Angels And Elves (The Baby Bet #1)

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  “That’s for sure,” she said, nodding. “I’m reading you loud and clear.” Forrest MacAllister wasn’t crazy about babies, or the idea of being a father.

  Well done, Jillian, she mentally praised herself. She’d collected the data and computed it. Forrest was an upwardly mobile, swinging single, entertaining absolutely no plans for marriage, hearth, home or child.

  “Please don’t misunderstand what I’m saying here, Jillian,” Forrest said. “I want to get married, have kids, a home.”

  Jillian’s eyes widened. “You do? But you said...I mean... You do?”

  “Yes, I truly do. I guess I’m gun-shy because I’ve seen so many of my friends end up getting divorced. The basic problem appears to be that in two-career marriages there just isn’t enough time to be a real family. The careers always seem to take first place.”

  “Oh,” Jillian said. Could she really be that far off base on the conclusions she’d drawn? She’d never been so completely wrong before. Maybe Forrest MacAllister wasn’t run-of-the-mill after all. “Well, there is a little thing known as compromise, Forrest.”

  He frowned. “They don’t work that often. Oh, it starts out fine, but more and more of the people I know run into trouble. Hey, I’m not a chauvinist who feels a woman belongs in the home being a wife and mother, and shouldn’t have a career. I’m just coming to the conclusion that the life-style a two-career marriage produces isn’t what I want.

  “I’m destined, I guess, to being a bachelor, and satisfying my paternal instincts by interacting with my nieces and nephews.”

  “Ah, I see,” Jillian said thoughtfully. “So you engage in casual dating, and focus the remainder of your energy on your job.”

  He shrugged. “I enjoy my work. I get a lot of satisfaction out of the ongoing challenge of it.”

  “Hmm,” Jillian said, staring into space.

  No wonder Andrea was worried about Forrest. The man had an attitude problem. He’d obviously done some data gathering of his own and had drawn harsh conclusions from the information. But despite what he believed, two-career marriages could be happy, fulfilling, and everything Forrest was wistfully wishing for.

  She herself wanted no part of being married. Not ever again! But she sincerely believed that those who did want that life-style could create a marvelous union—two careers included—if they shared, and cared, and compromised. Forrest was burying his hopes and dreams in an overload of work, instead of being determined to have what he wanted.

  Not good. This man needed help, had to be shown the errors in his thinking. He was sentencing himself to a lonely life, and that was incredibly sad. He just worked, worked, worked, to fill the void in his existence. Her heavy work schedule suited her perfectly. Forrest’s did not serve him well.

  There was no hope for it; she was hooked. She would take Forrest on, reprogram his poor, malfunctioning brain on the subject of marriage and dual careers.

  For starters she’d get him to lighten up on his own work schedule to demonstrate how compromise in that area could be accomplished.

  As crazy as it was, Forrest MacAllister was now officially The Project, her Angels and Elves assignment as Deedee called it.

  “Jillian?” Forrest said, bringing her back to attention. “Is it all right if I put another log on the fire? It’s burning pretty low.”

  Jillian nodded, then watched absently as he began to tend to the chore. Within moments, her casual observation became red-alert awareness, missing no detail of him performing the task at hand.

  He had shifted to hunker down in front of the fireplace, balancing on the balls of his feet as only a person with athletic control of his body was capable of doing.

  His shirt strained across his broad shoulders as he reached for a log, and was tucked into slacks that defined a narrow waist. There were powerful muscles in his legs, outlined to perfection beneath his expensive slacks. She also had the enticing view of an extremely nice male tush to scrutinize.

  The flush on her cheeks and the heat that was swirling within her was not, she knew, caused by the flames in the hearth.

  Forrest MacAllister was throwing her off kilter again by the male magnetism emanating from him. She’d have to be on guard against his blatant sexuality during The Project. She didn’t intend to go to bed with the man, for heaven’s sake; casual sex was not in her plan.

