Angels And Elves (The Baby Bet #1)

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  “It’s fortune-cookie time,” she said. “I can read it, but I can’t eat it. I’ll explode if I take one more bite.” She broke open the crisp cookie and unfolded the narrow strip of paper, reading it quickly. “Oh.”

  “Oh?” Forrest leaned toward her. “That’s a weird fortune. Let me see that.” He took the paper from her hand, read it, then looked at her with a serious expression. “‘You are about to experience a major change in your life on an emotional, not material plane.’”

  The warm flush on Jillian’s cheeks intensified, and was accompanied by heat that swirled through her. Desire was radiating from Forrest’s dark brown eyes and was, she knew, mirrored in her own.

  “Major emotional change,” he repeated, a husky quality in his voice.

  Jillian tore her gaze from his, aware that her hand was trembling slightly as she reached for the other cookie.

  “Read your fortune now, Forrest,” she said, handing it to him.

  He crushed the cookie and pulled the paper free, hooting with laughter as he read the message.

  Jillian peered over at the paper and smiled as she read it aloud: “‘Your ship cannot come in because it sank.’”

  “Wrong,” Forrest said. “They don’t know who they’re dealing with, here. Roman and I would never let our ships sink.”

  “Of course not,” she said. “You’d get your snazzy shirts wet.”

  “You’ve got that straight.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, then gave her a quick, but toe-curling kiss. “Let’s go home, Lady Jillian.”

  * * *

  They made exquisite love far into the night in Jillian’s bed. She was sleepily aware of Forrest leaving at dawn to go to his apartment to change clothes, and then on to play golf with Michael.

  * * *

  During the day on Saturday, Jillian talked to Deedee on the telephone to arrange lunch the next day, then a shopping spree. Deedee immediately agreed, stating she’d have Books and Books covered the entire afternoon by one of her part-time employees.

  “So, what’s new?” Deedee said.

  “We’ll get caught up at lunch.”

  “Promise? Cross your heart?”

  “Well, sure, Deedee. We always chatter like magpies when we get together.”

  “I’ll be counting the hours, Jillian.”

  “You’re acting like a weird biscuit, Mrs. Hamilton. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

  Deedee replaced the receiver on the telephone.

  “A weird biscuit?” she said, to no one. “No-o-o, I’m a stressed-out Cupid.”

  * * *

  The remainder of the day, Jillian ran errands. She went to the cleaners, the drugstore, ordered more business cards, and made the other stops on her list.

  She hated errands, and usually assigned most of them to her secretary, Lorraine, but found herself in a chipper mood during the entire excursion.

  So, okay, she mused, as she finally relaxed in a bubble bath, she had thought more about the evening ahead with Forrest as she’d dashed here and there, than about what she was actually doing at the time.

  But that was understandable, she reasoned. Forrest was a handsome, charming, fun-to-be-with man. It made perfect sense that she was looking forward to dinner and dancing with Mr. MacAllister. It didn’t constitute a “major emotional change,” for heaven’s sake.

  And the lovemaking they’d shared? It was beautiful beyond description. The unnamed emotions that rose to the fore each time she was with Forrest were coming from a new and different place inside her.

  Should she be attempting to define those emotions? she wondered, absently watching the bubbles pop in fragrant bursts. No, that wasn’t necessary. Those emotions were intertwined with the lovemaking itself, were a part of the exquisite intimate act. It should all be wrapped up like a precious gift, a treasure to be cherished, then tucked away in her heart when Forrest was gone.

  When Forrest was gone.

  Jillian frowned as the words echoed in her mind. She stepped from the tub and began to dry herself with a fluffy, salmon-colored towel.

  When Forrest was gone.

  Now, Jillian, she admonished herself, shape up. She knew the facts as they stood, knew the level of self-discipline she had to maintain to achieve her career goals. Nothing was allowed to draw her away from her purpose when she was working. Nothing, and no one.

  So, when her vacation was over, Forrest MacAllister would be gone.

