Angels And Elves

She was a spell weaver. Miss Jillian Jones-Jenkins talked like she had stepped out of the past and into his present. She was rattling him, throwing him off kilter. Well, hell—and perdition, too, for crying out loud.

“Hello?” Deedee said. “Has a truce been called? Is anyone still awake here?”

“I’m not a miscreant,” Forrest said, shaking his head. “Okay? Are we clear on that one? I’m here for a purpose.”

“Do tell,” Jillian said, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“I’m attempting to do that, madam,” he said, glaring at her. “I bought one of your books when I first came in. It’s behind the counter and has my name on it.”

“So, why were you skulking?” Jillian asked, leaning toward him slightly. “Answer me that.”

“Because the book is for my sister, Andrea,” he said, his voice rising. “Andrea MacAllister Stewart? Your friend? You know, the one who’s expecting twins and has been instructed by her doctor to stay in bed because they don’t want the babies to be born too early. She’s very disappointed that she couldn’t come here today.”

“Of course,” Deedee said, beaming, “Forrest MacAllister. Andrea has spoken of you so often, and was very excited that you were coming home from Japan. And, my, my, here you are. Isn’t this a marvelous surprise, Jillian? We’re finally meeting Andrea’s brother, Forrest.”

“Mmm.” Jillian lifted her chin a notch. “Being Andrea’s brother does not explain Mr. MacAllister’s lengthy stretch of skulking.”

“Well, hell, what do you expect?” he said, volume now on high. “Do you think I was going to stand in line with a bunch of giggling, fawning women to have a sappy romance novel autographed? Not in this lifetime, sweetheart.”

“Uh-oh,” Deedee muttered.

Uh-oh, Forrest thought, that had not been a brilliant thing to say.

Fury was building in Jillian like a tempestuous storm, gaining force, soon ready to explode. Eyes that had been radiating gray, pussy willow softness, were now silver daggers prepared to strike him dead. The flush on her cheeks was caused by anger, and her breasts, those full, lush breasts, rapidly rose and fell in an enticing rhythm.

She was absolutely sensational.

“You...you...” Jillian sputtered.

“Wait, whoa, halt,” Forrest said. He quickly raised both hands in a gesture of peace. “That didn’t sound right. What I meant to say is...” Think, MacAllister! He was a breath away from being murdered! “A man, any man, is out of his league in a large group of women. It’s overwhelming, you know what I mean?” He produced his most dazzling smile. “I was nervous, shaking in my shorts.”

“Like hell,” Jillian said, narrowing her eyes.

Forrest’s smile disappeared. “I don’t think they said that back in the old-fashioned days. Anyway, I’m sure your book is great, really wonderful. I like romance. Hell, I love romance. I’m a very romantic guy. Really. You can ask any woman I’ve ever— Cancel that.”

“Mr. MacAllister,” Jillian said.

“Forrest. Call me Forrest. Look, I’m in awe of anyone who can write a book and get it published. All I can do in the writing arena is make out checks to pay my bills. I’d appreciate it if you’d autograph the copy of your book I bought for Andrea. Having your newest novel to read will help take her mind off her worries about the babies.

“Listen, I’ll read the book myself, cover to cover. I’m sorry if I insulted you. I stressed out because of all those women, that’s all. Would you please sign the book for Andrea?”

Oh, perdition, Jillian thought, Forrest MacAllister didn’t play fair. There had been an endearing, little-boy quality about him as he spilled forth his sermonette.

Also evident was a genuine sincerity in his voice, and she knew without doubt that he loved his sister, Andrea, very deeply.

Ever since she and Andrea had become friends, Jillian had been aware that the MacAllisters were a close-knit, devoted-to-each-other family. When she was growing up she used to daydream, to fantasize, about how wonderful it would be to have brothers and sisters, and parents who—

“Jillian?” Forrest said.

“Yes, of course,” she said, smiling. “I’ll be happy to autograph Andrea’s book.”

“Praise the Lord,” Deedee said, looking heavenward. She hurried to retrieve the book from behind the counter, then shoved it into Jillian’s hands. “Write.”

Jillian sat down behind the table and did as instructed. A few minutes later, she held out the book to Forrest.

“There you are,” she said. “I hope Andrea enjoys it. Please tell her that I’ll come visit her very soon.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking the novel from her hand. “Thank you very much.”

