Yule Be Mine

Scheherazade Tales Romance E-Novels scheherazadetales.com Copyright ©2004 by Charlene Teglia

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YULE BE MINE by Charlene Teglia Copyright 2004 Charlene Teglia Scheherazade Tales Romance E-Novels scheherazadetales.com All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. 2004 Scheherazade Tales Romance E-Novels scheherazadetales.com YULE BE MINE

Prologue Seymour Walters was the last straw. Jordan had put up with a lot from her brothers. She knew they meant well. She knew they loved her. She knew that deep down in their little misguided and deranged brains, they only wanted her to be happy. But looking at Seymour's sober face, beneath a thatch of hair no artist could give style to, set off by glasses that were definitely, actually taped together over the nose, Jordan realized with a chill of horror that it was never going to end. They would never stop trying to fix her up with “the perfect man." And their version of theperfect man was Jordan's version ofperfect hell . First of all, if Seymour had ever laughed in his life, she was certain he would have apologized immediately. She made it a firm rule that any man she dated had to laugh at her jokes. Then there was his appearance. Jordan eyed him in sober silence and was unable to even comment internally. It was that

bad. No, actually, it wasworse —because if Jordan didn't do something, and fast, she'd be thrown together with Seymour or some other equally bad Disaster Date on every single hayride, skating party, dinner and dance of the holiday season. She pictured herself seated by Seymour through an endless meal. Even in her imagination, she couldn't eat. A mortician just didn't contribute sparkling small talk to dinner. And his compliments—she could hear them now. “You're looking lovely this evening. So lifelike. So natural." You're a creative person, Jordan,she screamed at herself.Last year you wrote two hundred different ways to say “Happy Birthday.” You need a plan. And make it good. Or Seymour will be by your side from Thanksgiving through New Year's Eve, and you'll have to kisshim. The greeting card writer shivered at the very thought, and Seymour noticed. "Got a chill?” He heaved a morose sigh. “Leona Watkins went like that. Pneumonia. That's how it starts. Before you know it, death comes knocking." Death was already knocking, Jordan thought wildly. Death was closing in and choking the life out of her. Well, not this year! It had to stop. And it was going to stopright now . Jordan was going to give her brothers exactly what they wanted, and gain a reprieve from the Grim Reaper. She was going to get engaged to “the perfect man."

Chapter One Single man! Are you haunted by the ghost of Christmas past—terrifying attempts at holiday matchmaking? Frightened by the ghost of Christmas future—more yuletide yahoos? Then what the dickens are you waiting for? Give us both a Christmas present. Single woman seeks phony fiancé for family functions; will pose as yours in return. Jordan Christian reread her singles’ ad with a critical eye. Was it short, snappy and to the point? Did it communicate her needs clearly, but with a humorous tone that would make it appealing to a decent human being? She pushed her notepad back and dropped her pen on the lacquered surface of her antique roll top desk. Wanting some reassurance, she let her gaze wander over the wall. It held award certificates, the framed copy of her first check as a professional writer and an extremely flattering letter from an editor praising her skills. Jordan found the physical proof of her success and ability as a writer comforting whenever doubt crept in on a project. This was a project she really couldn't afford to mess up. If this ad didn't snare a sane, single and at least semi-attractive male between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five, Jordan was going to be in a lot of trouble. She was going to be toasting the New Year with Seymour the Undertaker under the watchful eyes of her four older brothers.

It wasn't easy being the baby of the family. At twenty-six, she still wasn't free of fraternal harassment. True, her brothers—all considerably older—had shared in raising her after their parents were killed in a car accident, making them considerably more involved than most brothers. They'd been there for her through high school and sent her to college. They'd watched her graduate and taken her picture. They'd celebrated with her when she immediately got taken on as a writer for a greeting card company. And they'd shoved countless stuffed shirts at her, every single year. Christmas seemed to bring out the worst in them. They couldn't seem to stand seeing her without a man at her side through all the traditional family events. Jordan had tried reasoning with them. That didn't work. So she'd tried tears, tantrums and had even gone to the Bahamas one year to evade the matchmakers. She'd gotten sunburn and gained ten pounds eating all day on the cruise ship, and all for nothing, because they'd managed to get Mitchell onto the same ship and he'd followed her relentlessly. Mitchell was a dentist, and she was fairly certain he'd been Gary's idea. Gary was the oldest brother and the most determined to settle his baby sister down with a respectable, secure husband. But as annoying and self-centered—not to mention depressing—as Mitchell was, Seymour had him beat. He could drive a right-to-lifer to suicide. Especially if they had to listen to him talk through dinner. Jordan shuddered again and reread her ad. Well, it wasn't perfect, but she didn't have much time. If she got it in today, it would run in the weekend edition of the Singles’ Page, and with any kind of luck at all, she'd get some answers the following week. It stood to reason that somewhere some man was enduring the same difficulties she was, and all because he just hadn't met the right person yet. So they'd help each other out. It was a perfect plan. After the New Year, they'd simply drift apart and eventually end their mock “engagement." Jordan bounced to her feet and stretched, rolling her neck and shoulders to loosen the kinks produced by hunching over her desk. Maybe she should have requested a man who liked to give massages. No, she couldn't be that picky. She wasn't shopping for a real fiancé, just a good fake to fool her brothers with. As long as he didn't tape his eyewear together or talk about dentures, she'd take him. She ruffled her short blond spiky hair and picked up her ad. She'd already rented an anonymous postal box for replies. Now all she had to do was drop off her copy and pay for her ad to run. And sincerely hope for a good man. A good “single man". **** "Luke, I want you to meet Candy,” his sister Wendy gushed. She shoved the saccharine pink fluff-ball of ruffles towards Luke. He knew there had to be an eligible female in there somewhere. Why else would Wendy push her on him? The ruffles spoke in a sickening, simpering sweet voice. “I'mso pleased to meet you. I've heardso much about you.” Then she definitely—distinctly—tittered. "Have you?” Luke Foster's bland, merely rhetorical question was more a statement, neatly providing a response to Cotton Candy's verbal overture without encouraging further communication.

Luke glared at his oldest sister Wendy, but she didn't seem to notice—probably because, having done her “duty", she'd artfully retreated and was now busily occupied serving canapés to another guest. These endless excuses to eat and drink and shove unwanted women at him that went on every year from November to January—he hated them. Wendy's little pre-holiday cocktail party was only the beginning. The Foster clan included two more siblings, parents, uncles, cousins and all their spouses and offspring, and they celebrated the holidays with a vengeance. And all those relatives couldn't bear to see their Luke peacefully alone, peacefully single. They suffered some sort of genetic compulsion to match up and marry off every member of the family. Luke eyed the pink ruffles in dread. It was already starting. He was a patient man, actually. An easy-going, even-tempered man. But even he could be pushed too far. He stared, steadily and silently, down at the pink ruffled confection with chilling disinterest. Luke squelched the chiding sound of his mother's voice in his head that urged him to be a gentleman in any situation. Damned if he'd encourage this unwelcome piece of fluff. Cotton Candy was Wendy's guest. Let Wendy entertain her. The ruffles twitched, twittered, and then seemed to wilt under his stolid indifference that bordered on the thin line of rudeness. A shrill sound emerged from the frothy dress. She squeaked out, “N-n-nice to meet you, I have to go,” and pulled back. Luke didn't even nod. His eyes silently encouraged her to do so, and quickly. Candy let out a faint sound of mingled offense and fright and melted into the crowd. Luke smiled, a smile of triumph and satisfaction which transformed his rough features into a warm, approachable face and lit his cold blue eyes with humor. He went from looking like a man to avoid in a dark, lonely place to looking like a man to seek out a dark, lonely place with. Luke Foster didn't have anything resembling classical features or Hollywood handsomeness. But he did have a rough, rugged appeal and chiseled muscles that declared him to be aman with a capital M. He'd found that the intimidating edge of danger he could affect at will produced results in the sometimes rough world of business. It was an illusion, actually. He was gentle by nature. But he had the face and build of a born fighter; and that, combined with his height and an air of reserve as a natural result of his quiet, reflective personality, added to the illusion of watchful readiness for trouble and the ability to handle any that was foolish enough to turn up. Luke was too prosaic not to use whatever natural advantages he had. His successful consulting business spoke for the wisdom of not fighting nature. Wendy frowned at him and Luke realized that she was going to come over and demand that he apologize to Cotton Candy. A wise man knew when to retreat. He blended into the crowd and made his way towards the door and freedom with a sense of desperation that was sheathed in outward calm and confidence. In truth, he knew he was in over his head. Every year the matchmaking went on, and every year it grew more insistent and more unpleasant. His family simply failed to understand that he had other concerns, other priorities. It had taken time to

gain the experience to start his own business, and more years to firmly establish it. That kind of commitment meant long hours and short weekends and didn't leave the time, the energy or even the inclination to pursue a serious relationship. In time, he intended to select a suitable wife. But there was no hurry. "Leaving already? Heading back to the office?" The question made Luke pause. He recognized that voice. "It's what I would have been doing, too, twenty years ago,” the voice continued. "Jake Marlow,” said Luke, turning around. If it hadn't been for the voice, he wouldn't have recognized his old mentor. "Don't bother to tell me how I look,” Jake said. “I know how I look. I'm old, I'm tired, and I'm scheduled for another triple bypass." "I didn't know you had heart problems." "Heartproblems.” Jake gave a wheezing laugh that held no trace of amusement. “You could say that. Let this be a warning to you, Luke. I put my heart into my business. Turns out it was a bad investment. You might think there's plenty of time for a personal life later, but later might turn out to be too late." The words, combined with the sight of what had become of the man who'd taught Luke everything he knew about succeeding in business, were distinctly unsettling. Jake shook his head and waved him on. “Go on. Go back to your business—but if I were you, I'd go find a life instead. And somebody to live it with. It isn't too late for you. Yet." Even old Bottom Line Jake Marlow had matchmaking on the brain? The holidays caused mass insanity. Yes. That was the only rational explanation. Luke reached the door. Freedom and sanity lay just beyond. He shrugged on his heavy wool overcoat but instead of his office he headed towards a nearby café. He'd get some coffee in peace and quiet. Wash away the sugary taste that just looking at Cotton Candy had left in his mouth. With grim sarcasm, he pitied the man who ended up with that bit of fluff. He hoped it would be a dentist. The college student waiting tables waved to him and told him to sit anywhere. Luke nodded brusquely, sat in a corner booth and asked for coffee. Somebody had left a newspaper on the table. Idly, Luke opened it and flipped through. It wasn't exactly a newspaper, he realized after a moment. It was a listing of singles ads. Here it was—solid evidence that he wasn't the only person who hadn't succumbed to marriage mania. Thirty-two wasn't too old to be single. Some of the ads were from people in their forties and fifties who'd never been married. Luke felt quietly gratified by that fact. He barely noticed when his coffee came. The ads were enthralling. Why hadn't he ever read them before? There was abig woman seeking big man for a whale of a good time . AndDaisy seeking gardener with stamen-a . Then something different caught his eye.

Single man! Are you haunted by the ghost of Christmas past—terrifying attempts at holiday matchmaking? Frightened by the ghost of Christmas future—more yuletide yahoos? Then what the dickens are you waiting for? Give us both a Christmas present. Single woman seeks phony fiancé for family functions; will pose as yours in return. Whoever had left that newspaper lying at his booth had circled that one in red, Luke noticed. The words reverberated in his head as he stirred his coffee and sipped the dark brew. Sounded like some poor woman was enduring the same fate. He wondered what the male equivalent of Cotton Candy was like. Something must have pushed her over the edge to resort to an ad like that. An intelligent woman, too. She knew Dickens, and probably not just from watching a Christmas movie. And she had a quirky sense of humor. She'd compared blind dates and surprise fix-ups to being haunted by phantoms. That revealed something else about her, Luke realized. She didn't mind being a single woman. She didn't want a ring. She wanted a co-conspirator to weather the holiday madness. Will pose as yours in return... Luke thought about it, and the more he did, the more it intrigued him. If he'd had her with him tonight, for instance, Candy wouldn't have gotten within a mile of him. Wendy wouldn't be perusing her guest list right now looking for another candidate to foist on him. Luke imagined the forthcoming round of manic holiday events, and the inevitable parade of pink-ruffled piranhas. He shuddered. Then he pictured himself with a poised, intelligent companion. She'd impress his siblings, parents and assorted partner-pushers. She'd drive away not only the sniveling sweet types but also the militant equal-partner business types who only wanted to use a ring to further their careers or to get a foothold in his own company. The mystery woman was intelligent enough to out-do the former and devious enough, from her blatant proposal to perpetrate fraud, to deal with the latter. Luke drank his coffee and pondered. She intrigued him, whoever she was. He thought she would likely be able to handle the thankless task of fending off his family. The waiter returned with a full coffee pot, and Luke caught his eye. “Do you have a pen and some paper I could borrow?" The waiter looked at the singles ads and smirked knowingly. “Certainly.” He left a pad and pen for Luke after refilling his coffee cup. Now ... how to respond to something like that? It would take some thought. He wanted his message to stand out amongst the replies she'd get to her ad. If she didn't agree to be his fake fiancée, some other man would get a free ride through the holidays with no pressure to settle down. And Luke would be up against the wall—alone. Okay. Presumably, she'd be impressed by a literary reply. Luke continued to think, wrote briefly, scratched out and rewrote. Finally satisfied, he read back over the result and nodded to himself. He tore

the ad out and folded it with his answer. He'd mail it to her post office box tomorrow. And hope that there really was a Santa Claus after all. **** After waving to the postman out front, Jordan fitted the key into her box. She hoped it wasn't too soon to expect a response to her ad. Thanksgiving was only a few days away and the holiday madness was underway. She didn't have much time. Fretting when the key stuck, she practically danced around the box until she had it open and peered inside hopefully. The slot bulged with envelopes. Bonanza! She'd struck itbig! With a quick glance to make sure she wasn't noticed, Jordan scooped the mail into her oversized bag and zoomed back home. The bag was upended on her desk and Jordan rummaged through the clutter of pens, lipsticks, business cards and other odds and ends for the all-important envelopes. An hour later, as she reached the last letter, her enthusiasm had dimmed considerably. So much for attracting a decent human being. A man in the same boat. A man with a sense of humor. She'd attracted men who thought it was a clever hook and wanted to date her. Men who wanted to unwrap her for Christmas. Men who wanted to show her theirDickens . Not one single reasonable rational reply in the whole batch. She couldn't believe it. Even in the mail, nobody took her seriously. Well, she might as well read the last one, she thought in disgust. What did she have to lose? Maybe this one could even spell. She pulled the single sheet of paper free of the envelope and started to read. Her brows shot up. “Well, well,” she murmured. “It seems we have a winner." 'T'was the month before Christmas and all through the house Were relatives trying to find me a spouse. I got talked half to death by sickly-sweet chatter And fled for my life from her sugary patter. Then what to my weary eyes should appear But a singles ad asking for my help this year! Together we'd fend off the brothers and sisters, The dreadful mismatches of misses and misters. Together we would escape our sad plight

And find Christmas Eve, for once, a good night. The mystery respondent had signed “Single Man” to his spoof and enclosed his address, inviting an answer. Amazing. She'd sifted through an awful lot of pebbles, but she'd struck gold at last. He could spell. He had a sense of humor. And he needed her as much as she needed him. So as long as he wasn't a felon on parole, Jordan thought she just might have found the solution to her dilemma. Now she just had to find out a little more about him. Maybe she should send him a survey, a questionnaire. The kind of thing that would reveal all sorts of little quirks. Like—did he prefer Larry or Moe? If he couldn't answer, he didn't like the Three Stooges. Jordan pinned the letter from “Single Man” to her corkboard. The rest of the letters went directly into the round file—the wicker garbage basket. Her notebook ready, she chewed thoughtfully on the cap of a pen and debated possibilities. For instance, did he like tactile experiences like using paper and pen or did he do everything on computer? The typed letter on a blank piece of regular paper told her very little. Or did that matter? She couldn't get off-track. She really needed to know if she could stand his company better than the dentist or the undertaker or any of the other past holiday horrors her brothers had come up with. Did he have an ego the size of a mountain? Did he consider commercial artists like herself hacks or sell-outs? Did he have the ability to think on his feet and, most important, the ability to play a pretend role convincingly? Her brothers knew her well enough to spot an obvious fake. He had to look enough like someone she'd actually consider marrying to make it work. So what would she consider marrying? Jordan pondered that, to the pen cap's detriment. A man who'd appreciate her creative abilities and personality. A man who found her little eccentricities amusing, instead of recommending a good therapist. A fun-loving, patient, sensitive, understanding man with a good sense of humor. A man who was successful enough not to mind her success. Sexy and devastatingly attractive. A man who could get along with her four impossible brothers. In short, a man who didn't exist, except in her vivid imagination. Fortunately Jordan was free to create her fiancé in her own dream image. Why not? If he could play a role, he could play the one she defined for him. Although, she conceded, it would be better if he were as close as possible to her fantasy man. Now she just had the problem of trying to roughly determine how close her “Single Man” came to her specifications, and whether or not she could tolerate hours of his company through the holidays. It took some time, and a great deal of thought, but Jordan got her reply finished and addressed to “Single Man.” She'd drop it in the mail along with the new concepts for her greeting card company. Fortunately she had the sort of job that wouldn't cause any of her brothers to question her frequent trips to the post office or rabid interest in the mail. She did most of her work by mail, and occasionally via the

fax function on her computer if it was urgent. She might actually get away with it, Jordan thought in delight. She whirled around in a burst of sheer joy. Randall caught her giddy arabesque as he came out of the kitchen wiping his hands. “Jordan, what are you doing?” he inquired. She held her pose and smiled innocently at her second to oldest brother. “I have a new batch of cards ready to go and they're really good.” Cheer radiated from her voice. “What are you doing here? I didn't even hear you come in." "You didn't hear me because you were writing when I came in. I stood in your doorway and called, but you didn't answer, so I just put your dinner in the refrigerator.” Randall gave her a faintly accusing look. Had she missed a dinner appointment? She didn't remember having one, but she usually took turns eating with one of her brothers’ families. Between the four of them, they kept her fed and also kept her from being “reclusive", as they called it. Honestly. Just because a person liked to live alone. Jordan shook her head. There was no reasoning with her brothers. But they meant well and she loved them. "Thanks!” She dropped her improvised joyful dance pose and skipped over to kiss him on the cheek. “You're a dear, and so is Teresa for sending you over to feed me. Did I forget to show up or something? Were you expecting me?" "No, I told you we'd be going out tonight. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't skip a meal." Randall's faintly reproving look censured her for having a sylphlike slenderness. The gray eyes and light hair that added to her otherworldly air made the rugged brothers feel like they had a fragile hold on someone who might slip out of their grasp at any time. Jordan hugged him reassuringly. “Come on, you know I'm as healthy as a horse. Strong as an ox. I also eat like a linebacker. When do I ever miss a meal?" He responded to her teasing with typical seriousness. Randall was a serious guy. But then he was a CPA, so what did she expect? “Last Thursday. You missed a meal last Thursday because you didn't show." The literal reply made Jordan want to laugh again, but she resisted the impulse with an effort. He'd be hurt and he was too kind and considerate to deserve that. “You're right,” she agreed solemnly. “I had a sudden attack of ... of something.” Jordan grasped at anything to explain her flight from Seymour the mortician. “Something that didn't agree with me. I couldn't eat." Her shudder was entirely unfeigned. With Seymour, who could eat? Even a cast-iron constitution like hers had its limits. "Listen, I have to drop these at the post office. I want them to go out first thing in the morning,” Jordan said with deliberate cheerfulness. She figured if she suddenly turned up engaged, it would look a lot less suspicious if Randall remembered her being excited and sparkly-eyed over something. And she was. Just the prospect of putting one over on the bunch of matchmakers—along with the possibility of actually relaxing and enjoying the season—was enough to have her doing cartwheels. “Can I walk you to your

car?" He indicated for her to precede him and they walked outside together. “You won't forget next Sunday?” Randall insisted. Evidently shewasn't forgiven for not showing up on Thursday. Jordan leaned companionably against her brother's side. “I won't forget,” she assured him. “How could I forget dinner at your place with my favorite nephews?" "You say that about all your nephews. And all your nieces, too,” Randall pointed out. But he smiled, even if it was somewhat stiffly. She could usually get a little smile out of him, Jordan thought in satisfaction. Unlike Gary, the oldest. He was a tough nut. Lawrence, the next in age, was probably born laughing. Then there was Theodore, the youngest of her brothers. He was fairly laid-back in contrast to the rest, and could usually be counted on to appreciate her antics. He'd probably been the one to set her up with Seymour, now that she thought about it. Either Theodore or Lawrence. It was the sort of prank they'd pull. She really didn't think Randall was responsible for that one. Seymour would have given him the willies. "They're all my favorites,” Jordan answered his remark with a mischievous grin. “Give my love to your family, and I'll see you on Sunday.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him good-bye and waved as he drove away. Then she broke her previous land speed record for getting to the post office. She was one step closer to peace on earth. She could even spare some good will towards “Single Man." This year, with any luck at all, Christmas wasn't going to be a humbug.

Chapter Two Monday Luke was on pins and needles. It was too soon to expect a reply, he told himself. She probably hadn't even got his letter yet. He couldn't expect to hear from her before Wednesday at the earliest. But that didn't stop him from waiting impatiently for the mail and digging through it eagerly when it arrived. Even though he'd told himself not to expect anything, the sudden disappointment when no reply appeared in the stack of business correspondence was surprisingly sharp. He was counting on her help, that was all. He wasn't obsessed with a woman he hadn't even met. Above all, the voice of Jake Marlow was not ringing in his head with dire warnings about leaving things too late. He simply dreaded the coming onslaught of parties with the inevitable questions about his still being a bachelor and being seated next to women whose only potential suitability as a future mate consisted of their having been born with the proper chromosomes. Luke reflected grimly that even that could change if he stayed single much longer. He'd be fending off advances from men named Maurice or Gavin, who'd wink at him and encourage him toembrace his sexual identity. Luke shuddered. His family was more than capable of it, too, if they decided he'd never married because he wasn't interested in heterosexual monogamy. He hoped again that the mystery woman got his letter. He hoped

she'd found it amusing. Witty. At least intriguing enough to warrant an answer. He'd hoped she'd answer it. And soon. By Wednesday morning, he wasn't even pretending to be working anymore. He'd stared at the same report for so long he should have had it memorized, yet he couldn't even concentrate on work, the one thing guaranteed to absorb his attention and divert his morbid thoughts. When a knock interrupted his musings, his only thought was that Abby, his secretary, was bringing in his mail. Luke shot out of his chair and took a step towards the door. It wasn't Abby. Disappointment drove him to speak without thinking. “Oh. It's you." Wendy raised a fair brow at his surly tone. “My, what a charming welcome! No wonder you get so many visitors. Dare I come in?" Luke retreated to his desk and waved at the chair in front of it in a grudging, silent invitation. "Expecting someone?” She arched an inquiring look at her brother and took in the unusual sight of the normally intense, focused, all-business man staring blankly at the report in front of him as if wondering where it had come from. He looked up at her with the same unseeing expression. “What?" She was suspicious, Luke realized. He was acting strangely. With an effort, he snapped his attention back to the present and pushed the mystery woman and Jake Marlow to the back of his mind. "Yes,” he agreed, since obviously it was the truth. Only he was expecting her to write, not appear in person. Besides, he figured this could work to his advantage. If he suddenly turned up engaged, he wanted Wendy to be able to remember his distraction. His family knew him too well to buy the charade without laying some groundwork. Abby chose that moment to appear with his morning mail, and Luke shot out of his chair again. "Expecting a letter from Ed McMahon?” Abby teased. He gave her a disgruntled look and all but snatched the mail from her. “Thank you, Abby. Iam expecting an important letter." "That would be the lavender envelope with all the perfume on it..." That startled him. “Perfume?” It had to be her. He smiled and the abrupt transformation didn't go unnoticed by either woman. They exchanged thoughtful glances as he turned back to his desk, and both eagerly waited for an explanation. “Uh ... thanks, Abby ... that will be all." Abby's smile looked a bit disappointed, but she acquiesced and left his office. No such luck with Wendy, who just crossed her legs and settled back comfortably. A sister's special prerogative, he supposed.