  Besides, she mentally rambled on, as she began to dress, she wanted no part of a serious relationship. Never again would she hand over her heart to another person, render herself totally vulnerable, she’d never again be defenseless and helpless as that heart was smashed to smithereens. She’d learned that lesson the hard and hurtful way, and would not make the same mistake again.

  Fine, she thought, lifting her chin. At the end of her two-week hiatus, Forrest would be gone. So be it. The bright side of the picture was that she was making marvelous progress with her Angels and Elves mission. That was great. Right? Right.

  * * *

  During the evening, Jillian felt like Cinderella at the ball. The leisurely dinner was delicious, then they moved into a ballroom where a ten-piece band played dreamy music. Forrest was an excellent dancer, and when he took her into his arms, Jillian welcomed the wondrous sensations that consumed her.

  She felt safe, protected, fragile and feminine. There was no reason to think; she needed only to feel, savor, allow the desire within her to build to a fever pitch.

  Unlike Cinderella, she would not have to dash away at midnight. The entire night ahead was hers, to share with Forrest.

  Although Jillian would have thought it impossible, their lovemaking that night was even more magical, more intense than before. She was unable at times to decipher their bodies as two separate entities. They were meshed, completely one, as they soared to their glorious place.

  * * *

  A few minutes after noon on Sunday, Jillian slid onto the chair opposite Deedee in a busy restaurant.

  “Good, I’m only a couple of minutes late,” Jillian said, smiling. “The traffic is grim.”

  “It’s so good to see you, Jillian,” Deedee said, matching her smile. “Let’s order. I’m famished.”

  Jillian glanced at the menu, decided she would have a chef’s salad, then observed Deedee while the other woman was engrossed in the list of selections.

  Deedee was so pretty, Jillian mused. She was thirty-one, but appeared younger due to her delicate features, and she wore very little makeup. There was a fresh, wholesome aura about her, accentuated by a dusting of freckles across her nose.

  No one would know that the perky, smile-always-at-the-ready woman had been tragically widowed eight years before when her husband had been killed flying an air-force jet in a training exercise.

  After a year of intense grieving during which Deedee had barely functioned, she’d taken herself in hand, sought counseling, then used her husband’s insurance money to create Books and Books.

  Jillian had met her five years ago when Lorraine had arranged a book-signing session at the store. Their friendship had grown steadily, and little by little, Deedee had revealed the sad circumstances of her past.

  Strange, Jillian thought, taking a sip of water. She had never told Deedee the details of her own marriage and subsequent divorce. She’d simply said, as she had to Forrest, that the marriage had been a terrible mistake and was old news that wasn’t worth discussing. Had it hurt Deedee’s feelings over the years to realize that Jillian wasn’t sharing her innermost secrets?

  A waitress appeared, bringing welcome relief from Jillian’s suddenly troubled thoughts.

  They ordered, then Deedee propped her elbows on the table and folded her hands beneath her chin. Her short hair was a mass of silky, strawberry-blond curls, and her large brown eyes were sparkling with excitement.

  Jillian laughed. “Okay, Mrs. Hamilton, tell all. You’re about to wiggle ri
ght out of that chair.”

  “I took the plunge.”

  “You’re getting married?” Jillian asked, all innocence.

  Deedee wrinkled her freckle-dotted nose. “Good grief, no, I am not getting married, Ms. Jones-Jenkins, and you know it.”

  Jillian shrugged. “Just thought I’d ask. Tell me about your plunge.”

  “Well, you know how intrigued I am by rare books. I’ve collected more than two dozen over the years. It’s not a lot, but enough to plunge.

  “So, even as we speak, a craftsman is making me a special cupboard to hang on the wall behind the counter at the store. It will have wire-threaded glass, and will be kept locked. I’m going to start an advertising campaign to let it be known that Books and Books now buys and sells rare editions. I’m very excited.”

  “As well you should be. Oh, Deedee, that’s marvelous. I know that dealing in rare books has been a dream of yours. Okay, this lunch is on me to celebrate the expanded service of Books and Books.”

