Sleeping with the Playboy (10 page)

“So, you're saying…”

“I'm saying I think we should stick to your bedroom from now on. With the door locked and the monitor on.”

Donovan felt all the tension drain out of his shoulders like liquid. It was replaced by another type of tension—the kind that required a very satisfying cure.

He leaned back on the sofa and raked his fingers through his hair. “Thank God!”

Jocelyn laughed. “What, did you think I was going to torture you for the next few days? Torture both of us?”

He shook his head. “I don't know what I thought. I was afraid of that, I guess.”

She swayed toward him and took his face in her hands. “What happened down at the lake was amazing, Donovan. I have no regrets. We're here in this great spot, I'm attracted to you and you seem to be attracted to me. We're both adults, so I don't see why we shouldn't enjoy each other, as long as we act responsibly and take precautions.”

She was making it sound like a casual, temporary fling.

A part of him wanted to talk her out of that—to convince her that they could be so much more than that, if they tried.

But in light of the uncertainty he still felt about how willing he was to risk his own heart, he decided it would be best to just nod and say yes. She was offering a few days of no-strings-attached lovemaking. Maybe it was all she could give. For all he knew, maybe it was all
he
could give. He couldn't possibly predict, because this was uncharted territory.

This was a good thing, he decided, smiling at her and leaning in for a kiss. It would give them both time to get to know each other, without ever really committing to anything more. Then, if it didn't work out, it wouldn't be too serious.

At least, he didn't think it would be. Considering the way he felt at the moment—all hot and bothered and emotionally exhilarated—there might not be any way to prevent it from becoming serious.

Jocelyn raked her fingers through his hair and kissed him deeply, distracting him from his thoughts. Heady temptations seared his brain.

He tried to ease her back onto the sofa, but she
rested her hands on his chest. “Remember what I said.”

“Precautions?”

“Yes. So why don't we take that popcorn upstairs and eat it later?”

He smiled down at her and kissed her one more time. “I like the way you think.”

She raised a flirty eyebrow and got up, taking him by the hand and leading him to the stairs.

He would just have to be patient, he decided, and see where the next few days would take them….

 

“You know, I was actually surprised that you hired me,” Jocelyn said the next morning as she pulled the drapes open across the huge windows.

Donovan leaned up in bed on one elbow, the white sheet slung across his waist. “Why?”

“Because I'm a woman.”

Jocelyn gazed down at the awesome sight of his handsome face and muscular, sun-bronzed chest, and felt her insides melt, but she fought the urge to get back in bed and make love with him, because they'd already made love twice that morning, and they needed breakfast.

“You had a great reputation,” he said.

She went to get her bathrobe, on the floor by the door. “Yes, but I didn't think you considered me a real bodyguard. Part of me thought you just wanted me to come and stay in your penthouse because you thought I was cute and it would be fun.”

He smiled, looking taken aback. “It
was
fun.”

She picked up one of his socks on the floor and flung it at him.

“Seriously,” he said, “I did need a new alarm
system, and for some reason I trusted you to provide the security I needed.”

“But would you have given in so easily to Mark and hired me if I had been a short, bald man?”

He gazed at her for a moment. “What's with the questions?”

She pulled on her robe, tied it around her waist, and shrugged.

He pointed at her. “You just want to know if I'm still the playboy that you thought I was when you first met me, and if you're my most recent diversion.”

Jocelyn combed her fingers through her hair, wishing he wasn't always so perceptive where her emotions were concerned. Even though she'd come to realize he wasn't at all shallow, she was still afraid of something. She wasn't quite sure what it was yet. “You can't blame me. I suppose I want to understand what's going on between us.”

His chest heaved with a sigh. “I thought last night you said this was just about enjoying each other while we're here.”

Was that really all he wanted? she wondered, surprised at how hurt she felt by his reminder. She should have asked him what his intentions were at that moment, but she couldn't. A question like that would be too needy and demanding, and he was right, she
had
said they would just enjoy each other. She'd offered him a few nights of pleasure, nothing more—it was what she'd wanted herself—and she had no right to change her mind now.

