“Well, it just can’t be helped,” Margaret said. “The whole family is here in spirit, and Andrea and John know that.”
Dear heaven, Jillian thought, she was going to cry in a minute if she didn’t get herself together. She’d just never been a part of anything like this—not in her entire life. It was so beautiful, so incredibly beautiful.
A nurse entered the room and everyone got quickly to their feet.
“Just an update, folks,” the nurse said. “We’re on our way to the delivery room. Those little ones are eager to greet the world. Andrea is doing splendidly. John is a bit gray around the edges, but he’s hanging right in there. It won’t be long now.” She hurried out of the room.
“Lord—” Forrest pressed one hand to his stomach “—this stuff is so damn scary.”
“Oh, yeah?” Michael said. “Wait until you’re the one in the weird green clothes, taking part up close and personal. That, my little brother, is terror in its purest form.”
Forrest nodded. “Yes, I bet it is, but I’d be there every step of the way.” He tightened his hold on Jillian’s shoulders. “Count on it.”
Nine
Forrest won The Baby Bet.
When John appeared in the waiting room in his green garb, Jillian instantly cataloged him in her mind as being tall, good-looking, and very proud. The smile that lit up his face erased the fatigue and strain that had been visible when he first entered the room.
“A boy,” he said, beaming, “and a girl. Andrea was fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. She was a lot braver than I was, I can tell you that. She’s fine. Exhausted but happy.”
“Halt!” Michael said. “Who was born first? Your son, or your daughter?”
“Our son,” John said, obviously confused by the question. “Why?”
Michael consulted the piece of paper he held in his hand. “Check. Okay, how much did they weigh?”
“Oh, I get it,” John said. “You’re doing The Baby Bet bit. Let’s see, Forrest is the current champion. Right? Well, here goes. John Matthew, to be called Matt to avoid the two Johns mix-ups, weighed five pounds, eight ounces. Andrea Noel, to be called Noel because Christmas is a very special family celebration, and to avoid the two Andreas mix-ups—”
“John!” Michael said.
“Weighed five pounds,” he said, then paused and frowned. “Does my memory fail me?”
“Not if you want to live to tell about it,” Michael said.
John chuckled. “Four ounces.”
“Yes!” Forrest punched one fist in the air. “I’m still The Baby Bet champion. Man, I’m so great at this, it blows my mind. Pay,” he added, waggling his fingers as he extended his hand to Michael.
“Damn.” Michael slapped the money into Forrest’s hand. “Twice in a row. It’s a good thing I know this stuff can’t be set up ahead of time.”
“Now that that’s out of the way,” Margaret said, “I intend to hug the new daddy. Come here, John. Robert and I are so thrilled.”
“You’re sure Andrea’s fine?” Robert said, as Margaret hugged John.
“She’s great,” John said. “She’ll be taken to her room in a few minutes.”
Jenny hugged John. Then Forrest, Michael, Ryan and Ted shook his hand.
“John,” Forrest said, “this is Jillian Jones-Jenkins. She came along to keep me calm, cool and collected through this harrowing ordeal.”
“Hello, John,” Jillian said, smiling, “and congratulations to you and Andrea. A son and a daughter. What a wonderful family you have.”
“Thank you,” John said. “I don’t think I can really express how I’m feeling right now. It’s just...well, bigger than I can find words to explain.” He cocked his head slightly. “Words. You’re Andrea’s writer friend. I thought you looked familiar. I’ve seen your photograph on the back of a whole stack of your books that Andrea has. She’s been wanting me to meet you. Hey, I’ll be able to tell the twins that a famous writer was here the night they were born.”
Jillian laughed. “Well, the ‘famous’ is stretching it a bit.”
“No, it’s not,” John said. “The thing is, why are you with a dud like Forrest?”
“I was wondering about that myself,” Ted said thoughtfully.
“Now, wait just a damn minute,” Forrest said.
“Hush, all of you,” Margaret said. “Don’t get started on your usual nonsense. What I want to know is when we can see the babies?”