  “Hear, hear. Speaking of the store, your novels have been selling like hotcakes ever since the book-signing session. You’ve been so supportive over the years with your willingness to do an autograph party for each of your books as they came out.

  “That, plus all the author friends you begged and-or threatened to get to do autographings, enabled me to launch my rare-book dream much sooner than I’d hoped.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Jillian said. “All my writer friends were very impressed with your store, by the way. They’d all be happy to come again.”

  “Thank you so much, Jillian.”

  The waitress arrived at that moment with their meals, and they ate in silence for several minutes.

  “I’ve talked enough about me,” Deedee finally said. “What have you been up to?”

  “Oh,” Jillian said, breezily, “a little of this, a little of that.”

  “Would you stop it?” Deedee said. “You’re perfectly aware that I want to know if you made Forrest MacAllister The Project. You said you’d think about it, then went to the door to get a pizza.”

  “Well, the pizza turned out to be Forrest.”

  “What?”

  Jillian explained how she’d made the dinner date with Forrest, but had been so exhausted she’d forgotten she’d done it. And, yes, yes, yes, nosy Deedee, Forrest was The Project. The man needed an attitude adjustment, and she was making great progress on the subject of his working far too much.

  “That brings you up to date,” Jillian said.

  “Not quite. What about you? You’re the other half of the dates between you and Forrest. Do you like him?”

  “Yes.”

  Deedee stared at her for a long moment.

  “That’s it?” she said finally. “Yes? Come on, Jillian, could I have some details, here?”

  “No.”

  Deedee’s eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh, you and Forrest are lovers.”

  “Did I say that? I certainly did not.”

  “Your crisp little answers speak volumes. Oh, Jillian, this is wonderful. Just how serious is your relationship with Forrest?”

  “Whoa.” Jillian leaned toward her. “There is no relationship, Deedee. He’s The Project, remember?”

  “Well, just because it started out like that doesn’t mean—”

  “Yes, it does,” Jillian interrupted. “I don’t want any part of a serious relationship. No commitment. Forrest is very aware of that.”

  “You’ve talked about it?”

  “It’s come up in conversation. I’m concentrating on reprogramming his mind about working too hard. That’s what you and Andrea wanted me to do.”

  “Yes, we did. Yes, of course. But, Jillian, I know you. You don’t engage in casual sex. Therefore, there are emotions involved...respect, caring, sharing. Correct?”

  “Well, I... Yes, okay, correct.”

  “Then how can you say you’re not in a relationship with him? What button do you push to turn those emotions off at the end of your vacation? My darling friend, you’re scaring me to death. Andrea and I were hoping that— Oh, Jillian, I don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t want to see Forrest get hurt.”

  “It won’t happen. Trust me. So, yes, all right, things are sort of intense between us, and there are emotions involved, but Forrest and I realize we’re poles apart in what we want in life. At the end of my vacation, I’ll go back to work, and Forrest will ride off into the sunset. Meaning he’ll go back to work, too. No one is going to get hurt.“

  “Would you ladies care for some dessert?” the waitress asked, appearing at the table.

  “An aspirin,” Deedee said, pressing one hand against her forehead. “I have a roaring, stress headache.”

  “Oh, good grief,” Jillian muttered, rolling her eyes heavenward.

  * * *

  Hours later, Jillian stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, straightening a new bright-red sweater over the waistband of her jeans.

  Forrest had suggested an evening at his apartment spent watching movies on the VCR and eating tons of buttery popcorn.

  Fun, Jillian mused as she left the bedroom, and lazily perfect, due to the fact that she was exhausted from the afternoon of shopping. Deedee, thank goodness, had not brought up the subject of Forrest or The Project again, and they’d thoroughly enjoyed their spending spree.

  Jillian had nodded in approval as she hung each purchase in the closet after staggering in with an armload of boxes and bags.

  She and Forrest had agreed with no argument that they’d watch classic mysteries. Forrest was going to rent a stack on the way to pick her up, and all was well.

