Yule Be Mine

by Charlene Teglia

  Luke joined her and pulled her onto the ledge to sit, then slid one arm behind her to support her head. “Better?"

  "Better than better. This is the greatest,” she said happily.

  He arranged her legs across his lap and turned her sideways against his chest. Maybe it was better this way, Jordan thought in mingled regret and relief. Half of her wanted to rip off the rest of her clothes and wrap herself around him, while the other half didn't want to take the risk.

  Just what were her feelings for Luke? Was she actually thinking of keeping him? With so much undecided, staying neutral for the time being seemed prudent. Which was too bad, because being prudent wasn't her strong point. She didn't have much practice at it. Jordan sighed and snuggled closer, torn between passion and prudence.

  "Jordan?"

  "Hmm?"

  Luke tugged her more fully onto his lap and she turned to face him, slipping her legs over his thighs. “I don't want to do anything to make you look at me the way you did last night.” He spoke quietly and soberly against her hair.

  What way, Jordan wondered. Lust-crazed? Dazed with desire?

  He continued. “You looked so shocked. I don't want to scare you."

  Jordan eyed his bare, beautiful chest and wondered if he'd be scared if he knew what she wanted to do to it. Certainly he'd be shocked.

  "Jordan, I want you to spend the night."

  Now there was an idea. She warmed to it immediately.

  "Just stay with me. I promise not to touch you."

  Now there was a very bad idea. She didn't think she could promise not to touch him.

  Luke tugged her chin up. “Say something,” he urged, searching her eyes with his.

  What did one say in a situation like this? When one found oneself attracted to one's fiancé—who wasn't really—and was asked to spend the night—but only platonically?

  Jordan struggled with confusion. “Do you snore?” she inquired.

  Luke smiled slowly until his blue eyes lit and glowed with enough warmth to chase away the chill permanently. “No,” he assured her.

  "Okay.” She dropped her head to his chest again and wondered if she should be certified. He was driving her insane, and there was a long way to go before the New Year.

  They sat in companionable silence, absorbing the heat until Luke declared that their time was up. Apparently a person could only stay in hot water for so long.

  Jordan ruefully wondered if she'd ever get herself out of the amount of hot water she'd managed to get into. If only it was as easy as climbing out of a hot tub.

  She stepped out and started to dry off, then realized she was still in her wet clothes. “Do you have something I can wear?"

  "Of course. Rescuing includes dry clothes. Wait right there.” Luke rummaged around and came back with boxer shorts and a tee shirt that would probably double as a dress on her. He handed them to her then left her to change in privacy.

  The wet sweater and panties clung as she yanked them off, and puddles of water swiftly formed on the tile. She toweled quickly, pulled on the shorts and tee shirt, then wrung out her wet clothes and hung them over the shower door to dry. Barefoot, she padded out to join Luke and found him pouring brandy into two snifters.

  "What a brilliant idea. We'll be warm inside and out,” she said cheerfully.

  "That's the plan.” Luke handed a snifter to her then picked up an afghan and gestured for her to follow. He led the way to an enclosed gas fireplace which flickered invitingly and spread the cover on the carpet. “Come here and watch the fire with me."

  Now there was an offer she couldn't refuse. Jordan joined him on the floor and he pulled her into his embrace for another kiss. As warm and sweet as the brandy, it was a wonderful kiss, but it ended much too soon for Jordan's satisfaction.

  Still, settled in Luke's arms drinking brandy in front of a fire was no bad place to be, with or without kisses. She decided to count her blessings.

  Luke teased her blond shock of hair with long fingers and she sighed in bliss. “Ah, you do scalp massages, too? You're too good to be true."

  He tugged her down and took away her glass before leaning over her on one elbow. “I have to put my hands somewhere. Your head seemed like the safest place."

  She gave him a regretful look. “Do you always do the safe thing?"

  His fingers moved down to feather over her eyebrows. “It depends on how much is at stake."

  She tipped her face up to bite his fingers. “Sounds serious."

