A Christmas Blessing

ego that’s legendary around these parts.”
“That’s not an answer,” he taunted, enjoying the deepening color in her cheeks.
“It’s as close to one as you’re likely to get,” she taunted right back.
Luke chuckled. “Never mind. I already have my answer.”
Jessie’s gaze clashed with his, hers uncertain and very, very vulnerable. Luke finally relented. “You’re immune to me. You’ve seen me at my worst.”
“Bad enough to terrify the angels,” she confirmed, her voice laced with unmistakable gratitude for the reprieve he’d granted.
She stood up with a brisk movement and reached for the baby, making her claim on the armor he’d clung to so desperately. “I’ll feed her now,” she said.
“You haven’t had dessert,” Luke protested, not relinquishing the baby. At this rate they’d be engaged in a tug-of-war over the child.
“We’ll have it in front of the tree,” Jessie said determinedly and held out her arms.
Reluctantly, he placed Angela in her mother’s arms and watched them disappear down the hallway to the bedroom. Only when the door shut softly behind them did he breathe a heartfelt sigh of relief.
The reprieve, however, didn’t last nearly long enough for him to regain his equilibrium. The clean-up kept him occupied briefly. Fixing coffee and pie to take into the living room took only moments longer.
In the living room, he plugged in the tree and turned on the radio, once again tuning it to a station playing carols. The room shimmered with a thousand twinkling colored lights. Luke was certain he had never seen a more beautiful tree, never felt so clearly the meaning of Christmas.
As he anticipated Jessie’s return, he fingered the carved wooden figures in the crèche he’d placed beneath the tree, lingering over the baby Jesus. His thoughts were on another baby, one he wished with all of his jaded heart was his own.
He was standing, still and silent, when he sensed Jessie’s approach. He heard her soft, indrawn breath. The faint scent of her perfume whispered through the air, something fresh and light and indescribably sexy.
“Oh, Luke, it’s absolutely spectacular,” she murmured. “The whole room feels as if it’s alive with color.”
He glanced down and saw reflected sparks of light shimmering in her eyes. Her lush mouth was curved in the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. Angela was nestled in her arms, spawning inevitable comparisons to the most finely drawn works of Madonna and child. In motherhood, even more than before, Jessie was both mysterious and beautiful, so very beautiful that it made his heart ache.
Nothing in heaven or hell could have prevented what happened next. Luke felt his control slipping, his resolve vanishing on a tide of desperate longing. He lowered his head slowly, pausing for the briefest of instants to gauge Jessie’s reaction before gently touching his mouth to hers.
The kiss was like brushing up against fire, hot and dangerous and alluring. He lingered no longer than a heartbeat, but it was enough to send heat shimmering through him, to stir desire into a relentless, demanding need. The temptation to tarry longer, the need to savor, washed over him in great, huge, pulsing waves.
This one last time, though, the determination to cling to honor was powerful enough to save him, to save them both. He drew back reluctantly, examining Jessie’s dazed eyes and flushed cheeks for signs of horror or panic. He saw—or thought he saw—only a hunger that matched his own and, to his deep regret, the grit to resist, the impulse to run.
“Merry Christmas,” he said softly before she could flee.
She hesitated, her eyes shadowed with worry. “Merry Christmas,” she said finally, apparently accepting the truce he was offering in their emotional balancing act.
Luke hid a sigh of relief. She hadn’t run yet and he had just the thing to see that she didn’t. “I found Consuela’s tapes. What’ll it be?”
Jessie blinked away what might have been tears, then said, “Miracle on 34th Street, I think.”
“Good choice,” he said too exuberantly. He slid the tape into the VCR and flipped on the TV while Jessie settled herself and the baby on the sofa.
Luke warned himself to sit in a chair on the opposite side of the room, warned himself to keep distance between them. He actually took a step in that direction, before reversing and sinking onto the far side of the sofa.
Jessie shot him a startled look, then seemed to measure the space between them. Apparently it was enough to reassure her, because slowly, visibly she began to relax, her gaze fixed on the TV screen where the holiday classic was unfolding.
They could have been watching Dr. Zhivago for all Luke saw. He couldn’t seem to drag his gaze or his thoughts away from Jessie. Each breath he drew was ragged with desire. Each moment that passed was sheer torment as his head struggled between right and wrong.
And yet, despite the agony of doing what he knew deep in his gut was right, he thought he had never been happier or more content. The night held promise tantalizingly out of reach, but it shimmered with possibilities just the same. A few stolen hours, he vowed. No more. He would soak up the scent of her, the sight of her so that every fiber of his being could hold the memory forever.
Her laughter, as light as a spring breeze, rippled over him leaving him aroused and aching. Tears spilled down her cheeks unchecked, luring his touch. His fingers trembled as he reached to wipe away the sentimental traces of dampness. At his touch, her gaze flew to his, startled…hopeful.
That hint of temptation in her eyes was warning enough. If Jessie was losing her resolve tonight, then being strong, being stoic was going to be up to him.
He withdrew his hand and thought it was the hardest thing he had ever done. Only one thing he could imagine would ever be harder—letting her go. And tomorrow, just a few brief hours from now, he would be put to the test.

Chapter Eight
Christmas morning dawned sunny and clear. The snow shimmered