Again their eyes met, and again neither moved, nor hardly breathed. Currents of crackling sensuality seemed to weave back and forth between them, drawing them close even while they stayed exactly where they were. Their hearts raced, and heat pulsed within as their startling passion heightened.

“Well, I...” Deedee started.

“What!” Jillian and Forrest both jerked in surprise at the sound of Deedee’s voice and the spell was broken.

Placing one hand over her heart, Deedee said, “All I was going to say is that we’re finished here, and you can head for home and collapse, Jillian. I wish I could drive you, but I’m due at a Women in Business meeting.”

“I’ll call a taxi,” Jillian said, getting to her feet. “Don’t give it another thought, Deedee.”

“I’d be happy to take you home, Miss...” Forrest paused. “Jillian.”

“Oh, no, a taxi will be fine, Mr. MacAllister. Thank you,” she said, not looking at him.

“Forrest. Please accept my offer of a ride. It will help make up for my frightening you while I was ‘skulking.’ At least I now know that I can ‘skulk’ in case the need for it ever arises. I’ll drive you home. Right? Right. That’s settled. Let’s go.”

“Good idea,” Deedee said. “There’s nothing to worry about, Jillian. We know Andrea, Forrest is Andrea’s brother, and that’s good enough for me. It’s fine with you, too, but you’re too tired to realize it.”

“But—” Jillian began, but no one paid any attention to her.

“Jillian came here right from the airport,” Deedee informed Forrest. “Her luggage is in the back room. I’ll let you out the front door so you can get your car. Drive down the alley to the rear entrance and we’ll load you up.”

“But—” Jillian tried again.

“Got it,” Forrest said, starting toward the front door.

Deedee was right behind him.

“Fine,” Jillian said, throwing up her hands. “Whatever.”

* * *

Once the rear door of the store was locked behind Jillian and Forrest, Deedee hurried to the telephone and called Andrea.

“It was touch and go, Andrea,” Deedee said breathlessly, “but I did it. Forrest is, as we speak, driving Jillian home. Goodness, your brother is a dreamboat. Anyway, so far, so good...well, providing Jillian doesn’t murder him before they get to her house. Now then, tomorrow I’ll...”

Two

Forrest’s car was a late-model silver BMW sedan with a plush, gray interior. Jillian settled onto the seat with a weary sigh of pleasure, inhaling the heavenly aroma of rich leather in the process.

Sleep, she thought. It was a twenty-minute drive to her house, and then she could sleep, sleep, sleep. And during said drive, she would not pay one iota of attention to Mr. Forrest MacAllister.

The man was a menace. His blatant masculinity had a disturbing effect on her, making her acutely aware of her own femininity. She had felt it—desire—heated and pulsing deep and low within her. Oh, yes, that had been desire; very unwelcome desire.

Big macho deal, she thought, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. It didn’t mean a thing. It had all been a product of her bone-weary fatigue. Forrest was driving her home, she would bid him adieu, and that would be that. She’d never see him again.

Never? Never again gaze into those incredible chocolate-brown eyes? Never again imagine what it might be like to sink her fingers into the thick depths of his auburn hair? Never again see his sensual lips, his rugged, handsome face, the wide, solid width of his shoulders? Never again hear the rich timbre of his laughter? Never again...

Oh, Jillian, please. Just shut up. Think about sleep, and shut up.

She blanked her mind and drifted off into a light slumber.

Beautiful, Forrest thought, glancing over at her. He quickly redirected his attention to the heavy rush-hour traffic. He was certain Jillian was asleep. Her breathing was slow and steady, her delicate features relaxed and lovely.

It would be nice to think that she was so comfortable in his presence, and trusted him enough, that she could allow herself to doze off. Nice, but not true. She was exhausted, and would probably have fallen asleep even if he was the miscreant Jack the Ripper.

Perdition, he thought, chuckling softly. He really got a kick out of her bygone-era vocabulary. Jillian Jones-Jenkins was a fascinating woman. Unique. Intelligent. Talented. Compelling. Gorgeous.

But Jillian as one of his Angels and Elves assignments?

Forrest frowned and narrowed his eyes in concentration. He had to think this through in a logical manner.