  But since she knew that she was easily unsettled by Forrest’s masculine appeal, she was one step ahead of things, in total control of herself.

  The Project, aka her Angels and Elves assignment, was officially launched.

  “There we go,” Forrest said, moving back against the couch.

  He sat closer to Jillian this time, his shoulder pressed to hers.

  Oh, yes, she mused, the prospect of two weeks with Forrest was certainly better than taking knitting lessons. Much, much better.

  Four

  The next two hours flew by, as Jillian and Forrest chatted, never running out of topics to discuss as one subject flowed into the next.

  “Tell me about Japan,” Jillian said.

  “It was fantastic,” he said. “Even though I was working seven days a week, I managed to see at least some of the sights. Japan has such grace and elegance.”

  “My, what a lovely way to describe it.”

  “Well, it’s true. And the people? They’re wonderful. I swear, Jillian, the kids steal your heart in a second. I was invited to a birthday party and the children were dressed in authentic Japanese clothing. Cute? Oh, man, they were like walking, talking dolls.

  “I took so many pictures of them, they’ll probably remember me as the tall guy with a camera for a face. I wanted to scoop them all up and bring them home.”

  What a wonderful father Forrest would be, Jillian mused. His expressive brown eyes were shining as he spoke of the children he’d seen in Japan. He should have a family of his own, he really should.

  “Enough about me,” he said. “How long does it take you to write a book?”

  “Several months. I hardly come up for air when I’m on a deadline.”

  There it was, Forrest thought, the first hint of Jillian’s working hard; too hard, according to Andrea and Deedee.

  “Couldn’t you ask for more time from your publisher so you could come up for air?”

  Jillian shrugged. “The schedule I’m on suits me just fine.”

  Andrea and Deedee were right, Forrest decided. This lady needed to be taken in hand, shown how to interweave work and play into her existence. Nice guy that he was, he was going to teach her how to do exactly that.

  She believed in the premise of compromises in a two-career relationship. Those compromises were rarely successful, but Jillian could compromise with herself and have a better balance.

  Forrest was pulled from his thoughts as Jillian urged him to relate more delightful tales of growing up with two brothers and a mischievous little sister. As he concluded yet another story, she laughed so hard she had to wrap her arms around her stomach.

  What an enchanting sound, Forrest mused, a wide smile on his face. Jillian’s laughter was like tinkling bells, like wind chimes. Her gray eyes were sparkling with merriment, and her smile was real and beautiful.

  “Oh, dear,” Jillian said, catching her breath. “I hope I don’t get the hiccups from laughing. That happens sometimes. Your parents must have the patience of saints to have raised the four of you.”

  “Either that, or they went numb at some point,” he said, chuckling. “We were a handful, all right.” He paused. “Tell me about your parents, Jillian.”

  Her smile faded. “There’s not much to tell. My father is a foreign diplomat, an ambassador. He’s excellent at what he does, and was kept on through the years when the political administrations changed. We lived in England, Mexico, France, you name it. They’re in Italy now.”

  “That’s a remarkable childhood. It sounds very exciting.”

  “It wasn’t,” she said quietly. “Being a foreign diplomat is a very social exi
stence. My mother is devoted to my father and his career, and I admire and respect that. But I was left in the care of a nanny, or housekeeper, or whatever, the majority of the time.

  “I have vivid memories of my parents coming to the nursery to kiss me good-night, but there were no hugs because they’d didn’t want to wrinkle their evening clothes.”

  “You were lonely,” Forrest said, in the form of a statement, not a question.

  “Yes. They sent me to the United States for high school. I went to a fancy boarding school in upper New York State, then on to Stanford. When I became a published author, which was my dream, I immediately began to save my money to buy a house so that I could stay put, not have to move from place to place.”

  “You have a lovely home.”

  “Thank you. I like it, and I’m very contented here. I... Goodness, listen to me. I can’t remember when I’ve talked about my childhood. I certainly sounded sorry for myself. It wasn’t all that bad. My folks are wonderful people, and I know they love me. They simply didn’t have much time for me.”