Was
she changing her mind? The thought terrified her. Everything had been so wonderful last night down at the lake, and through the night in his bed.
Donovan had not only given her more pleasure than she'd ever dreamed possible, he'd been gentle and caring and loving.

It was all so new. So overwhelming. She didn't know what to make of it.

“Hey, I'm sorry,” she said, trying to hide the depth of her unbidden fears. “I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“Brought what up, exactly?”

A flurry of panic coursed through her. He was staring at her intently. Watching her. Wanting to know what she was getting at.

Oh God, was she scaring him off?

She was scaring herself.

“The fact that you hired me,” she replied, skirting the
real
question, for him as well as for herself. She needed time to sort out her feelings. “Some people don't trust a woman to do the job. Come on, let's go get some breakfast.”

He tossed the sheet off and got out of bed, then fished through his suitcase for a pair of shorts. He pulled them on and followed her down the stairs.

“I hired you because I trusted you,” he said. “You have a competent air about you.”

Jocelyn entered the kitchen. “Thank you. Why don't I cook breakfast this morning?”

“All right.” He sat down on one of the stools at the counter, while she pulled eggs and bacon out of the fridge and set to work. She laid the bacon slices in a skillet to fry.

“So tell me,” he said, “why did you leave the Secret Service?”

“To be honest, for the money.” She cracked some
eggs into a bowl and began to beat them with a whisk.

“That's surprising. I thought you hated that kind of thing.”

“I hate people attaching more value to their cars and boats than to their loved ones. I don't hate money. In fact, I appreciate it very much when I can put it to good use. I'm sending my younger sister to Juliard.”

He perked up at that. “You never mentioned that before.”

“It never came up.”

“Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

“No, just Marie. She's eighteen and a very talented cello player. She moved in with my aunt after my mom died and no one could afford to send her to a good music school, so I went out on my own to try to cover the expense. Besides that, I like the independence of running my own business.”

“Are you musical, too?”

She smiled and poured the eggs into the frying pan she'd set on the stove. “I like to sing.”

“You are full of surprises. Sing something.”

“Not while I'm cooking! I need to concentrate.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Cooking is one of the things you
don't
do. But it looks to me like you're doing it pretty well.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder. “I didn't say I
couldn't
do it. I just said I didn't like to.”

He rose from the stool to come around the counter and approach her from behind. “Seems to me, you're good at everything. This especially…”

He slid his hands around her waist and nibbled her
neck, while she stirred the eggs on the stove. Goose bumps erupted and tickled all over her body.

“You're distracting me. I'm going to burn the eggs.”

She felt his erection pressing against her bottom. Desire coursed through her. Incapable of resisting the heated power of it, she set down her spatula and turned around to kiss him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and reveled in the feel of his wet, open mouth and his tongue mingling with hers. How was it possible a man could press all her buttons with such unbelievable intensity?

After a moment or two, the bacon snapped and sizzled in the skillet, reminding her that she was in charge of breakfast. She smiled and pushed him away. “We can't do this constantly, Donovan. We're human. We need to eat.”

He kissed her on the cheek and returned to the stool. “Being a doctor, you'd think I'd remember that.”

While Jocelyn cooked breakfast, they talked more about her sister, Marie, then about Donovan's plans with the grief counseling center.

They sat down to eat, discussing what would happen after the police caught Cohen, and how involved Donovan would be in the legal proceedings.

After breakfast, Donovan rose from the table and picked up both their plates. Jocelyn made a move to rise.

“No, you stay here and enjoy your coffee,” he said. “I'll get this.”

He's a dream,
she thought, thanking him with a kiss. Still in her bathrobe, she pushed the sliding door open, then stepped out onto the deck to enjoy the
view of the lake. She sat down on a lounge chair and sipped her coffee, remembering how incredible Donovan had been in bed the night before, how he had brought her to tears when she'd climaxed. Tears of joy. Tears of hope.

God, she was losing control. He may be a dream, she told herself, but he's still your client. A client who has never had, with any woman, a relationship that lasted.

She shifted uneasily in her chair. What in the world was she doing? She was a professional, and she'd broken the cardinal rule: Never get emotionally involved.

