Dear Reader,

Beginning with the Baby Bet series, I am delighted that I will be bringing you my stories using my real name of Joan Elliott Pickart. I hope you’ve enjoyed the books I’ve written for Silhouette as Robin Elliott, but it’s time for Robin to step aside and allow me to come into your homes.

I’ve received many letters over the years asking me how I came to choose the name Robin Elliott. I have three daughters: Tracey, Robin and Paige. As a mother, I could never pick one over the other, so I asked the editors at Silhouette to do it. Since the names Tracey and Paige belong to other authors, I was told “Welcome to Silhouette, Robin Elliott!”

Many years and many books have passed since that day, and I want to thank you for all of your wonderful and continued support. You, the loyal readers, are the ones who make it all possible. All of you—around the country and the world—are very special to me.

Warmest regards,

Joan Elliott Pickart.

Angels and Elves
Joan Elliot Pickart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my then-agent, Robin Kaigh, and for my now-agent, Laurie Feigenbaum. Thank you, friends.

Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Prologue

Forrest MacAllister stopped in the doorway to the living room and looked at the woman stretched out on the sofa with pillows propped behind her back to allow her to sit up. She was deeply engrossed in the novel she was reading, and was unaware of Forrest’s presence.

Andrea, he mused. His baby sister was a beautiful woman. Her auburn curls were in fetching disarray, and her dark brown eyes were clear and sparkling. The best part, though, was the pure joy, the happiness-to-the-maximum that he could actually feel emanating from her.

She also had, he decided, the largest, roundest stomach he’d ever seen. Twins definitely took up a lot of space in a pregnant lady. Yep, his baby sister was definitely awaiting the arrival of her own babies. Big time.

“So what’s new, kid?” he asked, breaking the serene silence in the room.

Andrea’s head snapped up and a smile instantly appeared on her face.

“Forrest! Oh, my gosh, you’re really home. Give me a million hugs. I didn’t hear you come into the house.”

“John let me in as he was leaving,” Forrest said, crossing the room. “Your husband is looking like a proper and prosperous Yuppie.” He leaned over and hugged her, then straightened again to meet her gaze. “This is very efficient. I can hug three people at once.”

Andrea laughed. “Aren’t I awful? I’m impersonating a beached whale. And now I’m confined to either bed, sofa or chair, so these little darlings don’t arrive too soon.”

“You look fantastic.”

“Fat. The word is fat. Sit, sit. I want to look at you until I’m cross-eyed. Oh, Forrest, I’m so glad you’re back from Japan in time to be here when the babies are born. A year is much too long for you to be away. We all missed you terribly.”

“I missed you, too, but it was quite an experience, and one I’ll always remember. Japan is beautiful, Andrea, it really is. And it was a tremendous challenge to design a house that would blend in, yet have all the features the client wanted.”

“Your letters were super, even if you still can’t spell worth a darn,” she said.

Forrest chuckled. “Spelling is a hopeless endeavor for me.” He yawned. “I have jet lag so bad I don’t even know what day it is. I came straight here from the airport, but Mom and Dad are going to have to settle for a phone call until after I get some sleep.”

“And our brothers. You’d better call them, too. Michael and Ryan are so glad you’re coming home for good.”

“That’s enough travel for me for a while. Listen, I really do need to get some sleep. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were doing all right. You’re staying put like the doctor said, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes. I’m grumpy and bored, and my darling John has the patience of a saint. But I’m following orders so that the twins have every chance to be healthy.

“Forrest, before you go I’d like to talk to you about something. It won’t take long.”

“Fire away.”

“Well, you know that my favorite author is Jillian Jones-Jenkins, and that I met her several years ago at Deedee Hamilton’s store, Books and Books. We’ve all become good friends since then.”

Forrest nodded. “Jillian writes those gooey romance novels you read.”

“Don’t start. It’s extremely bad form to hassle expectant mothers. Anyway, Jillian is arriving home tomorrow from a lengthy autographing tour and is doing a signing at Deedee’s store as a special favor. Forrest, please, would you go to the store, buy Jillian’s new book, and have her autograph it for me?” Andrea begged.

“Why? Deedee will be right there. Can’t she do it? As far as that goes, Jillian could bring you a copy. Since you’re friends, and you can’t go out, surely she’ll come visit you.”

“Well—” Andrea smiled brightly “—there’s a little more to it than that.”