“And Andrea,” Robert said. “I want to say hello to my girl.”
“I’m sorry, Robert,” John said, “but you can’t see Andrea tonight. Once she’s settled in her room, they said I could come in for two seconds to kiss her good-night, but then she’s supposed to sleep. As for the babies, I’ll go check.” He spun around and left the room.
Ryan slid a quick glance at his mother, then leaned toward Jillian. “Forrest really is a dud, Jillian,” he whispered.
“Ryan Robert,” Margaret said, “this is not the time or place to discuss the fact that Forrest is a dud.”
“You’re agreeing with him?” Forrest said. “What kind of a mother are you? I am not a dud.”
“Of course, you’re not,” she said, patting him on the cheek.
“Mothers are prejudiced,” Robert said.
“Jillian,” Forrest said, “the next time you count your blessings, put being an only child at the very top of your list.”
Everyone laughed, then stared at the doorway, watching for John’s return.
Oh, she adored this family, Jillian mused. There was so much love and warmth weaving back and forth between them. A stranger passing by that room and hearing the banter might draw the conclusion that these people were at odds with each other and someone was close to being decked.
But she knew better as she stood in their midst. They were wonderful. No, being an only child wasn’t one of her blessings to be counted.
“Ladies and gentlemen and Forrest,” John announced from the doorway, “John Matthew and Andrea Noel are now receiving visitors. Follow me.”
As they all went down the hallway, Jillian felt the increased tempo of her heart as she eagerly anticipated her first glimpse of the twins.
She had not, she realized, ever seen a newborn baby up close. When she’d visited friends to take a gift for a new addition, she’d always waited several weeks before going, having decided there was enough confusion in that household early on.
Andrea and John’s babies were not even an hour old. What would they look like? Would they be sleeping? Crying? Would they—
Suddenly, there they were.
Behind a large window, a nurse stood close to the glass, a pink blanket-wrapped bundle tucked in the crook of one arm, a blue bundle in the other. A buzz of comments erupted from the group, but Jillian heard only a faint hum of voices far in the distance.
Her gaze was riveted on the babies. They both had skin the shade of a peach at perfection, and caps of silky, auburn hair. Matthew was crying, his tiny fists flailing in the air, emphasizing his displeasure over an unknown something. Noel was sleeping, delicate lashes fanning her cheeks.
Dear heaven, Jillian thought, aware of threatening tears, they were beautiful. They were miracles. Oh, how she wanted to reach out her arms and hold them, cuddle them, feel their little bodies nestled against her breasts.
It had been so many years since she’d allowed herself to think about the baby she’d lost. She’d buried the pain, the sense of emptiness, deep within her, refusing to acknowledge it. Along with Roger’s betrayal, she’d refused to address her yearning for the child who had never been born.
But now? There was nowhere to hide from the memories. A baby. Oh, God, she wanted a baby. She wanted to have Forrest’s baby.
“Jillian?” Forrest said quietly. “Hey, are you all right?”
“What?” She snapped her head up to look at him. “Oh, yes, of course, I’m fine. It’s just that... What I mean is...” She tore her gaze from Forrest’s and turned to John. “They’re w
onderful, John, absolutely beautiful.”
“Yes,” he said, then was unable to speak further as he was overcome with emotion.
Forrest frowned as he stared at Jillian.
What was she thinking? he wondered. What was going on in that complicated, fascinating mind of hers? He sure as hell knew what he was thinking. He wanted to marry Jillian Jones-Jenkins now, make a commitment with her and to her now, create the miracle that would be their child now. He wanted it all.
Because he was in love with Jillian Jones-Jenkins.
* * *
During the drive back to Jillian’s, for reasons he himself didn’t understand, Forrest chattered nonstop, relating the tale of how Andrea had met John.
Forrest and Andrea were to have a luncheon meeting with a prospective client, John, who was in need of landscaping for a rental property he had purchased as an investment. He also wished to have an addition built onto the house to increase its value. He was considering hiring MacAllister Architects, since they were equipped to handle both of his needs.