Getting Jillian to take a fresh look at the structure of her existence, to achieve a healthier balance of work and play, was very important to Andrea and Deedee. That made sense. A concern for another person’s well-being was one of the basic ingredients of friendship.

Andrea, due to her extremely pregnant condition, should be spared any kind of stress or upset. Jillian’s work habits were causing Andrea stress and upset. If he agreed to take Jillian on as an Angels and Elves assignment, he would be able to remove said stress and upset from Andrea’s life.

He certainly hadn’t planned to grant Andrea her ridiculous request. No, sir, this was to have been a rare moment in history when his little sister wouldn’t get her own way when dealing with big brother Forrest.

But, well, having twins was serious business, and making certain they didn’t arrive too early was imperative. He still thought Andrea’s idea was ridiculous, and he was absolutely not going to be manipulated into agreeing to do it.

What he was going to do, was ask Jillian to go out on a social basis, and nudge her to reexamine her priorities, because he had decided it would be beneficial to Andrea’s state of mind. He was being a loyal and loving brother, a true-blue MacAllister.

There, now. He had it all figured out and under control. Andrea might think she’d pushed his buttons again, and that she’d manipulated him into taking this Angels and Elves assignment, but he knew better.

Ah, yes, there were times when a man had to put the needs of others first.

He glanced at Jillian.

Times when he just had to do what he had to do.

* * *

Darkness had fallen by the time Forrest reached the address Jillian had given him. He found himself in an affluent neighborhood of large, Spanish-style homes on the edge of Ventura.

As he drove slowly along the circular driveway, motion-sensing security lights came alive, illuminating the entire front of the house.

Forrest glanced over at Jillian to see if the sudden brightness had awakened her, but she slept on. She still didn’t stir when he stopped the car and turned off the ignition.

He stared at her for a long moment, resisting the urge to lean across the seat and kiss her inviting and very enticing, slightly parted lips. By sheer force of will, he switched his attention to the exterior of the house.

Constructed of white stucco with a red-tile roof, it was one story with tall, narrow windows and an intricately carved, dark wood front door. Low, deep-green shrubbery edged the structure, its vivid color a perfect finishing touch.

Forrest nodded in approval, then turned to look at Jillian again. He tentatively raised one hand, then placed it gently on her shoulder, increasing the pressure of his fingers enough to give her a small shake.

“Jillian?” he said. “You’re home. Wake up so you can go to sleep.” He frowned; that sounded stupid. “Jillian, yo, Jillian, rise and shine.”

“Nay, I say,” she mumbled, settling deeper into the seat. “Leave me be.”

Forrest grinned, once again enthralled by Jillian’s other-era vocabulary.

“Mayhap, Lady Jillian,” he said, “it would behoove you to awaken and sally forth to yon hacienda to sleep in your own private chamber.” Not bad, MacAllister. He was really getting the hang of this nutsy stuff. “Lady Jillian?”

She slowly lifted her lashes, then a puzzled expression settled over her features.

“What? Where?” She started, then suddenly straightened. “Oh, I...” She looked at Forrest. “I fell asleep. That was extremely rude of me, to say the least. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t give it another thought. I’m a laid-back taxi driver, and you are one very exhausted passenger.”

“I won’t argue with you about that,” she said, opening the car door. “All I can think about is getting into my bed.”

Interesting thought, Forrest mused, as he got out of the car. More than interesting.

Jillian went to the front door, yawning as she inserted the key in the lock. Forrest pulled the luggage from the car, managing to tote the four pieces in one trip, and followed Jillian inside to set the suitcases in the entry hall.

He swept his gaze over as much of the interior of the house as he could see. Jillian had decorated with a Southwestern flair in muted tones of salmon, pale turquoise and creamy white, creating a soothing, cool atmosphere.

“Nice,” he said, nodding. “Your home is very nice.”

“Thank you. I’d give you a tour, but I’m so tired I’d probably get lost.” Jillian yawned again. “I’m a total wreck.”

“Would you like me to carry forth your luggage to your chamber, Lady Jillian?”

Jillian giggled, then blinked as she realized she’d made the ridiculous sound.

“No, knave,” she said, with a flip of one hand. “Leave it be.” She smiled. “Thank you for the ride home, Forrest. It was a pleasure meeting you, and I apologize for my odd behavior at the bookstore. When I’m this exhausted, I’m not myself.”