  Forrest frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  “Heavens,” she said, forcing a smile, “don’t be. It’s because of being alone so much as a child that I was able to achieve my goal in writing. I used to make up stories by the hour to entertain myself. I developed my imagination to its maximum potential. And, ta-da, I’m an author.”

  “A very talented author. Is your father Ambassador Jones, or Ambassador Jenkins?”

  “Jones. I took back my maiden name after my divorce, but when I sold my first book, my agent urged me to add my married name of Jenkins. She felt that Jillian Jones-Jenkins had a better ring to it than just Jillian Jones. And that, sir, is the story of my life. Dull.”

  “Not even close.” He looked directly into her eyes. “And your marriage?”

  “Was a mistake. Like I said before, that’s old news, and not worth discussing.” She cocked her head slightly to one side. “You know, Forrest, you’re a wonderful listener. I’m a very private person, despite my having to be in the limelight at times to further my career. I could count on one hand the number of people I’ve told about my childhood, yet I dumped it all on you.”

  “Shared, not dumped, and I’m honored,” he said. “I sincerely am.” He cradled her cheek with one hand, and moved his head slowly toward hers. “Very—” he brushed his lips over hers “—very—” his other hand lifted to frame her face “—honored.”

  His lips captured hers, parting them, his tongue delving into her mouth.

  Jillian’s eyes drifted closed, and her hands floated upward to grip Forrest’s shoulders. A tremor swept through her, then heat that swirled low and steady within her.

  Her senses were heightened as she savored the taste of Forrest, the feel of his work-roughened hands on the soft skin of her face, his aroma of woodsy after-shave, mesquite smoke from the fire, and soap.

  She was awash with consuming desire, her breasts suddenly yearning for a soothing caress. She met Forrest’s tongue boldly; dueling, dancing, stroking with a rhythm that matched the heated pulse in the dark center of her femininity.

  She couldn’t think, she could only feel.

  And it was ecstasy.

  Jillian, Forrest’s mind thundered. The kiss had begun as one of comfort, meant to ease the pain of her lonely childhood. He could picture her in his mind’s eye as a little girl, creating characters in stories as playmates because there was no one else to keep her company. His heart ached for her as he envisioned the cold emptiness of her youth. He had willed the memories to fade, had wished to bring her back to the present, with him.

  And so, he’d kissed her.

  But now? Dear Lord, he was at the edge of his control, flung there the moment his lips had claimed hers. He wanted to make love to her. It was a burning need, an intensity like nothing he’d experienced before.

  Jillian Jones-Jenkins.

  Her name was a melody, a lilting song that echoed like sweet music in his mind. The mental image of the lonely child had faded into oblivion, replaced by the intriguing, compelling, multilayered woman she was now.

  A voice began to sift through his passion-laden haze, coming from a source unknown. It was a message of warning, of caution, telling him to slow down, move carefully, so as not to frighten Jillian away.

  Despite her breezy dismissal of her brief marriage, the voice declared, Jillian had been hurt, badly hurt, in the past. Why he knew that, he didn’t know. Where the voice was coming from was a mystery.

  What was crystal clear was that he mustn’t do anything to cause her to refuse to see him again. Jillian was his Angels and Elves assignment. In his hazy state he’d completely forgotten that she was more than just an enchanting woman.

  Mustering his last ounce of willpower, he broke the kiss, then slowly, reluctantly, dropped his hands from her face.

  Jillian opened her eyes, and Forrest stifled a groan at the smoky hue of her gray eyes that mirrored the desire in his own.

  “Jillian?” he said, hearing the desire-induced rasp of his voice.

  “Hmm?” she murmured dreamily. A soft smile formed on her lips. “Yes, Forrest?”

  “We’d better cool off here, don’t you think? I want to make love with you, believe me, I really do, but...”

  “You’re right,” she said, then took a wobbly breath. “Things were happening much too quickly. Thank you, Forrest. Most men wouldn’t be so gracious about calling a halt.”