Forrest had drawn up plans for the new room, and Andrea had prepared several proposals for the landscaping. Andrea and Forrest were to arrive at the restaurant in separate vehicles because Andrea had an earlier appointment.
Everything was fine and dandy, Forrest went on, except for the fact that it was raining cats and dogs. He’d met John at the designated time, but there was no sign of Andrea.
“Where was she?” Jillian said, having to force herself to pay attention to the tale.
“Changing a flat tire. Oh, man, you should have seen her when she came into that swanky restaurant.” He chuckled and shook his head at the remembered images. “She was soaked to the skin, splattered with mud, and her shoes were squishing with every sloppy step she took. She looked like a drowned rat, a total wreck. Lord, she was a mess. Believe me, if I had known the word at the time, I would have yelled ‘Perdition!’ at the top of my lungs.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Jillian said, smiling. “Then what happened?”
“Andrea,” Forrest related, “sat down just as calm as you please and made her presentation as though there wasn’t a thing wrong with her appearance. She simply ignored the sound of the water from her clothes dripping steadily onto the floor with a maddening cadence. John was not only impressed with Andrea’s expertise as a landscape architect, but also with Andrea, herself, and her unbelievable performance. True love, as well as landscaping, was in bloom.
“And they’re in the process of living happily ever after,” Forrest said. “Yep, just like in one of your books.”
He slid a quick glance at Jillian. Lord, how he loved her. He was honest-to-goodness in love! He was, he guessed, talking a blue streak because his mind was a mess, a tangled maze. He was in love for the first time in his life, and he had no idea if he was ecstatic or terrified.
Why? Because he didn’t know if Jillian loved him. Oh, man, he was heading for a nervous breakdown, no doubt about it.
“Jenny and Michael are happy little lovebirds, too,” he blathered on. “As a matter of fact, so are Sherry and Ryan, and my parents. Yes, sir, there’s a lot of that happy-ending stuff going around in the real world, as well as in your novels.”
“Your family,” Jillian said quietly, “is a lovely exception to the general rule.”
“No, I don’t believe that, Jillian. The gloom-and-doomers get a charge out of spouting endless statistics about the soaring divorce rate, but there are a multitude of happily married people in this world.”
Easy, MacAllister, he mentally warned himself. Be very careful.
“I realize that you had a marriage that caused you a great deal of pain and disillusionment, Jillian, but that’s all in the past. If you allow it to determine your attitude in the present, you could miss out on something rare, something special. Know what I mean?”
As Forrest spoke, dark visions from the past flashed before Jillian’s eyes, causing a chill to shimmer through her.
Forrest was preaching at her, she thought angrily, about something of which he knew nothing. How easy it was for someone who had never experienced the horror of betrayal, of divorce, to say ‘Hey, forget it. That was then, this is now. Go for the gusto in the present.’ Well, it wasn’t that simple, damn it.
Besides, even if she had managed to escape from the painful ghosts, it wouldn’t erase the fact that her work was her focus now. She didn’t have time for romance, a committed relationship, a husband and family.
But, oh, those babies, those beautiful, precious twins. Such yearning they’d evoked in her, such aching desire to have a child, Forrest’s child. A baby fathered by the man she loved with every breath in her body.
Jillian blinked. What? The man she what? Oh, no. No, no, no. She was in love with Forrest MacAllister? How could she have allowed that to happen? She didn’t want to be in love. But she was. Oh, yes, she was deeply in love with Forrest.
“Hello?” Forrest said. “Are you awake over there?”
“What? Oh, I was thinking that I might dedicate my next book to the twins, because I feel very honored to have been there tonight when they were born.”
Perdition! Forrest fumed. He hadn’t even dented Jillian’s protective walls with his gushing report of marital bliss and happy endings. Jillian’s dragons were mighty tough dudes to slay.
“Gear up, MacAllister,” he muttered.
“Pardon me?”
“Nothing. There’s your house up ahead. We have the sad task awaiting us of pronouncing your chicken officially dead.”
Jillian stared at the house as they drove closer, then turned into the driveway.
