A Ring For Christmas: A Bride by Christmas / Christmas Lullaby / Mistletoe Manoeuvres

What she did not do was think.

Upon waking that morning she’d made a firm vow that she would not dwell on the subject of Luke St. John. Not relive the kiss at the altar during the rehearsal or the dances they’d shared.

No remembrances would be allowed of the heated sensations that had consumed her when Luke’s lips had captured hers and while she had been held so tightly in his arms during the dreamy waltzes.

She’d shoo away any images that threatened to creep into her mental vision of Luke’s deep brown eyes, his thick beckoning-to-her-fingers hair, his wide shoulders and those incredible strong but gentle hands of his.

Through the entire day she concentrated on her chores and kept busy, busy, busy, becoming extremely proud of herself for her restraint and self-control.

Luke and the success of the Barrington-St. John wedding were now old news, done, finished, kaput, and her thoughts were directed toward the start of the fresh week at Roses and Wishes. She focused on the hope that new business from all those cards she’d seen tucked away at the reception would cause the phone to ring off the hook.

She mentally patted herself on the back for doing such a stellar job of keeping her vow. The day had gone exactly as she’d planned.

But then she ran out of things to do.

She had spit-shined the kitchen after dinner, taken a leisurely bubble bath in her super-duper tub, then settled onto the sofa in an old-fashioned, pale pink, soft cotton granny nightgown that was perfect for the warm summer night.

Glancing at the little clock on the end table, she frowned when she saw that it was only a few minutes after eight o’clock. She was tired from her nonstop day but not sleepy enough to go to bed.

“Television,” she said, snatching up the remote.

She channel surfed three times, sighed, then turned off the TV realizing there was just nothing on that she wanted to watch.

“Read a book,” she said, grabbing a paperback novel on the coffee table.

After reading the same page four times and having no idea what it said, she plunked the book back onto the table and glared at it.

She wiggled into a more comfortable position on the rather lumpy sofa, crossed her arms over her breasts and stared into space.

And thought of Luke St. John.

“This is dumb, dumb, dumb,” she said with a cluck of self-disgust.

Well, she thought, maybe not. Perhaps she was approaching this all wrong. Granted, she’d kept Luke at bay during the hours of the day, but she couldn’t continue such a frenzied schedule or she’d collapse into an exhausted heap on the floor.

So. New idea. She would indulge in dwelling on all that had transpired between her and Luke, would allow images of his masculine magnificence to consume her mind, would invite the womanly sensual sensations to once again swirl and churn and burn within her. Then she’d wrap all those things up like a precious treasure and tuck them away in a secret chamber of her heart and be done with them for all time. The end.

“Very good,” she said with a decisive nod. “Go for it, Maggie.”

And she did.

And spent a long night tossing and turning in her bed, alternating between hot waves of overpowering desire and the chill of loneliness.

Late the next morning Maggie sat in the office of Roses and Wishes and stared gloomily at the telephone, which had not rung once since she’d come downstairs.

Well, that was fine, she rationalized. It didn’t mean she wasn’t going to garner any new business from the success of the Barrington-St. John wedding. She was being much too impatient, that’s all. Brides-to-be had to come back to earth from cloud nine and start thinking about what kind of wedding they wished to have. They’d mentally sift and sort, mull it over, then eventually call Roses and Wishes to set things in motion. Sure.

Maggie left the office and went into the reception area, where she straightened albums that didn’t need straightening, dusted what wasn’t dusty. She switched two easy chairs to opposite sides of the love seat, then put them back where they’d been.

With a sigh she trudged back into the office, sank onto the chair behind the desk and, for lack of anything better to do, doodled on a legal pad and munched on yogurt-covered almonds.

She was tired, she mused, and that was Luke St. John’s fault. She’d given him several hours of her evening last night, but she’d certainly not invited him into her bed and the dreams she’d had when she’d finally managed to doze off. Pushy, rude man. He’d refused to stay beyond her bedroom door as ordered, darn it.

The bell over the front door jingled, indicating someone had entered the house, and Maggie jumped to her feet, nearly tipping over the chair in the process.

She told herself to get a professional grip, for heaven’s sake, took a steadying breath as she smoothed her pale blue top over the waistband of her white slacks and actually managed to walk to the main area in a fairly slow, ladylike manner.

Then stopped dead and forgot to breathe.

“Hello, Maggie,” Luke St. John said from where he stood just inside the door.

This was absurd, Maggie thought, taking a gulp of much-needed air. Luke wasn’t really standing there looking incredibly gorgeous in jeans and an open-necked gray dress shirt. She’d conjured up his image from the wanton section of her brain that insisted on reliving all the sensationally sensuous…This was ridiculous.

“Maggie?” Luke closed the distance between them and frowned. “Hello?”

“You’re not here,” she said, flapping one hand in the air. “Poof. You’re gone.” She paused, waited, then tentatively pressed one fingertip to Luke’s imaginary chest, which was definitely hard as a rock. Her eyes widened as she stared up at him. “Oh, my gosh, you really are here. Why are you here?”

Luke folded his arms across his chest and stared down at the floor, his shoulders shaking with muffled laughter.

Oh, man, he thought, how he loved this woman. She was obviously jangled by his unexpected arrival at Roses and Wishes, and that was good news. Great news. If he hadn’t had an impact on Maggie, she wouldn’t give a damn if he suddenly popped into her place of business.

She was flustered and didn’t know how to hide it, and that was so endearing. Maggie was genuine and honest. He wanted to take her into his arms and…

“Mr. St. John?” Maggie said, planting her hands on her hips. “May I help you?”

“I’m beyond help,” he said, meeting her gaze with merriment dancing in his brown eyes.

“Pardon me?”

“Never mind.” Luke forced a serious expression onto his face. “Yes, you may assist me, Ms. Jenkins. I am in desperate need of your expertise.”

This was it, he thought, feeling a sudden trickle of sweat run down his chest. He was putting The Plan into motion. And it would work. It had to work.

“My expertise?” Maggie said, cocking her head slightly to one side. “About what?”

“Weddings. I am responsible for planning a wedding, every detail, beginning to end. No expense spared.”

Dear heaven, no, Maggie thought, feeling the color drain from her face. Luke St. John was getting married. How could he do such a thing? He hadn’t even brought a date to his brother’s wedding, for crying out loud. And crying out loud was what she was about to do, because she could feel the tears stinging at the back of her eyes and…

“Are you all right?” Luke said, frowning. “You’re very pale all of a sudden. Why don’t we sit down on this nice love seat you have?”

“I’ll sit on the love seat,” she said, shooting him a dark look, “and you sit on that easy chair.”

Luke raised both hands palms out. “No problem. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Once seated, Maggie directed her attention to an invisible piece of lint on one of her knees.

“I must say, Luke,” she said, wishing her voice sounded steadier than the quivering little noise she was hearing, “that I’m surprised by your announcement. I mean, you didn’t have a…a companion with you at Ginger and Robert’s wedding or…