"Yes, remember that, will you?"
"Oh, I will,” she swore solemnly. Then she looked around curiously. “Where are you taking me?"
Luke just held up one finger against his lips and pulled her along. He drew her into a room with heavy double doors and closed them. From the comfortable chairs and rows of bookshelves, Jordan surmised that this must be the library. Several paintings graced the walls and one painting in particular seemed to be their goal. Luke guided her over to it and pointed.
"Wendy did this. What do you think?"
Jordan looked. The painting he'd pointed out featured a rough gunslinger dressed in black, riding a black horse with the conformation of a steed with endurance. Something about the rough rider looked familiar. Jordan stepped closer to inspect it—and then she realized. It was Luke.
She gave a delighted laugh. “I love it!"
"I thought you might.” Luke smiled at her, enjoying her response. “This is the family gallery. She's done most of us in character. My father as a Green Mountain man with Ethan Allen. My mother as the Mona Lisa, but frowning.” He led her through the pictures and indicated them one by one.
"I'll do you as the fairy queen with Thomas the Rhymer,” Wendy announced from behind, startling them both.
Jordan turned to her. “These are wonderful,” she said sincerely. “I didn't know you painted. Have you sold any?"
"Oh, please, this is my form of fun and relaxation,” the chic blond replied. “Don't try to turn it into work. I'd have to take up skiing or something.” Then she prodded, “What do you say, Jordan? Will you pose for me?"
Jordan grinned at Luke as she answered Wendy. “I can't be the fairy queen unless Luke gets to be Thomas,” she teased. “It wouldn't be right. Or maybe I could be rescued by the man in black as a damsel in distress, wearing a long gown strategically ripped at the bodice."
Luke's lips twitched at that description. “As the man in black, I would certainly stop to rescue any damsel with a ripped bodice,” he assured her. “How ripped are we talking? Would there be cleavage?"
"You'll have to take that up with the artist,” Jordan answered gravely. They both turned to Wendy expectantly.
"I think there should be cleavage,” Luke suggested helpfully.
Wendy shook her head in mock dismay at their lack of serious appreciation for art and romance. “And they say chivalry is dead. If Jordan agrees, you can have cleavage. I don't know if I can do you as the man in black again, though. It's hard to repeat a character. Jordan?"
"I'd love it. And nobody was born to wear a black hat like Luke,” Jordan answered with an impish twinkle in her eyes. Then she added, “Does the cleavage have to be true to life, or is the artist allowed to embellish?"
Wendy threw her hands up in the air. “Philistines!"
Luke tugged Jordan up against his side and traced her dimples with a teasing finger. “You don't need embellishing. Bigger is not necessarily better. The man in black will be sufficiently titillated by even a popped button,” he vowed.
Jordan looked disappointed. “I wanted a ripped bodice. I wanted to spill voluptuously over the top and out the sides."
"The man in black would be paralyzed. He'd stand there with his jaw hanging instead of dashing to your rescue."
Jordan considered that. “Oh. Okay. Ripped, cleavage, but no embellishing,” she decided.
"Perfect,” Luke agreed.
Wendy sighed. “This is going to be some picture. Maybe I should just take up skiing."
"Oh, no. Please. It'll be so much fun. The man in black will ride off into the sunset on his horse, with me in his arms.” Jordan sighed at the fantasy image.
Luke frowned. “The man in black will not be dictated to. The damsel will be happy enough that she was rescued and will shut up and go along for the ride,” he said with an edge of threat.
Jordan frowned back. “Or what?” she sneered in open disdain.
Luke gave a low, chilling laugh. “Or you know what.” The menace in his voice—combined with his size—didn't disturb Jordan in the least. She knew his bark was worse than his bite. And she was beginning to feel a certain fondness for his bark...
Wendy cleared her throat distinctly. “Well, I can see three's a crowd here."
Jordan and Luke exchanged sheepish looks. Then Luke took Jordan's hand and led her toward the door. “I'd say it's time we rejoined the group,” he announced diplomatically.