  He gave her a warning look. “Behave..."

  "Me?” She blinked innocently.

  "You."

  She gazed up at him seriously. “Shut up and kiss me, Luke."

  He quirked a brow at her demand. “That's a very ungrateful, unladylike remark from a damsel who's just been rescued."

  She smiled sweetly. “I never claimed to be ladylike."

  "There is that,” he agreed and lowered his mouth to hers again.

  She relished the kiss and never wanted it to end, but he still broke it off in the end. Jordan almost wondered aloud exactly what a fiancée had to do around there to get ravished.

  She settled for looking him straight in the eye and announcing baldly, “Luke, I want you.” He didn't seem surprised. He just looked back at her in his steady, quiet, thoughtful way.

  Maybe she hadn't been clear enough for his detailed, analytical brain. “I want to make love with you,” she clarified. “Here. Now. Tonight."

  Then he absolutely maddened her by smiling until his blue eyes crinkled in the corners. “You can't always get what you want,” he replied teasingly.

  She frowned. “Is that a joke?"

  He shook his head. “No, but there is definitely a joke here of epic proportions because I am not going to make love to you tonight."

  If that was a joke, it wasn't funny.

  Luke lowered his weight onto her, careful to keep part of it balanced on both arms propped on either side of her. His hands cupped her face. “When I make love to you, Jordan, I will do it so slowly, so thoroughly and so completely that you will forget anyone else who's ever touched you."

  Jordan trembled at his words. This was supposed to help her adjust to not getting what she wanted tonight? Maybe it was worth another try. “Why not tonight?"

  "Because,” he answered seriously, “tomorrow you would have regrets. And then I might find myself dateless on Friday."

  Jordan raised her head the fraction of an inch required to bring her lips into contact with his for a feathery caress. “What makes you so sure I'd have regrets?” At that moment, the only thing she regretted was the fact that they were still talking.

  Luke groaned and nearly crushed her underneath him. “Stop tempting me, Jordan, I can only take so much. You'll have regrets because you aren't sure. I can see it in your eyes. And you have to be sure."

  It was the awful truth. How did he know her divided mind—when she didn't even know herself? That was a mystery. But she wasn't sure about him and she could understand his hesitation when she looked at it from his point of view. He stood to gain a one-night stand, but it would cost him a fiancée. And the pressure from his family would probably quadruple now that they'd seen him with her.

  Realization dawned as she lay there in the firelight with him. There was only one possible solution to the whole sorry mess. Only one answer that would resolve everything to everyone's satisfaction.

  She was going to have to keep Luke.

  And it was for his own good, she thought. He needed to laugh more. He had fun with her, even he'd admitted it. And he'd made snow angels with her, proof positive that he was seeing things her way. His family would just start in on him again if she walked out of his life and he'd be worse off than he'd been before. What kind of cruel, unfeeling fiancée could leave him under those circumstances?

  And he worked too hard. She at least got him to come out and enjoy himself after hours. Without her, he'd probably forget how to make snow angels and all the words to every Chr
istmas carol and he'd never again have a riot at a boring function.

  He needed her. She stretched against his wonderful body and delighted in the feel of him as she curled closer. She'd just have to do what she always did when the chips were down. She'd charm the socks off of him. Followed by every other item of clothing, including his symbolic black hat. She'd wrap him around her little finger and get him to say “I do."

  His mother would help. So would the whole family, if it came to that. Jordan smiled in gleeful anticipation and prepared to begin his ultimate torment.

  "You're right, Luke,” she agreed sweetly, letting her hands roam over his magnificent back in tantalizing caresses. “We can't forget everything else and make wild, passionate, unforgettable love right here on your floor in front of the fire. It's a good thing we left some clothes on in the hot tub, too, or we wouldn't have even made it this far."

  She was getting to him. She had unmistakable proof. His eyelids even drooped sexily as she imagined the fantasies running through his mind. She went on innocently, “You know ... I wanted to see you in your hot tub in nothing but your black hat. I was going to climb onto your lap, all naked, wet and slippery, and ride you.” She thought that imaginative confession would be particularly effective.