“Uh-oh. Not good,” Forrest said. “You have that look in your eyes that says you’re up to something. Ever since we were kids, that gleam got me in trouble.”

“Forrest, Forrest, this is me, Andrea, your adorable, sweet little sister. I’m simply asking you to do me a teeny-tiny favor.”

“Spare me,” he said, rolling his eyes heavenward. “I’ve fallen for your innocent routine so many times, it’s a crime.”

“Keep an open mind,” she said. “You’re not going back to work for a bit. Right?”

“Right,” he said, eyeing her warily. “I’m planning to take a couple of weeks off. I usually worked seven days a week in Japan.”

“Perfect. You see, Deedee and I are very worried about Jillian. She’s been on this exhausting tour and she was tired even before she left. Why was she tired? I’m glad you asked.”

“I didn’t.”

“Hush. Jillian seems to have forgotten how to relax, have fun, have a proper balance of work and play in her life. She’s gotten so caught up in deadlines and her writing schedule, that we hardly see her. We can’t pry her out of the office in her house.”

“And?”

“Remember when the four of us were kids and Mom would periodically say it was time for her Angels and Elves to get busy?”

“Yeah, I remember. We’d mow the lawn for an elderly couple, run errands for a shut-in, you’d baby-sit for free for a new mother, stuff like that. Every few months we did Angels and Elves assignments.”

“Exactly. Forrest, Deedee and I are asking you to make Jillian Jones-Jenkins your Angels and Elves assignment. Take her out, have fun, get her to relax and enjoy life again. Hopefully she’ll realize how narrow her existence has become.”

“Oh, man,” Forrest said, frowning, “are you kidding? That’s nuts, Andrea. I don’t even know this woman. You expect me to convince her to get her priorities back in order? That’s the dumbest Angels and Elves assignment I’ve ever heard.”

“It is not. It’s custom-made for you. You have some free time right now. You’re handsome, charming, intelligent, all that jazz. And you know how to show a woman a good time. Heaven knows, you’ve got women chasing after you like bees to honey.”

“Flattery will get you nothing.”

“Don’t say no. At least promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Andrea...”

“Please?”

“Okay, okay,” he said, raising both hands. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

“For about five seconds. Then I’ll say no.”

“Darn it, Forrest, don’t be so difficult. Look, go to Books and Books tomorrow and buy Jillian’s new novel for me. You can meet her at the same time.”

“Then I’ll say no. Andrea, has it ever occurred to you that Jillian might not appreciate the sneaky little program you and Deedee are putting together here?”

“It’s for her own good. Deedee and I really are concerned about her. She won’t know you’re on an Angels and Elves assignment. This is a very humanitarian mission I’m asking you to undertake, Forrest.”

He got to his feet.

“I’ll go buy the book,” he said, “and meet Jillian. Beyond that? I’m not promising anything. I’m thirty-two years old. A person would think that I’d have learned by now that your schemes always spell trouble for me in big, bold letters. I shouldn’t be going anywhere near Deedee Hamilton’s store.”

“But you will, and you’re wonderful, and I adore you, and I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, laughing, “and you’ve been able to wrap me around your little finger since the day you were born.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Bye for now, brat. Take good care of the dynamic duo you’re toting around in there.”

“Bye, Forrest. And thank you.”

* * *

Andrea waited until she heard the front door click shut behind Forrest, then snatched up the receiver of the telephone that had been placed on the coffee table within her reach. She pushed buttons in rapid succession.

“Deedee? Forrest was just here. He wouldn’t give me a definite yes, but I talked him out of a definite no. Here’s the setup. Forrest will come to your store tomorrow to buy Jillian’s new book for me and...”

One

B est wishes, Jillian Jones-Jenkins.

Jillian stared at the words she had just written with the appropriate flourish on the title page of the book in front of her.

The flowing handwriting was nothing more than a series of fancy squiggles that had no meaning. She was so thoroughly exhausted that she was beyond being able to recognize even her own name.

She blinked and shook her head slightly, striving to concentrate. She managed to produce a weak but passable smile.

“There you are.” She handed the thick, hardcover book to the beaming woman standing on the opposite side of the lace-cloth covered table. “I sincerely hope you enjoy Midnight Embrace.“

“Oh, I know I will,” the woman said, clutching the treasure to her breasts. “I’ve loved all your books, Miss Jones-Jenkins. I read them over and over. They’re such wonderful stories. So romantic, so touching, so filled with love.” She sighed. “Oh, dear, I do go on and on, but I want you to know how much pleasure you’ve brought into my life with your work.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Jillian said. “I hope I never disappoint you.”

