Frivolous Maggie. The temperamental artist. The spoiled Connelly baby. No one seemed to care that she was earning a double major in business and art.
Damn it, she thought, missing the king’s keep-your-chin-up encouragement.
She worked as hard as she played. Harder, she decided, staring at the stack of paperwork on Luke’s desk. She’d studied for finals in the midst of all this. And now she had to contend with images of her traitorous uncle.
Weary, she shifted her gaze to Luke. He rubbed his temples and went back to the laptop. She could see the strain on his face, the headache forming beneath his brow. He worked hard, too. Only he never gave himself a break. He never had any fun.
Maggie gazed out the window, at the perfectly beautiful winter day, at the snow Luke had predicted. “Let’s get out of here,” she said. “Let’s ditch these files and go build a snowman.” With a big, carrot nose, she thought, and a smile made of twigs.
He gave her an incredulous look. “I’m not going to waste valuable time goofing around. I’ve got a schedule to keep.”
Not easily deterred, she moved away from the window and devised a brilliant plan. One way or another, she and Luke were going to play in the snow. “How about lunch? You have to eat, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Then let’s go out for lunch.”
He agreed, albeit reluctantly, to take an hour off for a meal. Precisely one hour, he stipulated, sounding like the ex-military man that he was.
Maggie buttoned her coat and slipped on a pair of kidskin gloves. Luke reached for a leather jacket, then pulled a hand through his hair, smoothing a few stray locks into place.
Dressed for the weather, they exited the house, and he locked the door behind them. As he turned and strode toward his SUV, Maggie knelt to the ground. And then, as quickly as her hands would allow, she formed a snowball.
Rising, she took aim and heaved it. The snowball sailed through the air and hit Luke in the back, dissolving into a white burst as it made the connection.
He spun around, and Maggie swallowed her triumphant smile.
The first thing out of his mouth was a curse. The second was a complaint.
“Damn it. I dropped the keys.” He kicked the fresh powder. “And now I’ve got to dig through this mess to find them.”
She offered to help, thinking he had to be the biggest grump on earth. The snow wasn’t that deep. How far could the keys have gone?
Luke put on his gloves, and they sifted through the powder, neither uttering a single word. Disgusted, Maggie turned her back and searched in another spot.
And that was when a huge clump of snow fell right on top of her head.
Stunned, she wiped away the moisture dripping onto her face. The sound of keys jangling caught her attention. She turned and saw Luke standing above her, a dastardly grin on his handsome face.
“You’ve been had,” he said, shoving the keys back into his pocket, where they had apparently been all along.
“Oh, yeah?” Maggie wanted to hug him breathless, but instead she packed another snowball, making her intentions clear.
Instantly he ducked for cover, choosing a battle station on the other side of the car.
The war was on.
Three
Maggie peered around the tailgate, but saw neither hide nor hair of Luke. Her hide and her hair, on the other hand, were drenched. He’d outsmarted every maneuver she’d tried so far.
Where was he? Under the vehicle? Wedged against a tire? She had an arsenal of snowballs ready to go, just waiting for him to show his sneaky face.
Determined to win, she opted for another tactic. The damsel-in-distress ploy ought to work. A macho guy like Luke should fall for that. Her brothers usually did. Men, she thought with a feminine gleam in her eye, were natural-born suckers.
“It’s time to quit,” she called out. “I’m freezing, and I want to go inside.”
She continued to peer around the SUV, armed with a carefully packed snowball. Testing the weight in her hand, she smiled. It was, in her estimation, a solid sphere of ice.
“Luke!” she called out again. “This isn’t funny. I’m exhausted, and you have the keys to the house.”
“Nice try, princess,” a deep voice said from behind her.
She turned and saw Luke aiming a bucket of snow at her. Still clutching her ammunition, Maggie let out a girlish squeal and took off running.
Bucket in hand, he chased her.
They danced around a tree, back and forth, like foolhardy kids. There was no time to think, to stop and admire the husky sound of his laughter or the way his dark eyes crinkled when he smiled.
She was having too much fun to analyze the moment. And so was he.
Maggie tossed the snowball at him. It sailed past his shoulder and splattered against the tree. White flecks glistened against the bark, the edges icy and sharp.
Luke moved toward her, slowly, teasing her with the bucket, giving her a chance to turn tail and run.
Instead, she did something to catch him off guard. She charged him, full force, intending to knock the ammunition out of his hand.
The bucket went flying, and so did she.
When she tackled Luke, he lost his footing and took her down with him. Arms and legs tangling, they rolled, like snowmen toppling to the ground. Maggie’s breath rushed out in gasping pants.
He ended up on top, his weight sinking into hers, powdery flakes fluttering around them. He wiped the snow from her face, his gloved hand brushing gently.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” She touched his face, too. Then ran her hands through his hair, combing the dampness away from his forehead.
Their eyes met and held. Without speaking, they stared at each other, their emotions frozen in time.
It could have been a dream, she thought. A fantasy drifting on the edge of reality. If she looked past him, she would see a rainbow, an arc of gems shooting across the December sky.
He whispered her name, and the jewels grew brighter—diamonds, rubies, emeralds falling from the heavens.
Maggie and Luke moved at the same time, in the same instant. She drew him closer, and he lowered his head.
The wind whipped over them, and they kissed.
Desperately.
He sucked on her bottom lip, caught it with his teeth. The imaginary rainbow blurred her vision, sending sparks over every inch of her skin.
Thrusting his tongue into her mouth, he clasped both of her hands in his, taking possession, staking his claim.
Maggie wanted to possess him, too. To make Lucas Starwind hers. To take everything that he was and wrap him tightly around her heart. He tasted like heat and snow, like ice dripping over a long, dark, dangerous candle, the wick igniting into a flame.
A gust of cold air sliced over them, but neither noticed.
They kissed, again and again, questing for more—nibbling, licking, absorbing every thrilling sensation.
Luke released her hands, and they went after each other. She unzipped his jacket; he unbuttoned her coat. He slid his hips between her legs; she bumped his fly.
They were making love in their minds,