  She was right. He was breaking out in a sweat, and it wasn't from the brandy or the heat from the fire.

  "I also have fantasies about you and me and that dress on your horse. You could lift up my skirt, unzip your pants, and we could ride together, rocking and rocking in the saddle until—"

  Luke let out a tortured groan and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shut up. Shut up, Jordan, or I won't be responsible for the consequences."

  She had the man in black shaking in his boots and ready to fall out of his saddle, Jordan thought in satisfaction. Perfect. She started to suck on one of his fingertips, since he'd so thoughtfully put a hand over her mouth. He yanked his hand away as if burned and she immediately took the opportunity to go on.

  "Or you could stand behind me, like you were in the bathroom, and unfasten my dress. I'd be naked underneath. You'd run your hands under the dress and find me all wet and ready for you. You'd lift the skirt from behind and lift me onto you and take me, right there."

  He was breathing as hard as if he'd just raced his black horse at breakneck speed, Jordan noted gleefully. He was so much fun to tease. And he'd asked for it.

  "Stop, Jordan,” he begged. But she noticed he wasn't running away.

  She sighed in mock regret for all the fantasies they couldn't bring to life tonight. “But I see your point. Of course, you're right. It would be terribly irresponsible to throw caution to the wind and tear off my shorts right now and give me a rug burn to remember."

  Luke closed his eyes in agony and wondered if she had any idea how close she was to just that fate. In the state he was in, he didn't doubt that he would hurt her. She was so small and fragile. He had to be in control of himself when he made love to her. He couldn't jump on her like a maddened, raging beast. He outweighed her by three times her small body mass and he was far stronger.

  He concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths. And he prayed.

  By inches, he got a shaky grip on himself and proceeded to get a death grip on her. He shook her until her teeth rattled. “Not one more word. Do you hear me, Jordan? Not one more word out of you until morning."

  She gave him a who, me? look that made him want to shake her harder. Luke stood with the irrepressible imp in his arms and strode off to bed. He dumped her unceremoniously on the mattress so abruptly that she bounced twice. He hauled back the covers and pointed. “Get in."

  Then the wretched, wicked wench had the audacity to inform him, “I can't sleep in clothes. I have to sleep naked."

  "Then you won't get any sleep tonight. Get in."

  Did she listen? No. When did she ever listen? He suffered the torments of the damned as he watched Jordan peel off the inadequate tee shirt and reveal small, perfect, firm breasts. Then she stood on the bed and let the shorts fall and he wanted to cry for the first time since sometime in childhood. There was Jordan, naked and beautiful in his bed ... and he couldn't touch her.

  When she moved to obey his directive, he wanted very badly to contradict himself and take away the covers so he could keep looking. Instead he turned away and got in on the other side and shut off the light. If he was lucky, she'd stay away and stay quiet.

  It wasn't his lucky night, however.

  "Luke, I'm cold."

  "Good. Put your clothes back on,” he snarled in the darkness.

  He heard the covers rustle as she slithered over the mattress until she found him. Then she wrapped herself around him and he laid there, stiff and unmoving, while her musky scent filled his nostrils and her pert nipples teased his chest and her slender legs tangled through his.

  She kissed his shoulder and sighed. “That's so much better."

  It was so much worse.

  "Good night, Luke. I'm so glad you talked me out of being impulsive tonight."

  Then she went to sleep; but he lay awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what were his odds of being convicted or acquitted if he strangled her. He decided finally that it would depend on whether the jury was composed of men or women. The men would acquit him, hands down. They'd probably commend him for not brutally ravishing her, too. The women, on the other hand, would probably say he deserved it for rejecting her.

  Maybe he did, he conceded. She'd offered herself to him and he'd turned her down. That had to sting. But couldn't she understand why? He wanted her so badly he couldn't see straight, but she didn't love him. He was almost certain of that. If she did, why hadn't she said so tonight?

