A Ring For Christmas. Joan Elliott Pickart
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of that afternoon with Luke kept creeping in and disrupting her concentration. So, therefore, she’d indulge in a trip down memory lane, relive every tantalizing, sensuous moment of what they’d shared and finally put it to rest. Then she’d be able to get her chores done like a proper little business owner should.
Maggie stared into space, making no attempt to erase the soft smile that formed on her lips as picture after picture slid into her mind and sensation after sensation swirled within her body.
Heat settled low within her, pulsing and hot, and she shifted slightly on the chair. Her breasts began to ache, yearning for the soothing feeling of Luke’s hands, then mouth, on the sensitive flesh. Mercy. Her cheeks, she knew, were flushed and she could hear the increased tempo of her heart echoing in her ears.
Ecstasy in its purest form, she mused dreamily. That’s what that joining had been. And at the peak of it, the climax? God, she had no idea it could be like that. It defied description, required words that hadn’t even been invented yet.
Imagine what it would be like, she mentally rambled on, to be married to Luke, to be the recipient of all that magnificent masculinity night after night after…It boggled the mind.
Of course, there was more to marriage than just…well, than just that. She and Luke would laugh and talk, eat meals together, shop for groceries, discuss events from the six-o’clock news. They’d choose a house they both knew would be their home, then furnish it room by room, agreeing on choices, compromising where necessary.
And, of course, one of those rooms would be a nursery for the baby they’d create with their wondrous lovemaking. A baby boy? A girl? It wouldn’t matter. Then a couple of years later another little miracle would arrive to join the first. Luke would be a fantastic father to all their children, whether they had two or four or…
But each night when tiny heads were nestled on pillows after stories had been read and prayers heard, it would be grown-up time, Maggie-and-Luke time, private time. And in their marriage bed they would reach eagerly for each other, the desire never waning, their heartfelt love growing deeper and stronger with each passing year. Their lips would meet and…
“Maggie?”
Maggie shifted her gaze to focus on the direction the voice had come from. Luke. He was standing right in front of her desk in all his masculine splendor.
He really wasn’t there, she told herself, was a figment of her imagination due to the fantasy playing out in her head. No, he really wasn’t there, so what the heck…
Maggie got to her feet, leaned forward to grip Luke’s tie and pulled him toward her to plant a searing kiss on his lips.
But the very moment that their mouths met, a mortified Maggie realized that Luke really was there in living, breathing color. She released her hold on his tie and plunked back down in her chair, wishing she could disappear into thin air, never to be seen again.
“Well,” Luke said, smoothing his tie and smiling at her, “that was quite a welcome. Hello to you, too, Maggie.”
“‘Lo,” she mumbled, staring at the middle button on his shirt.
“You certainly make a man feel special, like you’re glad to see him, I must say.”
“I can explain that,” Maggie said, finally meeting his gaze. She sighed and shook her head. “No, forget it. It’s too ridiculous.” She paused. “I guess you’re here because you haven’t heard from me regarding honeymoon suites, but I’ve been buried in paperwork and haven’t had a chance to do any investigating yet.”
“No, I’m here because I missed you,” Luke said, settling onto one of the chairs opposite Maggie’s desk. “That’s it, pure and simple.”
“Really?” A bright smile lit up Maggie’s face, then in the next instant she managed to erase it and adopt an expression of vague interest. “Oh?”
“Yep,” Luke said, chuckling. “And since this tie I’m wearing may never be the same, I’d say you missed me, too.”
“Well…” Maggie flipped one hand in the air. “Whatever.”
“Mmm. My, my, Maggie, I’m surprised to see that you’re wearing that shade of blue on a Thursday. You didn’t go so far as to take a bath or shower this morning, did you?”
“Huh?” Maggie peered down at the string sweater she wore, then looked at Luke again, obviously confused. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Luke propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and tented his fingers.
“There are certain cultures,” he said, “which believe the color blue represents the ocean, the sea. They also think that Thursday is the unluckiest day of the week. Therefore, to tempt fate by wearing that color on a Thursday, you’re destined to have an accident in water, maybe even drown.”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes heavenward.
“Not to the people who believe it.”
“Which probably number about three. For heaven’s sake, Luke, the wrong color on the wrong day and you’re deader than a doornail? That’s a nonsense-to-the-max superstition.”
Luke shrugged with a rather nondescript expression on his face.
“Besides, I took a long bath in my wonderful tub this morning and lived to tell about it,” she said, lifting her chin. “So there.”
“No kidding? Well, maybe that superstition is garbage after all,” he said thoughtfully. “It was so off-the-wall that I was leaning toward believing it. I mean, there must be enough evidence to substantiate it in the first place.”
Maggie leaned toward him. “That tie of yours that I just wrinkled is blue, sort of sea-blue. Did you shower this morning?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I rest my case. That superstition is nonsense.”
Gotcha, Luke thought smugly. Score one for Luke St. John.
“So back to why you’re here,” Maggie said.
“Well, it’s not because I’m bugging you about the honeymoon suites,” Luke said. “One of my clients had a bit of an emergency and I had to put on my big-boy-lawyer clothes and meet with him for a long, boring lunch close to here. I just dropped in to say hello and to tell you that I missed you.” He attempted once again to smooth his crumpled tie. “And to get my tie killed, I guess.”
“I’d offer to replace it, but I don’t think I could afford to do that on my budget. How much did it cost?”
“A hundred and fifty dollars.”
“For a tie?” she said, nearly shrieking. “That’s absurd.”
“It’s imported silk from Italy.”
“Could I interest you in installment payments?”
Luke laughed. “Tell you what. You agree to have dinner with me tonight and we’ll call it even.”
“Well…”
“I’m in the mood for pizza, if that suits you, so dress very casually. But don’t wear blue. Okay?”
“Pizza sounds great but, Luke, you’ve got to forget about that superstition because it really is nuts.”
“I’ll try,” he said, rising with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock. I’ll let you get back to work now. See you later.”
“But…” Maggie said as Luke strode from the room. She smiled as she heard the front door of Roses and Wishes close behind him. “Eight o’clock will be just fine.”
She picked up an invoice, then stared into space.
She’d really gotten carried away with her mental fantasy, she mused. Goodness,