The woman moved away and another stepped forward, presenting a book to be autographed. Jillian opened it to the title page, then hesitated, her gaze sweeping over the expanse of the bright, cheerful, well-stocked bookstore.

The man was still there.

He was watching her, she was certain of it.

Jillian, stop it, she admonished herself in the next instant. Tired was tired, but this was a step beyond. If anyone looked at her crooked, or said the slightest cross word, she’d probably burst into hysterical tears like a toddler in need of a nap.

Therefore, she decided, it went without saying that she was overreacting to the presence of the man. He was the only male in the store, and each time she looked in his direction, he was watching her. She was the constant target of his scrutiny, his gaze never seeming to wander from her.

She wrote the name recited by the woman in front of her, then signed her own by rote with the usual flair. Her smile was beginning to feel pasted to her face like a plastic mask.

The man, she mused, as she vaguely heard herself thanking the woman for her loyal support, was extremely handsome. He was about six feet tall, had thick, dark auburn hair, was well tanned, and had just-rugged-enough features. His eyes were brown as best she could tell, but he’d stayed too far away from where she was seated at the table to be certain.

“You want me to write, ‘Merry Christmas, Margaret’?” Jillian asked the next patron. “But this is only February.”

“I know, dear.” The woman smiled. “I’m shopping early for the holidays in December. That way I feel Christmassy all year long.”

“Oh, I see,” Jillian said, with a mental shrug.

Whatever floats your boat...dear, she tacked on in her mind. Now where was she in her mental inventory of the tall, handsome stranger skulking in the aisles?

Oh, yes...he was in his early thirties. His nice build was shown to advantage in expensive charcoal-gray slacks and a black V-neck sweater over a white dress shirt worn open at the neck. It was appropriate apparel for Ventura, California, at this time of year.

“I hope Margaret likes the book when she reads it next Christmas,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” the woman said. “Of course, I’ll read it now. I wouldn’t dream of waiting that long for one of your stories.”

Jillian laughed. “Happy February to you, and Merry Christmas to Margaret.”

“Oh, aren’t you a sweet girl?” the woman said. “It was so delightful to meet you, dear.” She hurried away.

Delightful? Jillian thought. No, delightful would be a long bubble bath, with soft music playing on the stereo. Then she would slip between crisp sheets on her bed, burrow into the pillow, snuggle beneath the blankets, and sleep, sleep, sleep. Now that scenario was delightful.

Deedee Hamilton, the attractive woman in her early thirties who owned Books and Books, stepped closer to the table.

“Let’s keep the line moving, please, ladies,” she said pleasantly. “It’s getting late, and we don’t want to detain Miss Jones-Jenkins past regular store hours. She has just returned from an exhausting ten-city book-signing tour, and was good enough to come here before she went home and collapsed. So, let’s hurry right along, shall we? Next?”

Bless you, Deedee, you’re a wonderful friend, Jillian thought, accepting the book the next woman handed her. Jillian Jones-Jenkins was tired to the point of being numb. Jillian Jones-Jenkins was— Good grief, she was thinking of herself in the abstract, as though she were a character in one of her books. She desperately needed to crawl into bed and not reappear for at least twenty-four hours.

Ten minutes later, Deedee once again came to the table.

“I’m going to close the store now,” she announced to the remaining customers. “I’ll unlock the door and let each of you out after you’ve had your book autographed. If any of you are making other purchases as well, please step up to the register.”

Ah-ha, Jillian thought, it was truth time. The man—the Handsome Hunk, aka H.H.—was going to have to put up or shut up. His skulking-in-the-aisles routine had just been called to a halt by Deedee.

Jillian inwardly sobered, although her forced smile remained in place.

She should not be taking the presence of the loitering man so lightly. She had writer friends who had been bothered and actually frightened by mentally off-balance men convinced that a woman who wrote love scenes was automatically available to participate in real sexual encounters. Because she was exhausted to the point of being giddy, she hadn’t given the man serious enough attention. There was a reason for his having been in the store for such a long time, wandering around, and watching her. She was going on red alert as of that very moment.

She glanced up, only to realize that the man had moved again. A visual sweep of the store found him in the cookbook section, his nose in an open cookbook. Oh, dear heaven, it was upside down!