Luke dropped the stack and sorted through until he found the envelope that was obviously not business. It clearly had no purpose but pleasure, from the feminine stationary to the musky fragrance it exuded. Fine handwriting graced the outside. She'd written by hand. Personally. That had to be a good sign. Encouraged, Luke swiftly tucked the envelope inside the pocket of his discreet gray suit and squared his shoulders to face Wendy's curiosity. He planted both hands on the cherry desk, leaned forward and asked with studied casualness, “Is there something I can do for you?" Wendy smiled winningly back at him. “Who's that from?" He put on his coldest business persona and stared back. “Who is what from?” His tone dared her to question him further. Unfortunately, Wendy was fond of dares. The chic blonde leaned back in her seat and swung one foot idly. “The letter,” she drawled. “The perfumed one. The one you're keeping so romantically over your heart." Luke dealt with that the only way he could think of. He ignored it. He repeated, “Is there something I can do for you?" Wendy smiled triumphantly. “As a matter of fact, there is. You can bring her along Friday." "Friday?” Luke frowned and tried to remember what was happening Friday. He hoped she didn't mean this coming Friday. That was a little soon. He'd only just heard from his mysterious single woman. He needed time. "Next Friday,” Wendy expounded, but Luke was still in the dark. “You remember—a little thing at Aaron's. Your only brother. The day after Thanksgiving." "Right,” Luke agreed, although he didn't remember any such thing. There were always far too many of these “little things” scheduled from November to January. He had high hopes that he and his fabulous fake fiancée could manage to avoid several of them, using each other's families as an excuse. A truly cheerful thought. Luke managed to weather the rest of the low-level debriefing before Wendy finally accepted that she wasn't going to get anything more out of him and mercifully left. Alone at last, he heaved a sigh of relief and pulled out his letter. Single Man: Poetry? I'm impressed! As my number-one contender for the position of temporary fiancé, I'm sending you, absolutely free of obligation, the enclosed questionnaire. There is absolutely no cost to you (other than postage) and all answers will be held in strict confidence. Really. (Although I have to remind you that you're trusting a person who was desperate enough to place a singles ad in the first place.) Please complete and return the questionnaire, and feel free to ask any questions of your own. Within reason. Although I reserve the right to plead the Fifth. Question One: I'm unmarried because...

a. I hate women b. I have no social graces whatsoever and bathe only as an annual ritual c. I just got out on parole d. I have a commitment issue. Also a dependency issue. Also a trust/intimacy issue. e. I haven't yet met Ms. So Right I Can't Believe It. Or even Ms. Close Enough. Question Two: I'm willing to lie to my family because... a. I hate them all and they deserve it b. my neighbor's dog told me to c. why not? d. it sounds like fun e. I don't know of any other way to save my sanity and survive the holidays. Question Three: I'm willing to spend my time filling out this ridiculous questionnaire because... a. my therapist recommended that I stay busy, especially during the holiday season b. I don't have a job c. I don't have a life d. I don't know e. Single Woman, you fascinate me and I'd do a lot more than fill out a silly questionnaire for you Question Four: What I really like to do for fun is... a. go bowling b. play the accordion c. attend Star Trek conventions dressed as my favorite character d. wax my car e. shower single women with flowers and poetry I'll bet you've noticed a distinct pattern here, haven't you? I eagerly await your reply. Yours Most Untruly, Single Woman Luke smiled more than once reading her pert answers that revealed as much about her as she claimed to ask about him. Thee 's definitely had it, in this case. The obviously slanted responses disqualified the first four and left the last as her less than subtle preference. She didn't like bowling, women haters or psychobabblers. She all but admitted to preferring bribery and flattery. Too bad her post office box wouldn't accommodate a floral delivery. Otherwise he could earn some extra points with her and speed up the process that way. Thanksgiving was coming. And that “little thing” at his brother's. If he didn't have someone to fend off his family by then, Candy would start to look like a real candidate for Ms. Right. There had to be a way to get through the letter-writing stage and meet her in person. Maybe, Luke mused, he should be as blatant in his preferences as she was. Maybe he should come right out and ask her to cut to the chase. Single Woman: I would have sent flowers, but the florist wouldn't deliver to a post office box. I don't talk to my neighbor's dog, hate my family, or use the wrong fork at dinner. I'm convinced I'm the right one for you, but how can I convince you only through anonymous letters? Since you might have some real concerns about meeting me for the first time, I suggest that you choose the time and a public place you'd feel comfortable in. Also, I'm revealing my identity so you can

investigate me for any criminal history I might potentially be hiding. I'm Luke Foster, 32, never married. I own a consulting business called Solid Solutions. You may have heard of it. I need you because I have an extended family with an unwarranted and disturbing interest in seeing me paired off, and apparently anything female qualifies. Make me your stand-in and I'll send you flowers every day. Meet me. The sooner the better. I'm waiting to hear from you. Luke **** His bold, slashing signature told Jordan that here was a man who left his mark. Luke Foster? The local financial expert featured in magazines and newspapers?The Luke Foster neededher? Well, it just went to show that money didn't solve everything. He had family problems, too. Jordan glanced back over the letter and grinned. She might have heard of his business? He did have a sense of humor. She'd have to live in a cave not to have heard of it. No matter what opinion her brothers held, she did not live in a cave. Apparently, he was willing to resort to bribery to persuade her. He'd given her the advantage of retaining anonymity while he revealed himself, and of choosing the time and place if she even chose to meet him. Only a very confident man would give her the upper hand like that. Or a very chivalrous one. Maybe her “Single Man” was the last rescuing knight in existence. Whatever, he was certainly worth meeting. There were plenty of respectable cafes and coffee shops. Any one of those would have people there at all hours. As good a meeting place as any, Jordan figured. She really didn't have anything to lose by showing up to check him out. He could hardly be worse than Seymour. And if, by some freak of chance, he was a total write-off, she wouldn't be any worse off for trying. Her mind made up, Jordan glanced at the clock. She could get a reply to the post office by five, and there was a good chance he'd get it the next day. Saturday at the latest. So she should arrange to meet him on Sunday. If nothing else, she'd have an excuse to escape from Randall's get-together in case her demented brothers had another surprise waiting for her. Luke: I suppose if we're engaged, I can't call you Mr. Foster, can I? I appreciate your willingness to meet me at my convenience. Meet me at the cafe on Battery Street, Sunday afternoon at four. You won't be able to miss me. Jordan ****

"You won't be able to miss me.” Luke found himself wondering what she meant by that. It sounded ominous. There were many ways he could think of that would make a person impossible to miss, and few of them were good. He doubted she'd be stunningly beautiful. Beautiful women collected men as a hobby. She'd have a hundred volunteers without having to place an ad. But then, she might say the same of him. His problem wasn't lack of feminine attention, but in fact the opposite. For the first time, Luke wondered if that was her problem, too. For some reason the thought disturbed him and repeatedly intruded as he attempted to focus on a marketing analysis for a new client. It was simply the natural desire to solve a puzzle, he told himself. Jordan represented a mystery. Sunday he'd meet her and the mystery would be solved. He'd have his holiday conspirator secured. If he ran into Jake Marlow again, he'd be safe from that quarter, too. Sunday couldn't come soon enough. When it finally did, Luke settled at a small table that offered a clear view of the door and waited. She'd said he couldn't miss her. A woman came in, brushing stray snowflakes from her hair and he eyed her carefully. Nothing distinctive about her. Still he wondered—until she joined a group of friends at another table. Well, he was early. She had another fifteen minutes. Luke sipped meditatively at his hazelnut coffee and continued to keep watch on the comings and goings at the popular cafe. At least she'd chosen a place with an interesting view. Lake Champlain was a beautiful sight in the large window as snowflakes swirled. Caught up in the scenery, the traffic through the cafe door and his private musings concerning the identity and appearance of the mysterious Jordan, he still couldn't fail to notice the next person who came in. She was dressed in black from head to toe. A long black scarf covered her hair and the ends trailed carelessly down her back. She wore a heavy black cape that came to her knees, under which black jeans were visible down to where they tucked into black leather half-boots. The woman paused inside the door and her clear gray eyes, visible to Luke even at this distance, wandered over the cafe patrons for a moment. She casually unwound her scarf and draped the ends over her shoulders, revealing white-blond hair cut spiky short. Her cool gaze continued over the tables and patrons and came to rest on Luke. He held his breath. She smiled—an elfin expression that lit her composed features with mischief—and strolled confidently towards him. He stood politely as she reached his table. He towered over her and wondered if maybe he should have stayed seated. He didn't want to intimidate her. But apparently the woman in black wasn't easily intimidated. She tilted her head back to meet him eye to eye and grinned again.

"Luke?" She had a husky contralto voice, he noted with approval. “If I wasn't, I'd change my name,” Luke answered. She laughed and he thought she looked more sprite-like than ever. Maybe it was her pale coloring. Or the charming slightly pointed chin, pale pink Cupid's bow mouth and deep dimples. Or her diminutive size. She looked very much like one of the little people come to charm him. "Flattery will get you everywhere,” she assured him and seated herself before he could move to assist her. “Hello, Luke. I'm Jordan Christian." Airily she waved one slender hand to indicate the seat across from her as if she thought he was waiting for her permission to sit in her presence. Come to think of it, maybe he had been. Something about her carriage made Luke think of the queen of the fairies. She continued blithely, “Your fiancée.” As he seated himself across from her, Jordan considered Luke with a sense of ever-growing jubilation. He was absolutely perfect. Big and macho-looking. Just the type to impress her brothers with his manly ability to defend her delicate person, since they imagined she needed alot of defending ... merely because she managed to get herself into the occasional scrape. Nothing she couldn't handle herself. But of course big brothers never saw it that way. He was also very appealing in a way totally atypical of stereotyped movie-star good looks. His broad chest and wide shoulders would appeal to most women with a pulse and he had the face of a rather battered knight. Definitely, he scored high on sex appeal, if not pure aesthetics. He had nice eyes, too. Jordan firmly believed that eyes revealed a great deal about a person's character. His were light blue and steady. It made her feel she could depend on him, in spite of his rugged appearance that might otherwise be alarming. And even Randall, the accountant, couldn't complain about his secure, solid financial prospects. Yes, in every way he was just the kind of man her brothers would love to have her bring home for their inspection. She'd just known it was going to work out perfectly. Their waiter appeared and Jordan dropped her eyes to the cup and saucer in front of Luke. “What's that?" "Hazelnut.” He had a low, rumbling voice that went well with his battle-worn face. Jordan wondered if he'd ever been a cowboy, or a fighter. Something about him reminded her of John Wayne in “The Quiet Man." She turned her smile on the waiter. “I'll have the same.” Turning back to Luke, she added, “I love hazelnut." He gifted her with a slow smile that lit his blue eyes with warmth. “Something else we have in common." She nodded and felt a bone-deep conviction that this was absolutelyright . He was the man to protect her from the dentists, undertakers and lawyers of her nightmares.

Nothing about him was off-putting or abrasive. She could envision spending the next two months in his company without suffering the agonies of the damned. And best of all, as the man who'd been named Burlington's most eligible bachelor, she didn't have to worry about him getting serious on her or taking advantage of the enforced intimacy due to their unusual circumstances. He wasn't desperate for female companionship. Which made her wonder why he didn't have a line of volunteers to aid and abet him if he wanted to keep his family off his back. "So tell me, Luke,” she began lightly, “what's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?" He gazed back at her steadily. “I might ask you the same question." She grinned, undeterred. “I asked you first." He squared his wide shoulders and braced his hands against the table top. “I believe I told you the answer to that. I have a business that takes most of my time and energy. I also have a large family who think their sole purpose here on earth is to find me a wife. That might not be so bad except for the—shall we say—unusualcandidates they come up with." Wry amusement in his eyes told Jordan what an understatement that was. “At least you've never been stuck with an undertaker, have you?” Jordan challenged. She was still indignant over that one and it showed. He looked surprised. Therewere worse things than Cotton Candy, he decided. “No, I can't say I've ever suffered that.” No wonder the poor woman had resorted to running an ad. "And before that was the sadistic, depressing and egotistical dentist who followed me on a cruise to the Bahamas. Then there was the divorce attorney who wanted me to sign a prenuptial agreement on our first date." Jordan recited her list of grievances moodily and drank some hazelnut coffee to ease the pain. “The undertaker was the last straw. I was supposed to have dinner with him. Just imagine it—dinner with an undertaker, talking about death and dying." Luke tried not to laugh at her melodramatic recounting. And failed. She frowned at him. “It's unkind to laugh at another person's misery. Anyway, now you see why I need you.” She reached forward and took one of his broad hands to emphasize her point. “I do need you, Luke. I'm at the end of my rope. If you can't pull off this charade with me, I'm going to change my name and move to Mexico." There was nothing sadder than a depressed pixie, Luke decided as he took in the defeated slump of her fragile shoulders. He felt a sudden surge of resentment for the thoughtless, cruel people responsible for her misery. He wanted to find them and flag their bookkeeping systems for an IRS audit. He turned his hand palm side up to hold her small one comfortingly. “That's what fiancés are for,” he assured her. She brightened magically at his words and Luke felt rewarded. “Oh, Luke, that's wonderful. I can't tell

you how much this means. I love my brothers, but really, sometimes I wonder if they're firing on all cylinders." So her brothers were the villains. Luke filed that information away for future reference. "They have this fixation about getting me married off,” she continued. “They think I need a keeper." There Luke thought he might see eye to eye with them. She was so small. So easily hurt. She looked as if a good gust of wind coming in off the lake would sweep her away, never to be seen again. Maybe she didn't need a keeper, but she certainly needed a fiancé. She needed him. Luke drew her out with the ease of a man accustomed to getting information from even unwilling sources as he questioned her about herself. She seemed blithely content to answer. He learned that she lived alone. That she was an orphan and that her four older brothers had taken on the job of raising her. That she earned a living writing greeting cards. That piece of information surprised him, and she saw his unguarded reaction. She laughed merrily. "I always wondered who wrote those,” he admitted. "Now you know.” Her gray eyes sparkled. “People like me, hunched over desks and computer keyboards, yelling out punch lines to the walls to find out how they sound." "Do you actually do that?" "Talk out loud? Sure, sometimes. Cards usually get read out loud and things that look good don't always sound right. And constantly coming up with new and different ways to say the same thing is enough to make anybody talk to themselves.” Cheerful candor and a careless shrug finished that admission. Jordan slid comfortably low in the booth and summed up her abbreviated life story. “So that's about it. I'm a decent, law-abiding, productive member of society. I don't have anything against marriage, but I'm content to wait for the right person and I'm tired of fending off the wrong ones. I want a rest. And that's where you come in.” She gave him another beatific grin. "I'm glad,” Luke answered soberly. “Are you free on Friday? My brother Aaron is having this ‘thing'." She nodded. “And what about Thursday?” She pondered the possibilities. “You know, this could work to our advantage. If we time it right, we can eat twice and miss all the dish-washing.” The more she thought about it, the more advantages Jordan could see. “And we can duck out of both places if the interrogation gets too hot, using the other family as an excuse.” A light of fanatical glee lit her gray eyes. Luke could see her point. It was beautiful. No doubt Wendy would have a number of awkward questions lined up and waiting. She'd had time to prepare. And Aaron and Cassie—his other sister—would be right behind her, if his parents didn't claim seniority. He hadn't even considered the uncles and cousins and assorted others, yet, either. A prearranged escape route seemed prudent, indeed. He nodded his agreement with her assessment of the situation. “I'll need your number and directions to

your house,” he reminded her. “You might also make some notes for me. Your birthday. Your brothers’ names. That sort of thing." Jordan rummaged through her shoulder bag. “As a matter of fact, I did write down a few things for you. Also I came up with a pretty good story to explain our whirlwind courtship." "You did?” She was thorough, Luke thought in approval. "Uh huh. How about this—we met at the post office. I'm always running in there to send my submissions off, and you had a priority letter to pick up. Your secretary had the flu. The best fictions are the most believable. The closest to the truth,” Jordan added in explanation. “We did meet through the post office ... in a way. "Then we ran into each other a few other times, started exchanging small talk, and then one thing led to another. We started meeting purposely and lingering." Luke could almost believe it had happened just like that. He could just imagine it, her elfin face catching his attention as he stood in the mail line, her fey eyes catching his and exchanging a telling look. Her graceful, light walk would draw his eyes after her as she left and he'd be intrigued by the petite pixie. He'd come back, purposely hoping to catch her again. Something about her seemed so elusive. She was just out of reach, tantalizingly near. He'd wait for her, and hope to catch one of her innocent smiles that he already could tell meant trouble. He wouldn't be able to resist persuading her to linger and exchange more than a casualhello . He'd draw her into a conversation that would capture her agile mind and lure her into his offer to continue over cappuccino. Eventually she would agree. With that one, slim thread, he'd draw her closer and weave her into the fabric of his life. He'd have to work quickly, or she'd escape his silken snare. He'd propose before she could brace for it. He'd offer her any terms she wanted. She wouldn't be able to resist. And if she did, he'd wear her down in the sweetest way. He wouldn't rest from the first fleeting contact until his ring rested on her slender finger. Mentally, Luke cleared his head. This imagination stuff was dangerous. He blamed Jake for planting ideas about rearranging his priorities, and putting the energy he'd funneled into his business into an equally satisfying personal life. But the mental lapse had reminded him of something vital. “I need to know your ring size. Without an engagement ring, they'll see through us in a heartbeat." She looked impressed. “A man with a mind for detail. Wonderful. And you're absolutely right. But don't worry, I should be able to find something in a pawn shop." Luke braced his hands flat on the table and leaned forward, set for a fight. “No fiancée of mine is going to buy her own ring, much less from a pawn shop. I'll get the ring. You just tell me your size.” His hard, flat voice warned her not to argue. Jordan's charming face took on a decidedly stubborn, mutinous expression. “Size five—but don't you think that's going a little overboard?"

He'd overreacted, of course. Luke drew a slow breath and searched for an explanation. “I have appearances to maintain. It wouldn't look right. Don't worry, the money isn't a problem and I won't lose anything on the deal." "Oh.” She brightened again. “Right. I forgot. Itwould look funny if your fiancée didn't have the Rock of Gibraltar on her finger, wouldn't it? Sorry, Luke. And I see your point; it's not like it's going anywhere. Of course you'll get it back.” Then she frowned. “Maybe you should insure it, though. I might lose it. And then I'd feel terrible." Luke stared steadily back, outwardly calm while inwardly he reeled from her words. She hadn't even put his ring on and already she was giving it back. She wouldn't even think enough about it to keep from losing it. It shouldn't have bothered him. It shouldn't have hit him where it hurt—in his masculine pride. It shouldn't have made him worry that this was proof that he'd already left matters of the heart too late. It shouldn't have ... but it did. He decided he was on thin ice and it was best to stick to the facts for now. “Fine. I'll get the ring. I'll pick you up at your place on Thursday. What time are you expected for dinner?" "Around two." Luke nodded brusquely. “Then I'll be there at one-thirty to go over anything last minute we might need to cover.” He slid a business card over to her. “If you have any questions or need anything, call me. After we get through your family, we'll go deal with mine. Probably from around six to ten." He didn't miss her look of dismay. "We might be able to duck out sooner, both ways,” he placated. "We should have a signal. A code word, to tell each other we're drowning and need to be rescued,” Jordan mused out loud. She tapped one fingertip on the tabletop for a moment. Then she beamed. “I have it. Dickens. What do you think?" He wondered where the dickens he'd lost control of this entire crazy situation. However, it was oddly fitting. “Perfect." Jordan unwound herself from the booth and stood. “Until Thursday, then.” Gray eyes twinkled at him. The black scarf swathed her head again, making her look like a movie star incognito, only without the sunglasses. With a final conspiratorial wink, the black fairy vanished into the gathering twilight. Luke stood, staring numbly after her for seconds—or possibly hours. When he looked back down at the check, he saw that she'd had the effrontery to pay the tab. It didn't bode well, as the starting point of their unconventional relationship. For a man who relied on solid facts and carefully kept records, it was particularly disturbing. He didn't think she'd translate to any kind of graph or chart. None of his reliable methods could predict what she might do next. For a man who was always solidly in control and securely entrenched, it definitely carried disquieting implications.

Still, Luke was actually looking forward to Thanksgiving. With quiet satisfaction he decided that his family deserved everything Jordan would give them.

Chapter Three Bright and early Monday morning, Jordan tapped out the number from the card Luke had given her. It was only when the phone started to ring that she realized she should know his secretary's name, and didn't. Oops. One small detail overlooked. She could only hope that the woman would follow standard business phone etiquette and identify herself when she answered. "Good morning. Solid Solutions. This is Abby. May I help you?" Yes!Jordan did a little victory dance that her smooth speaking voice didn't betray. “Yes, Abby, I hope so. This is Jordan. I need to speak with Luke; is he in?" A slight pause followed, as the unknown Abby no doubt tried to figure out who “Jordan” was and if she was supposed to recognize the name. Luke probably hadn't informed his secretary yet. They were going to drop the bomb on Thursday. "Oh, yes,” Abby replied with a distinctly warmer tone to her voice. “Ilove your perfume. Luke's on another line, but I'll buzz him for you." "Okay, thanks.” Jordan waited, slowly stretching her arms over her head and leaning to the far side both ways, with the phone cradled between her shoulder and cheek. "Jordan?" Was it her active imagination, or did he sound pleased to hear from her? She couldn't resist vamping a little. “Hello, handsome. Are we alone?" He made a faint sound, as if he'd started to choke on something. “No. We're not." "Darling, tell me we aren't on a speaker phone. I hate them." "We aren't,” he assured her in a strangled voice. "Oh. Party line?" "No." Jordan thought. “Then your secretary's in the room?" "No." Hmm, a tough one. “Someone's in your office...” Inspiration struck once, then twice. “Some family member who just happened to drop in to grill you."

"I admire your intuitiveness.” Humor sounded dryly through the line. "Never fear, your fiancée will ride to your rescue at the drop of a hat. Only it occurred to me that you wouldn't knowwhere to drop your hat because I neglected to leave the information with you.” Jordan figured circumstances being what they were, he'd be too relieved at the present time to hold a grudge. "There is that." Whew. He evensounded like John Wayne in “The Quiet Man." "I can't fax it to you right now, can I? It would look suspicious." "No.” Luke hesitated only a second. “But I have a better idea. Can you meet me for lunch?" "For the man who's saving me from Seymour the undertaker, no price is too high, no sacrifice too great,” Jordan swore fervently. “Where do you want to meet?" Then he actually topped her for bold moves. Not easy to do. "No, darling. Meet me at my office. We'll go shopping for the ring together. After you left last night, I realized you were right about that, and I was being a bit high-handed." "I don't believe for a minute that you actually mean that.” Jordan sniffed in mock derision. “Youwere being high-handed. But considering my options, I'm willing to overlook it. Nice touch, though—she's probably bought it hook, line and sinker, whoever she is." "Darling, of course I mean it." Oh, sure. Jordan rolled her eyes, but unfortunately he couldn't personally appreciate the effect. "At twelve-thirty?” he continued smoothly—somewhat like a steamroller moving steadily ahead. “I look forward to it.” Then he added the clincher. “I'm glad you called. I didn't like the way we left things last night. I sent you flowers. Did you get them?" "Never tease a woman about something really important like flowers,” Jordan huffed. “Of course I didn't get them, because you didn't send them. You were too busy being high-handed. And even if you weren't, you wouldn't know where to send them to, remember?" Luke laughed. A very enjoyable sound. Jordan didn't think she'd heard him laugh before. “I have my ways, darling. I'll see you at twelve-thirty." Then he hung up. Jordan stared in disbelief at the receiver in her hand. How dare he hang up on her? Was that any way to treat a fiancée? The doorbell interrupted her fit of pique and she banged the phone down to answer it. Moments later, she was smiling again. He hadn't been teasing about the flowers. And hedid have his “ways." Jordan eyed the bouquet of calla lilies and wondered where he'd gotten them from. The graceful white flowers were her favorite, a fact she was certain she hadn't mentioned. Maybe he had a healthy dash of

intuitiveness himself. Her fiancé was a man of many talents. It took an unusual man to surprise Jordan. The thought was unsettling. The man who could out-do her for unpredictability was a man to be reckoned with. It occurred to Jordan that she might have simply traded one problem for another. No, she was being ridiculous. He was far preferable to Seymour, Mitchell, Gaston, Winston, Norton and company. If for no other reason than his name. Her brothers seemed to share a bizarre penchant for choosing ludicrously inappropriate men with names no loving mother would choose. She hoped it wouldn't put them off Luke. Maybe he had a really dreadful middle name he could use, or “Luke” was short for something else. That distracted her from her flash of trepidation and Jordan started paging through a book of names. That led to an idea for a series of cards, and she was soon scribbling away, Luke and the origins of his name forgotten entirely. When she put down her pen to stretch her aching shoulders, Jordan caught sight of the clock and let out a shriek of horror. Fortunately, she was a pro at the art of the quick change. As she hurled her sweats to the floor, her sweater was already sliding down over her head. Knit leggings barely preceded baggy socks and half-boots. She wet her hands and fluffed up her hair, grabbed pink lipstick to touch up with on the way and collected cape, pocketbook with notes still inside, and car keys in a miniature whirlwind. She'd make it. Just barely ... but she'd make it. She flew out the door and her faithful little car came alive on command. Ten minutes later a composed, serene Jordan stood outside the impressive office door. A surreptitious glance revealed no forgotten items of clothing, no seams declaring an item donned inside-out, although she'd done it before and pretended it was a fashion statement. Getting away with almost anything depended on a shameless ability to lie on command and, better still, believe it. Also it helped that she seemed to lack the ability to blush. But she did owe it to Luke to at least appear normal. Her stylish boots were laced and on the proper feet. Her white leggings and matching long sweater in a slightly flared tunic style made a nice contrast to the black cape that hung open on her shoulders. Deciding a dramatic cape might be a bit much for business types, she removed it and slung it over one arm. There. All in white now, she looked as innocent and pure as the driven snow. Jordan took a breath, donned a smile and swept inside the quietly plush office as if she had always belonged there. She would do what she always did when in a tight spot—charm the socks off of everybody. Starting with the woman behind the front desk who must be Abby. Unless it was a much larger office than she'd realized. "Hello,” Jordan said and turned up the wattage on her smile. A friendly smile in return from the perfectly made-up face beneath the sleek chestnut bob at the front desk convinced her she was off to a good start.

