Joan Pickart - A Ring For Christmas

After a frustrating stop-and-start drive across town in the surging Phoenix traffic Luke entered the plush offices of St. John and St. John, Attorneys at Law.

“Good afternoon, Mr. St. John,” the receptionist said.

“Mmm,” Luke said absently as he strode down the hall.

The attractive young woman turned in her chair and watched him go, deciding he was definitely a man with something heavy on his mind.

Luke stopped at the desk of his secretary, a plump woman in her fifties, who looked up at him with a rather confused expression.

“I thought you said when you called that you weren’t coming in this afternoon,” she said.

“I need some data, Betty,” he said. “Extensive research.”

Betty picked up a pen and slid a steno pad in front of her.

“Okay,” she said. “What can I do for you, Luke? What am I researching?”

“Superstitions.”

“I beg your pardon? Superstitions? About what? Is this pertaining to a case you have on the docket?”

“Not exactly,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Let’s just say it’s the most important project I’ve ever undertaken and let it go at that, shall we? Start with superstitions regarding brides, weddings, things like that, then go further into superstitions in general.”

“Brides? You mean, like it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before she walks down the aisle?”

“Exactly.” He shook his head. “Who comes up with this junk?”

Betty shrugged. “I have no idea, but that business about the dress has been around for as long as I can remember, and I’m borderline ancient.” She tapped the pen against the pad of paper. “Okay. I get the drift of what you want about brides and what have you. Then I go to other things like not walking under a ladder or letting a black cat cross your path?”

“Right.”

“When do you need this interesting info?”

“Yesterday,” he said, then went on into his office.

Late that night Luke was stretched out on the sofa in his living room reading yet again the thick stack of papers that Betty had given him on superstitions.

He frowned in disbelief at some of them and couldn’t help but laugh aloud at others. But for the most part he was digesting everything he read with serious intent.

He’d memorize as many of these wacky things as he could, he’d decided, then keep the papers close at hand for ready reference on others.

Luke reached over and set the papers on the coffee table fronting the sofa, then laced his fingers beneath his head where it rested on a puffy throw pillow.

The Plan was in effect, he mused, insofar as Maggie believed she was coordinating a wedding for cousin Clyde and his Precious.

However, now he knew Maggie’s secret about the Jenkins Jinx, further genius-level action was definitely called for, an extension of The Plan. Through brilliant lawyer-type persuasion he’d gotten Maggie to agree that the jinx was a superstition. She’d done so rather reluctantly, but he’d take what he could get.

His mission, then, was to cleverly and carefully expose Maggie to superstition after superstition, casually pointing out that, son of a gun, nothing horrible had happened because they’d—they’d what?—walked under a ladder, for example. He’d stack up the evidence piece by piece, inching closer and closer to the Jenkins Jinx and the miraculous fact that Maggie was obviously the one who was going to break its hold on the family because she was immune to the consequences of superstitions.

Man, he was so sharp sometimes, it just blew his mind. This was shining-star thinking, damn it. It wouldn’t be easy, that was for sure, would take planning and coordination and…He needed help. It was too big, too important to tackle alone.

Luke sat up and swung his feet to the floor.

His father, he thought. Mason St. John knew about The Plan and understood the need for it, although he did have some reservations about the consequences of duping Maggie. His dad was the perfect person to help with this new addition to the program.

Luke glanced at his watch and swore under his breath as he saw it was too late to call his father.

But first thing in the morning, he thought, he’d corner his dad and they’d map things out. Ah, yeah, this was good, very good. It was the next step in the battle that would eventually win the war.

Luke settled back on the sofa and smiled up at the ceiling.

Yes, there was going to be a Christmas wedding, all right. But Precious and Clyde—who were becoming strangely real to him—would have to make their own arrangements to tie the knot.

The wedding that was being put together at this very moment would unite Maggie Jenkins and Luke St. John in holy matrimony forever, declare them to be wife and husband, soul mates, partners in life and parents of the little miracles that would be the result of their exquisite lovemaking.

His Christmas bride, Luke thought. His Maggie.

Maggie spent the next two days tackling the stack of paperwork in her office at Roses and Wishes. It was her least favorite part of owning the business, and she often daydreamed about what it would be like to be successful enough to have a secretary.

Not only would the tedious paperwork be taken care of, but Roses and Wishes could remain open while Maggie was off and running to tend to the multitude of details, details, details needed to coordinate the perfect wedding.

But, she mused as she scrutinized another bill for Ginger and Robert’s extravaganza, the budget didn’t allow for such luxury as a secretary. And besides, she wasn’t all that sure she intended to continue with this career choice she’d been so excited about at the onset.

Maggie sighed and read the bill once more, realizing that yet again she hadn’t comprehended what was on the invoice. Why? Because her mind kept drifting off and settling on the exquisite lovemaking she’d enjoyed with Luke.

She should have had her desk cleared in one day but, no, not this time. Here it was late in the afternoon of the second day and she was still glued to her chair because her flighty brain wouldn’t behave itself.

Maggie flipped the paper in the air, watched it settle on the pile she had yet to even look at, then plunked her elbow on the desktop and rested her chin in her palm.

All right, she thought decisively, this obviously wasn’t working well. Sneaky and wonderful images 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.