A shiver coursed through Jillian, and her smile slid off her chin, despite her efforts to keep it firmly in place. She handed the book she had just signed to the smiling woman, who grasped it eagerly. Only one more customer waited to have a book autographed.

One more, Jillian thought, then the man was going to have to do something. But what? Oh, Lord, what was he going to do?

* * *

This was it, Forrest MacAllister thought. Time had run out. He had to do it now.

He glanced at the cookbook he was holding, then did a quick double take as he realized that he was holding it upside down. Slamming it shut, he shoved it back onto the shelf.

Get it together, MacAllister, he told himself firmly. The situation was as good as it was going to get. The witnesses were pared down to the minimum. He had to do what he’d come here to do—have Andrea’s copy of Jillian’s novel autographed.

Jillian Jones-Jenkins was certainly attractive. The spokeswoman for the store, who was probably Deedee Hamilton, had confirmed what Andrea had told him yesterday—Miss Jones-Jenkins had just returned from an exhausting book-signing tour. Well, if that was what the lovely author looked like totally exhausted, she’d be unbelievable when fully rested.

Yes, Forrest decided, she was stunning, tired or not. Her wavy, dark brown hair fell gently to just above her shoulders. She had delicate features, sensual lips, and big, gorgeous, gray eyes framed by long black lashes. Those eyes were fantastic.

At one point during his vigil she’d stood, apparently to relax stiff muscles, and he’d had a delightful view of a slender, yet ultrafeminine figure shown to perfection in a dusty rose suit with a straight skirt, thigh-length jacket, and pale pink silky blouse. She was fairly tall, maybe five-six or -seven, and was, he guessed, about thirty years old.

All in all, Forrest mentally rambled on, she was a lovely representative of the female species.

He sighed.

What Jillian Jones-Jenkins did, or did not, look like had nothing whatsoever to do with why he was there, or the fact that he couldn’t stall any longer.

Then there was the nagging problem that Andrea, nutsy little sister that she was, wanted him to take on Jillian Jones-Jenkins as an Angels and Elves assignment. Andrea definitely had too much time on her hands. Her idea was crazy, totally bizarre.

He’d get the book signed by Miss She-needed-to-lighten-up-and-have-some-fun Jillian, deliver it to his sister, and tell her in no uncertain terms that her request was hereby rejected and his answer was an irrevocable no.

“Thank you so much,” Jillian said, handing over the signed book. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will,” the woman said. “Thank you, Miss Jones-Jenkins. I can’t begin to tell you how exciting it was to meet you.”

“Good night, and come again,” Deedee said. She unlocked the door and the woman said goodbye with an added promise to shop there often. “Christy,” Deedee said to the teenager behind the cash register, “off you go. You did splendidly under the gun. That was really quite a crowd we had in here.”

Gun? Jillian thought, swallowing a near-hysterical bubble of laughter. Deedee could have gone all week without saying the word gun. Oh, Lord, the man with the gun, who read cookbooks upside down, was starting toward her. He was stalking. Yes, perfect word. He had a smooth, athletic gait that was like a panther stalking his prey.

And she was the prey.

And he had a gun.

No, no. Wait. She had to calm down. The man didn’t have a gun. Well, not that she knew of, anyway. Her exhausted brain had simply transferred Deedee’s innocently spoken word into a sinister plot. No, there was not a gun. Was there?

He was getting closer, she thought, feeling another shiver whisper down her spine. His eyes really were brown. Beautiful eyes. In fact, he was an all-around beautiful man. What a shame that he was a sex maniac, who was about to kidnap her and...

Jillian jumped to her feet and grabbed the only weapon available to her—the pen she’d been using to autograph the books.

“Stay back!” she yelled, thrusting the pen toward him. “You come one step closer, you fiend, and I’ll...I’ll ink you to death!”

Forrest stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in shock.

“Pardon me?” he said.

“Jillian?” Deedee called out. She finished locking the door after an exiting Christy, then went to Jillian’s side. “What’s wrong?”

“This...this villain has been skulking in the aisles for over two hours.”

“Villain?” Forrest repeated, raising his eyebrows. “Skulking?”

“Don’t you move.” Jillian whipped the pen back and forth. “Deedee, call the police. Quickly. Go to the telephone and—”

“Hey, now wait a minute,” Forrest said.

“Jillian,” Deedee said, “sweetie, you’re so tired you’re not thinking clearly. I’m certain that Mr.—?” She raised her eyebrows questioningly as she looked at him.