Following her instincts, Jordan continued brightly, “You must be Abby. You know, Luke made you sound like such a paragon, I've been half afraid to meet you." The sweet confession was just the right touch. Abby was looking more like a person and less like a polished executive assistant with every word. "Luke is very impressed by things like color-coded files,” Abby responded cheekily, dismissing the label ofparagon even as she warmed to the compliment. “You must be Jordan. It's nice to meet you." "Thank you.” Jordan dimpled charmingly. “Is Luke with someone right now?" "Yes,” a masculine voice replied from somewhere off to her left. Jordan turned to see her newly acquired fake fiancé moving towards her in a straight-arrow fashion that she thought was probably typical of him. His blue eyes focused solidly on her and as he reached her and took her hands in his, his eyes steadily continued to penetrate into hers as if he was trying to telegraph some silent message to her. Whatever it was, Jordan wasn't getting it. He wasn't using the right mental wave-length, evidently. Or, possibly, he simply wanted her to stand and gaze longingly into his eyes for the benefit of whoever might be present. Simple enough. Jordan gave it her all, a performance worthy of an Oscar at the very least as she looked up adoringly at Luke. All it took was the shuddering thought of spending the holidays with Seymour the mortician to focus her energies on adoring Luke. This was her rescuer from truly deadly conversational gambits. Thanks to him, she wouldn't spend the holidays composing her own epitaph under the dreary, morbid tutelage of a mortician suitor. Luke wondered how she managed to look so fascinating in black and equally captivating in white. She was a vision in soft angora that nearly matched her white-blond hair. She'd gone from the black fairy to the Snow Queen overnight. He wondered how many other looks she had. He wondered if he'd ever see all the sides of her mercurial personality. He wondered, eventually, what she must be thinking when he just kept looking at her. He should say something. "You look beautiful in white." At his compliment, Jordan did her best to look demurely bridal. “I hope I will,” she teased, referring to the fictitious upcoming nuptials. She thought that was a good touch on his part. He looked and sounded just like a smitten groom-to-be, fantasizing about his bride. Now for whose benefit were they putting on this little show? She could play the role better if she had some inkling as to the nature of the audience. Jordan tried to telegraph the question back to him, but again the wave-length didn't seem to be working. They really needed to work out some more signals, she decided. A faintly amused “ahem” was Jordan's first audience response. She turned her head in the direction of

the sound, and didn't have to fake her consternation. The woman waiting to be introduced to her had to be his mother. The age, the family resemblance, and the maternal stance of inspection gave it clearly away. Jordan turned horrified gray eyes on her silent conspirator. “Tell me this isn't your mother,” she hissed, not even trying to avoid being overheard. "I'm afraid I can't,” Luke replied. He didn't even have the grace to look abashed. Instead he looked sort of harried, Jordan realized. Sort of in need of rescue. Maybe contending with four brothers—plus spouses—was a piece of cake compared to a whole clan. He had her sympathy. Also her marvelous acting talents, which she hoped he appreciated. She let out a faint moan of despair and buried her face in his suit jacket. “I can't believe it. How could you do this to me?” The accusing question ended with her wounded face lifted to his. Jordan turned stricken eyes to his mother. “I can't believe he let me meet you looking like this. Oh, dear. This isn't how I wanted it to go. I was going to be all dignified so you'd be impressed." She managed to stop short of wringing her hands. That would have been going too far, and although she played it right up to the edge, she resisted the temptation to step over. Luke's mother, meanwhile, visibly went from reserved inspection to motherly sympathy. No doubt she was recalling her own trepidation about meeting her future mother-in-law and feeling Jordan's pain. If they really were engaged, Jordan thought in satisfaction, Luke would be in trouble now. She'd have his mother on her side. In fact, the woman proceeded to turn an accusing look on Luke. "Oh, Luke, you've embarrassed this sweet little thing. Really, I thought I raised you to have better manners." Luke was dumbfounded. How had the wicked fairy done it? His mother had insisted on lingering and annoying him, thanks to Wendy's rumor mongering about perfumed love letters. He'd thought Jordan's timely phone call would get him off the hook. Instead, his mother had decided she had to get a look at the mysterious fiancée before the rest of the family met her on Thanksgiving. And now he was the bad guy?Unfair , he protested silently. His mother was now looking at him as if he'd inflicted terrible suffering on Jordan's frail, fragile shoulders. Somewhat, he realized in dawning horror, like his reaction to her description of her fraternal tormentors. The obvious conclusion floored him. She'd given him a snow job fit to open a ski season. And he'd fallen for it. She might be small, Luke thought, but she certainly wasn't helpless. In fact, if she wasn't his ally, she would be downright frightening. Devious wasn't the word for her. No, it fell far short of describing her slippery, wily ways. If she ever turned to a life of crime, Luke was certain she'd make a fortune pulling off con games and never being caught. Although if she was caught, no officer would have the heart to arrest her and no judge or jury would ever convict her.

He was impressed. He'd had no idea he was getting a true professional for his holiday hoax. Judging by his normally reserved mother's reaction, Jordan would be firmly embraced by the family. A cheerful warmth rose slowly and settled somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. He was really going to get away with it. The least he could do, he supposed in resignation, was to take the fall and look more or less contrite for subjecting Jordan to his mother unprepared. What would a real fiancé do? He drew her into his embrace and wrapped one arm securely around her slight form. “Now, darling, don't worry. How could she help falling for you as fast as I did?” Luke teased the shameless little liar. Jordan looked pensive. “But that's just it, Luke. It all happened so suddenly. What are they going to think?" "They'll think you're an angel sent from heaven,” Margaret Foster interjected. “Truly. We had nearly given up hope that Luke would ever settle down.” She came closer to hug Jordan. “Welcome to the family, dear. I'm so pleased.” She kissed Luke's cheek in a congratulatory salute. “Now I have to be going. I'll look forward to seeing you both on Thursday.” With a final approving smile, she exited Luke's offices. "And we should go, too.” Luke neatly sealed their escape as he led a very willing Jordan towards the door. “If anyone calls for me, Abby, I'll be back around two." With a parting wave and smile to Abby, Jordan let Luke pull her along. Once they were safely out of sight and hearing, she let out a long gasp of relief and sagged against his convenient support. "Whew. That was a close one. Yourmother , of all people! Still, for having to improvise, I think we did pretty well. What do you think?” Jordan went from consternation to exhilaration in a single conversational bound and waited patiently for Luke to catch up with her. He glanced down at her and gave her a rueful look. “I don't know if I should spank you or thank you." Jordan's eyes twinkled. “Thank me. It's much more fun. Besides, I think you should be grateful. Didn't I just rescue you from nagging and haranguing, not to mention any further potential matchmaking she might have had up her sleeve?" Airily, she pointed out her justification for lying to a dear woman whose only crime lay in wanting to see her son happily married. After all, she was only keeping her side of their bargain. And they wouldn't have been driven to it in the first place if their families would simply listen to reason. Jordan might sympathize, but she and Luke were only acting out of a sense of self-preservation. "True,” he agreed, shortening his stride to accommodate hers, since she was nearly running along beside him. “You did rescue me, and in return I'm not only rescuing you but keeping my promise to send you flowers every day." "Hey, how did youdo that?” Jordan demanded, remembering his unexpected maneuver. "I didn't think there could be many Jordan Christians in Burlington. I found you in the directory. Then I called a florist and asked if they'd ever delivered to that address. They had, and I just took a chance that you liked calla lilies.” His explanation sounded businesslike, but actually Luke was rather proud of his detective work. He thought he'd scored a few points for perseverance as well as delivering superior

fiancé service. He silently dared her to find a real fiancé who could compete. And he was about to buy her a ring to die for. He hadn't met the pixie he couldn't impress. She'd like the ring and she wouldn't talk about losing it, either. And she wouldn't be giving it back before she even put it on. Once she saw it, she'd cry before she'd be willing to give it up. Luke didn't think the minx cried often—unless she was in danger of not getting her way. Then he had no doubt that she could turn on a stream of tears to compete with Niagara Falls, complete with charming little hiccups. She'd be one of those women who didn't look blotchy in a fit of tears. No, Jordan crying would be a sight of feminine distress that would cut to the heart of any right-thinking male. Then Jordan would twist her victim around her little finger as she accepted a hankie and dabbed at the crystal drops sparkling like dew on her pink cheeks and adding luminescence to her gray eyes. He could almost see it. In fact, he made a mental note to keep a handkerchief on hand for the day she tried that stunt on him. He wasn't an easy man to fool. She'd done it once, but she wouldn't do it twice. He was onto her little bag of fairy tricks. "Why do you do it?” Luke inquired as he directed her to his sedan. She gave him a look of startled innocence that he probably would have fallen for a day earlier. “Do what?" "You not only had my mother believing you were my fiancée, you had her so fooled with your helpless act that she jumped on me for upsetting you.” Come to think of it, his mother wasn't easy to pull one over on, either. He'd never managed to get away with it as a child. She looked hurt. “I was doing what I agreed to do. Under very difficult circumstances, I might add. I was supposed to have three more days to prepare. I had to just wing it." Luke was beginning to suspect she did it because she couldn't help herself. Perhaps his temporary faux fiancée was a compulsive liar. As if reading his thoughts, she sighed and threw her hands up. “All right, you want to know why? I'll tell you why. Four big brothers, that's why. How else am I supposed to compete? Look at me, Luke. Do you really think I can negotiate from an equal position with four hulking brutes? No, of course I can't. I'm reduced to humiliating myself by pleading helplessness." Her dejection at being forced to play a demeaning role looked entirely convincing. So much so that Luke was forced to reconsider his harsh judgment of her. He had to concede that he didn't know what it was like to be in her small shoes. He used his size to intimidate his competition. Could he really blame her for using hers to gain sympathy? It seemed uncomfortably hypocritical put that way. And she was correct. She'd done it for his benefit, and he wasn't exactly showering her with gratitude. Luke mentally added another carat to the ring they were shopping for. He patted her hand comfortingly. “Well, whatever your reasons, you do it very well. You won't have any problem meeting the rest of my family."

She brightened at his praise. “I did do a good job, didn't I? The stage lost a real star when I went into the greeting card business instead. Hollywood, eat your heart out!" Her moods changed faster than her ever-shifting appearance. Whatever else the coming holidays had in store, Luke was smugly confident thatboredom was one problem he wouldn't be struggling with. Jordan was deceitful, infuriating, and always one step ahead on her nimble feet, but she wasn't sugary, grasping or dull. Besides, Luke thought he was one man she'd find it hard to dance her way around. Not only was he on to her tricks, he had her using them for his benefit. Yes, he had an advantage over all the other poor males she'd had at her mercy. In fact, he wondered how she'd failed to deal with the divorce attorney, the dentist and the undertaker, considering her talents. He decided to ask. For an answer, he got a disgusted look. "I know how to turn on the charm, Luke, but not how to drive away the un-suitables. Think about it. If I charmed them into wanting to do anything I asked, they'd hardly agree when I asked them to leave, now would they?” Jordan asked reasonably. “No, they wouldn't. Just the opposite, in fact. They'd be certain that deep down inside my frivolous head lurked an undying devotion to the big lunks. I know—because I was foolish enough to try it with Norton." "Norton?" "The insurance broker. I didn't mention Norton? Maybe my subconscious was trying to block out the horror.” Jordan shuddered. “Anyway, Luke, trust me—being charming and helpless makes a man like Norton believe that I will eventually break down and marry him because I'm too fluff-headed to know my own mind. He still shows up from time to time to laugh in my face when I tell him to go away. It's enough to make a woman of steel crack wide open." Luke laughed at her melodramatic expression of despair. “Well, as of now, Norton will have to take you seriously. He'll find himself dealing with me if he doesn't,” he assured her. “Now let's go pick out an appropriate rock." Jordan gave him a look that would have melted granite. “My hero. I'll gladly leave Norton in your big and capable hands." Her playful act didn't diminish the warm feeling Luke got from her words. He knew she was sincere. He really was acting the hero on her behalf. And Jordan feeling grateful was enough to make a man want to slay dragons, much less buy a diamond ring.

Chapter Four Thanksgiving Day found Jordan pacing in a circle, chanting names. There were somany of them. And so many tricky little details. Fortunately, she could probably fluff a few without giving anything away. She figured any real fiancée would be nervous and prone to forget things when meeting the whole family for the first time. Still, she wanted to keep it straight as much as humanly possible. She held the three-by-five card that contained her notes behind her back as she tried to remember

Luke's parents’ names. Margaret and ... and ... Jordan sighed and took a peek at the card. That brought the rock into view. Honestly. It was a wonder she could lift her hand at all—it was that big. She did have to admit that it was beautiful, though. Luke had good taste. Hisreal fiancée wouldn't have any complaints on that score. The lovely pear shape of the huge diamond was set off by an unusual platinum setting, an antique style that Luke had insisted on. Jordan had to wonder why he'd even pretended to consult her. The man truly was high-handed, and in a big way. He'd hauled her around in search of the Hope Diamond, evidently, seemingly dissatisfied with everything they looked at. When she'd questioned his fussiness, he'd insisted that none of the rings so far measured up to the high standard his fiancée deserved. Thinking about that, Jordan had to laugh. She sincerely hoped he knew better by now than to expect any kind ofhigh standard out of her. That their shopping expedition had ended in a rip-roaring fight instead of the traditional sort of romantic moment should put any silly ideas like that clearly out of his mind. Then she put the ring out of her thoughts and continued to pace and chant. “Aaron, younger brother, wife Tess. No children. Cassie, younger sister, husband Mitch, baby daughter Audrey. Wendy, oldest sister, husband Tom, son Keith, four, and Tommy Jr., six. Parents, Margaret and ... Ben! Yes!" **** Luke knocked, but nobody answered. A disturbing sensation settled somewhere around his vitals. Had she changed her mind? Run away? Left him for another single man? Luke frowned, remembering she hadn't seemed all that pleased with the ring. He'd thought it was perfect, as unique and exquisite as she was—although certainly not comparable in size. But instead of the feminine admiration and gratitude he'd imagined, she'd protested and pouted. He'd ended by shoving it on her finger and shouting that she'd wear it and he didn't want to hear one more word. Yelling at her in public was a big mistake. He'd regretted it instantly. Especially when every single shopper in the jeweler's had turned to glare at him as if he were a child-beater. A woman in a somber business suit had handed Jordan a card and announced loudly that she was a divorce attorney. Luke reflected morosely that at least Jordan had an aversion to lawyers. That was something, anyway. He hadn't known it when he'd acquired her, butgaining a fiancée was nothing compared tokeeping one. He'd imagined his troubles were over. He should have known better. A miniature tornado of trouble named Jordan had moved into his life instead. And he was finding that, surprisingly, he liked her brand of trouble. The idea kept crossing his mind that maybe Marlow was onto something and that maybe Jordan would make an interesting permanent addition to his world. After knocking again and waiting a few minutes, Luke decided that she was being perverse and trying to avoid him. He tried the knob, and it turned in his hand. Stepping in, he closed the door behind himself and looked for signs of life. The sound of a muttering feminine voice drew his attention. Following it, Luke turned a corner and stopped at the sight of her. She was dressed in fitted black slacks and a white blouse that made her look like a pilgrim. She even

had black shoes with square buckles. A smile tugged at his mouth. That kind of flair for costume was pure Jordan. She was moving in a fairy circle, chanting softly. For a moment, there was something so fey and other-worldly about her he was almost afraid to speak for fear of frightening her away. Then she stopped and swore loudly, shattering the illusion, and Luke laughed out loud. Jordan spun around and saw her fake fiancé watching her in open amusement. A brilliant smile lit her pale features. "Hi Luke!” She waved her cheat-sheet at him. “Just practicing. I've got the immediate family down cold, but don't be surprised if I mess up on some of the aunts and uncles. How about you? Are you ready?" He studied her for a minute. “Ready as I'll ever be. I wasn't sure you were here. You didn't answer the door." "Oh. I don't always hear when I'm concentrating on something. Sorry.” Her airy explanation delivered, she turned to search for her shoulder bag. She turned back to find Luke still looking at her with a sort of watchful, serious expression. He reminded her of Randall when she forgot to show up for dinner. “What's wrong?" He hesitated before answering carefully, “I thought you might still be upset with me." "What about? Oh, the ring thing.” Jordan grinned, then laughed. “Luke, come on, you call that a fight?” She shook her head, humor twinkling in her gray eyes. “What will you do when we have a real argument?" He didn't seem to know how to take that. Jordan gave him an exasperated look and linked her arm through his. “I hope you don't come from a family that never raises their voices, or you're going to think you've stepped into a madhouse when you meet my brothers. For the record, I'm not upset with you, but if Iwas , the cloisonné lily you sent me would have gone a long way towards smoothing things over." "It would?" "It would,” Jordan assured him in a conspiratorial whisper. He smiled and Jordan felt as good as if she'd gotten a smile from Randall on a bad day. He'd actually thought she'd run out on him over a little disagreement? Amazing. "You know, Luke, I think I should tell you that in order to get me to back out on our holiday deal, you would have to prove yourself worse company than Seymour. Even shouting at the top of your voice and forcing oversized diamonds on me, you've got Seymour beat, hands down." He gave her a look of blatant disbelief. She had to laugh. “What, are you fishing for compliments? All right, big guy, you got it.” She stood on her tiptoes, clutched his lapels, swooned and sighed. “Oh, Luke, I find you irresistible. Especially when you shout. I find it so ... manly.” She fluttered pale lashes at him. “I adore a shouting man. It's so exciting."

He plucked her off her feet effortlessly, spanning her small waist with his big hands and lifting her to eye level. “Minx. Behave yourself." Jordan couldn't resist cooing, “Or what? You'll make me wear the matching earrings?" Laughter shook Luke's shoulders and nearly made him drop her. “Worse,” he threatened. “I'll get the Foster family jewels out and make you wear those, too." She gave him a look of feigned terror. “No! Not the family jewels! Have mercy on me, please." He pretended to consider her case. “Well, all right. I'll let you off this time. But next time I won't be so forgiving." She gave him a look of sweet innocence. “I'll behave. I promise." "You'll behave like you always do,” he answered knowingly. “I think I should have a talk with your brothers about the lack of discipline they raised you with. You're incorrigible." He set her back on her feet and she groaned at his last threat. “Oh, please. Don't say anything like that, you'll get Gary started. He wanted to send me away to Catholic school." Luke started to laugh again. “Why? Does he hate nuns?" Jordan shot him a nasty look that didn't discourage his laughter in the least. When he sobered enough to talk, Luke added, “It's nice to know one of your brothers knew what you were up to." Jordan grinned. “Well, actually he didn't—not in the way you mean. He wanted to keep me away from all the deadly sins. For some reason he thought I might be too frail to resist temptation." Luke nodded. “Yes, I can see his point. But I'm afraid sending you to a convent wouldn't do any good. You'd find a way to get into trouble there, too. Drink too much communion wine and pass out on the altar at the very least." Jordan sniffed in injured pride. “I wouldnot .” Then she added, “Pass out in the confessional, maybe, but never on the altar. Tacky." Luke shook his head sadly. “You see? There's no keeping you from a life of wickedness. Get your coat, wicked one, we've got family to snow." As she got her cape and threw it over her shoulders, Jordan replied saucily, “You'll be thanking me a thousand times for my wicked ways before the year is over. All the snow in Vermont doesn't compare to the amount I can produce for our mutual benefit." "Yes, I've seen you in action. You are the undisputed Snow Queen,” Luke agreed as he guided her towards the door. The drive to Gary's house didn't take long. Jordan quizzed Luke on the way, but once they stepped through the door into the reigning pandemonium, he shot her a horrified look. “Who are all these

people?" Jordan tried to view the usual three-ring circus from the perspective of an outsider. She supposed it could be a little overwhelming. The teenagers were banging their heads in the den to whatever was the latest grunge rock CD. The younger children were running up and down halls yelling, and she spotted Theodore's youngest, Amy, sitting on the floor in tears over a lost toy. She gave Luke an encouraging smile. “Don't worry. You'll get used to it." He didn't look convinced. Jordan swung Amy up into her arms and gasped, “Good grief, you weigh a ton. I can't take it. Oooff!” She pretended to stagger and collapse under the crushing load, sinking to the floor with Amy on her stomach. The toddler forgot about the toy and started to laugh. Jordan gave Luke a grin of victory. “They're so easy to distract at this age. I love it." Luke grinned back at her. “You look like you're about the same age, sitting on the floor like that.” He reached down to collect the child and lifted Jordan back up. When he straightened, he found himself face to face with three men who matched him for height and width and he barely resisted the urge to push Jordan protectively behind his back. Instead he kept a firm hold on her hand. The three strangers looked him over and it slowly dawned on him that they must be her brothers. Still, he didn't back down from his protective stance. They were the ones who'd driven her to concoct this wild scheme in the first place. Instead of a nice guy like Luke, she could have ended up with a dangerous nut in her panicked flight from their matrimonial mismatches. Jordan looked from her brothers to Luke.Oh boy . It looked like there was going to be a showdown at sundown. Luke really did look like a gun-slinging cowboy about to draw. And the brothers were just as bad. She felt like the lone cat in the middle of a gang of dogs. Any minute now war was going to break out. She glared at Gary, Randall and Theodore in turn. Just her luck—the one brother who could be relied on for comic relief was conspicuously absent. “Behave! All of you!” Jordan yelled at the top of her lungs. Then she turned to Luke. “You, too. If there was any more testosterone flowing here, I'd be drowning." He had the grace to look slightly abashed, but she could tell he still wasn't about to back down first. She sighed gustily. Just as well. If he had, her brothers wouldn't respect him in the morning. It was up to her to smooth this over. Jordan gestured at Luke to set the toddler down. When he did, she kept hold of his hand as she marched up to Gary to stand toe to toe with him. “He's mine and I'm keeping him!” she shouted at full volume, defiance in every line of her small body. That was too much for Luke. He easily lifted her off her feet to dangle her above the floor. “You are?" "Yes.” She grinned back at him, not in the least perturbed at the unsubtle suggestion that she wasn't the one in charge. “Luke, I want you to meet my brothers. Most of them, anyway. One is missing. This is Gary, Randall and Theodore.” Jordan pointed to each as she named them. “Guys, this is Luke Foster. My fiancé.” She handled the introductions with the smooth dignity of a society matron, instead of an impish pixie being held two feet off the floor.

"Glad to meet you,” Luke murmured blandly, as if he wasn't toying with their sister before their very eyes. He could tell they didn't like it. Too bad. She was his now. He ignored the fact that it was only temporary. Two of them continued to look suspicious, but the middle one relaxed and held out a hand. “Luke Foster? Of Solid Solutions? I'm Randall Christian. Nice to meet you." Luke continued to hold Jordan easily with one hand and shook Randall's hand with the other. “Yes, that's my company. You're a CPA, isn't that right? I remember Jordan mentioning it." Jordan gave a peremptory “ahem” for attention. He turned to her in response. “Yes?" "Put me down." "Only if you admitI'm keepingyou , not the other way around,” he agreed willingly. She waved a tiny fist. “I admit nothing! A Christian never says die!" "But you aren't going to be a Christian much longer. You'd better get used to doing things the Foster way,” he countered. "Iknew it. I knew I should never have let you get your way with the ring. Now you'll expect to get your way all the time,” Jordan fumed. "Ring?” Gary asked mildly. Jordan beamed at him and displayed the rock for his perusal. The older brother hesitated a moment longer, then reached out to clasp Luke's hand. “I guess you're the lucky man. Congratulations." "Thank you.” Luke relented enough to set Jordan back on her feet as he shook Gary's hand, but he made sure he kept a firm grip on her. It gave him chills to think of the trouble she could stir up without even trying. And it gave him an inner sense of deep satisfaction to think of her wreaking havoc on his unwitting family later. It served them right for all their heavy-handed attempts to see him paired off. His smug reflections were disturbed when another bear-like male let out a roar and charged, swooping his fiancée off her feet. “There you are! I've got you now.” The stranger let out a chilling cackle and began stomping off with her down the hall. “You can't escape your fate. Youwill ... peel the potatoes!" The pronouncement of her sentence had Jordan moaning and pleading for a lesser one. Then she seemed to recall that she'd forgotten someone and tugged at one handy ear. “Stop! Wait!" The bear lumbered to a halt. “Don't try to weasel out of it. It's your turn." "No, no, I'll peel the potatoes,” Jordan assured him. “I want you to meet someone. Luke, this is

Lawrence, my other brother. Lawrence, meet Luke Foster, your future brother-in-law." The bear turned and subjected him to a leisurely head to toe survey. “Him? You want to marry him? What's wrong with Seymour?" Jordan gave a half sigh, half groan in answer to that. “What'sright with Seymour would be a better question. Anyway he came along too late. Luke had already captured my hand. And my heart,” she threw in for good measure. The bear growled. Then he rumbled, “What kind of a name is Luke? I can't let you marry a man with a name like that.Luke . One syllable. It's ridiculous. No. I'm sorry, he'll have to go." "His full name is Lucius,” Jordan stated serenely. Luke shot her a look of pure venom. Apparently she'd given that one a great deal of thought ahead of time. The bear rumbled, considering. “All right. You can marry him. But you'd better think of the children when it's time to come up with names. Don't let him help." "I won't. I've already thought of Desdemona, Drucilla and Lucretia for girls,” Jordan replied with apparent sincerity. The bear nodded. “Nice to meet you, Lucius. Welcome to the family. Come and stir the gravy, would you?" "Glad to,” Luke murmured. He followed the stomping bear-like Lawrence carrying Jordan off to the kitchen if not to the dungeons—and he had the distinct feeling that he'd stepped into a strange world inhabited by mysterious beings. He really should have known. A person like Jordan didn't come from an average, normal American family. It was rather amusing, actually. The Christians were a family of heathens. He couldn't wait for his family to meet them all. It was exactly what they deserved. He could barely contain a grin, thinking of his mother's expression as she anticipated wedding plans that would accommodate the preferences of both sides. He wondered if Lawrence would bellow that a woman with an unworthy name likeMargaret couldn't be allowed to have anything to do with the ceremony. Or maybe he'd be moved to accept her on the basis of her name consisting of three syllables. Jordan grinned at him over her brother's shoulder and Luke smiled back at her, content to stir gravy if it meant he had the unprecedented pleasure of watching her be made to peel the spuds. She'd make a charming scullery slave. An enticing urchin with dirt streaking her face. For the first time, Luke could appreciate the sentiment of keeping a woman in the kitchen. Barefoot, she'd be even more adorable. He was sure she'd have tiny, perfect pink toes with miniature pearly nails. He had a sudden desire to see her naked feet. Then he realized the direction his thoughts were taking. She was driving him insane. And he had a long way to go before New Year's Day. Luke began to wonder if he wouldn't have been better off with Cotton Candy after all.

