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.
She thought while she ate a peanut-butter and banana sandwich, then watched a talk show on television.
As dusk began to darken the living room, she closed the drapes, turned on several lamps, lit a crackling fire in the hearth, and thought.
She slouched rather ungracefully onto the sofa facing the fireplace, stretching her legs straight out in front of her and wiggling her red-and-white-polka-dot-clad toes. While the wobbling pattern of the socks made her slightly dizzy, it did not transmit a genius-level idea for The Project.
“Food,” she said, getting to her feet again. “I’ll feed my brain.”
A few minutes later, she replaced the receiver of the telephone, having requested a Super Duper Pizza Supreme Deluxe Extraordinaire to be delivered to the house.
Returning to the living room, she began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace.
“Skydiving?” she muttered. “Oh, good grief, no, I’d probably break myself. Gourmet cooking lessons?” She shook her head. “I’d become fat as a pig. Learn to speak Russian? Japanese? French?” She frowned. “Who would I talk to in Russian? Oh, darn it, I’ve already wasted one of my precious fourteen days.”
She plopped back onto the sofa with a dejected sigh, and stared gloomily into the nearly-hypnotizing flames of the fire. When the telephone rang, she jerked in surprise as she was startled out of her semitrance. She snatched up the receiver of the telephone on the end table.
“Hello?”
“Jillian? Hi, it’s Deedee. I’ve been trying to call you all day, but it was so busy at the store, I didn’t have a chance. There’s something important that I need to talk to you about. I’d rather do this in person, but... Do you have time to chat?”
“Sure. What’s on your mind?”
“First of all, I want to thank you for doing the autographing yesterday. I know how tired you were, and I appreciate your tacking me onto the end of that grueling tour.”
“No problem. I always enjoy doing book-signings at Books and Books. Your customers are such sweethearts. Now, what’s this ‘something important’ you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Oh, well, you see—” Deedee paused. “Since you’re speaking to me at the moment, I assume Forrest MacAllister carried out his mission of delivering you safely home. Did you manage to get there without threatening to murder him, or inking him to death?”
“I slept all the way home.”
“Oh, you’re such a dud. That is one sexy hunk of man on the hoof, Jillian Jones-Jenkins. He’s nice, too. You know how highly Andrea speaks of him. You slept all the way home? I’m beginning to think you’re hopeless.”
“Me? Look who’s talking. You’re cruel to the male populace.”
“I am not. I’m dating three different men at the moment. It’s just that if any of them get too serious, I shoo them out the door.”
“You’re a coldhearted wench, Deedee. Is this topic the ‘something important’?”
“No. Well, yes, sort of. What I mean is—”
“Deedee!”
“Okay, I’m getting it together now.” She cleared her throat. “Jillian, I want you to keep an open mind while I’m explaining my ‘something important.’ Have you settled on The Project for your time off from work yet?”
“No, much to my frustration. I’ve already wasted an entire day. Why?”
“Well, you see, Andrea is very concerned about Forrest. He worked extremely hard while he was in Japan, with very little time off. He claims he’s not going back to work for a few weeks, but Andrea says he’ll never do it. He’ll end up in the office slaving away.
“She was getting stressed, really having a fit, as we were talking about Forrest. She’s so-o-o-o worried about him, Jillian. To calm her down, I suggested we try to think of a way to get him to relax, enjoy his time off, concentrate on something other than work. So, between us we came up with a plan.”
“That’s all very nice,” Jillian said. “However, I’m totally confused as to how this ‘something important,’ that has turned out to be Forrest’s work habits, has anything to do with me.”
“Because you’re the solution, the answer. Are you ready? Forrest MacAllister will be The Project you’ll take on during your vacation.”<
br />
“What!” Jillian shrieked.
“Jillian, please, just listen. You know Andrea isn’t supposed to get stressed right now, but she’s doing exactly that over her concerns about Forrest. Andrea needs you, Jillian. You’re the only one who can divert Forrest’s attention, get him to balance his life better with work and play. I told Andrea I’d talk to you because she gets uptight just discussing her work-weary brother.” Deedee sighed. “It’s so sad.”
“You two are Looney Tunes,” Jillian said. “I can’t take on Forrest as The Project. He’s a person, a human being, a man, for crying out loud. He doesn’t qualify for The Project.”
“Sure, he does. Whose project is it? Yours. You can do whatever you want to. You just said you hadn’t picked anything, and here it is, right before your very eyes. You’d be doing it for your dear friend Andrea, for those adorable twins she’s going to have. How can you say no to someone in need like she is? Like Forrest is, for that matter?”
“Deedee, Forrest MacAllister is not the type of man who is lacking in female company.”
“Indeed not. But the tricky part is, he doesn’t take enough time off to enjoy what’s out there. You’ve got to be brave, courageous and bold. Step right up, invite him out, help him get his life in order. This is a terrific project for you, Jillian. Think how good you’ll feel about what you’ve done for Andrea, and for Forrest.”
“No, I’ll think about where to get professional help for you and Andrea. You two are not playing with full decks. Deedee, this is crazy.”
“It is not! Listen, when the MacAllisters were kids, their mother periodically had them do Angels and Elves assignments. You know, nice things for people—like mowing their lawn, or washing their windows, or whatever. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?”
“Too sweet for words,” Jillian said, rolling her eyes heavenward.
“So, that’s what we’re asking you to do here. Forrest MacAllister will be The Project aka your Angels and Elves assignment.”
“Deedee...”
“Jillian, don’t say no. Just promise me you’ll think about it. When you really give this some thought, you’ll realize it’s perfect. You’ll have The Project, Forrest will get his priorities in order, and Andrea will relax and stay calm.”
Angels And Elves (The Baby Bet #1) Page 3