“MacAllister,” he answered quickly. “Forrest MacAllister, but feel free to call me Forrest.”

“Right,” Jillian said, with a very unladylike snort of disgust. “You probably made up that name the very second Deedee asked you, you miscreant.”

“Miscreant?” Forrest said. He looked at Deedee with a frown. “Does she always talk like this? ‘Villain? Skulking? Miscreant?’”

Deedee shrugged. “She writes historical novels. The jargon of the era sort of...well, sticks to her at times, especially when she’s exhausted or stressed.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Fascinating.”

“Deedee!” Jillian shrieked. “Would you please call the police?”

“Calm down, Jillian,” Deedee said gently. “Let’s listen to Mr. MacAllister, Forrest’s, explanation of why he was ‘skulking,’ shall we?”

“Would you stop being so condescending?” Jillian said, through clenched teeth. “You’re treating me as though I’m a four-year-old throwing a tantrum.”

“Then quit acting like one,” Forrest said, glowering at her.

“Well!” Jillian said indignantly. “You’re not only a cad, you’re a rude cad to boot.”

“Cad?” He rolled his eyes heavenward. “I don’t believe this. A rude cad.” He burst into laughter, then grinned at Jillian. “You’re really something.” She was enchanting, absolutely delightful, as well as being extremely beautiful. “I’ve always had a fondness for the old-fashioned. You, however, take that premise beyond the scope of my imagination. You’re an intriguing woman, Miss Jones-Jenkins.” His smile faded, and he looked directly into her eyes. “Yes, very intriguing.”

Jillian opened her mouth to retort, then snapped it shut as she realized she had no idea what to say. A tingling sensation danced along her spine and across her breasts before settling low within her. The warm, brown pools of Forrest MacAllister’s eyes seemed to be holding her immobile, unable to think clearly, hardly able to breathe.

Dear heaven, she thought hazily, what was this man doing to her?

Not a thing, she mentally answered herself in the next instant. He was just a man, nothing fancy. He put his pants on one leg at time, just like any other man.

Actually, it wasn’t a good idea to be focusing on the subject of Mr. MacAllister’s pants, Jillian admonished herself.

But, good gracious, he was gorgeous. There was a blatant masculinity about him, an earthy aura that shouted the fact that he was male. Dear heaven, was he ever male. And those eyes, those pinning-her-in-place brown eyes were—

Jillian, stop, stop, stop! she scolded herself. She was overreacting to everything because she was exhausted. She’d had enough of this nonsense.

She tore her gaze from Forrest’s, and dropped the pen onto the table.

“Oh, perdition,” she said, throwing up her hands. “This is ridiculous. Just what exactly is it that you want, Mr. MacAllister?”

You, Forrest thought. Jillian’s big gray eyes were incredible. He felt as though he were being pulled into their fathomless depths, into a sensual fog that caused heat to rocket through his body and coil low and tight within him.

She was a spell weaver. Miss Jillian Jones-Jenkins talked like she had stepped out of the past and into his present. She was rattling him, throwing him off kilter. Well, hell—and perdition, too, for crying out loud.

“Hello?” Deedee said. “Has a truce been called? Is anyone still awake here?”

“I’m not a miscreant,” Forrest said, shaking his head. “Okay? Are we clear on that one? I’m here for a purpose.”

“Do tell,” Jillian said, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“I’m attempting to do that, madam,” he said, glaring at her. “I bought one of your books when I first came in. It’s behind the counter and has my name on it.”

“So, why were you skulking?” Jillian asked, leaning toward him slightly. “Answer me that.”

“Because the book is for my sister, Andrea,” he said, his voice rising. “Andrea MacAllister Stewart? Your friend? You know, the one who’s expecting twins and has been instructed by her doctor to stay in bed because they don’t want the babies to be born too early. She’s very disappointed that she couldn’t come here today.”

“Of course,” Deedee said, beaming, “Forrest MacAllister. Andrea has spoken of you so often, and was very excited that you were coming home from Japan. And, my, my, here you are. Isn’t this a marvelous surprise, Jillian? We’re finally meeting Andrea’s brother, Forrest.”

“Mmm.” Jillian lifted her chin a notch. “Being Andrea’s brother does not explain Mr. MacAllister’s lengthy stretch of skulking.”