Then Jordan winked and blew him a kiss and he knew he wouldn't trade her for anything. For better or worse, she was his ... at least for the time being. Lawrence elbowed past a crowd of women to deposit Jordan in front of a mountain of potatoes. He handed her a peeler, pointed to a pan for the peels and plunked down an enormous bowl to contain the readied potatoes. Then he placed a paw between Luke's shoulders and aimed him at the stove, where a pot of gravy bubbled to the side of a cauldron of boiling water, presumably in readiness for the spuds Jordan began dutifully peeling. "Here,” he boomed, nearly deafening Luke. “Keep stirring until it thickens. I'll turn it down to simmer for you.” Lawrence adjusted the temperature, handed him a wire whisk and then made a megaphone from his hands, as if that was necessary. “Everyone, listen up!" A hush fell over the kitchen and all eyes turned to the bear. “Jordan's getting hitched,” he announced. “This is Luke, the hitch-ee. It's a terrible name, but Jordan promises not to let him name the children, so we'll let her keep him anyway. Introduce yourselves and don't let him burn the gravy.” Then the bear lumbered away, oblivious to the shocked female faces left in the wake of his announcement. Luke decided he could well understand Jordan's penchant for charm. It could come in handy around this group. He wished he had some of it himself. He summoned up his best smile and made eye contact all the way around. “Nice to meet you.” Then his eyes bulged in horror as he saw Jordan pick up an enormous carving knife to cut out a potato eye. “Stop!" She jumped at his unexpected shout and Luke nearly died inside until he saw that she hadn't lost her grip on the knife handle. He moved quickly to take it away from her and heaved a sigh of relief. Then he glared at her. “Don't ever do that again. You use a paring knife for that, Jordan." She glared back. “This was handy." Suddenly he didn't trust her with a paring knife, either. “Go stir the gravy. I'll do these." "No." "Yes." She opened her pink Cupid's bow lips to argue and Luke clapped a hand over them in callous disregard. “Stir or wear the matching earrings. Your choice,” he threatened. Sparks flew from her gray eyes. It was a good thing she couldn't speak, he decided. She wouldn't sound very loving just at that moment. Maybe he should make it easier for her to back down. He did an impromptu Dirty Harry impersonation. “What's it going to be, huh? Do you feel lucky?" She started to laugh in surprise and delight at his talent. Luke grinned back at her. “Come on, wench, stir the gravy or we'll have some explaining to do to Lawrence when it burns.” He removed his hand and handed her the whisk with a flourish.

Jordan took it and headed for the stove. Then she threw him a melting, impish look over her shoulder and blew him another kiss—and it hit him. By golly, she'd done it again. He'd beenhad . Tom Sawyer hadn't been half as clever, getting his fence whitewashed. The Snow Queen had just struck, and nowhe was stuck peelingher potatoes. Luke did a slow burn as she saw the realization in his eyes and giggled in helpless delight at his predicament. He certainly couldn't announce to the whole kitchen that he was an idiot who'd been thoroughly snowed. But he would get her later. The dark promise burned in his light blue eyes and the incorrigible imp just laughed harder. She shrugged when the group of sisters-in-law turned their questioning eyes on her. “Private joke." As one, they nodded thoughtfully. A motherly-looking brunette pulled up a chair and started to assist Luke in peeling through the mountain. “I'm Vicky,” she said with a friendly smile. “Theodore's wife. He's the youngest brother,” she added in explanation. “The quiet one." Luke raised a dubious brow. “Are any of them quiet?" She grinned back. “Well, things are never dull around here. Let's just leave it at that." Luke nodded. He thought he could understand Jordan's preference for living alone. Without some peace and quiet, insanity would strike quickly. In fact meeting her family was providing all kinds of little revelations. He was growing in his understanding of her every minute. "I've known Jordan for years,” Vicky continued. “You know that her brothers raised her from the time she was twelve, don't you? She was a late gift. The boys were all grown so when their parents died, we all sort of helped mother her when we married into the family. So in a manner of speaking, you'll soon have four mothers-in-law." Luke digested that piece of information with some dismay. Vicky laughed at his obvious consternation. “Don't worry; we're all so happy to see her finally settling down that you'll probably be nominated for sainthood." Luke wondered how to respond to that. A saint would never be able to handle Jordan. Only a more devilish and determined man stood a chance. A man like himself, he mused. It was a pleasantly heady thought. The mothers-in-law—or sisters—whichever—ooh-ed and ah-ed gratifyingly over the engagement ring. Luke shot Jordan a look of smug satisfaction. Unmoved, she actually stuck her tongue out at him when nobody was looking. He wasdefinitely going to get her later. In a flurry of banging dishes, arguments over the proper way to carve the bird, and assorted other moments of madness, dinner was finally served and the whole family gathered to give thanks. As the eldest, Gary gave the blessing. Luke felt the first hint of unease when he was included in the

prayer of thanksgiving for the family's blessings. Then he decided that no thunderbolt from the heavens would be striking. He had his hands full fighting for the side of good, trying to keep a wicked, wayward wench out of trouble. It was poetic justice, really—he'd started off wanting a fraud for his family. Now he was rising to the challenge of straightening out a woman with more twists than a wire clothes hanger. The more he thought about it, the more certain he felt that if anyone needed the hand of divine providence, he did. An angelic Jordan was looking soulfully at him, her palms together in prayerful devotion. Her sweet mouth shaped the words “thank you” at him. The very image of an imp from the netherworld. He gazed steadily back at her and mouthed, “I'm going to get you." She didn't look at all concerned. Instead, she cheekily dropped one lid in a naughty wink.

Chapter Five "Who are all thesepeople? ” Jordan whispered as Luke hung her cape in his parents’ hall closet. He smirked knowingly at her. “Now you know how it feels to be on the receiving end." She was practically dancing in an agony of anxiety. “There's too many of them. This isn't fair. There should be some kind of limit." When he settled one big hand on her shoulder, she relaxed slightly. If all else failed, Jordan reasoned, she could easily hide behind Luke. He was certainly big enough. Luke gently but firmly turned her in the direction of the genteel crowd in the large open foyer and propelled her forward. Jordan went with dragging feet. He stopped to whisper in her ear. “Relax. I'm right behind you." That was a good touch on his part, she noted admiringly. To all appearances, it was a very loving, intimate sort of gesture. She summoned up a smile and prepared to be her most irresistibly charming. Show time . His mother already liked her, she reminded herself to bolster her confidence. She'd probably even put in a good word with his father. And hadn't she said they'd think she was an angel? That the family would love her? Jordan concentrated on seeming sweetly angelic. Visions of harps, wings and haloes danced in her head. She'd be as charming as a cherub, as pure as the pearly gates. For practice, she tried an especially heavenly smile on Luke and was rewarded with one of his warm smiles in return. Amazing. His smile made her feel positively buoyant. Warm, too. She suddenly felt as high and giddy as Icarus flying into the sun, unable to resist the heat. But if she lost her wings, she could count on Luke to catch her before she plummeted to oblivion. He had steady eyes. Trustworthy. Dependable. He wouldn't let her down. And she wouldn't lethim down, Jordan promised silently. She charmed. She smiled. Made polite conversation, told amusing anecdotes, was warm and witty. And didn't forget a single name, thanks to diligent study beforehand.

Margaret Foster was demonstrably glad to see her again and took her in hand to make the introductions. Luke's father Ben presented an impromptu toast to their future happiness. His sister Wendy admired her perfume and asked Jordan the name of the fragrance. To Jordan's delight, they were glad to accept her. She felt a shaft of envy for whoever Luke ended up marrying for real ... the lucky lady would have wonderful in-laws. That is, she reflected with a flash of unease, if she didn't embitter them for life by perpetrating a hoax like this on them. It was one thing to fool her impossible brothers. She'd exhausted all other avenues first. They had it coming for ruining her cruise with Mitchell, if nothing else. But lying to people who hadn't done anything to her was different. It would have been easier if they'd hated her. But as predicted, they loved her. Jordan couldn't ever remember feeling worse. Not even the time she'd given Randall's long suffering retriever a punk haircut. The dog hadn't held it against her. She wasn't so sure Luke's family would be as forgiving. A warm arm hugged her to a solid side and she leaned into Luke's support readily. "All right?” The low question spoken against her cheek looked to anyone watching like a kiss and an endearment. She leaned up to answer, “No." A brow quirked at her. “I didn't think so. You were drooping. There is nothing sadder than the sight of a forlorn fairy.” Luke tugged her into an alcove and smoothed back her white shock of hair in a comforting gesture. “What's the matter? Running out of trouble to stir up?” His teasing grin didn't draw the expected smile. "I don't like lying to your family, Luke.” She told him the truth baldly and leaned her cheek against the smooth fabric of his jacket. "Hmm.” Luke drew her closer and cupped the back of her head with one palm. The other stroked her spine. “I see." She was glad he did. She cuddled trustingly in his arms, feeling better by the minute. She felt an instinctive certainty that he'd know how to straighten everything out without causing a family feud of epic proportions. "Jordan?" "Yes?" "Look up." She did. And her eyes widened. They were directly under a sprig of mistletoe. Her startled eyes met his amused ones. "Providence,” Luke informed her in a solemn voice. Then he tipped her chin up with one warm finger and slowly lowered his mouth to brush lightly against

hers. Time stopped. Her heart stopped. She was kissing her fiancé. What kind of woman was she? Not a dead one, she answered herself. Only a dead woman could be unmoved by a kiss from Luke. Feather light, as soft as a sigh, as sweet and warm as mulled wine, Luke's lips teased hers for an endless moment. Then he lifted his head to smile at her. "Everything's going to be all right,” he assured her gently. "It is?” The hopeful, plaintive note in her voice spoke volumes. "It is." Jordan sagged against him in relief. He meant it. He'd fix it somehow. In fact, he'd probably just meant for the kiss to reassure her. And he'd probably thought that it would look really funny if they were spottednot kissing under the mistletoe. "Trust me.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. "I do.” She did. She had from the very first. She'd known she could trust him. Jordan trusted her instincts. The same instincts that screamed a warning around all the mismatched men had cheered at the first sight of her battered rescuer. "Now show me a smile, or I might have to go open the safe and start looking for a really heavy necklace,” Luke teased. Jordan tipped her head back and grinned up at him, happy again. "Hey, let someone else have a turn,” Wendy's husband urged them, his wife in tow as he gestured towards the mistletoe. Smiling, Jordan and Luke retreated from the alcove and rejoined the party. Her spirits lifted once more, Jordan set about enjoying herself, flitting around the room from group to group, confident that she'd been worried about nothing. It would all work out perfectly. This really was a perfect plan. She and Luke were safe from holiday horror dates. They could enjoy the season secure in each other's company. A little side-stepping around questions—like when was the actual date of the wedding—she could handle artfully. At least, until Aunt Cora cornered her about the wedding dress. Jordan ran through her mental family-tree check. Cora, oldest sister of Margaret, widowed, no children. Maybe the fact that she'd never had the opportunity to plan a wedding for her own daughter sparked her rabid interest in Jordan's wedding. Whatever the reason, the old lady was unshakable on the subject. Jordan tried every ploy she knew. Nothing worked.

Finally, in desperation, she said loudly, “I don't know what I'll do about a dress, Aunt Cora. I have a dickens of a time finding clothes to fit properly. Maybe there's a petite line of bridal wear." Immediately, Luke appeared at her elbow. “Good things come in small packages,” he informed Jordan, competing with her for the title of most charming. She gave him a melting smile. “You think so?" "Definitely.” Then he turned his charm on Aunt Cora. “Excuse us, won't you? I want to show Jordan something." "Oh, of course.” She smiled and waved them off. "Whew. Another close call. I couldn't get her off the subject of our approaching wedding with dynamite,” Jordan moaned. Then she danced around Luke in effervescent glee. “You dashed to my rescue. My hero! You werewonderful .” She heaped praise on his head as she flashed him a dimpled gamine grin. "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. “Ilove 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 intowork . 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. "Ithink 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 willnot be dictated to. The damselwill be happy enough that she was rescued andwill 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 itwould 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 meanyou 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 likethat? 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'sfun ." 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 fightmore? ” 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." "Whatis 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 notall 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 was 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, youare 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. She slid to the floor and stood with her hand dramatically over her heart. “Until I see you again, my hero, farewell.” Then she speedily made her exit before he could catch her and make her pay for her impertinent antics. She was going to have to do some fancy footwork herself to stay on schedule. Fortunately she could work in whatever odd hours she had free. And even an hour could be very productive if she was organized. It might take some thought, but she would have plenty of time to enjoy every wonderful minute of holiday festivities. She would even find an opportunity to throw Luke Foster to the ground and make wild, reckless, abandoned snow angels with him ... or her name wasn't Jordan Christian. Jordan grinned at the thought as she bounded through the dusting of snow to her car. Soon the inches would add up. Snowmen, sleigh rides, snowball fights ... she could hardly wait. Thinking of snow, she was pretty sure her brothers were both convinced Luke was for real and as impressed as they were likely to get with someone they didn't hand-pick for her themselves. Something to be thankful for. Appropriate for Thanksgiving weekend. The uproar hadn't driven Luke away, either. He was rough and tough enough to take even a gang of Christians. Yes, she'd made the perfect choice, Jordan thought again contentedly. And then she laughed out loud as she remembered his face as he peeled that endless mountain of potatoes. She had weaseled out of it, after all. Lawrence would hear about it, she was sure. Instead of carrying out his threat to get her, though, Luke had watched the snow with her. Then he'd rubbed her icy hands to warm them while the heater in his sedan chased away the chill. Luke, she decided as she drove home, was a very nice man. She couldn't ask for a better fiancé. As long as he didn't kiss her. That, she thought sorrowfully, could ruin everything. Too bad, really, because his kisses were a terrible temptation to risk ruining everything for. Think of Seymour, Jordan,she told herself sternly.Remember what's at stake. Did she want to find

herself under the mistletoe with Seymour? Did she? She shuddered violently at the thought, then parked neatly in her driveway and headed inside. No, she didn't want to end up under the mistletoe with Seymour, and if she had to resist temptation to avoid that—well, even a professional sinner could learn to resist. Couldn't she? Tossing her cape and shoulder bag on a chair, Jordan paused to admire her blooming Christmas cactus. Luke really had kept his promise. Every day something that could be considered a flower arrived. Lilies. A cloisonné pin. The cactus. Rose oil in a glass decanter. It was wonderfully unpredictable, but all still legitimately within the floral boundaries. Ha. Luke might claim to follow the rules, but he really did make them, first. His choices were largely unorthodox, pushing the description of flowers to the limit. He just might be a bit lawless himself. A bit of a reckless rebel. A heady thought. And he was all hers ... at least for the holidays. Now she just needed to decide what to wear to Aaron's get-together and find a dress for the fantasy picture. She had a collection of costumes from previous Halloweens and she occasionally picked up vintage clothing. She just might already have something. Jordan rummaged through her closets in a happy tangle of fabric, shoes and odds and ends. She found a mermaid costume a shell away from wearable. It had had an unfortunate accident, if she remembered right. Gave new meaning tomaking a clean breast of a situation . A ridiculous turn-of-the-century bathing suit. Jordan shook her head, wondering if that would ever see the light of day again. Back in those days, they'd had serious UV protection. Then she found it. A pale yellow silk vintage gown from the late 1800's. The tightly fitted jacket-style bodice cut wonderfully low was boned and padded and would make even Jordan spill voluptuously out without need of embellishing or ripping. It fastened up the back with a thousand tiny hooks. Below the fitted waist, a padded bustle draped over the skirt in the rear. Jordan held it up and smiled at the sight. If the man in black wouldn't stop for this, his hat was riding too low and blocking out the scenery. She dug deeper, but didn't find vintage boots or undergarments. Well, she'd have to improvise. Or have Wendy leave her feet out of the picture, or paint in the appropriate footwear. She'd just pose barefoot. As for underneath... Jordan gazed at the dress and felt a wicked thrill. For something like this, only her scantiest panties would work. Actually, she thought she had a pair of lace tap pants. Completely see-through, designed to display, not cover. She dug through a drawer and produced the scandalous wisp of black. "Eureka!” Jordan crowed, and tossed the naughty undies on top of the dress. Now that would put the man in black in shock, she thought in satisfaction. Paralysis guaranteed. Peep at your own risk. It really was going to be some painting.

Jordan stuffed everything back into the closet except for the items she needed to pose in for the painting. The mermaid costume she set on top of the shelf so she could easily find it again. Some time when she wanted to come out of her shell. Then she flipped through her normal clothes in search of something that wasn't overly holiday-ish. There would be plenty of other occasions for sequined and beaded sweaters and such. On a whim, she decided to wear black in case an opportunity to steal Luke's imaginary hat presented itself. Or, for all she knew, he really did have the hat he'd worn in the first painting. Still, it was the spirit of the thing. Black silk trousers with a matching camisole. A black velvet jacket, short and fitted at the waist, with the lapels crossed in a deep vee to make it appear as if there just might be cleavage to be glimpsed. A pair of black satin high heels, as if it made a difference in her height. A great outfit, Jordan decided as she looked over the pieces. Then she took her time getting ready, lingering in a tub of hot water into which she had added a generous splash of rose oil, singing carols in a lilting voice. By the time Luke arrived to collect her, she was revved up to party and looking forward to more—and she'd just artfully dodge any stray mistletoe that might interfere with her plans. Jordan opened the door with a flourish in her satin and velvet. Luke struck a gratifying pose of paralysis. That it wasn't a pose became clear when he recovered enough to start shouting. It was an astonishing sight. His eyes became stabbing blue beams of sudden death. His tensed muscles appeared to swell in size. He took two strides to confront her, grabbed her shoulders and roared out, “Go put on some clothes!" Really. As if she wasn't dressed. Jordan glared back in instant fury. “There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing." "You aren't wearing anything!" "Yes, I am, Luke,” she answered patiently. “Look. A jacket, shoes, pants, a—" He interrupted to shout, “I don't want to know! Don't say it! Whatever it is, it isn't enough to keep you in. You're half naked." Now she was offended. “Oh. And if I was half naked, that would be a bad thing? I'm a Medusa look-alike?” Jordan demanded in outrage. He opened his mouth to bellow some more, but stopped. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and hauled her up against his chest. She waited. Finally he said, in a rough, strained voice, “Jordan. You're beautiful. It's a beautiful jacket.” Then he roared at full volume, “And if you don't put something under it, it's going to become permanently un-wearable!" It was too coincidental that this conversation was taking place the day she'd come across the unfortunate mermaid costume. The very same conversation had occurred the night she'd worn that, only Gary had been the one roaring in her face.

"But, Luke, I have something under it,” she tried to explain. He groaned as if she were putting him on the rack and turning the screws. “No, Jordan, no, you don't. There is nothing under that jacket but you and we aren't leaving until you change." "But, Luke—" "Jordan!” His shout was enough to give her a permanent headache, she thought irritably. Since he wouldn't listen, she ripped open the jacket to demonstrate. Or tried to. He grabbed the lapels, hauled them shut and started swearing in ways she didn't know had been invented. It was impressive. She was a writer, and she didn't know those words could be used in that combination. She wanted to take notes, but was afraid to, under the circumstances. He was really very upset. "Get in there, Jordan, and put something else on, and do itnow ,” Luke said in a voice that threatened death and dismemberment at the very least if she failed to comply. She guessed he didn't like camisoles. Charm wouldn't cover this occasion. Stubbornness would have to do. Mutinously Jordan dug in her tiny heels, crossed her arms, glared and announced, “If you don't like it,you change it. I'm not going to." She'd shocked him, she saw in satisfaction. He stared. She glared. Then he picked her up by her elbows, carried her into her bedroom and started to ransack her closet. He grabbed the biggest, heaviest, bulkiest sweater she owned, a Shetland wool knit at least an inch thick that didn't even remotely go with her pants and started towards her with it. That did it. Jordan yanked off the jacket before he could stop her and stood there with her hands on her hips, the perfectly proper—in her opinion—camisole bared to his sight. "I am not wearing that sweater!” She barked the words at him in a blinding rage. He pinned her in place and hauled the sweater over her head without saying a word, then pulled each hand through the bulky sleeves while she silently resisted and struggled like a three-year-old having a tantrum. Then he picked her up by the waist as if she was an awkward package and carried her bodily to the car and dumped her in. At Aaron's she refused to speak or get out, so he picked her up again and carted her to the door. The door was opened by Aaron's wife, Tess. "Luke, Jordan, come in,” she invited with a wide smile. The smile dimmed and died as she saw the simmering, silent rebellion on Jordan's face and the implacable expression on Luke's. She cleared her throat faintly and stepped away to let them pass. Jordan waited a minute, then gave Luke a killing look before she said, “Hi, Tess. We would have been here sooner but Luke thinks I don't know how to dress myself." She saw Tess eye her unusual fashion statement in some amazement. Jordan's fury ebbed as quickly as it had risen, and her normal sense of mischief began to stir. There would be retribution, she vowed. He wanted to drag his family into their little spat? Fine. He'd get

just that. In spades. She slowly, haltingly, walked in and allowed the merest quiver to touch her lips. As if she were fighting tears. Actually, she was fighting laughter, but there would be time for that later. She fully intended to laugh last tonight. There was no doubt that Luke was on to her. It didn't stop her. In fact, he played right into her hands. As she drooped with dejection, he vibrated with ever more tangible rage. Her pitiful outfit spoke volumes. Without saying a word, she denounced Luke as a fashion criminal to the whole clan. And worse, a chauvinistic autocrat. In sympathy, wives glared at husbands. Then every feminine eye in the room turned accusingly on poor, helpless Luke. Followed by every accusing male eye, as they silently blamed him for getting them all in trouble by association. Wendy came up to put a glass of wine in Jordan's hand and put a protective arm around her slight shoulders, now considerably bulked up by the enormous sweater that appeared to be swallowing her whole. Jordan took the glass with a pale, shaking hand and sniffed, “Thanks.” She gave Wendy a look of gratitude that proportionately increased the look of rage Wendy was giving Luke. Jordan sipped the wine as if bolstering her spirits in the time honored way. As she did, she reflected that this might very well prove to be her finest hour as an actress. "What happened, Jordan?” Wendy inquired sympathetically as she continued to glare daggers at her brother. Jordan shivered, sniffed and brushed at one eye with the back of her hand. “Nothing,” she said in a small voice. "Jordan...” Luke growled in warning. She raised pitifully brimming eyes to his, lips trembling. “Don't yell at me again.” She sniffed audibly. "Jordan.” The warning increased. Ignoring him, she turned to Wendy with a watery smile. “That's a really lovely outfit." Wendy accepted the compliment and started to return it, then checked herself as she took in the woolen horror overwhelming the dressy pants and heels. There wasn't a single nice thing anyone could say about what Jordan was wearing, and everyone knew it. "You look, ah,” Wendy hesitated and searched for something diplomatic to say. “Warm,” she finally concluded. Jordan gave her an angelic smile. “I am,” she agreed sweetly. Luke was too far away to stop her, but he saw it coming. She pulled off the sweater just as he let loose with a bellow that could start an avalanche and the sweater hit the floor a bare moment before he slapped his suit jacket over her bare shoulders.