"Ah. Yes,” Jordan agreed. Feeling like a child caught misbehaving, she trailed along beside him. But she couldn't refrain from cheering inwardly. The fantasy painting would be fun, and she liked the idea that she'd leave Luke something to remember her by—with or without embellishments.
Although maybe it would be as much fun to paralyze the man in black with her attributes as it would be to get rescued and carried off on his black horse. Jordan fleetingly debated the finer points of both sides.
She tugged on Luke's arm, and when he leaned down she whispered, “Paralyzed? Hanging jaw?"
His nostrils actually flared. Jordan giggled delightedly. “Be good,” he warned her.
"I don't know how,” she answered cheekily.
"I'll be happy to give you lessons."
Jordan widened her eyes dramatically. “You mean you know how?"
He stopped and turned to her. “That does it."
Suddenly wary, she backed up a step, but it was too late. The man in black lunged, grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder in a terribly undignified fireman's carry. Unconcerned, he strolled through the suddenly hushed living room and snarled, “Say good-night, Jordan."
The George Burns take-off undid her. She burst into peals of laughter. “Good-night, Jordan,” she sweetly echoed.
Dead silence followed their unorthodox exit as he collected her cape and bag and carried her off into the night.
"I'm looking forward to sitting for you,” she called back to a stupefied Wendy as they headed out the door.
"You don't know when to quit, do you?” Luke barked.
"No, can't say that I do,” Jordan agreed with him cheerfully while she took the opportunity to check out his buns from her new vantage point.
Not bad for a financial expert who probably did a lot of sitting.
Then she realized she was checking out her fiancé's buns. First she kissed him, now she ogled him? What kind of woman would do a thing like that?
Actually, any woman who found herself this close to Luke Foster's attractive backside would probably take at least one quick peek, she consoled herself. She wasn't dead, after all.
"Now what?” he demanded, evidently suspicious of her silence.
He didn't really expect her to admit what she'd been doing, did he? Although maybe she should. He'd be properly shocked that his fiancée was eyeing him lasciviously and he'd put her down promptly.
Then Jordan saw it. “Luke! Luke, look!” She wiggled in excitement, squirming to get down.
He stopped and looked around as if wondering what she was talking about.
She took advantage of his distraction to slip free and whirl around in the moonlight. “It's snowing!” She tipped her head back and laughed as the flakes kissed her eyelids, nose and cheeks. She opened her mouth to taste winter and let a snowflake melt on her tongue.
Luke stood beside her for a long moment, a strong silent presence in the night. Then he came behind her and wrapped her in a hug. His chin rested on top of her head, warming her.
"Jordan, you don't have your cape on. You'll freeze."
"No, I won't,” she answered dreamily, eyes still closed to feel the winter night. “You won't let me."
He silently folded her into the wool garment and lifted her again, but this time in the cradle of his arms. She rested her head against his shoulder and spread her fingers to catch the falling snow.
"You're right,” he agreed gently. “I won't."
They stood together in an awed hush and watched the snow fall. Streetlights cast a silvery glow, bringing out a thousand
diamond reflections in every snowflake. Luke could almost believe that the snow was something magical.
In a sense, maybe it was. A miracle of life. The kind of thing he hadn't had time for. Hadn't noticed. Until Jordan.
She was starting to shiver in his arms, and Luke started for his car with her.
"Oh, no, I don't want to go yet,” she protested.
He smiled at her dismay. “There'll be more snow. It's just beginning."
He was talking about more than a storybook Vermont winter. Something else was beginning. Something as hushed and beautiful as an untouched fall of snow. Something that could make a man of numbers set aside his ledgers and reflect that, like Dickens’ Scrooge, he'd been on a dangerous path of outward success and inner poverty.
Something, Luke admitted silently, called love.
Chapter Six
"Caroling?"
"Caroling."
Silence. Then, “You've got to be kidding."