“Well, Miss Whoever-you-are,” he said, smiling, “I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Dinner? Oh, sure. Fine. Bye.” She turned and started to walk away.

“Jillian?”

She stopped and looked at Forrest over one shoulder. “Hmm?”

“Don’t you think you should lock the door behind me when I leave?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course I should. Perdition, where is my mind?”

“Already in your bed asleep.” He went to the door and Jillian shuffled forward to grip the doorknob. “Seven-thirty.”

“It is?” she said, appearing confused. “No, it’s not that late, is it? Well, maybe it is.” She shrugged. “Who cares?”

“No, no, I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow night for dinner.” He paused. “Are you going to remember having this conversation?”

“Of course. No problem.”

Forrest took one step back into the house and dropped a quick kiss on her lips.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll see you then.” Excellent. His Angels and Elves assignment was officially launched. “Sleep well, Jillian.”

Jillian closed the door slowly, then locked it. The fingertips of one hand floated up to touch her lips. They still tingled from Forrest’s kiss.

“Merciful saints,” she mumbled. “Oh, Jillian, go to bed.”

Ten minutes later, she slipped between the cool sheets on her king-size bed, and was asleep the instant her head met the soft pillow.

* * *

At 1:00 a.m., Forrest closed the book he’d been reading since he’d arrived back at his apartment, and stared at the cover.

“’Midnight Embrace,‘” he read aloud, “‘by Jillian Jones-Jenkins.’”

It was an extremely well-written novel. He hadn’t expected to enjoy it, but he had said he would read it.

To his surprise, he’d become completely engrossed in the intricate plot, found himself cheering on the hero and heroine, and eagerly turning the pages to discover how their dilemma would be solved.

He’d razzed Andrea for years about the sappy romance novels she read. Well, he’d have to eat crow. Big-time crow, because he intended to ask Andrea if she’d loan him Jillian’s other novels so he could read them.

Jillian, he thought, turning the book over to look at the photograph on the back. Lord, she was beautiful. The black-and-white photo didn’t do justice to her incredible gray eyes, her silky, dark brown hair, or her peaches-and-cream complexion.

His gaze moved to Jillian’s lips.

Oh, yes, those kissable-looking lips were very kissable, indeed. He’d never done anything quite so impulsive and pushy as kissing a woman he’d just met. He hadn’t thought about doing it, he’d just suddenly kissed her. And it had been a quick little kiss. No big deal.

Wrong. The moment his lips had touched Jillian’s, an explosion of sensations had rocketed through him. He’d wanted to haul her into his arms and deepen the kiss, savor more of her sweet taste, feel her respond to him, woman to man. Heat had thrummed through his body with a nearly staggering intensity.

Miss Jillian Jones-Jenkins had certainly had an impact on him, both physically and mentally. She was endearing and enchanting, with her fatigue-induced old-fashioned vocabulary.

There was a fiery temper there, too, evidenced by her threat to ink him to death with her mighty pen and her volatile reaction to his derogatory remark about romance novels.

Forrest chuckled, placed the book on the table next to him, and got to his feet. He stared down at the glossy photograph.

“Good night, Lady Jillian,” he said. “I am definitely, most definitely, looking forward to our dinner date.”

Well, one thing was beginning to become clear—his Angels and Elves assignment wasn’t going to be a study in misery. Spending time with Jillian Jones-Jenkins, helping her get her life back on track with a better balance of labor and leisure, wouldn’t be hard to do. Not at all.

He yawned.

“Perdition,” he said aloud, “I need some sleep.”

* * *

Early the next afternoon, Jillian stirred, opened one eye and wondered foggily what hotel she was in. In the next moment, she opened both eyes, smiled, then stretched like a lazy kitten as she realized she was at home.

“Dee-lightful,” she said.

But an instant later she frowned, as she became fully awake.

She’d dreamed about Forrest MacAllister. It had been one of those jumbled dreams that made absolutely no sense, and had no real plot, per se; but Forrest had been there, no doubt about it.

He’d been dressed as a member of the English ton in the late 1800s, complete with ruffled shirt and frilly cuffs, and thigh-hugging trousers tucked into shining leather boots that came to midcalf. His rich auburn hair had been caught in a queue with a black velvet ribbon.