But not before her scandalous silk camisole made its party debut, after all. Pandemonium broke out. Luke started shouting at her again, at full volume and in graphic, gory detail as he described her coming retribution. Reactions ranging from gasps to dropped dishes presaged the full-scale riot that ensued. Half of the members in the group tried to protect Jordan from Luke and the other half started to throw their jackets in as reinforcements. Everyone was shouting, including Aunt Cora, and in the midst of it all, Jordan started to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. By her standards, the party was a raging success. A triumph. A moment to savor and cherish. Her legs gave out and she fell into Luke's arms, helpless with mirth. He caught her and never missed a beat, shouting all the while. Laughing until she cried, Jordan threw her arms around his neck and tried to hold on. The more she laughed, the louder he yelled, until finally he stopped as if realizing how futile it was. She brushed one small hand against his cheek to turn his face towards hers, giggling irresistibly, merriment alive in her sparkling eyes. He sighed. She continued to laugh. "You're shameless, hopeless and uncontrollable,” he announced. "You forgot incorrigible,” she offered helpfully. "No, I didn't. I wasn't done yet." "Oh. Sorry. Do go on,” she encouraged, still giggling. "You're an imp. A fiend. Irreclaimable, intractable and utterly beyond redemption." "Those are very big words,” she informed him approvingly. Luke gave up. He hugged her, buried his face in her shock of white hair and laughed, while the family exchanged looks of incredulity. It served him right, he admitted silently. He'd wanted her to wreak havoc on his family. He'd even looked forward to it. And she'd done just that. This night would live on in infamy. “The night Jordan wore a see-through camisole and started a riot” would never be forgotten. Luke looked down at the terribly pleased troublemaker clinging to him, looking nearly as ridiculous in his suit jacket as she had in her absurd sweater. Ridiculous and utterly charming. He smiled at her and set her back from him just far enough to be able to button the jacket. “I can see you meant it when you said you wouldn't wear the sweater,” he conceded. Then he frowned as he saw that the size of his jacket on her, even buttoned, left far too much of her still bare. She was too tiny for there to be that much of her in the first place, he thought. Luke settled for wrapping the suit jacket around her twice and looked for something to fasten it with. He noticed that none of his supposedly loyal and concerned family members offered to help. All of them

were on her side. Jordan was still grinning from ear to ear, her dimples showing deeply. He sighed. “Can we make a deal?" "I'm always willing to be reasonable,” she answered. "You don't know the meaning of the word. Will you please, for my sake, keep this on for the rest of the night?" "Do you admit you were wrong?" He frowned at her. “Don't push it, Jordan. Just wear the jacket." She sighed dramatically. “Since you ask so charmingly, I suppose I can't refuse.” She cooperated, folding her arms over the fabric to keep it firmly in place and smiled sweetly at him. Luke tucked her just as firmly against his side. He wasn't about to turn her loose again. There was no telling what she might do next. The punch bowl was still standing upright and he intended to see that it stayed that way. He gave Wendy a frown, since she was still standing there looking both pleased and entertained. If there ever was a situation to bull his way through, this was it. As if nothing untoward had occurred, he said, “Good evening, Wendy." Wendy fought laughter and lost. Aunt Cora announced loudly, “Things are certainly more interesting now that you've gotten engaged, Luke." Luke privately agreed. Whatever else you could call it,interesting certainly described the situation well. First he'd planned to foist a fake fiancée on his family, then he found himself falling prey to the temptation to turn the lie into truth. And neither plan took Jordan into account. He found himself wondering what plansshe was concocting.

Chapter Seven Jordan was still smiling as Luke drove her home. She saw him glance her way as they passed under a street light and took advantage of the illumination to grin widely at him. "Still proud of yourself, are you, imp?” Luke asked wryly. "Definitely,” she agreed. “I originally planned to swipe your hat tonight, and instead I got your jacket. I'm a triumph. I amaze myself." "You are amazing, I'll give you that,” he stated. “You single-handedly turned a formal Foster affair into a barroom brawl without getting a hair out of place." "More praise.” She beamed and pretended to swoon. “I did tell you that flattery would get you everywhere.” She settled more comfortably into her corner and put her feet on the space between them as she faced him.

"Are you cold?” He glanced over at her again in inquiry. "No, I'm fine.” She curled into his jacket with a contented sigh. What an evening. She'd had a wonderful time, brawl or no brawl. Luke had a great family. Wendy was fast becoming a friend and she sincerely hoped the relationship could survive once she and Luke either came clean or announced a break-up—whatever he had planned. Maybe a break-up would be best. She'd certainly given him enough reason. They'd had enough quarrels to convince any rational person that the match was made in hell. Too bad she'd never been especially rational. The thing about a match made in a fiery place was that it really warmed a person, Jordan thought wistfully. Heat glowed, like embers banked to last the night, whenever Luke was around. And whenever something happened to stoke the blaze, it went from wonderfully warm to scorching hot. It certainly made things exciting. She suspected glumly that a match made in heaven would be terribly pale and boring in comparison. Luke wasn't boring and, for Jordan, that was a universal first. Well, whatever the outcome, she had plenty of excitement guaranteed for the rest of the holidays. She suspected that Luke was enjoying the excitement himself. Her outrageous antics might infuriate him, but he was also demonstrably entertained. A good thing, because even if he gave her an ultimatum such as behave or lose her fake fiancé, she'd never be able to keep it. A leopard couldn't change its spots and she would never be able to stay out of trouble. Jordan yawned and curled more deeply into her corner. Lulled by the motion of the car, she dozed. She barely stirred when the motion stopped and someone called her name. "Jordan. We're here.” Luke looked over at her face in the moonlight and saw the face of a sleeping angel. White blond hair above soft lashes laying against the curve of an innocent cheek. Pink lips parted in sleep. How in the world could someone who looked so utterly peaceful in sleep be the same restless sprite out to destroy all peace while awake? It was as wonderfully incongruous as everything else about her. She looked too peaceful to disturb and he didn't have the heart to wake her. Even wicked fairies needed their rest for another day's work making trouble for mortals, Luke decided. Even knowing he was the mortal who'd suffer for it tomorrow, he was going to let her sleep. Luke scooped up a cuddly, fragrant armful of trouble and carried her inside, after a brief skirmish with the door. He now knew where to find her bedroom, so he made for it in easy strides. She was as light as a child. Unfortunately, she didn't have the body of a child—a fact he was confronted with when he removed his jacket from her and considered how to put her to bed. That cursed camisole. It didn't hide nearly enough. It clung like a second skin and revealed the lack of any other undergarment. He might have known that a confirmed rebel would refuse to wear a bra. She'd probably burned hers in protest. He had a sinking sense of horror that underneath the silky pants there'd be nothing but an endless

expanse of silky skin, too. While he debated, Jordan shifted and the camisole went from bad to worse. It was twisted on her small frame and one small globe lay revealed to his hungry eyes, complete with pert, pink nipple. "Lord,” Luke breathed in a pained whisper, “I do expect to be nominated for sainthood. I am a damned saint." He closed his eyes and reminded himself that for all her free-spirited, free-thinking lifestyle, she was possibly the most innocent and untouched creature he'd ever encountered. He suspected that only a pure heart allowed the sprite to dance through life unharmed and able to abandon herself so completely to joy. It was her innocence that charmed everyone around her. For all her wicked ways, Jordan was all that was good. He doubted that she'd ever deliberately hurt anyone in her life. She couldn't even bring herself to deceive his Aunt Cora, whom she didn't even know. She was going on with the masquerade only because he'd promised to take care of everything, and she trusted him to keep his word. She trusted him. That was the important thing to remember right now. He'd put the little minx safely to bed and then he'd go lie in the snow until he recovered from the experience. He slipped off her shoes and then decided that only moving very quickly was going to get him through this torture. The pants slipped easily over her small hips and he hung them over a chair so they wouldn't wrinkle. On impulse, he picked up the velvet jacket still lying on the floor, smoothed it and laid it over the chair, too. To his vast relief, she wasn't completely bare beneath the silk. Still, sweat beaded on his forehead when he picked her up, clad in the briefest briefs he'd ever seen and the camisole which revealed her lack of need for embellishing. He pulled the covers back and placed her under them. For a moment his arms refused to release her. He reminded himself sternly that he was a saint. Then he pulled the covers up to her pointy little chin. Jordan made up for in sheer trouble what she lacked in size and that was the truth. Even in sleep she tormented him with the ingenuity of an experienced imp in a special chamber of hell. But Luke was smiling when he brushed a light kiss on her rosebud lips. As the saying went, some did like it hot. He'd roast over her coals any day. She tormented him mercilessly but he found it oddly exciting. Being on pins and needles let him know with certainty that he was alive. Alive and suffering, maybe, but alive—and he found the awareness exhilarating. So much so that he'd already determined to turn her little plot back on her and trap her in her own snare. She couldn't bear to disappoint his family or hers. By the time Christmas rolled around, there would be a white wedding, one way or another. And by then he hoped to have convinced her that, however it started out, their engagement was very real. As real as the powerful attraction between them and the even rarer bond of friendship and trust. This was one time when she wouldn't go dancing on her merry way, Luke vowed. He'd make her face the music. The wedding march, to be specific. He smiled just thinking about it. He didn't care if she wore black and went barefoot and braless ... and, knowing her, she probably would. It was too much to expect any kind of conventional behavior from her, especially on a solemn occasion.

In fact, he suspected that the more solemn the occasion, the more outrageous he could depend on her behavior to be. He thought it just might be her way of coping with stress. As a coping mechanism, it was more interesting than watching tropical fish or playing new age music—two things he couldn't imagine her being still long enough to enjoy. Thinking of Jordan trying to be still led to thinking about the fun of posing with her for Wendy to immortalize in a painting. Another good reason for her to follow through. She was joining the family gallery and by golly she'd have to join the family, too. His gaze fell on the vintage dress then. Luke walked over to it and held it up to take a closer look. Only Jordan would have something like this, he thought with a smile. She'd probably ransacked somebody's attic to find it. Then he scowled as he considered the almost absent bodice and hoped she didn't plan to make it worse by ripping it, too. As it was, the man in black was going to need rescuing more than the supposedly distressed damsel. Also, it looked like she was going to get her wish. She couldn't help spilling voluptuously over the top. Luke sighed in resignation. No doubt Wendy would happily paint in the sweat beads on his brow and the look of torture on his face at the sight. But what a sight it would be. He put the dress back down and saw that something had fallen loose. When he bent to investigate, an unwilling smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The little scamp. She'd planned to wear those practically nonexistent bloomers? Luke was sorely tempted to foil her plans by stealing them, but if he did she'd probably go one worse and wear nothing at all underneath. If she did that, the man in black would just keel over in a dead faint at the very thought. There was no way he could sit in front of his sister knowing the temptation in front of him was wearing nothing under her voluminous skirt. He wouldn't rescue her to ride off with her on his horse. He'd capture her and steal her away to become his pleasure slave instead; and no matter how many times she batted her eyes at him and called himher hero , it wouldn't save her too-tempting hide. Luke let out a wicked laugh. “I'm going to have my way with you,” he threatened her sleeping form, “but my way includes a few little formalities which you'll have to accommodate. You're going to have to do this the Foster way." It was a very good thing that he outweighed her by at least three times her slight mass. He'd need every advantage in the fight to make an honest woman of the world's biggest liar. **** My dear damsel, If you dare rip this bodice and try to wear it in front of me, you will find yourself in real distress. I'll be sufficiently paralyzed knowing what your bloomers look like. And you'd better keep your skirt down. The Man in Black Jordan laughed out loud at the outrageous note he'd left her. As if she'd flash him a look at her peek-a-boo underwear. Well, okay, so the thought had occurred to her—but she wasn't sure his heart could take it and that was theonly thing stopping her, not his macho threats.

Her fiancé was so much fun to tease. He reacted so beautifully, so violently to her pushing his buttons. How was she supposed to resist that kind of temptation? If he merely yawned, she'd be able to pass up an opportunity now and then. As it was, he ought to be glad she was resisting the temptation to kiss him breathless. For that alone she was bound to get on Santa's “Nice” list. It was a Herculean feat of goodness and it certainly ought to outweigh quite a bit of minor little naughtiness. Feeling distinctly self-righteous at the thought, Jordan put the note down and vowed to leave the bodice un-ripped and her skirt down. But she would go barefoot and shimmy and wiggle as the mood struck her. She wasn't a saint, after all. And it wasn't as if Luke was completely unacquainted with her body, after undressing her and putting her to bed last night. She smiled dreamily at the thought. He was so nice. So thoughtful and concerned. Well, at least he was when he wasn't being high-handed and passing down edicts, such as telling her what to wear and dragging her to parties when she didn't want to go and from them when she didn't want to leave. She started to laugh again at the sweet memory of his comeuppance last night. Try to make her wear whathe wanted, would he? Force a big, hairy sweater on her unwilling person? He'd seen wherethat would get him. Worse off than before, that was where. Instead of the jacket she'd planned to wear modestly over it, the camisole had appeared in all its glory. Or all her glory. Whatever. It certainly had been a glorious moment, any way she looked at it. The sounds of gasps, shouts and breaking glass were music to her ears, but the sweetest music of all was Luke's raging, roaring voice. Or maybe his laugh. He hadn't been able to stay mad for long ... proof of his overall niceness. He'd actually put her to bed and tucked her in. Jordan found that almost unbearably sweet. It sent little warm shivers down her spine and happy tingles from head to toe. It made her smile. It made her sigh. It made her curse the sneaky, deceitful subterfuge that prevented her from enjoying all the privileges of an engaged person. Well, she couldn't have everything, and she certainly did have a lot—specifically, Luke's delightful companionship and the security of knowing no awful Mr. Never Never Never In a Million Years would show up on her doorstep. Imagine the freedom to walk out her door instead of fleeing through a window! And she owed it all to Luke. She'd be nice to him from now on, she vowed. Well, as nice as she could stand. No, come to think of it, she wouldn't bother. Luke didn't likenice. Nice bored him to tears, luckily for her. Instead, she'd be herself and make him sing carols, which he would do while scowling so enticingly at her that she'd have to resist with all her strength. He had a scowl to die for. A frown to faint at. A yell to make her shiver and sigh. Fighting with Luke was her Christmas bonus, no doubt about it. She wondered what to give her favorite fiancé for Christmas. A gun sprang to mind—but he might be tempted to use it on her, so she dismissed that idea. Cowboy boots? A tin star to go on his black hat, symbolizing the disorderly lawman? It was definitely going to take some thought. Fortunately, finding the perfect gift was a talent of hers. She'd come up with something guaranteed to make him shout with rage first and then laughter.

Since Wendy wanted to give the new addition to the family gallery to her parents for Christmas, she and Luke would be posing for her, starting tonight, which did complicate Jordan's already complicated schedule. Which meant, Jordan concluded with a wince, that she'd better quit gloating over past triumphs and anticipating future debacles and get to work. She had jokes to tell. Endings to twist. Words to play on. She picked up her notebook and went at it with a will. **** "Jordan, hold still." "I can't. Iam in distress,” she replied indignantly. It was hard to be distressed and indignant while swooning in the arms of the lethal man in black, but she managed it. It was too much to also expect her to be still. "Well, if you move your hip again, I may never be able to have children,” Luke retorted. Jordan added laughing to her repertoire and ruined the distress with deep dimples and the sparkle of humor in her eyes. "If you two can't behave, I'll send you both into different corners,” Wendy threatened. She waved a vicious-looking palette knife at them for emphasis and Jordan quailed. "She's going to get me, Luke. Help. Save me!" "I've already saved you. Shut up and look grateful before I shove you off my saddle,” Luke answered with a stern look. Jordan rolled her eyes at that. “Oh, a fall of—what, three feet? It might do permanent damage. It might make my skirt fly up.” She said the last in a dramatic whisper designed to remind Luke of who would get damaged in that event. That earned her a killing look. It should rightfully have singed her eyebrows, at the very least. Luke secured his hold on her and balanced them both in the saddle that was perched atop a prop horse. The real black steed would be painted in later. Good thing, too, because a real horse would have reared up to unseat and trample the twitching, fidgeting Jordan a dozen times by now. Luke was perilously close to it himself. She was killing him by inches, wiggling around on his lap in that outfit designed to inspire ravishment in even the mildest male heart. If she spilled out any further from the inadequate bodice, he'd be able to see her belly button. Her dangerous curves surged up and out as if trying to escape the confining boned corset. Knowing Jordan, they probably were. Her tiny waist rose above the padded bustle and draping skirt that were all that protected him from the curvy hips that lay across his lap and nestled into his groin. And her bare feet peeking out from beneath the hem of the skirt made him want to run his hands over that tempting arch, then keep right on going ... up, up satin limbs that beckoned, warm and curving, begging to be touched. Up to diabolical black lace. Up to heaven worth the hell she was putting him through. He was sweating, and it wasn't from the heat of Wendy's lights that created the illusion of midday sun

against the painted backdrop. What they needed was a distraction. Whathe needed was a distraction. "How about if I tell you a story?” he offered hopefully. Jordan brightened. “I didn't know you could tell stories. What kind of story?" Wendy interrupted archly. “How about the story about the painter who killed her models so rigor mortis would set in and they'd have to stay in position?" Jordan gave her a pitiful look. “I'mtrying, Wendy. These whalebones are pinching and poking me and I can't breathe. I am in real distress. Tell me a story, Luke,” she finished pleadingly. “Anything to take my mind off this ancient torture device." Luke was un-chivalrously glad that the dress was torturing her, too. It seemed only fair. Still, the sight of Jordan in that dress was definitely worth a little torture. And she was looking uncomfortable. Luke shifted her a little more to relieve the pressure on her ribs and she looked grateful enough to make up for Wendy's strident remark that he'd just ruined the angle. He smiled at Jordan and wondered what kind of story would please her. There were hundreds of local legends involving Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain boys, the alleged sea monster in Lake Champlain, and historical tales weird enough to qualify as fiction of the wildest kind. But he thought he could come up with something original just for her. "You know that Vermont produces most of the nation's marble, don't you? A lot of it is visible in the rock throughout the Champlain valley." Jordan nodded and earned another frown from Wendy. She looked apologetic. “Sorry, I forgot. I'll keep still. Yes,” she added in answer to Luke's question. "Well, do you know how the marble got there?" "Sure, heat and pressure from the fault lines under the mountain ranges,” Jordan answered readily. Luke sighed. “You have no romance in your soul, do you? I'm telling you a legend. A romantic legend. Start swooning." "Oh. Okay.” She swooned and waited eagerly. Wendy growled. "Long ago, an Algonquin Indian princess lived in the valley. She was beautiful. So beautiful that it was said that her eyes were made from the stars of heaven and her hair from moonbeams. The tribe knew when she was born with the white hair of the moon that it was a sign—but what the sign meant they didn't know. They loved the princess, but they feared her, too, and so the princess grew more beautiful every year, and more alone." Luke paused and Jordan held her breath until he continued. "She was always one of the tribe and yet a person apart. Then one day, over the lake came a strange boat of a kind they had never seen before. It was a long boat with a sea serpent's head and a sail, which the Algonquin had never seen. The white sail moving across the lake concerned the people. They watched to see what would happen."

Jordan interrupted excitedly, “The Viking colony led by Leif the Lucky!" Luke frowned at her. “Doyou want to tell this story?" "Sorry." "You should be. Ow! Jordan, don't wiggle like that—our future children are at stake." She giggled. "Will you just get on with it?” Wendy demanded, mixing another color in the middle of her palette. "Everyone's a critic. All right, where was I? Oh yes. The Algonquin people watched the strangers. The white sail and the white skins of the newcomers reminded them of their princess with her white hair. Perhaps, they said, it was an omen—new people were coming to their land and perhaps this was a sign that the two peoples should join together. Perhaps, they said, their princess with her white hair was born to bring this about. Perhaps they should give the princess to a man of the new tribe and it would bring luck to all the people." "Right,” Jordan fumed. “I bet nobody asked the princess." "Princesses have to do what their told. Noblesse oblige,” Luke reminded her. “So a great warrior of the Algonquin went to test the strength of the white people, and when he found the man he could not defeat in a wrestling match, he knew this was the man that the princess should marry. To be absolutely certain, they looked for the sign of the moon and found it in a crescent mark over the Viking's heart. So the princess and the Viking were married and the Vikings and the Algonquians were as one people. But trouble soon came." "It always does,” Jordan sighed. "You should know,” Luke snickered. “The princess and her husband loved each other deeply; but there were still many men of her tribe who were jealous and who secretly wished to have the beautiful princess as their own mate. One terrible night, a jealous rival came and killed the Viking man while he slept. In the morning the princess was found with the knife that killed him and his blood on her hands. Because she loved her own people too well, she wouldn't say who had done the terrible deed, and grief stole her voice and she never spoke again. But bad feelings on both sides grew until war broke out and the strangers fled in their boat." Jordan waited impatiently, but he didn't continue. “What happened then? What about the princess?” she demanded, nudging Luke where it was most likely to prod him to action. "Ah. The princess grieved, not only for her lost love but also for the jealous rage in the heart of one of her own people. She sat on a rock in the moonlight and wept white tears. In the morning, when the sun came up, she was gone and was never seen again. But her white tears seeped into the ground and became the marble you see in the valley." Jordan sniffled. “Luke, that's terrible. It's sosad ." He moved a hand to brush her cheek at the risk of incurring Wendy's wrath. “Well, it took your mind off of being pinched and poked, didn't it?"

She considered that. “Well, yes. But still ... couldn't you have come up with a happy ending?" He smiled at her. “Happy endings are for real life. But if it makes you feel better, after their deaths, they were reunited as stars in the sky,” he improvised. Jordan sighed happily. “That's much better." "I'm glad you approve,” he replied dryly. "You're a really good storyteller, Luke. I can't believe you just made that up. Wendy, did he always tell stories?” Jordan asked. Wendy tossed a long strand of hair back and eyed them both, considering the picture they made. “Only since he met you. You've made a romantic out of him. Something I would have said was impossible,” she added with a lift of her eyebrow. Jordan leaned closer into Luke. “Well, it was wonderful, Luke. You should do it more often." He smiled at her, then frowned when he saw her bite her lip. “That's enough for now,” he informed Wendy. Without waiting for permission, he swung down and lowered Jordan carefully to her feet. “Can you stand?” he asked, supporting her in case she couldn't. She flexed and stretched her legs one at a time, and grimaced until the cramps slowly eased. “Ouch. Yes, I can now, thanks. I didn't know sitting still was so hard.” She sounded surprised and forlorn. Luke couldn't help laughing. “That's because you've never done it before in your life." She stuck her tongue out at him. "All right, you two,” Wendy warned them both, “if you're going to start up again, leave. I don't want any brawls distracting me while I'm working." "We don'tbrawl ,” Jordan protested indignantly. Luke laughed again and swung her off her feet and into his arms. “Of course we don't,” he agreed. “You just can't help starting trouble everywhere you go. That dress alone is enough to incite a riot." Jordan looked both fascinated and ridiculously pleased. “Really?" "No, not really." "Oh.” She visibly drooped with disappointment. "Just with you in it." "Get out, now, while everything is still standing,” Wendy ordered them both sternly. Jordan smiled sweetly at him. “We'd better run for it. Only I don't have my running shoes." "I noticed."

"Carry me?” she requested unnecessarily, since he was holding her already. "Certainly. I always carry off damsels in distress." Jordan sighed happily and looped her arms around her hero's neck as he carried her off and silently vowed never again to wear running shoes when he was around. If she couldn't kiss him, at least she could enjoy being carried off by him. "Thanks, Jordan,” Wendy added over her shoulder. “I won't need you in costume again, either of you. I got enough from today and from the snapshots for the composition. I will need your faces again, though, for the final details." "Okay,” Jordan agreed. “Let us know when.” Then she heaved a dramatic sigh of relief and dropped her head on Luke's ample shoulder. “Take me away. Get me out of this iron maiden." He slanted a wry look at her. “Iron maiden?" "Well, what wouldyou call it? I'm being stabbed from all directions.” She moaned in misery. “How did women survive this through the centuries? Thank God for lycra and spandex." He laughed at her dramatics. “Come on, I'll get you out.” Luke set her down and tapped on the bathroom door. Empty. He swung it open and ushered an eager Jordan inside and closed it behind them. She bounced up and down in eagerness. “Free at last! Free at last!" "Stop that or some parts of you will be free before other parts,” Luke warned her, eyeing the strained bodice in trepidation. And maybe a little anticipation. "Then undo me, please, Luke. Hurry.” Jordan turned and presented her row of miniature fastenings and tried to stand still so he could unfasten her. He obligingly fumbled at the little hooks and wondered how he'd gotten himself into this. This was not the way he'd envisioned undressing Jordan. He was in fact undressing her for the second time, and neither one went remotely like the scenarios in his fantasies. In his fantasies, she wasn't asleep. Well, maybe in one or two. But she woke up eagerly early on in the short drama instead of snoring peacefully through the whole thing. And in his fantasies involving Jordan and this dress, two small boys weren't running loose in the same house who might possibly burst in unexpectedly. Jordan sighed in blessed relief as one by one the fastenings came open and relieved the vise-like pressure. “Oh, Luke, that feels sogood ,” she groaned, without realizing how it sounded. The dress was open from neck to waist and his warm hands stroked her bared back soothingly. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the massage. Amazing. She hadn't even specifically requested a fantasy massage-giving fiancé and she got a bonus anyway. Strong fingers kneaded aching muscles and rubbed away the irritation produced by confining whalebone, moving down her spine, then spreading out to move up her sides and continue the massage along her aching ribcage. Jordan sighed blissfully and leaned back against Luke, feeling her aches dissipate and evaporate under his hands. When they continued up and slid around to cup her abused cleavage, she was

suddenly very glad he was holding her up. "Luke.” His name burst from the depths of her soul at the intimate touch. "Shh.” He released her breasts and slid one hand down to her waist to press her back against him, the other moving safely up to rest below her throat as he held her tightly. Her bones were turning to water, but everything else had caught fire. Oh dear, Jordan thought weakly. This wasn't in the plan. Neither was his jaw scraping against her cheek, or his warm breath feathering her bared neck and sending shivers down her spine. And when he turned her to him and kissed her fiercely, that was definitely not in the plan. Luke released her lips and she stared stupidly at him. What had she just done? Ruined everything, of course. He'd hate her. He'd call off their phony engagement, leaving her to Seymour's tender mercies. Well, at least she'd get a good burial plot, she thought wildly. Luke hugged her gently against his chest. “Don't look like that,” he murmured. “I'm sorry. It won't happen again." Great. She didn't know whether to protest or cheer. She wanted it to happen again. And again and again. No she didn't. Yes she did. Confused, she settled for staying put and staying still and staying quiet for possibly the first and only time in her life. "It's going to be all right, Jordan, I promise,” Luke said quietly. Would John Wayne lie to her? He was the man in black, after all. Her hero. Steady. She could trust him. Jordan relaxed. “Okay." "Okay." They stayed together in a few minutes of silence. Then Luke loosed his hold and smiled down at her. “Get dressed, imp. I'll take you home."

