Joan Pickart - Angels And Elves

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?”