Читать книгу Angels And Elves - Joan Elliott Pickart - Страница 9

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?”