Chapter Eight "Earth to Jordan. Come in, Jordan." Her head snapped up and she looked back and forth from Randall to Teresa. “Huh?" Teresa shook her head. “She's been like that all day.This is what being engaged does to a person? I never thought I'd see Jordan like this—quiet and worried." Randall looked suspiciously at Jordan. Jordan tried to look innocent and searched for the fork she'd either lost or forgotten she was holding ... she wasn't sure which. She was holding it. Good. She stabbed at a Brussels sprout and attempted to redirect the conversation.

"Great sprouts, Teresa. Did you cook these in garlic butter?" Teresa just sighed. “Now she's showing an interest incooking , for goodness sake. It's even worse than I thought." Jordan couldn't spare any sympathy just then for Teresa's concern. She was worried enough herself. She'd spent a restless, emotional night—after being unexpectedly kissed and caressed by a dangerous gunslinger in his sister's bathroom. And so far, Sunday hadn't been much more peaceful. But she admitted to herself that she was being lousy company and she ought to at least contribute to the dinner conversation. The reason for her distraction wasn't Randall's fault, or Teresa's, or either of their boys. She had nobody but herself to blame for her predicament. As usual. She had managed to get herself “engaged” to a man she ... there were no words to describe how she felt.Attraction fell short.Obession? Well, that was closer. No—how aboutderanged, delusional, lunatic andirrational ? That was better. She was insanely driven, compelled, coerced by her brute and base instincts and deeply depraved urges. She was lusting after Luke and fantasizing about him in his black hat and nothing else. Well, maybe cowboy boots, too... She was pining for his presence, which was equally disgusting. She hadn't seen him since he'd dropped her off the previous evening and she missed him all the way down to her toes. Sad. Pathetic. Pitiful. Just thinking about Luke and the fact that he wasn't there had Jordan wilting and drooping over her Brussels sprouts again, her fork once more forgotten in her limp hand. She missed him. She wanted to see him smile and hear him roar in outrage and feel him throw her up in the air as if she was Theodore's little toddler. But—he was disgusted with her. She knew it. For the first time, he hadn't sent her flowers or anything remotely along the floral theme. Jordan realized in horror that she was inches away from weeping into Teresa's Sunday pot roast. She had to get a grip. "Good sprouts,” she offered inanely with a weak smile in Teresa's direction. Teresa shook her head. “You already said that." "I did?" "Randall, she's your sister. Do something,” his wife demanded. "She's my fiancée. I'll do something." At the sound of the familiar voice, Jordan snapped to attention again. Her eyes swung to his. A humiliatingly happy smile broke over her face, but she was too glad to see him to care how disgustingly

besotted she was acting. Besides, with any luck, that was exactly what he'd attribute it to—acting. Hadn't she already demonstrated considerable talent in that direction? Yes, she had. He'd buy it. She'd snowed him before. "What has she done now?” Luke asked Randall in commiseration. “Burned something? Broken the dishes? Filled the dishwasher with liquid dish soap instead of automatic detergent?" "I only did thatonce ,” Jordan defended herself huffily. “It was an honest mistake. How was I supposed to know it was the wrong kind of soap?" Randall cracked a smile at the memory. “We had soap suds all over the kitchen floor up to our knees. Gary wouldn't allow her in the kitchen again for a month." Luke laughed, and Jordan was distracted by the sound. He sounded so good laughing. Almost as good as he did shouting. And he was here. That struck her as odd and she asked, “Why are you here?" He whipped a bouquet of white carnations from behind his back and offered them to her. “To give you these." "Oh!" "Take them, Jordan, and say ‘thank you',” Teresa prompted her. Jordan accepted the flowers with numb fingers and smiled her horribly besotted smile. “Thank you." Luke smiled back. He didn'tlook disgusted, Jordan thought. He looked a little relieved, actually. “You're welcome." She smiled some more. "Go put them in water,” Teresa added as if to a child, trying very hard not to laugh. "Oh. Water. Right.” Fork still in hand, Jordan abruptly rose from the table and headed for the kitchen with the flowers. Once there, she leaned against the counter and sniffed the spicy fragrance of the carnations and smiled dreamily. He'd brought her flowers again. Himself. Personally, instead of through George the delivery man, who she was rapidly getting to know as well as she knew her mailman. Luke wasn't disgusted with her after all. Maybe he planned to put the whole half-naked kissing thing behind him and forget about it. The fact that he'd shown up unannounced at Randall's to surprise her showed her that he was still planning on holding up his end of their bargain. If he wasn't, she reasoned, he wouldn't have bothered with flowers. It was a subtle reminder of his first promise to her. He'd kept every one he'd made since then, too. Relief sang through her. He wouldn't leave her to the likes of Seymour and company. Then, as swiftly as the relief came, it went, leaving her slumped and despondent. Hewould leave her, though ... January second. She looked down at the flowers and tried not to cry.

"You don't like carnations?” Luke asked. She lifted wide eyes to his unreadable gaze. "They didn't have any calla lilies,” he said apologetically. He took the flowers from her unresisting grasp and put them in a vase with water. “I took a chance." Jordan didn't respond. For once she was without words. Luke set the flowers aside and turned to pull her into his embrace. “I thought carnations would suit you. Spicy. Sweet. Colorful." "Oh,” Jordan managed to say. “Thank you." He might have been talking about fractions or demographics or tabulated statistics for all she knew. All she knew for sure was that it wasn't January yet, and Luke was holding her in his arms. She never wanted it to end. She laid her cheek on his chest and breathed in his warm musky scent—the scent of a businessman who didn't quite manage to look like he belonged behind a desk—and felt sheer bliss from head to toe. "It's snowing again, Jordan,” he continued. “Do you want to make a snowman?" Hope ran through her and erased every trace of unhappiness. She lifted her head to smile at him and he smiled warmly back. “Yes. I do.” It was what she wanted to do more than anything at that moment. Well,almost anything. Some things were off limits. But not this. She wanted to play in the snow with Luke. "Do you have mittens? A scarf? A coat?” He prodded. With something like her old verve, Jordan gave him a deeply offended look. “I am a native of Vermont. Of course I do. I'm always prepared for snow from October to April." "You don't know the meaning of prepared,” he snickered. “You run outside in your shirt and turn blue and have to be thawed out." She grinned at him saucily. “So? I thaw well." "Yes, you do,” he agreed. “But I'd rather not have a Popsicle to dance with on Friday, so why risk it? Get your coat and mittens on." She shot him a questioning look. “Friday? I don't remember Friday. What are we doing?" "A boring business cheese and cracker thing. If it's too hopelessly dreary, I'm counting on you to start another riot. Then in all the confusion, we'll make our escape unnoticed." Jordan gave him an impish smile and her dimples deepened. “You can count on me. How about a code word for riot? I've got it—camisole. What do you think?" He smiled at her and traced the dimples in her cheeks with a finger. “I think I can use that in a sentence."

"Then camisole it is,” She gave him a wicked look. “Dickens for escape, camisole for riot. What a code. We should be a spy team." "Oh no.” Luke shook his head, horrified. “You'd start world war three within a week." She frowned in offense. “I wouldnot . I'd save the world!" Luke couldn't resist kissing her again, quickly and lightly, at that bold statement. “Settle for savingme . Friday and every other day. Now hurry and get bundled up or I'll cheat and get a head start instead of waiting for you." "You're on! I make a mean snowman. Even with a head start, Luke Foster, you'd never outdo me,” she smirked and then raced for her mittens and jacket. "Oh yes I will,” he promised the empty air behind her. “While you're busy running, I'm setting you up.” Luke gave a diabolical laugh at the thought. She'd just agreed to be introduced to his business associates, professionally, as his future wife. The announcement had already been sent to the paper, using one of Wendy's handy photographs of the two of them. Soon he'd have her registering for crystal and picking a china pattern and—and she'd be lost. Hopelessly trapped in an endless snare of formalities that tied her tightly to him. By the time she realized the hoax had grown and overwhelmed her, the invitations would be in the mail and the flowers ordered. She didn't have a chance. And no one was going to ride to her rescue to save her from the man in black, either. But he didn't think she'd be too distressed. At least not for long. She'd been happy to see him, hadn't she? She'd smiled and looked pleased when he teased her. She'd glowed when he offered to build a snowman with her. She had to be falling in love with him. And if she wasn't, he intended to lure her out to the edge of that precipitous leap, because Luke Foster did not fall alone. He had a reputation to uphold as a desirable and eligible bachelor. Not to mention as the dark and dangerous man in black. No self-respecting outlaw rider would let a damsel in distress charm his horse out from under him and his hat off his head. No matter what she wore ... or didn't wear. Thinking of that, he frowned and started after her. He wouldn't put it past Jordan to run outside just the way she was to get a jump on him, and she could be outside turning blue right now. She might need to be thawed. Instead, she needed to be muffled, which Luke did while she zipped her jacket despite her squirming and protesting. “I don't need something on my head. I'll be fine. Come on, Luke, hurry up." "You do, too, need something on your head.” He wound the scarf over the top of her hair, then wrapped it under her chin. “Heat loss. Body heat gets lost through the top of the head faster than anywhere else." "You're making that up. You're trying to distract me,” Jordan accused. “You're afraid of the competition. My snowman will be better than yours anyway. I'm creative." "You're insane and I'm not going to let you freeze.” Luke arranged the covering to his satisfaction then led her outside. Bright sun reflected off the new snow but the air held the cold bite of winter in spite of the sunshine. “Besides,” he continued, “we could just make one together."

"Aha! I knew it!” Jordan whirled to laugh in his face. “You're afraid of a challenge. You're trying to con me into lending you my talents again.” Her breath made puffs of steamy condensed moisture as the warmer air met and mixed with cold. His light blue eyes met hers steadily as he drawled, “You want a challenge? You're on. But you should know they call me the Snowball Kid." She laughed in delight. “The Snowball Kid?" "That's right,” he boasted quietly, settling his hands on his hips and swaggering towards her in his best John Wayne mode. Then without warning, he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him to the ground. They fell into wet snow that clung and packed when Jordan brushed a mittened hand across the white surface. Then, to her amazement, he rolled onto his back beside her, still holding her hand and moved arms and legs in a definite snow angel. She sat up. “What are you doing?" He smiled at her. “Being spontaneous. Wild and unpremeditated. Try it." She hesitated, then grinned and fell back into the snow and made an angel of her own. He eyed it critically. “Not bad, but I expected better from the Snow Queen." Carefully he rose from the packed outline without disturbing the pattern made by his body in the snow and stood, then extended a hand to help her up. Jordan let him pull her up and kept from disturbing her own design. Together they looked at the outlines in the snow. His was huge and hers was tiny, and the two forms were visibly holding hands. "Oh, that'sgreat ,” she gasped. She hugged her arms around his waist and grinned at him. “What a good idea. I've never made hand-holding angels before." Luke brushed snow from her cheek and tucked white-blond hair back under her scarf. “I'm the first guy you've made an angel with in the snow, huh?” he asked lazily, careful to keep the desire in his voice under control. He wanted to do things with her that wouldmelt the snow, but now was not the time. He'd made a mistake last night, coming on too strong. It was the influence of that dress, of course. How could any man resist a temptation like that? Even a man sworn to saintliness wouldn't be oblivious. But, for now, he'd be content to see Jordan smile at him and feel comfortable in his presence again. Her dimples deepened. “Yes. And now I think we should make snow monsters." Without another word, she slipped from his arms and threw herself into packing and rolling the beginnings of a snowman. Luke couldn't stop himself from smiling at the picture she made. An animated snow angel. The kind that moved and laughed, not the kind that lay quiet and frozen on the ground. That was what she looked like—a snow angel.

Whenever Jordan lookedthat innocent, trouble was brewing. Luke braced himself for it with a tantalizing mixture of trepidation and anticipation and went to start his own snow creation. A half hour later, Jordan tapped on his broad shoulder. “Ahem." He turned and quirked a brow at her. “Yes?" She smiled sweetly, her gray eyes dancing. “I'm done. How about you?" He considered her impish face. “I'm done, too.” He stepped back and let her see his snowman. He thought he'd done well. The figure had a hat, nose, mouth and scarf sculpted from the snow and he thought it would impress even her. She eyed it politely and nodded at last. “Not bad ... for a beginner." He frowned. “Not bad? It's great. It's better than great. I think you're jealous." She smirked. “Oh yeah?” She waved a mittened hand in the direction of her own creation. Luke followed the line of her hand and started to laugh. The snow angel had indeed made a snow monster. A hideous snow demon, suspended in the act of lurching across the yard. "That's going to terrify your nephews,” he choked out, still laughing. “We'd better warn Randall to keep them away." She gave him an indignant look. “It will not. It's great! It's beautiful." It washideous . There was no other word to describe the monstrosity. “Jordan, it'll give them nightmares. It might giveme nightmares. It's macabre. Horrific. Not to mention bizarre." She scowled at him. “I love it." He grinned at her and cupped her cheeks, pink with cold. “I do, too." She stopped scowling and charmed him with her dimples again. He should have known then. Her gray eyes were melting pools of innocence, her soft lips curved in the sweetest of smiles. She radiated purity. He should have known, but all he could think about was the memory of those soft lips moving against his. Until an icy shock jolted him from his fantasies to the reality of a wicked fairy who'd just dropped snow down the inside of his shirt. Luke gave a roar of outrage and Jordan slipped free to run for her life across the snowy yard. “I'll get you! As God is my witness, I'll get you!” He bellowed as he gave chase. He caught her with a flying tackle and wrestled her down. She just laughed at him, unrepentant. "You're a criminal,” he accused. "I'd do it again,” she vowed, looking very pleased with herself.

He nodded, resigned. “Yes, you would.” He sighed. Then he ruthlessly retaliated. Snow went down her thin sweater and more covered her face. He unzipped her and filled the jacket with cold wet snow until she shrieked and begged for mercy. "Stop! Stop, Luke, it'scold! ” Jordan gasped and laughed at the sensation of snow melting on her bare skin under her clothes. “Oh, I'm cold." He smeared another handful over her face. “I don't think you're sorry yet.” He gathered another handful of snow in preparation. Jordan eyed the snow, then him. “You wouldn't. You beat me. I'm helpless. You wouldn't keep freezing a helpless woman, would you?" Luke sighed in mock regret and gave her a sorrowful look. “Repent, sinner.” He lifted her sweater and dropped the icy mass onto her bare chest and she wailed in reaction. "I repent. I do, I really do. Oh, Luke, that'sso cold!” She protested and squirmed under him, trying to escape the trap but he wouldn't let up. "Oh, Jordan. Too late.” His loins burned at the sight of her nipples, puckered with cold and clearly outlined under the thin wet knit. She saw the line of his gaze and stopped struggling. She caught her breath and waited. He slowly lowered his mouth to hers and she melted into him. She was hot and cold and shivering, all at once. He kissed her in the snow, fire and ice, and Jordan clung to him mindlessly. She protested when he drew away and reached for him. The regret in his eyes was genuine this time as he shook his head at her. “We're in your brother's yard, Jordan." She'd forgotten, actually. She'd forgotten where they were. She'd forgotten their bargain. She'd forgotten about everything but Luke and the wild delight of kissing him. "Oh.” The shock in her voice was audible. "Yesoh ,” Luke teased her gently, coaxing a slight smile in return. “Come on, you'll freeze. I'll take you home and thaw you out before you turn into an icicle." He scooped her up and brushed the snow from her jacket. When he felt her shivering, he frowned. She really was cold. He unzipped his own coat and spread it wide to wrap her in the edges and grimaced at the cold, wet shock. Nothing with Jordan went according to his fantasies. Sharing a coat with her in a daydream wouldn't involve dripping, melting snow and blue lips. Luke privately mourned the inadequacies of reality as he tucked her against his heat and went around to the kitchen door for her flowers. He eyed the puddle forming at their feet and knocked. Teresa opened the door and looked at the two of them, covered in snow. “You'renot coming in here,” she said sternly. Jordan looked up at Luke and grinned. “I think we're in trouble."

Luke nodded. “That seems to happen whenever you're around." Teresa handed them the flowers and waved them away. “Go get warmed up, you two! Go drip water on your own floors!" Jordan snuggled into his warmth and tried unsuccessfully to chase away the chill. “I'm going to drip everywhere,” she groaned. "I'll mop it up,” Luke offered. A warm glint of humor in his eyes made her smile again. "You should, you're responsible for getting me soaked. And frozen. Now you will have to thaw me or I'll be a Popsicle for sure.” Jordan winked saucily. “You wouldn't want to dance with a Popsicle, would you?" He swung her in a giddy waltz. “I don't know,” he mused. “I think it's kind of fun. It might grow on me." She laughed at him and then shivered in earnest. All laughter gone, Luke swept her up and hurried to his car. “Don't worry, I'm an experienced rescuer of damsels in distress. Would you like to see my resume?” he inquired smoothly as he dumped her in and shut the door. She eyed him in interest as he joined her, started the engine and turned the heater on. “You have a resume as a rescuer? Oh, this I have to see." He gave her an arch look. “I keep it at home." She considered that. “You do?" "Yes,” he assured her warmly. “Right by the indoor hot tub,” he added. Jordan debated briefly. She'd never been much for resisting temptation. The lure of Luke and his kisses and his searing heat were bad enough. The added persuasion of the promise of a hot tub made an overwhelmingly irresistible combination. She scooted across the seat to burrow against him. “Sounds like the perfect spot to keep a resume. Rescue me,” she commanded. He wrapped an arm around her. “I'm thinking of making it my sole professional focus." Thatsounded interesting. “You are?" "Mm-hmm. It looks like a full-time proposition. I've never seen anyone who needed more rescuing than you." "You can't have it both ways, Luke,” she retorted. “I'm either a threat to the entire planet, or harmless and no threat to anyone. I can't be both." Luke dropped a kiss on top of her head. “That's what I used to think. Then I metyou ."

Chapter Nine

It wasn't far from Randall's house to Luke's. Jordan curled on the seat and concentrated on thinking warm thoughts. Hot tubs, for instance. Hot water and hotter kisses. Fire, flames, a conflagration racing through her veins and burning her from the inside out. She was still cold, but it couldn't hurt to pretend. At that thought, she paused.It couldn't hurt to pretend? She hadn't thought so before. Now ... she wasn't so sure. The problem with creative fiction, Jordan realized, was that it was all too easy to believe. It was so believable, it could almost be real. And it wasn't. Luke wasn't hers. He was only temporary, and pretending wouldn't change anything. He was a carefree bachelor, sought after and desired by hordes of admiring women. He'd been willing to con his family, a family he loved and respected, as insurance against pressure to marry. The inescapable truth, Jordan told herself sternly, was that Luke didn't want to marry her. Luke didn't want to get married at all, but probably especially not to her. She was nothing but trouble and he'd even said so. Great. Now she was cold, wet, and depressed, too. Jordan shivered and tried to curl more of his coat around her. Luke hugged her in sympathy. “We're almost there, Jordan. You'll be warm in no time. Think about hot water—lots and lots of nice, hot, steamy water." Shehad been, and look where it had gotten her—up to her little metaphorical neck in it. She huddled closer and didn't say anything. She didn't even notice the neighborhood until the car stopped, and then the rapidly falling twilight made it difficult to see. Not that she had much time to see anything as Luke, in his enthusiasm to heroically rescue her, carried her to his house and even over the threshold. More evidence of his incredible niceness. She'd never met a nicer man, and it was absolutely horrible that she couldn't have him. Determination stirred and she realized how idiotic she was being. So it was temporary. Was she stupid? At least she had him now, and if that was all she'd have, it was all the more reason not to waste a single minute of it. Wasn't she the bane of his existence? A threat to world peace? A riot looking for a place to happen? The day Jordan Christian went quietly would be the day she went six feet under. She was here and by golly she'd leave her mark on his hot tub. He'd never use it again without thinking of her, Jordan vowed silently. She pictured Luke in the hot tub in his black hat and felt instantly much warmer. This would be a night to remember, all right. She sincerely hoped the hat was here instead of at Wendy's with the rest of the props for the painting. While she thought and plotted, she was completely oblivious to anything else. He carried her to a huge master bath and set her down on the tiled floor, closing the door behind them. Then he locked it and leaned against it. “Alone at last,” he teased. "Are we?" He took her by the shoulders and drew her close. “Yes, we are. No brothers, no sisters, no in-laws, no small children, no aunts and no uncles. No family of any kind anywhere. Just us.” He slowly trailed

blazing kisses across her upturned face, then teased the corner of her mouth before claiming it in a kiss that stole her breath away. He smiled at her dazed expression. “I can't believe it. You're speechless." Jordan smiled back at him. “You seem to have that effect on me. Enjoy it while it lasts." "I intend to.” The lazy drawl accompanied by the warm glint in his eyes promised just that. Luke turned the hot tub cover back and Jordan saw steam rising from it. “Wow. Quite the bathroom you have here,” she remarked. It was impressive. Above the sunken wooden hot tub, a skylight offered a tantalizing view of the starlit sky. Beautifully polished wooden decking surrounded the tub. An adjoining room contained dual marble sinks and counters beneath a long beveled mirror; another room housed a standard bathtub with whirlpool jets, and a glassed-in shower stall; all laid out in roomy comfort that made an inviting suite. Tile covered the floor in this room and the other bathing room, with deep plush carpet in the sink area and down the center of the tiled area. Jordan could happily imagine spending the entire day in there without ever unlocking the door. "I'm glad you like it,” Luke answered. He began to remove her dripping clothing. The sodden scarf was unwound and dropped, followed by her coat. Jordan tried to step out of her snow boots and was surprised when his grip tightened on her arms, arresting the motion. "Let me.” The low request sent shivers through her that had nothing to do with cold. Jordan gazed back at him, hypnotized by the sound of his voice and the desire in his eyes. She held still and waited. He knelt and peeled off her wet socks, then cupped her feet in his hands to chafe and warm them, one at a time. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feeling returning to numb toes. "You're soaked and frozen,” he informed her. "I know. The penance for my sins, remember?" Luke laughed. “I'm not sure whose penance it is now.” He stood and swiftly and impersonally removed her wet jeans, teasing her when they stuck. “Too much fudge, Jordan?" "There is no such thing,” she informed him loftily. Leaving her in her wet knit sweater and panties, he removed his own clothes down to cotton jockeys and took her hand. “Come on, let's get you warm." Jordan readily plunged into the hot water and sank in up to her chin. “Ah-h-h. Warmth. I love it." 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 ifhe'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 verybad idea. She didn't think she could promise not to touchhim . 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." "Thereis 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 Christmas 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. Shutup , 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 awho, 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 business 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!" It was all Jordan's fault, of course. Everything was her fault. His misery. His lack of sleep. Even Abby threatening to walk out. All of it was Jordan's fault. Jordan. At the thought of her, a cold fury grew inside him to match the winter storm outside. Jordan. Laughing, elusive little imp, sweet little temptress, maddening deceitful little liar. But he'd get the best of her, he promised himself. Oh, yes. He would. Tonight. Tonight was Friday and he had a date with his dear little devoted fiancée, didn't he? He did. He was certain he remembered a date. In fact, he realized, he might even be late. He searched for his watch and found it on his wrist. Right. That was where it belonged. Of course. He checked the time through bleary eyes. Late. He'd been working late again and it was after seven. Why was Abby still here? He got up to check

and found that she wasn't. She'd left after slamming out of his office, probably, but how long ago had that been? Well, it didn't matter. What mattered now was the fact that he had to go and get his little lying love and he still couldn't touch her. Although how he was going to keep from doing that he couldn't begin to imagine. He glanced down at the suit he wore and decided it was good enough for tonight. It wasn't a black tie affair, after all. Just a business holiday social. A breeze ... as long as Jordan played the role of sweet fiancée instead of trouble on two legs. What he needed, Luke decided firmly, was a good stiff drink. Then he'd be able to stand the sight of Jordan, no matter what she was—or wasn't—wearing. He popped into the first bar he found. The extra dry martini was wonderful, but probably not nearly enough to numb him sufficiently for the optical assault of whatever almost-naked outfit she'd be wearing tonight. So he had another and felt instantly better. A third ... and he felt confident that he could get through the night without committing murder, at least. By the time he rang her doorbell, he was even looking forward to the sight of her. Only he wasn't expecting two of her. Luke frowned and stared until the images stopped wavering and melded into one. That was a relief. One Jordan was bad enough. Two was too much for any man to deal with. And then his eyes managed to focus on what she apparently—and mistakenly—thought was an appropriate dress for the occasion. “Hello, Jordan,” he sneered. “You look like you always do, of course. I hope you don't plan on bending over, or everyone in the room will see your nipples." Jordan eyed him suspiciously. Rudeness wasn't completely out of character for Luke, but still that was a rather nasty crack. She stepped closer and sniffed.Whoa . He smelled like a distillery. She didn't know how much he'd had to drink, but he definitely wasn't driving anywhere else, that was for sure. "You look terrible,” she informed him politely. "Thank you. I feel terrible. Are you ready?" "Yes, but we have to take a taxi. Come in and wait." "No.” He frowned at her. “You'll tear off what's left of your clothes and attack me." Jordan considered telling him that in his present condition it wasn't likely to do her any good ... but for the sake of his male ego she held her tongue. Sadly, she didn't think Luke was quite functional any more. Too bad, really; attacking him had definitely been in her plans. She guided him to the sofa then called a cab. Then she made him some coffee and pushed the cup into his hand. “Here, Luke, I think you need this." "Stop telling me what I need.” He took the cup and scowled at her ferociously. It made her want to kiss him. He was adorable when he scowled. He did it so very well. “Of course,” she responded in a placating tone. "And don't humor me. I'm not a child."