"Would I kid? No, don't answer that,” Jordan laughed, shooting Luke a look full of mischief. “As your very own genuine fraud, I've sworn not to kid you. Well, not much anyway,” honesty forced her to admit.
The truth was it was simply too much fun for her to resist pushing Luke's buttons. Pulling one over on him and watching him do a slow burn as he figured it out was providing her with a source of vast amusement and entertainment. Much more fun than she would have had with a dreary mortician.
"Come on, Luke, you'll like it,” she coaxed as he continued to look stubbornly opposed, sitting back with his arms folded across his chest in a firm position of refusal. “We do it every year. It's fun."
He definitely did not look convinced. He certainly didn't look like a man on the verge of having fun. Well, a man accustomed to having fun wouldn't be in his office the day after Thanksgiving when all the rest of the world was celebrating a long weekend, she realized.
This called for drastic measures.
Jordan casually lowered herself onto his wide desk like a blues singer draping herself over a piano. She reached out to tease the end of Luke's no-nonsense navy pin-striped silk tie.
"Fun,” she breathed. “It is not a four-letter word. Only three letters. Count ’em,” she invited as an afterthought, shooting him another teasing look from beneath pale lashes. “I know you know how to count..."
He wasn't bending. She looked down at the reports littering his desk and tugged one from beneath her hip to flip through it.
"Luke, do you have too much to do? I could help you catch up,” she offered seriously.
He looked horrified at the suggestion. “No. Never. We'll go caroling."
Jordan straightened to consider him mutinously. “I think I've just been insulted. I'll have you know that I'm not the sister of a CPA for nothing. I helped Randall study and I fill in during tax season when he gets swamped.” She struck a vamp-y pose and continued wickedly, “And I do know that one and one make one..."
Luke gave up and scooped her off his desk to dump her on his lap. “I think I'm on dangerous ground here. Please tell me how a fiancé can get out of this without a fight."
"Ha. Did it ever occur to you that avoiding a fight is not necessarily a positive course of action?"
"What are you saying, you want to fight more?” Luke looked alarmed at the possibility.
She shook her head sadly. “Oh, you just don't get it, do you?” Then in an abrupt shift of mood, she said cheerfully, “I like you. I'm so glad. I'd hate being engaged to someone I didn't like. Even temporarily.” While he tried to digest that, looking even more confused, Jordan went on. “Fighting is one way of negotiating, you know. Getting what you want. Avoiding a fight sometimes means losing by default, which is why I said it isn't necessarily a positive action. But let's get back to the subject."
"What is the subject?"
"You'd know if you paid attention,” she answered cheekily, well aware that her zigzagging conversation was driving the by-the-book man quietly berserk. In her opinion, that could only be a good thing. “Caroling."
"Caroling,” Luke repeated, looking as if he wanted desperately to know how he'd gotten himself into this so he could possibly get himself out.
Jordan barely restrained her laughter. Oh, he was fun to tease. “Right. We were discussing the calendar of social events. Coordinating,” she reminded him, hoping the businesslike terms would comfort him and help him come to terms with the concept of having fun.
He nodded.
"Good, you're with me."
He slanted a look of amazement at her. “We're in the same chair. Where else would I be?"
"See, that's exactly what I mean,” she pounced on the opening. “You're so literal. So serious. Don't get me wrong, that's wonderful, but not all the time.” She sat up straighter on his lap and lectured, “If you keep this up, Luke, you'll be one of those guys who wakes up one day and suddenly finds that he's forgotten how to make a snow angel."
His lips twitched suspiciously. Then an unwilling smile emerged. “How terrible!"
"Yes, shocking, isn't it? I'm so glad you agree with me on these things.” She curled happily in the curve of his arm, reflecting that it was certainly convenient that he had such an accommodating chair. Also that he liked her, too. If he didn't, he wouldn't be so comfortable with her. And if they weren't friends, this engagement would be terribly awkward.
