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
