie stirred and opened her eyes, only to blink against the bright sunlight streaming through the window.
Luke, she thought, as the mist of sleep lifted.
She turned her head on the pillow to see the empty expanse of bed next to her, then heard the sound of the shower running. She stretched leisurely, then pulled the sheet to beneath her chin, clutching it with both hands.
She’d made love with Luke, she thought, and it had been glorious, beyond her wildest fantasies. Did she regret what she had done? Was she sorry? No. Never.
Her life was not like other women’s, with dreams of a husband, babies, hearth and home. To have experienced something as wondrous as she just had with a magnificent man like Luke St. John was more than she’d ever expected to receive, to possess as hers, to tuck away in the treasure chest in her heart.
Was this dangerous? she asked herself. Well, no, not if she stayed alert, kept a tight control over her emotions and the truth of her reality front and center. She could handle this. She would have this time with Luke. And when Precious and Clyde were married, that would be the end of Maggie Jenkins and Luke St. John. She knew that, understood that. Yes, she could handle this.
Luke came into the bedroom fully dressed, his hair damp from the shower. He sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at Maggie.
“Have a nice nap?”
“Lovely, thank you,” she said, matching his smile.
“You’re very pretty when you’re sleeping, very peaceful.” He paused. “I’d better get going. You’ll let me know when you have some appointments to see honeymoon suites at various hotels?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll call you.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Maggie, you don’t have any regrets about what happened here, do you?”
“No, no, Luke, not at all. It was wonderful and I…No regrets. We both understand that this is temporary, what we’re sharing, because my life is what it is—jinxed. I know you’re not quite believing that yet, but it’s true, trust me, and I’ll never allow myself