"No, of course you aren't.” Jordan looked suitably shocked at the very idea. Luke glared at her over the rim of the coffee cup and sipped. “Jordan, why do you insist on dressing in such a provocative manner? This is a business social. You're supposed to be my fiancée, not someone from an escort service. Don't you have anything you can put over ... that?” He waved his hand in the direction of her flagrant cleavage. She smiled winningly. “I could always wear the camisole again." He closed his eyes and moaned. “Never mind. Where's that taxi?" She got up to check the window. “Right here. Come on, I'm ready for you to introduce me to your buddies." There was something funny about that, Luke thought. Wasn't there...? Yes. He remembered. It was part of the plan. "That's my plan,” he informed Jordan proudly. Then he laughed. “I'm going to introduce you to everyone." He really seemed to be looking forward to it, Jordan thought in amusement. And she was, too. Luke Foster, the ever practical, ever calm, ever controlled, was bombed out of his skull and in a state to start a riot all on his own. She wouldn't miss it for the world. "Well, then, let's go,” she suggested as she collected her cape and keys. "Right.” He led the way, then stopped abruptly and she plowed into his broad back. Then he turned to face her again. “Just don't bend over. Got that?" "I won't bend over,” Jordan agreed soberly, but inwardly she was bursting with laughter. She'd figured the low-cut dress would get to him. She'd been right. He continued to stare down at her and she realized he was looking down at her revealing cleavage. “Don't you ever wear a bra, Jordan?” Luke inquired in the same impersonal way he might ask the time. "No." He let out a pained sigh. “I didn't think so. Remind me to buy you a bra. A whole bunch of bras, in fact. Hundreds of them, all of them going from your waist to your neck." Jordan giggled at that description. “I really don't think that's necessary, Luke." "You don't reallythink , Jordan,” Luke informed her heavily. He climbed into the cab with her and gave the address. Then he noticed the driver's gaze in the rearview mirror was on Jordan's bosom and he frowned. “That's my fiancée, buddy,” he growled at the man. “Keep your eyes off her or they're going to turn black and swell shut after a close encounter with my fist." The cabbie hastily averted his gaze and drove them in silence to their destination.

Jordan laughed at Luke's fierce expression. “Luke, you're going a little overboard, aren't you?" He turned his scowl on her. “No. And you'd better remember to stand up straight." She fought a smile successfully. But just barely. “Yes, Luke,” she agreed calmly. It was certainly going to be a night to remember, one way or another. He continued to scowl at her until they arrived. Then he turned the scowl on the cab driver and fumbled for the fare. He handed it over with another glare for good measure. Jordan tried not to laugh and he swung around to face her. “I'm glad you're amused. Maybe some day you'll actually look in a mirror and realize that your breasts are bare for the world to see and the sight will motivate you to start covering them on rare occasions." "But Luke, think of all the fun I'd miss,” she pointed out reasonably. She reached up to straighten his tie since at some point he'd yanked at the knot to loosen it. "Think of all the misery you'd prevent,” he countered. "I didn't think the cabbie looked miserable." His hands shot out to grip her shoulders and he shook her hard enough to nearly make her burst out of her dress. “Some day, Jordan, you'll be sorry,” he threatened. Then he eyed the straining fabric and groaned before he reached down in a vain effort to try to pull it up higher. "Luke, it's as high as it goes. And I won't bend over—you have my solemn oath." He sneered at that. “As if your solemn oath means anything, you professional liar.” Then he gave up and pushed her along towards the door. “Come on. I think I need another drink. I can see you far too clearly." Jordan would have been insulted if he hadn't produced such a marvelous exhibition of masculine jealousy and raging possessiveness. He wasn't offended at the sight of her. On the contrary. He was enjoying the sight all too much and being unable to do anything but look was evidently beginning to get to him. About time, too. She'd had enough of thedon't touch policy long ago. Tonight she intended to see to it that he'd had enough of it too. Even if he wasn't functioning fully by the end of the evening, there was always tomorrow, she thought with serene assurance. She smiled and made polite conversation with all of Luke's business acquaintances, who seemed to sense his dangerous mood and kept a wary and safe distance. Luke continued to make frequent trips to the wassail bowl whenever he gazed overly long at her revealing neckline. In between trips, he stayed protectively by her side, glaring like a madman at anyone he thought might be deliberately ogling her. Jordan finally decided it was time for a distraction. “Why don't we dance?” she suggested pleasantly to the glaring madman. "Sure. Why didn't I think of that? Then you can wrap your arms around me and slither all over me." "Yes, exactly,” Jordan agreed cheerfully. “Come on."

She led him to the dance floor and proceeded to wrap her arms around him, but drew the line at slithering. It did sound like fun, but he really was in such an ugly mood he was not likely to take it well. Luke sighed and tightened his hold on her until she was pressed firmly against him. “I can't take this anymore, Jordan,” he informed her in tortured tones. "Good. Me either." "Good.” Luke was silent for a while as they danced. “Then you agree it's time we ended this farce of an engagement." "Yes, Luke, I do." He didn't seem to expect that. In fact he came to a rather abrupt halt and glared at her suspiciously. “What do you mean by that?" She smiled innocently at him. “I mean you're right." He frowned darkly. “What do you mean, I'm right? You're not getting out of this, Jordan. You're not throwing that ring back in my face. You already tried to do that before I even got it on you." "I just agreed with you,” she pointed out calmly. That seemed to enrage him. He gripped her shoulders and bellowed, “Don't you talk to me like that! How dare you stand there and agree with me?" It was too ridiculous. She tried, she really tried—but couldn't stop the laughter from bubbling up between her lips. He started shouting even louder. “Oh, you think it's funny, do you? Well, laugh away, sweetheart, because you won't be laughing tomorrow. You're not leaving me, Jordan. You will marry me and you'll smile when you sayI do or you won't be able to sit down for a week!” Then he grabbed her and dragged her towards the door. “We're leaving, Jordan, so get your things." "Yes, Luke." The mild response didn't appease him. “Jordan, just shut up and do it." "Yes, Luke." He stopped and lifted her to eye level—the better to scowl at her, she assumed. “Not one more word out of you, imp. Not a peep. Not a sound." She started to open her mouth to agree, then thought better of it and nodded instead. "Good. I'll get a cab.” She had to smile at that. “And keep your cape on this time,” he added darkly. “I'm not going to sit there quietly while some man looks down your dress." "Yes, Luke." "Shut up, Jordan."

He was grimly silent on the way to his place but Jordan was gloating inwardly. She'd gotten to him, all right. He'd had it with thedon't touch nonsense and he'd had it with the phony engagement, too. He'd actually roared at her that she wasn't getting out of it. That she'dhave to marry him and evensmile while doing it. Not exactly the most romantic proposal in all of human history, but she'd take it. More to the point, she'd take him. She was madly, wildly, passionately in love with Luke Foster and it was time to tell him so. She tried to do just that, but he clamped a hand over her mouth and glared a warning, so she guessed it would just have to wait. And that was too bad, because she had a feeling that the news would go a long way towards improving his mood. Although there was definitely something to be said for his present scowling state. It did things to her. It was exciting. It was really too bad that Luke had consumed so much alcohol that he was probably in no condition to consummate their relationship.

Chapter Eleven "Come on, Luke, we're almost there. Just a little further,” Jordan encouraged. She had him nearly to the bedroom now, which was miraculous, considering his condition. He was draped heavily over her and she staggered under the weight—but he wouldn't have even made it through his front door without her support. The after-effects of overindulgence. And she had a feeling it was only the beginning of his suffering for the drinking binge he'd decided to indulge in. He wouldn't be in much better shape in the morning. She managed to heave, shove and cajole him onto the bed. Luke immediately slumped over, leaving her free to undress him without interference. Jordan quickly removed his shoes, socks and tie and then wrestled him upright to get him out of the jacket and vest before tackling the buttons on his shirt. She'd managed to tug the shirt free and was preparing to slide it off when he started to struggle and slap at her hands. "Cut it out, Jordan,” he muttered. “Stop undressing me." "You can't sleep like that, Luke, be reasonable.” She got his shirt free and searched for the fastening at the waistband of his pants. "Jordan. Jordan, God,don't ,” he groaned and grabbed at her hands to still them. "Luke, I have to take your pants off,” she stated firmly. “If you won't let me, then do it yourself." "No.” He opened his eyes to stare bleakly at her. “I know what you're trying to do. You want to attack me and have your way with me." Well, shedid , but not just then. Although hewas awfully cute, defending his honor against her imagined lusty advances. "Why not?” she asked sweetly, running her fingers under the waistband in a teasing gesture.

He frowned at her. “I am not that kind of man." "That's too bad,” Jordan sighed. Then she proceeded to undo his pants and tug them down. "I mean it, Jordan,” he ground out, fighting for possession of the pants. “Keep your hands to yourself. You aren't getting my body." She won the fight easily and hung his pants over a convenient chair with the rest of his suit. “But Luke, it's such a great body,” she informed him. It was. All of it. Even in his present muddled state, he was devastating. "Well, you can't have it.” His hands went protectively to his jockeys as if he thought she meant to take those next. “Not without marrying me." She bit back a smile and just to be contrary took his underwear while he protested and struggled. “But Luke, I will marry you,” Jordan promised as she removed his last piece of clothing. "You're lying.” He glared at her ferociously. “You'll say anything to get your way. You don't mean it." "Yes, I do.” Jordan smiled at him and kissed away his frown. “Now be good and get into bed." "No. I'm not getting into bed with you again. You'll take off the few clothes you ever bother to put on in the first place and I won't be able to defend myself.” Luke glared some more and pushed her hands away. Jordan smiled even wider and unzipped her dress. His eyes bulged gratifyingly as the dress fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, wearing nothing but panties and shoes. Then she got rid of those, too, figuring she was properly dressed for the occasion wearing nothing but a smile. Luke groaned and closed his eyes. “Go away,” he demanded. "No." "Please, Jordan." "That's what you'll be saying,” she murmured throatily. “Please, Jordan,more .” She climbed onto the bed and wrestled him under the covers. He was heavy and very uncooperative, but she managed eventually. "You're naked,” he accused, giving her a wounded look. “Why are you always naked?" She smiled sweetly at him. “It makes it easier to ravish helpless men." He clamped his hands onto her arms in a vise-like grip at that remark. “You'd better not ravish any other helpless men,” he declared threateningly. “It's bad enough that you flaunt your body at me the way you do. No other men, Jordan, do you understand? I won't put up with it." "Yes, Luke, I understand. But then who am I going to ravish?” Jordan inquired in sweetly reasonable tones. “You won't let me ravish you."

He frowned in confusion at that question, and she took advantage of his distraction to get him the rest of the way into bed and joined him before he could come up with another complaint about her presence. It was a good thing Luke had a hot tub. She had a feeling he was really going to need it in the morning. Between that, coffee, aspirin and orange juice, she thought he just might survive the sunrise. Luke rolled over and without warning hauled her into his embrace. “You can ravish me,” he offered in a somewhat slurred declaration. “But you have to marry me and you can't leave me in the morning." "Well, now, there's an offer that would stun any woman,” Jordan murmured teasingly. “I accept. But I don't think you're up to any ravishing right now. Maybe you should just go to sleep." "I can't sleep and it's all your fault,” he accused bitterly. “You lie there naked and taunt me all night long, telling me what you're going to do to me, but then you never do." Jordan's eyebrows shot up at that admission. So she was haunting his nights, was she? She liked that idea. Some ghost of Christmas present that would make. She'd always wanted to be an incubus. Or was it a succubus? She wasn't certain which one was female. "Succubus,” she decided out loud. That was the proper term. A wicked spirit that descended on a helpless man in the night and ravished him relentlessly. "Succubus,” Luke agreed. “That's what you are. You tease and torment me and I can't take it anymore. I want you, Jordan. I want you and I want you now. I want to be inside you. I want to take you so hard and so fast that you won't be able to get away." It dawned on her that it wasn't his knee that was pressing into her. The happy realization gradually sank in. Luke wasn't incapacitated after all, although by all rights he should have been. "That sounds wonderful,” she informed him, slithering sexily against him. “I think I'd like you inside me, hard and fast and deep." He made a low, rough sound deep in his throat and jerked her underneath him. One knee nudged her legs apart and then he was pressing against her, all of him. "Jordan,” he whispered against her hair. “I need you, Jordan. Don't run away this time." "I won't. I'm here, Luke.” She rubbed her breasts against his chest in a teasing caress. She'd never been so ready in all her life. She wanted him with an urgency she'd never experienced. Jordan wrapped her legs around his hips and silently urged him to hurry. His breathing quickened and his lips closed over hers in a nearly brutal possession as he drove inside and buried himself in her welcoming softness. She saw stars. She saw fireworks. She saw heaven open up and swallow them both. The universe tilted and the only solid reality left was Luke, hard and deep inside her, where he belonged. "Luke,” she gasped out. “Luke." "Oh, Jordan, I can't stop,” he muttered roughly as he took her with driving fury.

"I don't want you to. Not ever,” Jordan vowed and clung to him with all her strength. She shuddered and yielded to him and the desire driving them both as he took her to a violent climax that left her weak and drained, clinging limply to him. He stayed with her, a welcome weight pinning her to reality, his breathing slowly calming. Then he reached for her face, tracing her features in the dark. “Jordan?" "Mm,” she responded dreamily from the depths of the warm, golden haze enveloping her. "I'm sorry." She heard the regret in his voice and it slowly sank in that he actually meant it. She shook her head at the denseness of the man and burrowed deeper into his embrace. “Shut up and kiss me, Luke." He didn't move for a minute. Then he slowly leaned down to kiss her, tasting the curve of her lips in a slow exploration before deepening the caress to seek out her tongue with his and twine them sweetly together. Jordan sighed happily and wound her arms tighter around his neck, glad she still held him deep inside. She arched against him to welcome his weight and tightened her legs to hug his hips, loving the feeling of having all of him against all of herself. When he raised his head she snuggled into the curve of his neck and fell asleep, feeling alive and incredibly good in every cell of her body. She didn't realize she'd forgotten to tell him she loved him. **** Someone had turned up the wattage on the sun. That was the only explanation that occurred to Luke when the blinding light stabbed painfully into his eyes. He closed them to prevent permanent damage, and then he heard the hammering and raised aching hands to cover his ears. "Luke?" He frowned, hearing the voice. It didn't belong there. Nobody should be there. He should be at home, in bed, alone. There must be construction going on in the neighborhood, with all that pounding. He hoped whoever it was had nothing but cost overruns and permit difficulties for their trouble. It was terribly inconsiderate to have that kind of noise going on so early in the morning. "Luke, I brought you some aspirin,” the voice continued. He appreciated the phantom's consideration. The voice was thoughtfully lowered. Although he didn't know why an apparition would bring him aspirin. "Just get rid of the sun,” he muttered around a tongue that seemed to have swollen to twice its normal size. "Oh!” The phantom gasped in dismay and tiptoed to the window to draw the drapes. “Sorry."

Luke decided that if he had to be haunted, it was a good thing that his private delusion was quiet and apologetic. He must still be hallucinating, he realized. The effects of sleep deprivation. All Jordan's fault, he remembered fuzzily. Jordan. He remembered the dream, and smiled in spite of the pain in his head. Last night he'd dreamed that she'd come to him. She'd slid into his bed, naked, and he'd brutally ravished her in punishment for all her sweet torment. And for once, she hadn't vanished in the mist. She'd held him and stayed with him through the night. Too bad the real Jordan wasn't so accommodating. Thinking of her, he frowned. Last night. Jordan. He thought he remembered a dress that, as usual, there wasn't enough of. He thought he remembered a fight. He thought he remembered her promising to marry him if he'd let her have her way with him and he knew that had to be part of the dream. It was too much effort to think with his pounding head. He groaned and then winced when the noise increased the pain. He risked opening an eye, in case his hallucination had actually managed to get rid of the sun, and found the room blissfully darkened. Orange juice and aspirin sat conveniently on the bedside table. He eyed them and wondered where they'd come from. Gradually he remembered that he'd stopped for one drink on the way to Jordan's and had had more than one. Way more than one. The inescapable conclusion hit home. He'd had alot more than one, and he was paying for it now. Somebody—Wendy, possibly—had come by and found him sleeping it off and decided to play angel of mercy. A good thing, because he didn't think he could have made his way to the kitchen to get his own aspirin if his life depended on it. Thankful for them, however they'd gotten there, he swallowed the aspirin and groaned as the orange juice stirred a wave of dizziness and settled uneasily in his stomach. "Oh, good, you took the aspirin.” Soft footsteps approached and set something else beside him. “Here, take this and get into the hot tub when you feel like you can. If you need help, I'll be right back." By the time he felt it was safe to open his eyes, his angel of mercy had vanished, this time leaving coffee behind. It looked good. Steaming hot. Gingerly he reached for the cup and brought it to his mouth. Strong, very strong. He sipped carefully and slowly, as the room swung and settled into a steady rhythm before leveling out. Finally the floor actually looked flat enough to walk on. He finished the coffee before attempting it, however. Then he made his cautious way to the bathroom. The hot tub. That did sound good, although he wasn't sure he could get the lid off. His hands didn't seem to be gripping very well. But his benefactress had anticipated his difficulties and opened it for him. Luke climbed in, stiffly and carefully, easing into the hot water by inches. "Luke?” The soft voice reached into the dimly lit room. “Oh. There you are.” He heard the rustle of fabric and then a liquid sound as she joined him in the hot tub and he realized in horror that it really was Jordan. "No,” he muttered thickly. “No. Jordan, tell me you aren't real." If she was real, that meant everything else was real, too—and that was a thought too awful to

contemplate. It meant he'd attacked her in a violent, lustful fit. It meant he'd been out of control and too rough. It meant he'd probably hurt her. But then why was she giggling? "Sorry. Sorry,” she gasped in a whisper. “I'm trying to be quiet. I know your head hurts. You just looked so funny. So horrified.” She slid up against him in the water and wrapped around him, naked as usual. “I'm afraid I am real. You're just going to have to deal with it.” She kissed his shoulder and rubbed his throbbing temples with gentle hands. “I did promise not to go away. Don't you remember?" He groaned. “I remember. I remember assaulting you. You hate me, don't you?" She laughed some more and rubbed against him in delight. “Luke, you are so funny. First you wouldn't let me assault you, then you're upset because you assaulted me. You see? You should have let me assault you, after all. Then you could sit there looking accusing and scowling adorably at me instead of looking like a guilty fugitive from the foreplay police." He considered that answer. She didn't sound like she hated him. She sounded like she was enjoying herself, and at his expense. As usual. "Why are you here?” Luke inquired cautiously. "Because,” she answered patiently, “I promised I wouldn't leave, remember? You were very insistent. You didn't want me to use you to slake my animal passions and then abandon you the morning after. Besides, after driving you to drink, I thought I owed it to you to nurse you through your hangover." He absorbed that silently. “Did you agree to marry me last night?" "Oh, yes,” she answered cheerfully, but in a thoughtfully soft voice. “That was the deal. You told me you weren't that kind of man. That I couldn't have your body without marriage. I had to marry you or there wouldn't be any ravishing, regardless of who was the ravish-er and who was the ravish-ee.” She slithered over him suggestively. “If you want, I can take a turn as the ravisher now and you can decide which you like better.” She made the offer in a generous tone that made Luke smile. "I don't think I'm ready to be ravished by you yet,” he answered painfully. “Let me recover first." She sighed in mock dismay and curled closer. “Oh, all right. But let this be a lesson to you the next time I drive you to drink. You might want to stop sooner." He brushed back her shock of white-blond hair in an affectionate caress. “The next time?” Hope stirred at the thought. She nodded. “I'm afraid it's all too likely. I can't help being the way I am. What did you call me last night? Let me see. Oh, yes, a professional liar whose word means nothing ... a succubus ... what else? I think you called me an exhibitionist, too, but I'm not sure.” Thoughtfully, she frowned in concentration. “You also threatened to buy me several very large bras." He hugged her closer and sighed at that. “It wouldn't do any good. You wouldn't wear them. You'd probably take them off in public and throw them at me.” And he had to admit her preferred state of undress appealed to him too much to want to change it.

Although he would have preferred to be the only witness to her state of undress. For once, he could fully appreciate the idea of keeping a woman covered from head to toe and shut away—although shutting away a woman like Jordan would be some kind of crime against nature. He supposed he'd just have to get used to standing over her and scowling. Resigned, he gently stroked her from hip to shoulder, exploring all of her in slow, thorough care. Jordan shivered in delight and moved to allow him better access. When he found her breasts and teased them into tautness, she moaned in pleasure. Then she abruptly cut off the sound. "Oh, Luke, I'll try to be quiet, but it's hard when you do that,” she whispered apologetically. He continued with a generous lack of concern for his ears. “I should have done this last night." "Last night was wonderful." "Last night I was an animal. I must have hurt you." She moved under his hands restlessly, wanting more already. “You were an animal. I loved it." He paused. “You did?" "I did. Did Iever . Feel free to ravish me at will. You have my permission in advance, in case you can't stop to ask next time,” she vowed earnestly. “Speaking of which, please don't stop now." He turned her to face him and tugged her chin up to look her right in the eyes. “Jordan, we have to talk." "Later. Can't we talk later?” she pleaded huskily. “I want you, Luke." Her words were like a bucket of cold water in his face. She wanted him. She wanted his body, she meant. What about love? He swore under his breath. This was an unbelievable situation. Here he was, fighting off the lustful advances of the woman he loved, who'd started out as his phony fiancée but had now agreed to go through with the wedding. “No,” he snarled, holding her away from him before the temptation overcame him. “We'll talk now. And for once, why don't you put some clothes on?" "Because it's no fun. If I'm not wearing pants, it's so much easier for you to get into them,” she pointed out with practical insight. "I don't want in them." "Yes you do.” To prove it, she closed her hands around the evidence and stroked the painfully hard length. "Stop that,” he hissed, grabbing at her hands. "No. You don't really want me to; you're just cranky because you have a hangover. But this will make you feel better.” Jordan smiled sweetly at him and continued her pleasant torture. “Isn't that better?” she asked as she fondled and stroked him beyond speech. “Yes, I thought so,” she concluded when he remained silent. Then she slipped onto his lap and lowered herself over him. “Ride ’em, cowboy,” she whispered wickedly, and proceeded to slip his aching need inside her, all the way in, in a velvety rush.

She paused to adjust to the feel of him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Luke,” she whispered, awed at the powerful sensations. “Oh, Luke, hold me.” Words failed her as she clung to his strength and moved against him in restless need. “I need you. I need you, Luke." She needed to feel the storm of sensation he brought to life and carried her safely through. She needed to feel the sense of oneness, the unity that bound them together. She needed to belong to him in the most basic, primitive way. "Luke,” she whispered against his throat as he remained still. “Luke, I love you." A shudder ran through him, and then he took her in a fierce, furious spending that left her trembling and shaken and totally at peace. He carried her out of the tub and back to bed, where he sprawled over her, possibly to intimidate her or impress her with his superior strength. “You're mine, Jordan,” he sternly informed her. "Yes,” she agreed quietly. "Then don't ever lie to me again.” He pushed her into the mattress and gripped her chin in one hard hand. “Do you understand? Not ever again." "I won't." He studied her face for endless minutes. Then he nodded, satisfied. “All right." She curled in his arms, happy and sated, and spread kisses all along the exposed column of his throat, then everywhere else she could reach. "Luke,” she sighed, loving even the sound of his name. Sad how completely besotted she was. She'd probably even worship the ground he walked on after this. "What?" "Nothing. I just wanted to say your name. It sounds wonderful, doesn't it?” she answered dreamily. He stifled a laugh. “Not to your brothers.Lucius . Where did you come up with that?" She grinned impishly at him, displaying deep dimples. “I have a book of names. It was either that or Lucifer. My choices were severely limited." He considered that gravely. “Well, then, under the circumstances, I suppose Lucius was the best you could do." She nodded. “I'm glad you appreciate that.” Then she reached up to brush his cheek. “Is your head feeling better now?" "Yes, it is. Your hangover remedy is incredible,” Luke answered with a smile. "Glad you like it.” She grinned and stretched under him.

"Am I too heavy?” he asked in sudden concern. "No. I like it.” She closed her eyes and lazed with him in complete contentment. Luke drew the covers over them and settled her into the curve of his body. “I'm still catching up on a sleepless week,” he informed her with a yawn. “Stay right here and maybe I'll be in a better mood the next time we wake up." Jordan tugged his hands up to pillow them under her head. “Deal,” she agreed readily. But when Luke opened his eyes again, the bed was empty and Jordan was gone.