  “Well, I do want to make love with you. You’re a very desirable woman. You’re also a beautiful, intelligent, and fascinating woman. Kissing you, Jillian, turned me inside out, and I knew I was losing control. You were responding to me, too, I could feel it.”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, “I was.”

  “This may sound like a bunch of bull, some old-fashioned garbage, but the truth of the matter is,” he went on, “I don’t engage in casual sex. I never did, not even before the issue of safe sex came to public attention.”

  Jillian looked at him intently.

  “When I’m with a woman, I have to care for her, about her. I’ve never been in love, but at least emotions of caring and respect have to be present. That takes it out of the sex arena and into the making-love arena. That means a lot to me, it really does.”

  He looked directly into her eyes.

  “I don’t know you well enough to have any idea as to your stand on sex, Jillian, but I’m very aware of mine. If, when, we make love, it will be exactly that—making love.”

  “Oh,” she said softly. Then, for the life of her, she couldn’t think of another thing to say.

  She had never before, she realized, met a man like Forrest MacAllister, who had such old-fashioned values and self-imposed code of conduct. The men she’d dated in the past were ready, willing, and able to engage in casual sex on the first date.

  She’d discussed it with Deedee once, and they’d agreed that the “no” had to come from the woman. But not so with Forrest. What an unusual and delightful man.

  As for her response to Forrest’s kiss—she’d returned it in total abandon—and the incredibly sensual sensations that had swept through her, she would discuss that with herself...later.

  Several minutes passed in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

  “Forrest,” Jillian said suddenly, “do you like boats?”

  “Boats? Sure.”

  “Well, I have some friends who own a cabin cruiser that I’m welcome to borrow because they’re on a trip to Greece. Would you like to go out in it tomorrow?”

  “I was going to go look at a house with Michael that he’s just contracted to restore, but—”

  “That’s work, you know. Wouldn’t you like to have a carefree day?”

  He nodded. “Yes, that sounds great. But what about you? Your strict schedule due to deadlines?”

  “I’m on vacation,” she said, smiling brightly.

  “Good for you.” Hallelujah and score one for the Angels and Elves. �
�You decided to take some time off, and you’re doing it.”

  “Well, it’s more complicated than that, but the bottom line is I’m on vacation.”

  “I’d love to go out on the water tomorrow, Jillian. We’ll have to bundle up good because it’ll be cold, but it sounds like fun.”

  “I’ll pack a picnic lunch.” She laughed. “Correct that. I’ve got a snazzy hamper someone gave me for Christmas a few years ago. We can stop at a deli on the way to the marina and fill it to the brim.”

  “What time shall I pick you up in the morning?”

  “Make it ten o’clock. When I’m on vacation, I indulge myself in sleeping in late.”

  “I’ll be here at ten o’clock on the dot.” He glanced at his watch, then rolled to his feet in a smooth motion. “It’s getting late. I’m going to head home and read another one of your novels. I borrowed all of them from Andrea.”

  Jillian got to her feet. “You did?”

  “Yep,” he said, pushing his feet into his shoes, “I did.” He sat down on the edge of the sofa to tie his laces. “I’ve heard that an author reveals something of herself in everything she writes.”

  “I don’t.”

  He stood again, then crossed the room to pick up his jacket.

  “Are you positive of that?” he said, looking at her.

  “Of course. I’m the one writing the books, remember? They’re drawn totally from my imagination.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “Well, I’m not going to debate the subject. I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Forrest rolled down his cuffs, buttoned them, then shrugged into his jacket. At the front door, he encircled Jillian with his arms and kissed her deeply before she could speak further.

  “Good night,” he said, then released her. “I’ll be here at ten in the morning.”

  Jillian nodded, not even attempting to answer. She was convinced that there was not one breath of air left in her body after that kiss.

  Forrest opened the door and left the house, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. Jillian stood statue-still, allowing herself the luxury of reliving the kisses shared with Forrest—every sensual detail.