As it was, she was finding it a maze of unexpected complications. Aunt Cora. Wendy ... What would Wendy say when Jordan allowed her to paint a family picture for a family she wasn't really joining?
And then there was the rather alarming fact that she was definitely attracted to her own fiancé. It was terribly inconvenient. But it was his fault for kissing her. She wasn't made of steel, after all.
Jordan reflected serenely that the only solution was to avoid kissing him again. Well, she'd make an exception for New Year's Eve, of course. That was different. And if they should find themselves under a mistletoe again, with witnesses, of course they'd have to behave as expected. A couple of kisses at most. What could that hurt? She certainly wasn't going to let a little thing like swooning over a kiss ruin her engagement, when she was getting to enjoy the holiday season for the first time in years.
She'd been silent for too long, apparently. Luke prompted her gently. “Snow angels? Are those on the calendar?"
"You don't schedule something like making snow angels. That would ruin the whole point. Snow angels are spontaneous and unpremeditated. You do them in an uncontrollable, wild moment of reckless abandon.” Jordan should know. She was an expert on snow angels. And reckless abandon.
"Oh."
She smiled at that telling sound. One little word could convey so much. He was definitely confused, but bending more every minute.
"Caroling, however, is on the calendar for the second week of December. Plenty of time for you to brush up on your skills, however rusty they may be,” Jordan assured him. “Tonight we have that thing at your brother's, and we're scheduling time to pose for Wendy, and we'll have to figure out about Christmas Day, too. In my family we open presents in the morning. Does your family do it the night before or what?"
"The night before,” he supplied.
"Good, no conflict there, but we are going to be kind of busy, aren't we?"
"We are,” Luke agreed. “Maybe I'll take you up on your offer. I'll be too busy to come to work."
"The offer stands,” Jordan informed him magnanimously. “But it won't be that bad. A little full, but not that bad. If you want, we can limit it to two things a week."
"No, I don't want to limit it. We'll do it all. I agreed to it,” he reminded her.
Hmm. Jordan considered that answer, then the stack of files on his desk. “Do you do everything by the rules? By the numbers?"
Funny she should ask about numbers, Luke thought. He knew the numbers of the weeks he had with her. The days. The hours. He was thinking of calculating it in minutes to make it seem like more.
As for the rules, he wa
s ready to break them all. Come January second, he wouldn't go quietly. And while he'd planned originally to evade family functions, now every commitment meant more time with Jordan.
If she thought he'd give any of his precious minutes up, she could think again, he vowed silently. This pixie would rue the day she tangled with the man in black. All the cleavage and embellishments in the known art world couldn't stop him from holding tight to each and every one of those minutes.
And he wouldn't stop until he had all the days and all the years. All the reckless, wild abandon. All the moonlight and miracles.
After that kiss under the mistletoe, he thought they were off to a good start. She'd melted like sugar on his lips. But unlike a too-sweet confection, she'd moved on to race like fine brandy through his veins. It warmed him considerably just remembering. Yes, it was a good start. And it was just beginning.
But she was waiting for an answer.
"I make the rules,” he informed her positively.
She tipped her head back to grin at him. “I break them."
"Someone has to,” he agreed blandly.
She laughed. “So you want to do it all, then? Caroling, sledding parties, cheese-and-cracker things, the works?"
"I don't know. What's a cheese-and-cracker thing?” He pretended suspicion.
"You know, those excuses to dress up and mingle where you eat little cheese and cracker appetizers designed to crumble on your clothes."
Luke laughed at her description. “I have a good dry cleaner. We'll risk it."
"Oh, you are prepared for any emergency,” she sighed admiringly.
"I try,” he stated modestly.
"And you succeed. Okay, then, we say yes to it all. Now I should probably let you get some work done before tonight.” Jordan hated the thought of abandoning her present comfortable perch, but a man could get very surly if kept from his work for too long.
Even she knew where to draw the line—appearances aside. She pushed it right up to the limit, but she wasn't a fool. Any woman raised by four men knew where the line was, for certain.
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