“Well, hell, what do you expect?” he said, volume now on high. “Do you think I was going to stand in line with a bunch of giggling, fawning women to have a sappy romance novel autographed? Not in this lifetime, sweetheart.”

“Uh-oh,” Deedee muttered.

Uh-oh, Forrest thought, that had not been a brilliant thing to say.

Fury was building in Jillian like a tempestuous storm, gaining force, soon ready to explode. Eyes that had been radiating gray, pussy willow softness, were now silver daggers prepared to strike him dead. The flush on her cheeks was caused by anger, and her breasts, those full, lush breasts, rapidly rose and fell in an enticing rhythm.

She was absolutely sensational.

“You...you...” Jillian sputtered.

“Wait, whoa, halt,” Forrest said. He quickly raised both hands in a gesture of peace. “That didn’t sound right. What I meant to say is...” Think, MacAllister! He was a breath away from being murdered! “A man, any man, is out of his league in a large group of women. It’s overwhelming, you know what I mean?” He produced his most dazzling smile. “I was nervous, shaking in my shorts.”

“Like hell,” Jillian said, narrowing her eyes.

Forrest’s smile disappeared. “I don’t think they said that back in the old-fashioned days. Anyway, I’m sure your book is great, really wonderful. I like romance. Hell, I love romance. I’m a very romantic guy. Really. You can ask any woman I’ve ever— Cancel that.”

“Mr. MacAllister,” Jillian said.

“Forrest. Call me Forrest. Look, I’m in awe of anyone who can write a book and get it published. All I can do in the writing arena is make out checks to pay my bills. I’d appreciate it if you’d autograph the copy of your book I bought for Andrea. Having your newest novel to read will help take her mind off her worries about the babies.

“Listen, I’ll read the book myself, cover to cover. I’m sorry if I insulted you. I stressed out because of all those women, that’s all. Would you please sign the book for Andrea?”

Oh, perdition, Jillian thought, Forrest MacAllister didn’t play fair. There had been an endearing, little-boy quality about him as he spilled forth his sermonette.

Also evident was a genuine sincerity in his voice, and she knew without doubt that he loved his sister, Andrea, very deeply.

Ever since she and Andrea had become friends, Jillian had been aware that the MacAllisters were a close-knit, devoted-to-each-other family. When she was growing up she used to daydream, to fantasize, about how wonderful it would be to have brothers and sisters, and parents who—

“Jillian?” Forrest said.

“Yes, of course,” she said, smiling. “I’ll be happy to autograph Andrea’s book.”

“Praise the Lord,” Deedee said, looking heavenward. She hurried to retrieve the book from behind the counter, then shoved it into Jillian’s hands. “Write.”

Jillian sat down behind the table and did as instructed. A few minutes later, she held out the book to Forrest.

“There you are,” she said. “I hope Andrea enjoys it. Please tell her that I’ll come visit her very soon.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking the novel from her hand. “Thank you very much.”

Again their eyes met, and again neither moved, nor hardly breathed. Currents of crackling sensuality seemed to weave back and forth between them, drawing them close even while they stayed exactly where they were. Their hearts raced, and heat pulsed within as their startling passion heightened.

“Well, I...” Deedee started.

“What!” Jillian and Forrest both jerked in surprise at the sound of Deedee’s voice and the spell was broken.

Placing one hand over her heart, Deedee said, “All I was going to say is that we’re finished here, and you can head for home and collapse, Jillian. I wish I could drive you, but I’m due at a Women in Business meeting.”

“I’ll call a taxi,” Jillian said, getting to her feet. “Don’t give it another thought, Deedee.”

“I’d be happy to take you home, Miss...” Forrest paused. “Jillian.”

“Oh, no, a taxi will be fine, Mr. MacAllister. Thank you,” she said, not looking at him.

“Forrest. Please accept my offer of a ride. It will help make up for my frightening you while I was ‘skulking.’ At least I now know that I can ‘skulk’ in case the need for it ever arises. I’ll drive you home. Right? Right. That’s settled. Let’s go.”

“Good idea,” Deedee said. “There’s nothing to worry about, Jillian. We know Andrea, Forrest is Andrea’s brother, and that’s good enough for me. It’s fine with you, too, but you’re too tired to realize it.”

“But—” Jillian began, but no one paid any attention to her.

“Jillian came here right from the airport,” Deedee informed Forrest. “Her luggage is in the back room. I’ll let you out the front door so you can get your car. Drive down the alley to the rear entrance and we’ll load you up.”