Yet here she was, happier than she'd ever been in her entire life, wanting to touch Donovan and feel his arms around her, wanting to talk to him and fill whatever void still existed in his heart from losing his parents. She wanted to help him find true happiness and show him how wonderful a lasting love could be….

Her mind suddenly clouded with self-doubt. Lasting love? What did she know of that? She'd been single for years since Tom left her. She still carried around anger at her father for leaving her mother. What did she know of the kind of happiness that came with lifelong love? Nothing.

A fine pair they made.

Jocelyn heard the sound of pots clanging in the kitchen, and took another sip of her coffee.

Yes, she cared deeply for Donovan, maybe she was even falling in love with him, but was she brave enough to throw all caution to the wind, and jump in headfirst? She wasn't sure.

All she knew was that for now, she had to keep
her feet on the ground and remember that this was a week of pleasure, nothing more. She didn't think she had what it took to lead Donovan out of the lonely place he'd known all his life, and he most likely didn't have what it took to keep a relationship going—even though it was no fault of his own.

Together, they were probably ill-fated. She would do well to remember that.

O
ver the next three days, when they weren't making love in a locked bedroom, Jocelyn and Donovan went fishing, swimming and hiking in the woods. The owners of the cabin delivered live lobsters one night, which Donovan cooked for supper with melted butter and Italian bread. The other evenings, Donovan barbecued, and afterward, they went skinny-dipping in the moonlight.

It was the most romantic few days Jocelyn had ever known in her life—and the most confusing, because everything was perfect. Donovan was affectionate, attentive and a generous lover. He cooked for her, rubbed her shoulders and listened to whatever she wanted to talk about.

She couldn't imagine that life could be like this every day—that this wasn't some special dream world. There had to be a hitch. There always was.

“Tell me something,” Donovan said in bed one night, after they'd made love. “When you were trying to convince me not to buy that black dress for you, you said you could guarantee it was something you'd never wear again. Why? And why do you always wear that plain brown suit and flat shoes, when you'd look terrific in something…else?”

Jocelyn sat up and smiled. “That's a tactful way of telling me I dress like crap.”

He laughed. “You know that's not what I mean. You just seem to want to play
down
your looks.”

Jocelyn lay back down, resting her cheek on Donovan's shoulder. “I guess I've never been able to stop fighting what I always had to fight as a child.”

“What was that?”

“My father's wayward sense of what was important. He wasn't the warmest individual on the planet, and the only time I ever got a smile or a compliment from him was when I was dressed up like a little doll. He couldn't stand to see me in jeans, or dirty from playing outside, and he was completely unattracted to my mother when she was wearing her terry cloth bathrobe around the house. Then, when he left, he told her it was because she didn't care enough about her appearance. He took off with a younger woman who wore short skirts, glittery earrings and lots of hairspray. I'll never forget what she looked like, and my poor mother, who was the kindest, most loving person in the world, never got over that. She became insecure and self-conscious, even when I tried to tell her every day that she was the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I guess I just don't ever want people to like me because I
look
good. I can't stand the superficiality of that.”

Jocelyn couldn't believe she had just told Donovan all of that. She'd never told anyone those things, except her assistant, Tess, and that had been after two years of working together.

He rubbed a thumb over her shoulder. “It doesn't matter what you wear, Jocelyn, you
always
look good.”

She kissed his bare chest. “But you're not shallow, Donovan. Lots of people are, and I don't want or need to dress up to impress
them.
”

“But by trying to look like one thing—a tough, untouchable bodyguard—you're doing the same thing your father was doing, only the opposite way. You're still putting a lot of emphasis on your appearance, trying to give off a certain impression, when it doesn't matter. You can wear short skirts if you want to, and you'll still be the same person. You'll still be smart and funny and tough.”

She sighed. “That's a unique way to look at it.”

“Maybe. I just wonder if the real reason you've always played down your looks was to keep people away, because you said yourself that you don't believe in happily ever after.” He kissed her forehead, brushing her hair back with his lips. “Jocelyn, I don't want to be one of those people you try to push away.”

She leaned up on one elbow to look him in the eye. “You're trying to fix me, aren't you?”

