Angels And Elves (The Baby Bet #1)

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  Yes, yes, yes, she wanted to make love with Forrest.

  “Yes,” she whispered again.

  He captured her mouth once more in a searing kiss, and she leaned into it, taking all he gave, giving in return with total abandon. He pulled the end of her towel free, allowing the material to drop into a colorful pool at her hips. He cupped one breast in his hand, stroking the nipple to a taut bud with his thumb. Jillian whimpered with building passion.

  Forrest ended the kiss and lifted her from his lap as though she weighed little more than a feather. He leaned forward and laid her on the bed, stretching out beside her in the next moment, resting on one forearm.

  His eyes swept over her bare breasts; then, with a visibly shaking hand, he swept back the towel, revealing the rest of her body to his smoldering gaze. He flicked aside his own towel, exposing his arousal.

  Their eyes explored eagerly, visually tracing every inch of each other, fanning the flames of desire burning within them.

  “Beautiful,” Forrest said. “You’re so beautiful, Jillian.”

  “You’re magnificent, you truly are.”

  He looked deep into her eyes, as though searching for, then finding, the answer to an unspoken question. He dipped his head to draw the soft flesh of one of her breasts deep into his mouth, his tongue laving the nipple in a steady rhythm.

  Jillian closed her eyes for a moment to savor the exquisite sensations swirling within her.

  Forrest moved to her other breast, paying homage to its sweet bounty. His hand skimmed over the flat plane of her stomach, then lower, and lower still, to the apex of her thighs.

  She trembled from the tantalizing foray, one hand gripping the bunching muscles of his biceps.

  Then Forrest’s lips traveled the path his hand had taken. Jillian could feel the tension building within her, tightening into a heated coil that pulsed in the dark, moist center of her femininity. She tossed her head restlessly, a near sob escaping from her lips.

  “Forrest, please,” she whispered. “Please.”

  “Soon, Jillian,” he said, hardly recognizing the sound of his own voice. “Soon.”

  Control, MacAllister, his mind hammered. He was slipping too close to the edge, wanted to seek release in the beckoning haven of Jillian’s body—now. Now. But he had to regain a modicum of command over himself, because Jillian’s pleasure must be assured. That concern was uppermost in his mind, with a fierce intensity he’d never experienced before.

  “Forrest,” Jillian said, her voice quivering.

  He moved over her, resting his weight on both forearms, seeing the smoky-gray hue of desire radiating from Jillian’s eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips moist from his kisses, and parted slightly in an enticing invitation.

  He kissed her, then raised his head again, wanting, needing, to see her face in the soft glow of the lights as they became one entity.

  Slowly, so slowly, he entered her, a moan rumbling from his throat as he sheathed himself in the dark, moist heat.

  Ecstasy.

  Jillian sighed with pure feminine pleasure, savoring the sensation of Forrest meshing with her, the strength and power of what he was bringing to her. She could feel his muscles trembling from forced restraint where her hands splayed on his glistening back.

  Her heart sang with joy at the realization that he was putting her pleasure before his own, telling her by his actions that they were indeed making love, that this was special.

  But his pleasure was important to her as well, and she lifted her hips to draw him fully into her.

  “Jillian...”

  “I want you so much.”

  He began to move, increasing the cadence with each thrust, and she met him beat for urgent beat. The tension built within them to a sweet pain, taking them closer and closer to what they sought.

  Then waves of passion swept through Jillian, seeming to carry her up and away, flinging her far beyond reason and reality to a glorious place.

  “Forrest!”

  Seconds later he joined her there, shuddering, with a sound that was thoroughly male, bursting from his throat. Spasm after spasm consumed them as though the ecstasy would last for all time.

  They hovered in the beyond, then drifted back, Forrest collapsing against her, his last ounce of energy spent. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him.

  Their breathing slowed. Their bodies cooled. Their heartbeats quieted to normal tempos. Their minds and hearts held the memories of what had just transpired, and they treasured them.