“But—” Jillian tried again.

“Got it,” Forrest said, starting toward the front door.

Deedee was right behind him.

“Fine,” Jillian said, throwing up her hands. “Whatever.”

* * *

Once the rear door of the store was locked behind Jillian and Forrest, Deedee hurried to the telephone and called Andrea.

“It was touch and go, Andrea,” Deedee said breathlessly, “but I did it. Forrest is, as we speak, driving Jillian home. Goodness, your brother is a dreamboat. Anyway, so far, so good...well, providing Jillian doesn’t murder him before they get to her house. Now then, tomorrow I’ll...”

Two

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?”

“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.”

“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.”

“Deedee, I really don’t want—” The doorbell rang, causing Jillian to stop speaking. “Someone is at the door. It must be the pizza I ordered.”

“Good. Hang up. Just promise me you’ll think about what I proposed.”

“Yes, fine, all right, I’ll think about it. I’ve got to go, Deedee. Bye.” Jillian dropped the receiver into place and shot to her feet. “Pizza. Brain food.” She marched across the living room toward the entry hall. “Andrea and Deedee need some help for their brains.”

Before opening the door, she grabbed a twenty-dollar bill from the credenza in the entry hall. It was her “cash stash” for the frequent delivery of meals that held more appeal than cooking her own. Flipping on the porch light, even though the motion-sensitive lights would have been activated, she opened the door.

“Hi. That was quick. I only called you a few minutes—” She stopped speaking. Her mouth remained opened as her eyes widened.

Standing before her in the bright light, dressed in a dark gray suit, pale blue shirt, and gray paisley-print tie, looking like he’d just stepped out of the pages of Gentlemen’s Quarterly magazine, was Forrest MacAllister.

* * *

“Andrea?” Deedee said. “We’ve been momentarily saved by a pizza. Jillian was not going for The Project idea, no way, no how. Then the pizza she ordered was delivered and she had to answer the door. I got her to promise to think about Forrest being The Project.

“Now we wait and see what happens, and keep each other posted if we hear anything. I swear, when we decided that Jillian and Forrest would be perfect for each other, I had no idea that Cupids had to work so hard. This is exhausting. But victory shall be ours! Won’t it?”

Three

Forrest MacAllister, Jillian mentally repeated incredulously, was standing in her doorway. Forrest, who had been smiling, but who was now frowning and appearing rather confused as his gaze swept over her attire.

Jillian blinked, cleared her throat, and was unable to hide an expression every bit as confused as his.

“Forrest?” she said. “I thought you were the pizza.”

“No,” he said slowly, “I’m not a pizza. I’m a man. The one you have a dinner date with.”

“I do?”

He nodded. “You do. May I come in?”

“Yes, I think you’d better,” she said, stepping back.

Gracious but he was gorgeous. She had a funny little flutter in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t chalk up to hunger. He smelled wonderful, too. His after-shave had a woodsy, very masculine aroma.

As she closed the door, Forrest turned to look at her.

Cute as a button, he thought. Jillian’s sweatshirt was baggy, her jeans as old as dirt, and the socks were weird. But she was femininity in spades, causing his heart to increase its tempo.

“I think we’ve had a communication problem, or something,” Jillian said.

“Actually, I was afraid this might happen,” he said. “I tried to call you today to confirm our date, but you have an unlisted number.”

He could have asked Andrea or Deedee for Jillian’s number, he knew, but he wasn’t ready to tell either of them that he was taking her out. The cackling glee he would no doubt have been subjected to was something a guy had to gear up for.

“When you agreed to go out with me,” he went on, “I wondered if you’d remember.”

Jillian splayed one hand on her chest. “I agreed to a dinner date for tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am, you did. We were standing right here in your entry hall last night when we made the plans for me to pick you up at seven-thirty.”

“Oh, Forrest, I’m so sorry. I don’t remember. I knew there was something niggling at me, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. This is embarrassing, and I sincerely apologize.”

“Hey,” he said, smiling, “don’t worry about it. You were so exhausted that I wasn’t certain at the time that you were really tuned in to what we were saying. How about a rain check?”

“Well, I—” she started, then gasped as the doorbell rang again. “Pizza.”

She spun around and opened the door. A few minutes later she closed it, and stood holding an enormous, square flat box.

“Mmm,” she said, inhaling deeply. “Doesn’t that smell delicious?”

“That has got to be the biggest pizza box I’ve ever seen.”