His expression was open, friendly, adoring. “I just want you to know that you could wear
anything
in front of me—fancy or plain—and you'd still be extraordinary. And I'm sorry that your father couldn't love you for the person you were on the inside. He was very wrong to take his family for granted. He
had no idea how lucky he was to have you both. Maybe someday he'll realize it.”

She rested her head on his chest again. “How did you get to be so optimistic?”

“I don't know, maybe it's because of the ideals I have about my parents and the things I remember about them. My grandmother told me they were like two peas in a pod. They had everything in common and cherished each other, and when they had me, they grew even closer. We were a tight unit, the three of us, and nothing was more important to them than our little family—not their jobs, not their money, not their belongings. Gram told me they were soul mates.”

“That's beautiful, Donovan. You were lucky to grow up with a promising outlook on relationships.”

He gazed down at her. “Why do I get the feeling you think I'm being unrealistic?”

She shook her head defensively. “I don't. All I know is what I've seen in my life. Maybe the kind of happiness your parents knew is possible for some people.”

“But not you?”

She looked at his face, contemplating what she believed. What she thought was possible. Until now, she'd been a skeptic, but Donovan was touching something inside of her. She was dreaming of happiness now, imagining a beautiful future with him even though she was scared to death that she was setting herself up for disappointment.

Still, she'd never been inclined to dream of a perfect future before, and that said something. Donovan had given her hope. “I…I guess I would like to believe that maybe it is possible.”

His face warmed at her words—words that signified a lowering of her shield. Words that gave him hope, too.

“You're beautiful.” He gathered her into his arms and pressed his mouth hotly to hers. Jocelyn let all her worries go, and gave herself over completely to the pleasure of his lovemaking, which tonight was like a wonderful, erotic dream.

She would worry about reality tomorrow.

 

“Want to go upstairs and play Monopoly?” Donovan asked, after supper when it looked like it was going to rain.

Jocelyn smiled at him. “Monopoly…is that some fancy term for the horizontal mambo?”

He laughed. “No, I think the fancy term for ‘the horizontal mambo' is ‘the horizontal mambo.' I mean play real Monopoly.”

“Why upstairs?” she asked suspiciously.

“I thought we could play it on the bed, in the nude.”

Oh, he was delicious. She sauntered up close to him and slid a hand down his pants. “It's only fair to warn you, I used to be addicted to Monopoly when I was a kid. You don't know what you're getting into.”

He took a deep breath but didn't let it out. “I think you're the one who's getting into something dangerous at the moment. If you're not careful, we'll never even get near the game.”

Jocelyn slowly removed her hand from Donovan's jeans, and backed away toward the stairs. “And which game would that be?” Then she started to run. Donovan chased her.

They bounded up the stairs, laughing and hooting. Donovan caught up just as she neared the bed. He leaped on top of her and flipped her over onto the soft mattress, coming down, kissing her mouth and pressing his pelvis into hers.

“Let's play Monopoly later,” Jocelyn whispered, her body tingling with sweet, lusty sensations.

They both rose up on their knees on the bed to take off their T-shirts, still kissing whenever possible. Within seconds, they were out of their jeans and falling back onto the bed.

“Wait!” Jocelyn said. “We didn't lock the door.”

“I'll get it.” Donovan scrambled off the bed. He flicked the lock and turned on the monitor, then turned to where she lay, naked on top of the covers.

Completely overwhelmed by the loving expression on her face, he stopped at the foot of the bed to gaze down at her, then rested his open palm on his chest. He spoke softly. “You are so beautiful.”

Donovan's heart was aching. Aching! He couldn't take his eyes off Jocelyn. She was a tiny piece of heaven, there on the bed, waiting for him, her eyes honest and adoring. How could he ever walk away from this?

He gently came down upon her slender body and held her in his arms.

He felt joyful, more complete somehow as his lips brushed hers and her body melted perfectly into his. They were made for each other, and he was completely in her power, overcome by the compulsion to hold her tighter and closer, to make love to her tonight and every night until the end of their days.

His blood quickened in his veins at the frightening decision—that he wanted her forever.

The absolute certainty was strange and foreign, and so potent that he felt it like a blazing inferno inside his chest. He didn't want to ever let her go.