Jillian narrowed her eyes, concentrating on details of the dream.

She had been decked out in a gorgeous ballgown of green velvet with bows drawing up both front halves of the skirt to reveal a paler-green satin underskirt. The bodice had been cut low to expose just the tops of her breasts, and her hair had been arranged in an elaborate, upswept creation threaded through with narrow green ribbons.

She and Forrest, she realized, had appeared like characters who had stepped from the pages of one of her books. They were the hero and heroine in all their splendor.

That much was clear, but from then on the dream had been a bit wacky. They had been dancing at a crowded ball, swirling gracefully around the floor. In the next moment, though, they’d been waltzing in Deedee’s store, and then later in Jillian’s own living room.

“Heavens,” she said, throwing back the blankets, “what nonsense.”

Leaving the bed, she started across the room, only to stop after going a few feet. She placed the fingertips of one hand on her lips, the sudden remembrance of Forrest’s quick but unforgettable kiss causing a shiver to skitter along her spine.

Now wait a minute. That kiss had not been in the dream. It had taken place in her very own entry hall. That cocky Forrest MacAllister had actually kissed her.

With a cluck of disgust she went into the bathroom, and minutes later was standing under the warm spray of the shower, vigorously shampooing her hair.

In all fairness she had to admit it had been a sensational, albeit short, kiss. And it wasn’t as though Forrest had hauled her into his arms and kissed the living daylights out of her—which would have been extremely rude.

No, it had been a rather...polite...yes, polite kiss. A tad pushy, considering they’d only just met, but definitely memorable.

As Jillian dried herself with a huge, fluffy towel, she was aware of a sense of something nagging at her. What was she forgetting? What was vying for attention that she couldn’t remember? She had been so exhausted the previous night, there was no telling what she didn’t recall in the light of a new day.

With a shrug of dismissal, she left the bathroom and dressed in jeans faded in spots to white, a baggy red sweatshirt that boasted the slogan Writers Always Have the Last Word, and red-and-white polka-dot socks.

After a cup of Earl Grey tea and a bowl of granola and yogurt, she called her secretary, Lorraine, to announce her arrival home.

Ever-efficient Lorraine reported that the necessary bills had been paid during Jillian’s absence, the newspaper delivery would resume today, the housekeeper had been instructed to stock the refrigerator yesterday per the usual procedure, and everything was under control.

“You’re a gift from the heavens,” Jillian said.

“I know,” Lorraine said. “I’m fantastic. I have your fan mail here, but fear not, I won’t darken your doorway for two weeks. You’re officially on vacation as of dawn today. What are you going to do this time?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, frowning slightly. “The tour was so hectic I didn’t have a spare second to think about it.”

“Well, darn,” the secretary said. “I look forward to hearing about The Project. That’s in capital letters, you understand. Let’s see. Over the years, you’ve used your two-week hiatus to go on a cruise, take knitting lessons, volunteer to read stories to children in the hospital, and on the list goes. My favorite was when you wallpapered the bathroom.”

Jillian laughed. “Which had to be redone by a professional.”

“True. Goodness, Jillian, it’s hard to believe you haven’t settled on The Project. This is day one, you know, and you’re wasting time even as we speak.”

“I realize that. I’m thinking, I’m thinking. I’ll talk to you later, Lorraine. Oh, how are your husband and your grandchildren?”

“My darling hubby is still a couch potato, and the grandkids are brilliant and incredibly cute. Bye for now, boss.”

Jillian replaced the receiver slowly, then stared at it for a long moment.

Lorraine was right. She’d always decided on The Project well before her coveted two weeks began. Her publisher had her latest book in production, the grueling promotional tour was gratefully over, and she would have her self-indulgent fourteen days before starting a new novel, as per her usual routine.

“Think, Jillian,” she told herself.

She thought about The Project while she toted her luggage to her room and unpacked, then stored the suitcases in the back of one of the guest-room closets. She thought while washing and drying clothes, and making a pile to go to the cleaners’. She thought while she sorted through the stack of receipts she’d accumulated during the tour, and made a list of thank-you notes to be written to the bookstore owners who had hosted her autograph parties across the country. She thought while she put the paperwork in her large, sunny office and firmly closed the door, vowing not to open it for fourteen days.