Her haven, her safe place, suddenly appeared too big, too empty. In a few short days, she would be back in her office working—alone. She’d spend the nights—alone. She’d exist in the world she’d created for herself—alone. Without Forrest. Oh, dear heaven, without Forrest MacAllister.
When they entered the house, a wave of despair and loneliness swept through Jillian with such bone-chilling intensity that she staggered slightly from the impact. She flung herself into Forrest’s arms. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, surprise evident on his face.
“Make love to me, Forrest,” Jillian said, her voice trembling. “Please.”
He frowned. “That’s not a request I’m about to deny, but... Jillian, what’s wrong? You’re obviously upset about something. Let’s talk about it. Okay?”
“No. No, I don’t want to talk.”
As Forrest opened his mouth to protest further, Jillian stood on tiptoe and captured his lips with her own, her tongue delving into his mouth to seek and find his. She molded her body to his, crushing her breasts to his chest, feeling his arousal surge against her.
She didn’t want to talk, her mind hammered. She didn’t want to think. She wished only to feel, fill her senses and the essence of herself with Forrest, savoring all that he was.
Forrest had a fleeting image in his mind of noble Roman tapping him on the shoulder, telling him that this damsel was in distress, that a serious discussion was in order.
But as Jillian sank her fingers into his hair and urged his mouth harder onto hers, Forrest mentally told Roman to take a flying leap off the highest mast of his sailing ship.
Jillian wanted him, Forrest thought hazily, and heaven knew he wanted her. He was on fire, burning with a desire for her that was never, ever, fully extinguished. It smoldered, waiting to be fanned into leaping flames of passion that consumed him with need.
He tore his lips from Jillian’s, lifted her into his arms, and carried her down the hall to her bedroom. Setting her on her feet next to the bed, he snapped on the small lamp on the nightstand, flung back the bed linens, then drew her into his embrace once more.
His mouth melted over hers, and the kiss was searing, nearly rough in its intensity. Tongues met, dueled, danced, stroked in a sensual rhythm. Forrest raised his head only long enough to take a sharp breath, then slanted his mouth the other way, drinking in Jilli
an’s sweet taste. She trembled in his arms.
When he gathered handfuls of the material of her caftan, she broke the kiss and shook her head, taking a step backward.
Forrest frowned for a moment, then understood her intentions as she quickly removed the caftan herself, dropping it to the floor. As she continued to shed her clothing, he removed his own. Their eager hands then reached for each other, and they tumbled onto the bed.
Hands, lips and tongues explored—caressing, kissing, tasting, discovering what they had known before but was now somehow new and wondrous.
Whispers and whimpers and moans of pleasure, accompanied by the tantalizing pain of need, escaped from their lips, neither knowing which of them had made the passion-laden sounds.
As Forrest drew the soft flesh of one of her breasts deep into his mouth, Jillian gripped his shoulders tightly, closing her eyes to focus inwardly, not wishing to miss one precious sensation, one lick of the heated flames sweeping through her. The steady pull of Forrest’s mouth on her breast was matched by a pulsing tempo deep within her.
He left her breast to reclaim her mouth, then moved over her at last, entering her, thrusting fully into her, bringing to her all that he was.
She gasped as he suddenly slid his arms around her back and rolled over, taking her with him. She moved slowly, tentatively upward, her hands sliding through the moist curls on his muscled chest, her knees on either side of his narrow hips.
Their eyes met, mirroring desire in smoky hues, and then the rhythm began. Forrest grasped her waist, nearly encircling it with his large hands, raising his body to meet each pounding motion.
Exquisite tension coiled within them, tighter and hotter, bringing them closer and closer to the final ecstasy. They each held back by sheer force of will; waiting, anticipating.
And then...
“Forrest!”
Jillian threw her head back, calling his name again, then yet again. He lifted his hips one last time and found his own release, a moan rumbling deep in his chest. Each wave of sensation that rocketed through them carried them higher, delivering them to a glorious place where they could only travel together.
Angels And Elves (The Baby Bet #1) Page 12