She wrapped her long, beautiful legs around him and kissed his neck, ran her hands up and down his spine, and he squeezed her tight against him. Soon, she was inching down the bed and taking him in her mouth, bringing him to the brink of insanity. He couldn't take it. It was so good….

“Jocelyn,” he whispered, running his hands through her hair. “I've never felt like this. Come here.” He pulled her up beside him and reached into the drawer for a condom. He put it on, then he rolled on top of her, and with a swift, urgent need, he entered her in a single thrust.

She whimpered amorously. “I've never felt like this, either, Donovan.”

He made love to her in the twilight, slowly. Very slowly, with deliberate attention to what she was feeling, intensifying the things she liked, rising up on his forearms and using his legs and hips to build the pleasure.

She moved with him in harmony on the bed. Sexually, he had come to know her very well these past few days. He knew what stirred her into that whirlwind of excitement, and what sent her soaring. He knew how to move inside her, how to work the friction—when to ease it, when to build it.

He took his time delivering the pleasure tonight. He spent each passing heartbeat watching her face and giving her all that he had. He wanted to give her everything, and he wanted this to last.

She opened her eyes and gazed up at him lazily, then cupped his face in her soft hands. They watched
each other moving in the dim light. Time seemed to stand still. Donovan's heart swelled with love.

Yes, it was love.

“Jocelyn.” He was approaching that place…the burning eruption. His mind began to spin. He lowered his body to hers and held her tightly in his arms, recognizing the signs. She was approaching that place, too. “I don't want this to end.”

He didn't just mean their lovemaking. He meant all of it.

Then he quickened the rhythm, bringing her with him to the edge of desire, then over the edge to the beyond where all their needs were sated, and euphoria enveloped them completely.

It was different this time. The deepest places in his heart were involved and committed.

He held her tightly afterward, squeezing her close, wishing he could get even closer. “Jocelyn.”

For a long time they lay in each other's arms until the twilight turned to darkness and rain began to tap on the skylight over their heads. Seconds later, it intensified to a torrential downpour, drumming noisily on the glass.

Jocelyn snuggled in closer. “Guess we won't be stargazing tonight.”

Donovan kissed her forehead. “I like the sound of the rain. It reminds me of camping with my grandmother in her trailer when I was a kid. We always had the worst luck with weather, but it was nice all the same. Cozy.”

“My parents took me tenting when I was really little, but only a few times. We weren't much into family vacations, then when Dad left, we didn't do
much other than the usual routine. I'd love to go to a campground someday.”

“Let's do it,” Donovan said.

“Yeah, sure.”

He tipped her face up to see her eyes, but he couldn't see the expression in the darkness. “No, I really mean it. Let's go as soon as they catch Cohen. As soon as he's behind bars. We'll bring a bottle of champagne.”

She nodded, but he sensed a sadness in her.

“What's wrong?” he asked, “Nothing.”

He sat up. “No, something's wrong. You seem down.”

“It's nothing, Donovan.”

“It is something. Tell me what's the matter.”

For a long moment, she lay in silence, then she sat up, too. “Reality is settling in.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we're going to have to leave this place eventually, and I've been having such a great time.”

“So have I, but we can have a great time in Chicago, too.”

She shrugged. “I just think that when we go back to our real lives, this will seem like a dream.”

He leaned away from her to flick on the light. They both squinted as their eyes adjusted. “Didn't you hear what I said before? That I didn't want this to end?”

“I thought you were talking about—” she waved her hand over the bed “—this.”

He shook his head. “No, I was talking about
all
of it with you. I want to keep seeing you, Jocelyn.”

She swiveled to put her feet on the floor so that
he was looking at her bare back. “I'm not sure that would be a good idea.”

His heart wrenched painfully in his chest. Was this the disappearing act? No, that couldn't be….

He was sure she cared for him. He couldn't have mistaken the way she touched him, the way she looked at him and spoke to him. They'd talked about so many personal things over the past few days. They'd opened up to each other. They'd made love.

“Why not?” he asked. “We're great together, and once you're no longer my bodyguard, there won't be any reason to resist this.”

“There's a big reason.”

He swallowed hard over the sickening lump of dread in his throat. “Is there something you haven't told me?”