“Isn’t it great? It’s a Super Duper Pizza Supreme Deluxe Extraordinaire.”

Forrest laughed. “That’s quite a title.”

“Forrest, listen. I feel so badly about not remembering our date. Why don’t you stay and share this pizza with me? There’s enough here for a regiment of marines. You could take off your jacket and tie, be more comfortable, and we’ll have a pizza party.”

“Sold.”

“Good,” she said, matching his smile. “I’m glad.”

She really was very glad that Forrest had agreed to stay, Jillian mused, as she walked past him into the living room. She hadn’t realized that the evening ahead had been looming before her as a series of long, exasperating hours spent attempting to come up with a brilliant idea for The Project.

Oh, dear...The Project, now also known as an Angels and Elves assignment, or mission, or whatever. Forrest MacAllister as The Project? Zero in on his problem of working far too much, get him to relax, have fun? That was nuts, it really was. Wasn’t it? She’d promised Deedee that she’d think about the absurd idea, and she’d keep her word. Later.

But now? Forrest was there. She felt suddenly lighthearted and cheerful. Her gloomy mood had completely disappeared. Forrest had been so understanding about her forgetting their date, and he was now going to take part in an impromptu pizza party, despite the fact that he was dressed to the nines.

She was certainly going to erase from her memory bank her first impression of him as being a skulking miscreant. Forrest MacAllister was a very nice man.

Forrest MacAllister was also so drop-dead gorgeous, he was enough to make a woman weep.

“I’ll get a tablecloth and spread it on the floor in front of the fireplace,” Jillian said. “That will be more fun than eating in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

Forrest pulled off his tie as he watched Jillian leave the room.

A pizza picnic, he thought. Jillian Jones-Jenkins was really something. When he’d first seen her at Books and Books, she’d appeared every bit the professional career woman. Who would have guessed that she was the type to wear polka-dot socks and eat pizza while sitting on the floor?

An intriguing woman was Lady Jillian, with many layers to be discovered, like unwrapping a Christmas present. He’d been looking forward to taking her to a classy restaurant, but the evening ahead definitely held much more appeal. Definitely.

Forrest put his tie in his pocket, removed his jacket and set it on a chair, then slipped off his shoes. He rolled the cuffs of his shirt up a bit, and undid the two top buttons.

He was ready for a pizza picnic, and for whatever other delights the evening produced.

Jillian returned with a blue-plaid vinyl tablecloth, which Forrest helped spread out on the floor in front of the fire. She brought in glasses of soda and some napkins, then placed the pizza box in the center of the cloth.

Sitting Indian-style next to each other, their backs against the sofa, they peered into the box when Jillian lifted the lid.

“Holy smoke,” Forrest said, laughing. “I hope there isn’t going to be a test later on what all that stuff is on that creation.”

“It’s an exquisite work of art,” Jillian said. “Dig in, Forrest.”

They ate two slices each, with appreciative “mmms,” then slowed a bit on the third.

How strange, Jillian thought, as she took a sip of soda. There was a comfortable, rather peaceful feeling settling over her as she sat on the floor next to Forrest. It felt right somehow to have him there, sharing her pizza party.

Yet, at the same time, she was acutely aware of Forrest’s masculinity and how it caused her to silently rejoice in her own femininity. Frissons of heat coursed deep within her, awakening her slumbering womanliness. The remembrance of Forrest’s quick kiss of the night before was becoming more vivid with each passing moment.

How was it possible, she wondered, to be experiencing such opposite emotions at the same time?

“Jillian,” Forrest said, bringing her from her confused thoughts, “I read Midnight Embrace last night, and I wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed it.”

“Thank you,” she said, then took another nibble of pizza.

“I obviously had the wrong impression of what romance novels actually are. When I gave the book to Andrea today, I apologized for having hassled her for years about her choice of reading material.”

“That’s nice. I hope you aren’t missing having anchovies on this pizza. I can’t abide those yucky little fish.”

“What? Oh, no. I don’t like them, either. Anyway, your novel was great. I stayed up late to finish it, because I wanted to find out how the hero and heroine were going to solve their problems. It seemed hopeless there for a while, but you really did a fantastic job of putting the pieces of the puzzle together.”

“Thank you. Do you have enough soda?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Do you do your own research? You sure covered the details of clothes, furnishings, food, social graces, the whole nine yards of that era. Do you hire someone to gather that information for you?”

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