  The boat continued to rock slowly back and forth, and the rain fell steadily, creating a symphony produced by nature.

  Forrest drew the edges of the bedspread over them, then settled again, holding Jillian close, his lips resting lightly on her forehead.

  Neither spoke as they lay in sated contentment, listening to the music of the rain.

  Somnolence crept over them, and they slept.

  * * *

  Several hours later, Jillian stirred and opened her eyes, having no idea in her foggy state as to where she was. She turned her head, and her breath caught as she saw Forrest sleeping peacefully only inches away.

  A soft smile touched her lips as she gazed at him. His strength emanated from his body even while he slept, yet there was a vulnerability there, too; an aura of trust that she found endearing.

  Forrest MacAllister, her mind hummed.

  She frowned as she tore her gaze from him to stare up at the bottom of the drawers built above the bed.

  Sleep on, Forrest, she mentally directed him. Before he awakened, she needed time to sort and sift, to think about what had taken place between them.

  She had made love with Forrest MacAllister.

  There it was—a fact, right out in front of her—and it needed to be addressed.

  Was she sorry? Did she regret her actions? Was she furious with herself for allowing her passion to override reason?

  Narrowing her eyes, she focused inward, getting in touch with herself to find the answers to the questions.

  And the answers were there, clear and precise—no, no, and no.

  That’s just dandy, Jillian Jones-Jenkins, she thought dryly. She knew where she stood on the issue, but what she didn’t know was why she felt as she did. She should be calling herself a featherhead, a flibbertigibbet, a ninnyhammer, a...a dope.

  She knew her time with Forrest was measured in days. There was no room in her life for a man or a relationship when she was writing a novel.

  She’d had it all figured out as far as Forrest being The Project, but had now totally complicated things. Emotions had come into play when she’d made love with Forrest. They’d made love, not had casual sex, and from that realization came the confusion and muddled mess.

  So, why didn’t she regret what she had done?

  Oh, fiddle, she didn’t know.

  Forrest would awaken soon, and she’d better have her head on straight. As any man would, under the circumstances, he’d be watching for what her mood, her attitude was, regarding what had transpired.

  Well, so be it. She had no regrets, was not sorry. That was the truth, and was what Forrest deserved to know. That she was confused was her problem to deal with.

  Having concluded the conversation between herself and herself, Jillian switched her attention to what was going on around her.

  It was quite dark in the room, the small lamps on the wall casting circles of light over a few feet, and leaving the remainder of the expanse in deep shadow. The boat was still, and she realized there was no longer any sound of the musical rain.

  Peering through the semidarkness, she squinted at the battery-operated clock on the wall, her eyes widening as she saw it was nearly six o’clock. She and Forrest had slept the afternoon away, blissfully sated.

  “Forrest,” she said, poking his chest with one finger. “Forrest, wake up.”

  “Mmm. Later,” he mumbled.

  Jillian laughed softly. Forrest muttered a few more words that she couldn’t underst
and, then finally opened his eyes.

  “Hi,” she said.

  He shook his head slightly, then a slow smile crept onto his lips.

  “I was dreaming,” he said, his voice husky with sleep.

  The sexy sound caused a shiver to course through Jillian.

  “I was Roman on my sailing ship, out on the high seas,” Forrest went on. “I even had a terrific shirt with billowing sleeves. It was permanent-press, of course, because I really hate ironing.”

  “How nice,” she said, matching his smile. “However, that was then and this is now, and it’s six o’clock.”

  “You’re kidding.” He sat up. “No, you’re not kidding.” He paused. “The storm has passed through, I guess. I suppose we’d better head for the marina.”

  “Yes.”

  He shifted around to rest on one forearm as he looked directly into her eyes. No trace of a smile remained on his face.

  “Jillian,” he said quietly, “making love with you was incredibly beautiful and very special. I want you to know that.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  “No regrets?”

