Sleeping with the Playboy (6 page)

“So this is where the theater crowd comes?” Jocelyn commented, sitting down while Donovan stood behind her and slid her chair forward.

He took the seat across from her. Behind him, a trellis of greenery closed him in; the gray stone wall provided enclosure. The waiter poured water for them and Donovan ordered wine.

“So you never told me how you know Doris,”
Jocelyn said, making conversation after the waiter disappeared.

Donovan's lips curved up in a slow-burning smile. “Have you been carrying that question around all afternoon and evening?”

“Really, I haven't given it a thought until now.”

He gave her an exaggerated, knowing nod that told her he was completely aware that she had been curious since they'd left the shop, and was amused by it.

How was it possible a man could be so arrogantly sure of himself regarding her thoughts and feelings?

“If you must know, Doris was a patient of mine,” he said.

Oh.

Jocelyn continued to gaze at him, realizing she'd jumped to conclusions again, and deciding that tonight, she was going to at long last figure this man out, and prove or disprove every first and last mistaken impression she had of him. “I can't tell you more than that,” he continued, “because of doctor-patient confidentiality, only that I trust her good taste.”

“I see. I thought…”

He was amused again; the playful tone in his voice revealed it. “I know what you thought—that I take all my lovers there to dress them up to my liking, or impress them and buy favors.”

Jocelyn shook her head at herself and grinned apologetically. This was ridiculous. She had to get her act together.

“Donovan,” she said point-blank. “If we're going to have any kind of normal working relationship, it's time I did some intelligence gathering.”

“Intelligence gathering? Jocelyn, you're a riot. How about we just have a conversation, like two normal people out to dinner together, getting to know each other?”

She nervously cleared her throat. Where were her social skills when she needed them? She supposed—on top of her glamorous attire this evening—she wasn't used to clients taking her out to quiet, romantic restaurants for dinner. Usually, she, in her flat brown shoes and starchy white shirt, sat at a nearby table alone while her clients had dinner with
other
people.

But apparently, Donovan wanted this to be like a date, and she had no idea how to behave with a rich, handsome doctor who knew which fork to use and how to order the wine.

Add to that the complexity of her trying to behave professionally and
not
be charming—as if she would know how—for she didn't want this to be too enjoyable for either one of them. That could lead to dangerous places.

“All right,” she said nonetheless. “Let's get to know each other. How about we start with the messages on your answering machine? How is it possible that you could be seeing seven women at the same time? Do they know about each other?”

She made sure she kept her tone light and friendly, so she wouldn't come off sounding like a jealous, judgmental shrew.

He leaned back in his chair. “I'm not really
seeing
any of them. We're all mostly just friends.”

“Mostly.”

He wet his lips. “I'm thirty-four years old, Jocelyn. I'm not a monk.”

If this wasn't such a high-class joint and she wasn't wearing these strappy heels, she would have crawled under the table and cringed, and stayed there until after dessert was served. “Of course, I didn't mean to imply…”

“It's okay. That's what we're doing tonight, isn't it? Cutting to the chase? While we're on the topic of those women, I might as well tell you that I'm not involved with any of them now. I've been busy lately and keeping to myself. I haven't had much of a social life, and contrary to what you think, those messages you heard didn't all come the day you arrived. They've been accumulating over the past couple of months, and I've been saving them only because I never seem to get around to returning the calls.”

“But what if they've all been sitting by the phone all this time, waiting for you to call?”

“I doubt any of them have been sitting by their phones, at least not over me. They'd move on to the next guy pretty quickly.”

“How can you be so sure? Maybe one or two of them truly are waiting for you to call. Maybe you're treating them carelessly and you don't realize it.”

“No, Jocelyn, I wouldn't do that.” His voice was so direct, his tone so indisputable, she couldn't even contemplate not believing him. “Besides, none of them ever had their hearts invested in me. It was only their ambitions.”

“Their ambitions?”

“Yes. You know, the Won't-Mother-be-proud-if-I-snag-myself-a-rich-doctor kind of ambitions.”

“How do you know?”

“I
just know.
And I never wanted that kind of a
superficial relationship, no matter how attractive or successful a woman was.”

