A Ring For Christmas. Joan Elliott Pickart

extremely polite on my part to escort her to the dance floor.”

      “Well, isn’t that just the sweetest thing?” one of the other women said.

      “That’s the way I see it,” Luke said. “Come along, Maggie.”

      “You’re a lucky girl, Maggie,” the third woman said with a wistful sigh. “I’ve been trying to get Luke to collect me for all kinds of things for years and nothing has worked. What do you know that I don’t?”

      “I have no idea,” Maggie said wearily.

      “Enjoy your evening, ladies,” Luke said, starting down the hallway with Maggie in tow.

      Just as Maggie and Luke reentered the main room, a song ended and the band paused, then began to play a slow, dreamy waltz.

      “Perfect,” Luke said, smiling as he led Maggie onto the crowded, gleaming floor.

      And then Maggie was in Luke’s embrace, swaying to the music as though they had spent a lifetime dancing together. He nestled her close to his body and she totally ignored the naggy little voice in her mind that was telling her she was in a danger zone, should move backward, keep space between them.

      “Mmm,” Luke said, “you smell so nice. What kind of perfume is that?”

      “Soap,” Maggie said.

      Luke chuckled and the sexy sound caused Maggie to shiver.

      “Are you cold?” Luke said, pulling her even closer.

      Maggie’s breasts were crushed to the hard wall of Luke’s chest in a sweet pain that made her acutely aware of her femininity in contrast to his blatant maleness. Heat swirled within her, finally pulsing low in her body.

      “No. I’m…I’m definitely not cold.”

      “You feel so good in my arms, Maggie. Perfect, absolutely perfect.”

      “Well…” Maggie started, then for the life of her couldn’t think of one intelligent thing to say.

      And the music played on.

      The crowd surrounding them disappeared, along with the buzz of conversation from those on the sidelines who weren’t dancing. The room itself no longer existed. It was just the two of them and the music, encased in a sensual mist.

      Ah, Maggie, Luke thought. He wanted this dance to last forever. Holding Maggie in his arms was heaven in its purest form. She fit against him as though she’d been custom-made. Well, that was actually true. Yes, custom-made just for him because she was his other half, and he loved her with an intensity that was beyond description.

      They were dancing like Cinderella and the prince at the ball, Luke mentally rambled on. But in that fairy tale it all fell apart at the stroke of midnight. That poor slob of a prince was left with empty arms and an aching heart, wondering if he’d ever see his newfound love again.

      Well, that wasn’t going to happen to Luke St. John, damn it. No way. Because he was going to come up with a rock-solid plan that would enable him to see Maggie on a regular basis without running the risk of her turning him down.

      But how in hell was he going to do that?

      Where was this genius-level plan going to come from? He’d searched his brain for it until he was exhausted, and it wasn’t there, he’d come up empty.

      Think, St. John. His entire future happiness depended on that unknown plan.

      The song ended.

      No, Luke thought frantically. Not yet.

      “Luke?” Maggie looked up at him as they stopped moving, realizing that he had not relinquished his hold on her one iota.

      “Yes?”

      “Could we dance to just one more song?”

      “Yes,” he said. They would dance to a lifetime of songs played just for them. “It will be my pleasure.”

      Another waltz began and they swayed to the lilting music.

      What on earth had possessed her to ask Luke to dance with her again? Maggie thought, feeling a flush of embarrassment warm her cheeks. How brazen was that, for Pete’s sake? Not only brazen but dumb, really dumb. She was supposed to be putting distance between them, not practically begging to be kept nestled close, so enticingly close, to his body.

      But he felt so good and smelled so good and he danced so smoothly she was transformed into Ginger Rogers. Oh, what harm could one more dance do? She’d never see Luke again after tonight, so why not have the memory of two fantasy-filled dances instead of just one? Sure, why not?

      It was sort of like the story of Cinderella, only this handsome prince wasn’t going to run all over the kingdom of Phoenix trying on a shoe to find her. No this was it, all there would be, and the very thought of that was so depressing it was enough to make her weep buckets.

      Soon—much, much too soon—the song ended. Maggie drew a steadying breath, then stepped back out of Luke’s arms.

      “Thank you,” she said, smiling slightly. “That was lovely. I…Well, I have things to check on regarding the cleanup crew and what have you so…It was nice meeting you, Luke. Goodbye.”

      “Good night, Maggie,” he said quietly.

      Maggie made her way through the crowd on the dance floor, and Luke watched her go before weaving through the guests to return to the head table. He sat down next to his father, a distinguished-looking man with a trim build and salt-and-pepper hair.

      “Everything went very well this evening, don’t you think?” Mason St. John said. “Your brother and Ginger must be pleased.”

      “Mmm.” Luke rocked his chair back on two legs and folded his arms over his chest.

      “Your mother is still out there dancing,” his father continued. “She’s having a marvelous time.”

      “Mmm.”

      “The wedding cake was the best I’ve ever tasted,” Mason said. “Some I’ve had over the years have been like sawdust with a plastic bride and groom on top.”

      “Mmm.”

      “I do believe you’ve met your match in Maggie Jenkins, son,” Mason said. “You have all the signs of a man who has had the pins knocked out from under him.”

      “Mmm,” Luke said, then blinked and thudded the chair back onto four legs. “What?”

      Mason chuckled. “I thought that might get your attention. I’ve been watching you, Luke. You’re a goner. I was beginning to believe there wasn’t a woman in Phoenix who could stake a claim on you, but Maggie Jenkins obviously has. What I don’t understand is why you look so gloomy.”

      “It’s very simple, Dad,” Luke said. “Maggie may plan fantastic weddings but she doesn’t want one for herself. She has no intention of marrying. I don’t know if you believe in love at first sight, but it has happened to me big-time. I am irrevocably in love with a woman who wants no part of ‘until death do us part.’”

      “Well, for the record,” Mason said, “I certainly do believe in love at first sight. I fell in love with your mother when we were in the seventh grade and one of the rubber bands from her braces flew off and smacked me right in the eye. As for your Maggie? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you need a plan.”

      “Oh, man,” Luke said, squeezing the bridge of his nose, “don’t say that word. I’ve worn out my brain already trying to come up with exactly that—a plan. And I’m running on empty.

      “Maggie isn’t going to go for the wine-and-dine routine. No way. She’d head for the hills before she got tangled up in anything that even hinted of courtship, a serious relationship. I can literally see, feel, the walls she’s built around herself.”

      “So chip away at them. That’s where