  She hesitated for only a moment. “No, Forrest. No regrets.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her deeply. The embers of the passion still within them burst instantly into flames. When he lifted his head again, he drew a ragged breath.

  “Nay, I say, MacAllister,” he said, “or the very night shall pass on this vessel.” He smiled. “That means, toots, that I’ve got to quit kissing you right now, or we’ll be sharing a half-dozen green grapes for breakfast.”

  Jillian laughed, the enchanting sound causing the heated desire within Forrest to coil tighter.

  She slid off the bed and crossed the room to where their clothes were spread over the table and chairs.

  Forrest drank in the sight of her naked body, slender and soft, totally feminine, a perfect counterpart to the hard contours of his own. What he couldn’t see in the shadows, his mind vividly supplied.

  Lovely, he mused. Jillian was so beautiful. The lovemaking they’d shared had been exquisite. Not only had their bodies meshed, but there had been undefinable emotions entwined, as well.

  It had been complex and rare, very different from anything he’d experienced before. There was, indeed, something important happening between them, and nothing would keep him from discovering what it was.

  “The clothes are dry,” Jillian said, bringing Forrest from his thoughts, “but stiff as a board.” She began to dress. “I’m fantasizing about a warm bubble bath and a soft, cozy robe.”

  Forrest joined her at the table, reaching for his sweater. “I’m fantasizing about two or three hamburgers, a thick milk shake, and a double order of fries.”

  “Sold. Hamburgers, then a bubble bath.”

  “Your wish is my command. We’ll share a meal, then share—”

  “Wrong. You’ll go home. I’ll have a bubble bath.”

  “Perdition!”

  Jillian dissolved in laughter and Forrest, infected by the wind-chime sound, laughed with her.

  They were hungry, wearing wrinkled, scratchy clothes, and miles from shore and the comforts they yearned for, but their smiles remained firmly in place all the way back to the marina.

  * * *

  “Deedee?” Andrea said. “I hope I’m not calling during your dinner. Guess what? I haven’t been able to reach Forrest or Jillian all day. I got their answering machines every time I phoned.

  “I realize I shouldn’t get carried away with that information, but at least there’s a chance they might be together. If they are, I wonder how they got along for that many hours.

  “Oh, wouldn’t it be grim if they spent the day arguing?”

  Seven

  The next two days, and nights, flew by in a blur of activity. Jillian felt delightfully alive, invigorated, and was engaged in the best vacation she’d ever had.

  On Friday she cleaned her closets, discarding clothes she no longer wanted, and making a list of what she needed to buy.

  That night, she and Forrest attended a concert featuring a popular country-and-western singer. They both wore jeans, boots, and Western shirts with pearl snaps.

  “My goodness,” Jillian said, as they stood in her living room, “we look so authentic. We’re awesome, Forrest, totally awesome.”

  Forrest hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans.

  “Ma’am,” he said, in a lazy Western drawl, “you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Y’all come on outside with me, little lady.”

  To Jillian’s laughing delight, Forrest had borrowed his brother Ryan’s Jeep for the evening.

  “Now we’re authentic, ma’am,” Forrest said.

  “Drive this thing, cowboy. It’s time to do the boot-scootin’ boogie.”

  * * *

  After the show, which they thoroughly enjoyed, they went to a Chinese restaurant. Unable to resist the tempting selections, they ordered enough food for four people.

  “This is delicious,” Jillian said, then took a bite of something with a name she couldn’t pronounce.

  “Yes, ma’am, it surely is,” Forrest said.

  Jillian laughed. “Forrest, your Western twang just isn’t making it in a Chinese restaurant.”

  “Oh. Good point.”

  “You know,” she said, thoughtfully, “this evening’s outing is a perfect example of the kind of perks, per se, that a couple could have if they both worked.”

  “That’s true. Concert tickets, then dinner out afterward, would take a big bite out of a married couple’s single-income household budget. But where are the kids?”

