“Don’t be afraid of me, Jessie,” he said, his voice husky. “I won’t hurt you.”
“But I might hurt you,” she said in a voice laden with regret. “I’m cursed. And it’s Christmas. I don’t stand a chance. Neither do you. You’ll be better off when you’re rid of me.”
He squeezed her hand. “Maybe the trick is to replace your Christmas bad luck with good luck. You know that saying ‘When someone hands you a bag of bones, make soup.’ ”
“Don’t you mean lemons, and lemonade?”
He scowled at her interruption and went on. “Treat our meeting as a miracle instead of a curse…oh, hell, I’m not very good with this kind of stuff. I have all these thoughts and feelings inside, but they just don’t come out right.” He ducked his head in embarrassment. “I’m not very good with words.”
She squeezed his hand back, and he thought his heart would explode with happiness. “You’re doing just fine,” she assured him.
“I still say we should go to my place. It’s only fifteen minutes from here. You could warm up, and—”
“No, I’ve got to get back. Sister Clara will be frantic.”
“Sister? I thought she was your aunt.”
“I call her aunt, everyone who lives at ‘Clara’s House’ does,” she said, waving her free hand dismissively. He was holding on to her other hand for dear life.
He frowned. “You live at ‘Clara’s House’? An orphanage?”
“No. Of course not. But I used to. Besides, it’s not really an orphanage. It’s sort of a foster home for incorrigible kids.”
Now, that was a revelation. Jessie had been an orphan, and incorrigible. His lips twitched with humor. He could understand the incorrigible part. “You mean juvenile delinquents?”
“They don’t call them j.d.’s anymore. Politically incorrect.” She smiled at him shyly, and Luke could hardly speak over the lump in his throat. Who would have thought that he’d fall in love so quick, so hard?
“What do you do for a living, Jessie?” he asked finally when he got his emotions under control.
She regarded him mischievously, giving him her full attention now. “So you’re finally convinced I’m not a nun?”
“Babe, nuns don’t tongue kiss,” he replied and winked at her.
He could see a blush bloom on her cheeks. Still, she gave him a slick comeback. “Kissed a lot of nuns, have you?”
How lucky could a guy be? A gorgeous redhead. And a sense of humor, too. He was going to light a few thank-you candles the next time he went to church.
He released her hand and wagged a finger at her. “You’re changing the subject. What do you do for a living, besides burglary?” Then he immediately took her hand again. He wondered idly what she’d do if he tried to pull her over onto his lap. Or stopped the car to kiss her again…and again…and again. And unbuckled her belt, and…oh, brother! About 50,000 of his testosterone were revving up for the start signal.
“I didn’t rob…oh, never mind,” she said huffily. “I don’t suppose you’d buy Avon Lady?”
“Hell, why not? You’ve hit me with Santa, nun, and gun moll so far. There isn’t anything else you could do that would surprise me.” Except maybe jump onto my lap, uninvited. Yeah! I should be so lucky.
“I’m a wedding caterer.”
“Say that again.”
“I bake spectacular wedding cakes…the best almond creme, ten-tier cake in the country. And I supply gourmet food for wedding receptions.”
“Here in Philly?”
“No. I’m from Chicago.”
Whoa! Red flag! That posed some logistical problems. Long-distance dating and all that. Well, no problem! He’d skip the dating and get right down to the serious stuff. Hmmm. I wonder how long I can wait before I propose? Oops! First, I’ve got to tell her I love her. Then I can ask her to marry me and move to Philly. Betcha I could do that all in one shot. Yep, that’s what I’ll do. I love you, let’s tie the knot, wild sex, wedding. Or maybe I could reverse the order. Oh, yeah! Wild sex, I love you, wild sex, let’s tie the knot, wild sex, wedding, wild sex. Whatever. He could barely wait.
“Why are you grinning?” she asked.
“You don’t want to know, sweetheart,” he chuckled. Yet.
“If you’re remotely considering sinking your teeth into my neck and sucking blood, forget it. I have a twentieth-degree black belt in karate.”
He shook his head like a shaggy dog to clear it. Sometimes her train of thought confused him. Then he understood. She was associating him with that movie Interview with a Vampire. And he probably had been ogling her as if he’d like to suck a few body parts, except his preference would be a bit lower than her throat.
“You’re smirking again.”
“I don’t smirk. That was a lascivious smile.”
“Looked like a smirk to me.”
Then he thought of something else and he hooted at her, “So, you do think I resemble Brad Pitt.”
“Well, maybe an older version,” she conceded with a sniff.
He lifted their laced fingers to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. He couldn’t help himself.
Instead of resisting, she sighed. That’s all. Just a sigh.
The 50,000 testosterone split and multiplied into an orgy of anticipation. He didn’t think he could wait another five minutes before kissing her again.
But then, still another thought occurred to him, and his heart began to race with anxiety. “You’re not married, are you?”
“Almost, but not quite.”
“Almost? Almost? What do you mean ‘almost?’ ” His chest constricted so tightly he could scarcely breathe.
“I got jilted two weeks ago by my fiance, Burton Richards the Third. Burt and I were engaged for a year, but he just discovered that the trust fund I got on my thirtieth birthday isn’t quite as large as he’d anticipated.”
Luke let out a whoosh of relief. “That’s too bad…about you and Burp,” he said sweetly. He felt like pumping his fist in the air with the victory sign.
“Burt,” she corrected, then shrugged. “It’s just as well. I didn’t like him much toward the end anyhow. He played golf a lot,” she confided.