Chapter Twelve He couldn't believe it. She wasn't there. Luke searched the room to be sure, but her clothes were gone, too. He swung to his feet and peered into the bathroom suite, but that was also empty. She'd put the cover back on the hot tub, he noticed. He struggled for understanding, and settled for finding a pair of pants before wandering through the rest of the empty house. “Jordan?" No answer. Not that he'd really expected one. He'd thought he'd caught a fairy. He should have known better. She'd flown away without a word and he knew with a sinking certainty that she wouldn't be back. Well, what had he expected? That she'd fallen in love with him? She hadn't even been able to say it, except at the height of passion, and then only to manipulate him into cooperating with her sensual assault. He'd been angry about that, but he'd settled for getting her promise not to lie anymore. As if a promise like that could be trusted. As if a woman like her could be trusted. Well, he had only himself to blame. She'd been honest from the beginning, in her own twisted, convoluted way. She'd even admitted that she couldn't change, that she couldn't help what she was. And heaven help him, he didn't care anymore. He'd give his soul to have her lying lips pressed against his right now. Instead, he'd lost her forever and the looming emptiness that was his future without her staggered him. "Jordan, come back,” he whispered. But it was an empty hope and he knew it. She didn't come back. And she wasn't going to. **** Jordan bounded through her living room, singing “Deck the Halls” at the top of her lungs. She'd never been so happy. So alive. So excited. She'd tried to keep quiet and let Luke sleep, but she couldn't stay still. Every nerve in her body was singing and energy pulsed and beat through her. Afraid she'd disturb him, she'd finally slipped out of his embrace, kissed his sleeping face, and stolen away. Wow. Sothis was what it felt like after really truly incredible sex. What a rush! Jordan wondered if some

particular chemical reaction was responsible, and if so could it be synthesized and packaged? Somebody would make afortune . She'd never felt so good in her life. Making love with Luke was an experience of epic proportions, an event that could only be measured on a cosmic scale. She felt reborn. She was in love with life and everyone living. Until Norton rang her doorbell. She groaned and closed her eyes, hoping she'd imagined it. She peeked through the peephole again. No, he was still there. Unbelievable. Well, today she thought she could stomach even him, thanks to Luke's wonderful supply of goodwill. Get it over with, Jordan, she told herself sternly. Then you can get the rest of your clothes in Luke's car and get back where you belong. The sooner the better. She brightened at the thought. Luke could even make her forget the horror of Norton, she was sure of it. Certainly he'd be grateful to her for returning his car after he'd abandoned it at her place last night in his blitzed state. She grinned at the memory. Hehad to be in love with her if he couldn't stand the sight of her. She threw open the door and beamed at Norton. “Norton! Hello! Nice to see you." Norton pushed back his wavy brown hair, straightened his fur-lined collar and generally gave new meaning to the word “poser.” That was what she'd always hated about him, she suddenly remembered. It was so irritating. "Hello, Jordan,” he answered finally, as if he thought she'd hang around indefinitely and wait for a response. “I just want to tell you that you didn't have to go that far. You could have simply called." Now what was he talking about? Jordan peered at his pupils and checked for suspicious dilation, just in case Norton was on drugs. Then she saw the newspaper in his hands. "What's this?" He smirked at her. “Jordan, Jordan. You don't need to be coy with me. I know you want me." She wanted him, all right. She wanted himgone . She grabbed the paper, since that seemed to be her only hope of an explanation. "Oh, how sweet!” She beamed at the picture of her and Luke, fighting at the party last night. With a little write-up in the gossip column. He was scowling and dragging her out the door. She sighed and melted. "Notthat ,” Norton interrupted. He flipped to another section and handed it back to her. "Oh. Oh!” Jordan stared, amazed. Then she had to sit down. With a thud, on the floor. Her legs just wouldn't hold her up another second. A picture of her in Luke's arms, the two of them gazing into each other's eyes. She recognized it as one Wendy had taken for the painting. It accompanied an engagement announcement.

An engagement announcement. Jordan sat there, shocked, clutching the paper. He loved her, all right. He really did. He'd sent this in before last night. Before she'd told him she loved him. Then a smile broke over her face. Why, the sneaky rat, he'd done this on purpose, without telling her. He'd planned to make the engagement a real one all along. She'd just known he had latent criminal tendencies. All he'd needed was a little encouragement. A little push in the right direction. She'd just known he could be an outlaw if he just had the chance. Abruptly, she bounded to her feet again. “Thanks, Norton, I wanted a copy for our scrapbook. I'm getting married, by the way. To Luke. Isn't he handsome?” She held up the picture, forgetting that Norton had already seen it. "Now, Jordan, you know it'sme you want to marry,” the unbelievably thick-skinned cover boy simpered. An insurance broker, of all things. Imagine.As if , she mocked inwardly. Jordan shook her head in disbelief. “No, Norton, never in a million years.” Then she shut the door in his face and searched out the rest of her things. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life in Luke's tee shirts—although she could imagine worse fates. A quick peek through the peephole showed Norton taking up what appeared to be permanent residence on her doorstep. Great. She grabbed her canvas tote and hopped out the side window, a tactical maneuver she had considerable experience with. She then ran for Luke's car. "And where were you when I needed you, huh, Luke?” Jordan muttered under her breath. “You told me you'd deal with Norton.” It was his job, after all. He swore to protect her from her brothers’ horror dates. Well, she'd escaped anyway, and she had the car, which was what she'd come for. Mission accomplished, more or less. She headed for home—figuring that from now onhome would be wherever Luke was—singing “I'll Be Home For Christmas." Back at his place, she had a sudden uncontrollable urge to make a snow angel. Or two. She did, in sweeping movements that covered her with a frosty dusting from head to toe and left her breathless and laughing. Then she ran along the snow, making letters around the angels to spell out a message with her footprints. "Jordan loves Luke,” she chanted, laughing. Jordan loved Luke, and Luke loved Jordan. She burst into the house and shook the snow off, then dropped her coat and boots on the foyer floor and ran to the bedroom. “Luke!” She called out, forgetting that she'd left in the first place because he needed his sleep. She skidded to a halt at the sight of the empty bed. Oh. He was awake. “Luke?" No answer. She frowned. Where was he? She checked the hot tub, but he wasn't there, either. The rest of the house was just as empty. "Luke?” Her voice sounded uncertain and small. As small as she felt all of a sudden. Where could he

have gone, without his car? A note. Get a brain, Jordan, he must have left a note, she lectured herself and promptly searched for one. But he hadn't left a note. Okay, so he'd gone out for something. A paper, a Danish, a smaller black hat so they would match from now on. He'd be back. He must have just stepped out for a minute, because otherwise of course he would have left her a note. A horrible thought struck her. Maybe something had happened. A family emergency, for instance. Aunt Cora wasn't well. Jordan hesitated, then grabbed for the rolodex by the phone. She searched out Wendy's number and punched the buttons in a fever of anxiety. “Wendy?” she inquired when a woman picked up on the other end. “This is Jordan." "Jordan, hello! What a surprise. I didn't expect to hear from you. I need you and Luke today, if you have time. I'm almost done with the picture." Well, that didn't sound much like a family emergency. Jordan frowned. “Actually, I'm calling because I can't find Luke. Is he there?" "No,” Wendy replied, sounding surprised. “I haven't seen him." "Oh.” Crushing disappointment hit. “Well, it's probably nothing. I'm sure he'll be right back. Thanks anyway, and I'll let you know if we can come to finish the picture." "All right, I'll expect a call." Well, at least Wendy had sounded warm and welcoming. Suddenly Jordan felt distinctlyun welcome. A new sensation for her. Maybe love made a person unexpectedly sensitive. Maybe Luke didn't want her there after all. No, that was ridiculous. Of course he did, he'd said so. Luke always said what he meant. She just wasn't used to being in love yet, but she'd adjust. Meanwhile, she could dig out her mermaid costume, break the other shell off and give Luke something to think about the next time he made snide remarks about her topless dress. She'd just threaten him with real topless-ness and he'd cave in to anything else. Laughing at the thought, she bounded off to play mermaid and lay in wait for an unsuspecting gunslinger. She'd give new meaning to the phrasewet dreams , she thought wickedly. She couldn't wait. Half an hour later, she'd waited long enough. Incredible as it seemed, Luke really had disappeared. She peeled out of the rubber tail section and left it in the bathroom, then dressed and got back in his car. Maybe he'd had a business call. Maybe he had to go in to the office. On impulse, she drove to his office and tried the door. Ah, success at last. It was open. Grinning in delighted anticipation at surprising him, she pushed his private door open and peered around the corner.

What she saw wiped the smile right off her face. Luke lay with his head down on the desk and for a horrible moment she thought he was dead. "Luke!” She dropped the keys and ran to his side, but stopped when he raised his head and stared through her in a way she'd never seen him look before. "Luke?” Uncertain now, she hesitated, biting her lip. “I didn't know where you'd gone,” she offered lamely. “I thought you might be here. I came to see...” Her voice trailed off in confusion. He was staring at her as if he hated her, she realized with a chill. “Why are you looking at me like that?” To her horror, her voice actually quavered. "Get out,” he said in a flat, cold voice that didn't sound like Luke at all. She must have heard wrong, Jordan thought, stunned. “What?" "Get out.” He turned away and started sorting through a pile of papers on his desk. She'd stumbled into a B-rated horror movie, she thought wildly. That was it. That was the only possible explanation. Aliens from another planet had invaded and taken over Luke's body. The real Luke would never do this. Never. "No.” She stalked over to him and pushed back his chair, making him look at her, even though it did give her the willies. He could give a person pneumonia, just looking at someone that icily. She refused to be intimidated. Luke loved her. There was a rational explanation for this temporary insanity. She put her nose to his and demanded, “Who are you and what have you done with my fiancé?" Ha,that surprised the alien being. It hesitated, and the hesitation proved fatal. Jordan leaped onto the chair and threw her arms around Luke's neck. “Luke! Oh, I'm so relieved.” She rained kisses over his face and then ripped open his shirt to continue on his wonderful bared chest. “What a nightmare,” she continued, in between kisses. “It was just like the pod people. I thought a pod had gotten you." Luke sighed heavily. “Jordan, whatare you talking about?" She sat upright and blinked at him. “You know, like “Invasion of the Body Snatchers". The pod people." He considered her thoughtfully. “That's fiction." "Yes, well, sometimes the line between fiction and reality gets a little thin. You should know that better than anyone. Look what happened in our case.” She laid her head on his shoulder and cuddled contentedly with him, thankful once more for his accommodating chair. Luke slowly raised one hand to the shock of white hair that stuck out in all directions. “What exactly did happen in our case, Jordan?” he inquired cautiously. "Don't be ridiculous. You said it yourself—happy endings are for real life, not stories,” Jordan reminded him pointedly. “In our case, what happened was we came up with a brilliant idea that didn't take reality

into consideration. That's the usual problem with brilliant ideas, you know. It happens to me all the time. Anyway, instead of pretending to be engaged, we really did get engaged. I know it's real, because I saw the picture in the paper, and if you can't believe the newspapers, well, what can you believe?" Luke absorbed her disjointed explanation in silence. “So you saw it in the paper and now you're here?" "No, Norton saw it in the paper. Luke, don't you ever pay attention when I'm talking?" "You didn't mention Norton." "Oh. Right. My subconscious must have tried to block out the horror of the experience. Happens all the time with Norton. Well, I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to wake you up, so I went to get your car.” Jordan stopped short. “You do remember about your car, don't you? From last night?" Luke eyed her guardedly. “Not really, no. Did you wreck it?" She smiled brilliantly at him. “Would you still love me if I did?" He nodded slowly. “I think, Jordan, I would still love you no matter what you did." "Oh, good, because I do an awful lot of things that will probably drive you nuts a lot of the time,” she confided. “But I didn't wreck your car. I took it away from you because you really shouldn't have been driving last night. You were pickled, Luke,” Jordan informed him solemnly. "Yes, I do remember that much,” he agreed. "So I made you take a taxi with me and we cabbed it the rest of the night, so your car was still at my place, which is how Norton caught me.” Jordan stopped there to glare fiercely at him. “You were supposed to defend me from Norton,” she informed him, stabbing him in the chest with one pointed finger as she delivered the accusation. “You weren't there. I had to jump out the window and run for my life. But I stole his newspaper first, and that's how I saw the picture." Luke took that in and tried to make sense of it all, but failed to form the bits and pieces into a coherent whole. "And I knew you loved me already, because you couldn't stand the sight of me and you said so." That made absolutely no sense, and Luke didn't even try to understand it. "When I saw that you'd sent an announcement to the paper with one of Wendy's pictures, then I knew you were a sneaky, lowdown rat and the only man I could ever love,” Jordan continued blithely. That didn't make any sense, either. Luke was beginning to think that with her, nothing ever would. "Anyway, I got some clothes and the car. Then I went back home, but you weren't there. I waited for you in the tub, but I was starting to turn into a raisin, so I left my tail on the floor for later and called Wendy." This was amazing—absolutely the most bizarre and baffling excuse for an explanation he'd ever heard.A tail? No, he didn't even want to know. He really didn't. He wouldn't even ask.

"Wendy needs us, by the way. To finish the picture. She said she's almost done and we're supposed to call her. But nothing was wrong with Aunt Cora and she didn't know where you were, so I came here." "Aunt Cora didn't know where I was?" "Well, I assume she didn't, but I didn't ask her, I asked Wendy. Luke, really, would you try to pay attention?” Jordan sat up to give him a disgusted look. “And why are you working?” she went on, with a sharp gesture at the files on his desk. “Look at you, you never let up. You need a vacation. I think we should go to the Bahamas. I didn't get to have any fun the last time I was there because of Mitchell the sadistic dentist. You remember Mitchell, right?" Luke nodded. “Yes, I remember Mitchell the sadistic dentist." "Well, he ruined my trip to the Bahamas. I got a sunburn,” she informed Luke with a sorrowful face at the memory. “But I'm getting off the point." Luke was very relieved to hear that there was a point to this. "You need me, Luke,” Jordan informed him in earnest. “Without me, you'd just dry up and turn into a file folder one day." "I thought I was going to turn into a pod person,” he offered hesitantly. "No, I only thought that because of the way you looked at me.” Remembering that, she stopped short and shuddered. “Luke, please don't ever look at me like that again. It was horrible. I got frostbite from it. It scared me. I might be traumatized by the experience.” She experimentally huddled into his chest in a traumatized ball. A slow warmth began building somewhere inside him and expanded to spread through his whole being. Jordan was here. Back with him ... where she belonged. And he wasn't ever going to let her get away again. Luke's arms closed around her in an endless, bone-crushing hug. "I'm sorry,” he murmured against her wild hair. “How can we cure your trauma?" She considered that for a moment. “Well, since you ask ... I've been having this fantasy involving your chair.” She tipped her face up to grin at him, dimples curving sweetly. "Oh?" "Yes.” Jordan touched her lips to his in a butterfly caress as she finished pushing his shirt away to bare his chest for her turn at ravishment. When she was done with him, she vowed, he'd never doubt her love again. She slid down, trailing her teeth against his chest and heard satisfying gasps and groans as Luke responded to her as he always did—violently. She kissed his hard belly as she slipped down to kneel by the chair and reached for his pants. “Don't try to stop me,” she warned him teasingly. "Jordan, I couldn't stop you to save my soul,” he groaned, and buried his fingers in her hair to tug her closer. Jordan took that as a sign that she wasn't going to get much more time to play with him. She undressed

him quickly, then assaulted his hardness with soft lips. "Jordan. Jordan.” Her name was both plea and shout as Luke hauled her up and tore at her clothing. She laughed against his lips as she helped, and then he yanked her onto his lap again. Everything about him was intoxicating—the crinkly texture of his hair, the smoothness of his skin. The exhilarating male scent that was uniquely Luke filled her senses and fired her soul. She wanted to be part of him. She wanted him to be part of her. She wanted to be so close that she'd forget what separateness felt like, forget the momentary fear that she'd be split apart from him forever. They melded two bodies into one, two hearts and minds meshed, hands clasped. They came together in an ancient joining and knew the wild, sweet bond of mutual love. After a while, she stirred and kissed his chest again. “We should get dressed,” she murmured. “What if somebody caught us naked in your chair?" Luke tipped her pointed chin up to kiss her with lingering thoroughness. “They'd think I was the luckiest man alive,” he answered quietly. “And they'd be right." Now there was an answer guaranteed to chase away the evil pod being's chill. Jordan hugged him fiercely, feeling warm all the way through again, and thoroughly loved. Then she smiled up at him, flashing deep dimples. “Let's go home." Luke traced the dents with his fingertip. “That sounds like a very good idea to me." Jordan lingered for just another long moment in his lap, then leaped up to dress in record time, even for her. It was downright chilly in December to run around in the buff. She paused to mention to Luke that he might keep his office a little warmer in the future, in case they suddenly needed the chair again, but got distracted by the magnificent sight of a naked Luke standing beside her in all his male glory. She dropped back into the chair to watch him dress. His body was so wonderful to look at. Raw and rugged, big and bold, all long slashing lines and molded muscular curves. Looking at him made her long to be a sculptor, to capture the wonder and beauty forever. Luke saw her staring at him and stopped in the middle of buttoning his shirt. “Jordan?” He waved a hand in front of her face as if testing her eyes for motion response. She gave him an innocent gamine grin. “Yes?" "What are you doing?" "It's my new hobby. Luke-watching. I think I should get some binoculars so I can do it better. Luke, you're absolutely beautiful,” she informed him seriously. He blinked at that. “I'm what?" "Beautiful.” Jordan got up to run appreciative hands over his shirt, smoothing it down and finishing the buttons. Then she slipped her arms around his waist and leaned against his solid bulk. His arms wrapped around her and tugged her closer. “You think so, huh?"

Jordan nodded silently. Luke slipped his hands around her waist and easily lifted her to eye level. “And you are exquisite,” he answered, just as seriously. “Fragile and perfect. Like precious porcelain.” He cradled her gently and brushed his lips against hers in a tender salute. “I can't believe I don't break you with my big clumsy hands." She smiled sweetly. “I love your big clumsy hands. They're very careful hands. I noticed that about you right away." He frowned. “You did not. You promised not to lie anymore, Jordan,” he reminded her. "This isn't a lie,” Jordan answered indignantly. “I can prove it. You were holding a coffee cup and it was too small for your hands. You had a spoon and sugar and you never even spilled a drop when you stirred. I can never do that—I leave splashes on the saucer and the table. But not you." Now that she mentioned it, he remembered the cafe and how he'd waited for her, wondering who she'd be and why he wouldn't be able to miss her. “You noticed all that?" She smiled and curled against him happily. “I noticed all kinds of things. I noticed what great buns you have, too, but I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to be shocked that your own fiancée would notice such a thing." He digested that piece of information. It went down well. “I'm very glad my fiancée notices such things. In the future, I hope she mentions them, too." Jordan stirred at that. “There is one thing I do have to mention." "What's that?" She looped her arms around his neck and met his eyes directly. “You thought I ran out on you, didn't you?" He returned her level gaze. “Yes." She held his gaze for a minute longer, then nodded. “Don't do it again. I told you before—I won't run out on you, even if we have a huge fight. Especially if we have a fight. A Christian never runs from a fight,” she stated self-righteously. A slow, unwilling smile tugged at his lips at that. “Never? What if the Christian meets a lion?" She winked saucily at him. “Lion taming, of course. Give me a lion and I'll make it roar and purr and follow me like a pussycat." "Grr. Roar.” Luke nuzzled her neck and her delighted laughter at his playfulness rang in the office, echoing off the walls. “Come on, lion tamer. We're going home." "About time. Oh, I almost forgot. I made you a snow angel,” she murmured as she nipped his earlobe. “And I wrote Jordan loves Luke in huge letters on your lawn. Now all the neighbors know."

"They do, huh?” He gave her a wry look. "Yes. You're mine, and all the neighbor women had better beware.” Jordan gave him a naughty smile and looked terribly pleased with herself. "I'm sure they wouldn't dare tangle with a wild Christian,” Luke teased. Then, cautiously, “You didn't make another, ah, snow sculpture, did you, Jordan?" She just laughed. “You'll have to find out for yourself, Luke."

Epilogue Theodore, Randall, Lawrence and Gary stood shoulder to shoulder and eyed the newest addition to the Foster family gallery in silence. Against a western sunset backdrop, a black horse galloped, with straining muscles and tendons, in a rocking motion that a keen observer could almost feel. Aboard the magnificent stallion, a bold outlaw rider all in black, six-guns tied down, held a beautiful captive before him in the saddle. Closer inspection revealed the outlaw's captive to be a small blond woman with short, punk hair in a flowing nineteenth-century gown, with a neckline cut down nearly to the desert tundra and revealing copious amounts of cleavage. Even closer inspection revealed a lustful look on the rider's face, clearly visible beneath the brim of a black hat, as he eyed the most fascinating scenery in the picture. The man was easily identifiable as their new brother-to-be. The captive was busy stealing the rider's gun while he gaped down the front of her gown, mischief clearly sparkling in her gray eyes. It was a perfect portrait of Jordan. "She's not wearing a bra,” Gary muttered. "She looks cold,” Randall offered. Lawrence just laughed. Theodore said softly, “She looks happy." The four men were silent for a minute. She did look happy; there was no denying that. At long last they were done with the job they'd started fourteen years before. Jordan was grown up, educated, healthy ... and now happy. They'd finally got her paired off and settled down with a man who'd keep her tied to earth. Even in the fantasy portrait, she was solid and grounded now. She wouldn't slip out of their grasp and leave them, the way their parents had slipped away. If she did, they felt reasonably certain that the man in black would go after her and drag her back. The brothers exchanged sober looks and nodded as one. Jordan was Luke's problem now. ****

Luke's problem was lying under the raided Christmas tree in a bed of fir needles, wrapping paper and ribbon, looking up at the lights. "Jordan?” Luke prodded her foot with his. "What?” Her voice was slightly muffled by the tree. "What are you doing down there?" "Looking at the lights. It's beautiful, Luke. You should see." Her soft, dreamy answer made him smile. He lowered his large frame to the floor and poked his head under the spreading fir branches to join her. "Lie on your back, it's more comfortable,” Jordan instructed, patting the spot beside her. He complied and took her hand in his. She was right, as usual. It was beautiful. The white lights reflected off of red, green and gold glass ornaments and created a sparkling display in the soft evergreen. With Jordan, he saw everything with new eyes. To her the world was beautiful and full of wonder and she'd shown him how to see it that way, too. She'd made him go caroling, and to his surprise, he'd enjoyed it, walking with her in the new snow that reflected the starlight and moonlight and made the night brilliant. A night of wonder and miracles, like the night he'd stood with her watching snow fall like sparkly silver fairy dust and he'd felt love pierce his heart for the first time. They'd gone to the tree farm to select an appropriate masterpiece for their first Christmas together. She'd driven him insane with her insistence on the perfect tree, but she'd been right about that, too. She had found the perfect tree, perfectly shaped, beautifully full, exactly the right height for his living room. Then, like a snow-covered winter sprite, she'd danced around it until he acquiesced and cut it to her specifications. She'd shown him the Church Street Marketplace holiday window displays, a sight he walked past year after year but never stopped to examine with a child's sense of wonder until now. Jordan had dragged him on a tour of every single display, applauding the innovative or touching while sneering at the blatantly commercial. Thinking of shopping led to thinking of his Christmas present. Luke turned and tugged her into his embrace to kiss her. “Did I say thank you for my present?” he asked against her lips. She'd given him a tin star for his black hat and a pair of very sexy black leather cowboy boots. He'd given her the matching earrings to her engagement ring with the threat to make her wear them if she misbehaved. He had a feeling she'd be wearing them often. And while he'd definitely thought about it, he'd known better than to buy her a truckload of bras. "Hmm. Let me think. I don't think mushy looks count, so ... no.” Jordan teased him playfully as she displayed charming dimples that never failed to tempt him. He slid a hand along her hip and cupped her against his sudden arousal. “Let me thank you properly,” he

murmured suggestively. Then he kissed her in fierce abandon and growled with contentment. Jordan nibbled his lips until the growl became a definite purr. “Ha. Tamed you again. Christian ten, lion zero,” she smirked. She had a feeling, though, that he loved being tamed. The feeling was confirmed when he smoothed back her shock of spiky white-blond hair and kissed her again, softly. “I love you, Jordan." "I love you, Luke,” she whispered back, happiness glowing in her impish features. "Merry Christmas, Snow Queen,” he murmured as his lips claimed hers again. She was disgraceful, disreputable, deceptive and double-dealing. She was a wicked fairy who haunted his days and nights. She was the best Christmas present he'd ever had. She'd buried the lonely past and given him the bright promise of a love-filled future. And some day, Luke vowed, he'd finally get the best of her in a quarrel. But even if he didn't, he would be forever thankful that his Jordan insisted on happy endings. "Luke?" "Yes?" "I have this fantasy about you and me. On a tropical island. In the sand. Want me to tell you about it?" Luke laughed. “I do." She did. He gave her a stern look. “Jordan, I'm not that kind of man." "Afterthe wedding, Luke,” Jordan promised, with a sweetly innocent smile. A smile that meant trouble. Luke could hardly wait. The End Scheherazade Tales Romance E-Novels Quality, not quantity—See for yourself! Try before you buy Read the first chapters online for free! scheherazadetales.com

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