  “They’re at home with a reliable, trustworthy sitter. We, the parents, need some hours alone together.”

  “How much time did we spend with our children during the week? We worked in the evenings. Right? We both have careers and we enjoy expensive entertainment like this evening’s. Sunday we’re taking the kids out to lunch, then to the zoo. That’s a family outing. It also costs big bucks. One, or both of us, worked through the evenings.”

  “No, we did not,” Jillian said, leaning toward him. “We compromised. There’s that word that makes you break out in hives. Compromise. We went to the concert, then on home where we made ice-cream sundaes in our own kitchen.”

  “I see,” he said, nodding slowly.

  “Do you? On Sunday we’ll pack a picnic lunch, then go to the zoo. Compromise, Forrest. Two careers, no slaving away with work every night at home, and nice outings as a couple, and others with the kids. If you weren’t so stubbornly narrow-minded, you would realize you can have the wife and family you want, without anyone getting the short end of the stick.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly given me food for thought,” he said, staring into space. “Michael’s wife, Jenny, stays home with their son, Bobby, but now that I think about it, Michael and Jenny go out alone most weekends.”

  “Excellent. That’s a one-income family compromising. There’s no reason why people in a two-career marriage can’t do the same thing.”

  “How many kids do we have?”

  “What?” she said, frowning.

  “How many little munchkins are we taking to the zoo on Sunday?”

  “Have an egg roll, Forrest. You need fuel for your brain.”

  “Well, you made our family sound real,” he said, smiling.

  Jillian shrugged. “I’m a writer with a vivid imagination.”

  Forrest’s smile faded. “And you, of course, don’t want any part of the scenario you just painted so clearly.”

  Jillian met his gaze directly. “No. No, I don’t.”

  “So, while I’m getting the hang of this compromise jazz, leaving my briefcase at the office, you’re still working evenings.”

  “Because I can,” she said, splaying one hand on her chest. “I don’t have the family you do, who needs my attention.”

  “Jillian, did it ever occur to you that this famous compromise of yours should apply to you, too?”

>   “Whatever for?”

  “For you. Don’t you want more in your life besides work, with an occasional outing like the one we’re sharing tonight?”

  She lifted her chin. “My life is perfectly fine just the way it is, thank you very much.”

  “That’s your opinion,” he said, glaring at her.

  Jillian opened her mouth to retort, then closed it, and shook her head.

  “No, I’m not going any further with this discussion,” she said, “because we’re headed for an argument. Our evening together has been so lovely. Let’s not spoil it, Forrest.” She smiled. “Have that egg roll.”

  He picked up one of the treats, matching her smile. “Sold. I do intend to think about what you said, though. I’ve never had the compromise angle so clearly defined before. It has merit. Yep, food—” he took a bite of the egg roll “—for thought.”

  “Good,” she said.

  She was making marvelous progress with The Project, she mused. Yes sirree, she was scoring points in her Angels and Elves mission. It was just that... Well, a funny, cold knot had tightened in her stomach as she’d envisioned Forrest with a faceless wife and children. Oh, how ridiculous. She needed an egg roll.

  “So,” she said, “Michael and Jenny have a son. Right?”

  “Oh, yeah, Bobby is one cute kid. Did I tell you that I won The Baby Bet when he was born?”

  “The what?”

  “It was a high-tech bet. There were too many of us involved in it to go for a straight ‘Is it a girl or boy?’ So we added date of birth and—get this—time of day.”

  “Very high-tech.”

  “Indeed, and I won. I had the right sex, the right day, and I hit the time within twenty minutes. You’re looking at The Baby Bet pro, here.”

  Jillian laughed in delight. “Your talents never fail to amaze me, Mr. MacAllister.”

  “Darlin’,” he said, his voice low and rumbly, “to quote myself, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  Sudden and sensual pictures flitted into Jillian’s mind of the lovemaking she’d shared with Forrest, and a warm flush crept onto her cheeks. She cleared her throat, then glanced over the table.