  Just as Jillian came into the entry hall, the doorbell rang, producing an instant smile on her face. She opened the door, and Forrest entered, pushing the door closed with his foot. He took Jillian into his arms and kissed her.

  Oh, yes, she thought dreamily, returning his ardor with total abandon. Hello, Forrest MacAllister.

  The kiss deepened.

  No one is going to get hurt.

  The words she’d spoken with such conviction at lunch suddenly slammed against her mind.

  Darn that Deedee, Jillian thought. She’d planted that niggling little seed of doubt. No. She wasn’t going to fall prey to Deedee’s lovable-but-unnecessary concern. She and Forrest were on the same wavelength regarding their relationship and knew it was not a relationship.

  Forrest lifted his head. “Hello, Jillian. I missed you.”

  “You what?” she said, her eyes widening.

  He released her and crossed his arms over his chest. “I missed you. I thought about you all day.”

  “Oh, well, that’s nice,” she said, managing a weak smile.

  He’d missed her? Well, that was no big deal. She’d missed him, too, she supposed. When a person was looking forward to an event, they missed not being part of that event when it wasn’t time yet for the event to begin. Did that make sense? Oh, heavens, she was scrambling her brain.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “I have a craving for popcorn.”

  * * *

  During the drive to his apartment, Forrest told Jillian he’d finished reading another of her novels. Jillian inwardly groaned, knowing there would be no way to keep him from talking at length about the book. She really didn’t want to think about her work tonight, as it was connected to her vacation, which was connected to The Project. Oh, blast.

  “The message is there again in the book,” Forrest said. “Truth, trust. The hero courts the heroine, she agrees to marry him, off they go on their wedding trip in his fancy coach.

  “But, shame on them, they’ve been keeping the truth from each other. He has to have an heir under the terms of his grandfather’s will, and she needs money to pay back-taxes on the family home where her widowed mother and four siblings live. She figures she can squirrel away bucks from her wifely allowance.”

  “Yes, I know, Forrest,” Jillian said wearily. “I wrote it.”

  “Time passes,”
he went on, as though she hadn’t spoken, “and, bingo, they fall in love. But due to the wagging tongues of the ton, they discover the truth about why each married the other. They feel betrayed and used. Hell, they’ve really hurt the person they now love.”

  “Not exactly really hurt,“ Jillian said. “I mean, okay, they were hurt, but not really hurt, with the emphasis you’re putting on it. You make it sound as though they’re bleeding to death.”

  “They are, in a way,” he said, nodding. “They’re emotionally bleeding. You, as the writer, made me feel their pain. Those two were in a world of hurt, Jillian.”

  “Don’t say that,” she snapped, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bark at you. I guess I’m a little frazzled because I’ve been on the go all day. Once I put my feet up, relax, and start watching a movie, I’ll be fine.”

  “And have popcorn,” he said, smiling over at her.

  “Yes, oodles of popcorn,” she agreed absently.

  No one is going to get hurt.

  Oh, Jillian, please, she begged herself, shut up.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Forrest left the kitchen with another big bowl of popcorn, then stopped in the doorway of the living room.

  He looked at Jillian curled up in the corner of his extra-long sofa, her eyes riveted on the television screen. His gaze swept over the room.

  Jillian had said she liked his apartment and he had no reason to doubt her sincerity. He’d decorated in earth tones of brown, tan, and oatmeal, with accents of orange and yellow. The furniture was heavy, dark wood, giving the room a definite masculine aura.

  There had been countless women in this room during the past, coming in and going out. But this was the first time he was so acutely aware that it felt incredibly right to have a woman in his home. Not just any woman—Jillian.

  He had, to his own amazement and chagrin, counted down the hours of the seemingly endless day until finally it was time to pick up Jillian.

  Since he’d awakened that morning her image had hovered constantly in his mind’s eye. It was so vivid he felt he could reach out and gather her into his arms. When she’d opened the door of her house, he’d registered a sense of completeness, a mental sigh of relief that he was once again with Jillian.