  Of course, he hadn't told her he loved her, either, but that was different. If he told her he loved her, she might back off and he'd lose her before he had her in too deep to escape. He had to bide his time.

  He also had to stay away from her until Friday. A man could only endure so much temptation. Even a saint.

  Still, he admitted to himself, it was a wonderful torture to have her in his arms. He tucked her closer against his side and stroked her from hip to shoulder in a lingering caress. “Good night, Jordan,” he said softly.

  He continued to hold and caress her until sleep finally came and put him out of his blissful misery. He dreamed of a gray-eyed sprite who came to him out of the snow, naked and innocent and unafraid, caught by a mortal and held by desire until love bound them together in an unbreakable bond.

  Chapter Ten

  Monday, Luke was conspicuously absent.

  Tuesday, the silence continued.

  By Wednesday, Jordan was deliriously certain that she'd stuck in the knife and twisted it hard enough to turn him inside out. She had him running scared. Ebullient, she fell into a creative fit and wrote some of her best material ever.

  By Thursday, she was laughing out loud in jubilation. Four days. He was shaking in his shoes, all right. The miserable coward.

  But George kept coming, day after day, with one floral offering after another. So it was obvious he couldn't avoid thinking about her, no matter how hard he tried to run or how deeply he tried to bury himself in work.

  She hoped he wasn't sleeping. She hoped he laid awake at night and remembered her in bed beside him. And she hoped he cried. She hoped he had to close his eyes every time he walked past his fireplace to avoid images of naked bodies entwined in an ancient dance.

  She hoped he couldn't bring himself to use the hot tub. She hoped he was suffering so terribly that he'd agree to anything and everything, including marriage, to end the torture.

  Wendy needed them one more time for the finishing details of the painting. Jordan couldn't wait to get him in a pose again, where he couldn't get away from her. She planned to squirm on his lap until he was ready to commit a crime.

  She also had plans for Friday. Camisole or no camisole, he'd be feeling real pain all evening and he'd be forced to smile and make polite conversation to his busi
ness associates all the while.

  She had never ever in all her life had more fun.

  * * * *

  "Please. I'm begging you. Call her."

  Luke looked up at Abby and blinked blood-shot eyes. “What?"

  "Call her. Look at you—you're a wreck. Whatever you two fought about, is it worth it? Apologize, for the love of heaven!” she snapped in exasperation.

  Luke considered his efficient, patient secretary and wondered what he'd said to drive her to attack him. “Have I been that bad?” he asked cautiously.

  Abby snorted derisively. “Worse! You're a bear. If you'd talked to any of your clients this week, you'd be out of business."

  So she'd been screening his calls? He wondered why it had been so quiet, but he'd put it down to holiday madness. People went on vacation, had parties and family activities to attend. Business sometimes got put on hold. It was frequently quiet during December.

  Luke sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Sorry, Abby. I haven't been sleeping much lately.” That was an understatement. He'd barely slept at all since the night he'd had heaven in his arms and endured the fires of hell.

  She was everywhere he looked. Naked in his hot tub, holding out pale arms to draw him in. Naked by the fire, the flames turning her white skin to shadowed ruby as she waited for him. In his bed, it was even worse. There, she whispered in his ear all the delights that were just out of his grasp and laughed when he couldn't catch her.

  Or maybe he was starting to hallucinate. He'd heard that sleep deprivation did that. If Jordan had really been there last night, he would have given her worse than a rug burn in his desperation. He definitely wouldn't have left her in any condition to walk away, much less skip gaily out of reach. He would have left her bruised and exhausted and too sore to walk for a week, at least. He considered that idea with some interest and was startled when the pencil he was holding snapped loudly in half.

  Abby thrust her hands in the air and stalked away. “Call her, or I'm quitting,” she threatened and slammed his office door behind her.

  "You can't quit!” Luke roared after her. “You'd be unemployed for Christmas. You'd have to explain to your son why Santa can't bring that train set.” Then he added furiously, “Bah! Humbug!"