She gazed into his smoldering, green eyes, stunned by everything he was saying. She knew she had been misjudging him all this time, but she'd had no idea to what extreme. She'd imagined he was the kind of man who would use other people for his own enjoyment, but in fact, it seemed to be the other way around. He was the one being used, and he—as far as she could see—didn't like it.

Shallow, he was not.

“Is that why you've never married?”

“Yes and no. I haven't met the right woman, certainly, but I haven't really been looking, either. Marriage just isn't at the top of my to-do list these days.”

“So what's been keeping you so busy lately?” she asked, changing the subject. “Besides watching out for stalkers?”

“I've been raising funds for a grief counseling center for children.”

“No kidding.” The waiter brought the wine and Donovan tasted it and gave it the proverbial thumbs-up. The waiter began to pour some in Jocelyn's glass, but she stopped him after the first splash. “That's enough, thank you.” She never drank on the job.

“Are you ever going to let your hair down around me?”

“My hair is down.”

“You know what I mean. Are you ever going to forget that you're my bodyguard, and just be a woman?”

Jocelyn cleared her throat. The implications of that question were disturbing to say the least, especially the way she'd been feeling lately.

“That might be dangerous. If I let down my guard, even for a minute, that would be the time something disastrous would happen. Rule of the trade.”

That wasn't the only reason why it would be disastrous, but she didn't want to go there.

Donovan sat across from Jocelyn, admiring the way she looked in the flickering candlelight, wearing that elegant off-the-shoulder black dress with the earrings Doris had helped her pick out to match.

He could tell by the way Jocelyn carried herself that she had absolutely no idea—not a clue—how incredibly beautiful she was.

Or how she was driving him insane keeping him on this side of the table, with the bodyguard-principal lines so firmly drawn. He'd chosen this restaurant for a reason, so she could relax for a few hours between walking in and walking out, and he could have a chance to try and bring out the woman in her.

Because he knew there was a real woman in there—a fascinating and passionate one—buried somewhere deep down inside and anxious to come out. He could see it in her dark, mysterious, dazzling eyes.

He wasn't imagining that there was something between them, either—something she was fighting with all her might.

The waiter returned and took their orders, then made a slight bow and departed.

“So why have
you
never married?” Donovan asked before taking a long sip of wine. He noticed she didn't touch hers.

She leaned forward, put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “I don't really believe in happily ever after, and I prefer being on my own.”

“Do you really?”

“Yes, I really do.”

“What about your parents? Where are they?”

“My mother died six years ago, and my father is somewhere in the Midwest.”

“You don't know where he lives?”

“No, my parents divorced when I was fourteen, and he never kept in touch. It was best that way. It would have been too hard on my mother to see him. He broke her heart when he left her for a younger woman.”

Donovan reached across the table and touched her warm, slender hand. “I'm sorry to hear that. She never remarried?”

“No, and I can't blame her. After what Dad did, it would've been pretty hard to trust anyone again.”

This tough, untouchable bodyguard was becoming more clear to Donovan by the minute. The only two men she'd ever been close to had both left her and never looked back. She was bound to be wary of relationships.

A few minutes later, their appetizers arrived, and they talked about other things. Jocelyn told him about her experiences in the Secret Service, as well as what it was like going through the police academy. Some of her stories were downright hilarious, and she had him in stitches with a few of her tales. There were some hair-raising incidents, too, when she'd come face-to-face with attackers and had to use her combat skills. Mostly, though, she described her job as being pretty quiet. Prevention was everything.

After dinner, they drove to the theater where they sat in Donovan's regular box seats, and Jocelyn seemed to enjoy the play immensely. When they fi
nally arrived home it was almost midnight, and they rode up in the elevator, smiling and talking about the actors.

When they reached the top floor, Jocelyn removed her heels in the vestibule, disarmed the new, state-of-the-art alarm system inside, then searched the penthouse thoroughly. Once she'd ensured everything was normal, she returned to where Donovan waited near the door.

“Everything's fine. We can relax now.”

“We can?” He tried not to think of all the ways he would like to relax with this incredible woman he had invited into his home. This beautiful, appealing, sexy woman who set his loins on fire.

“Since you put it like that, how about joining me for a nightcap?”

“You know I don't drink on the—”

“On the job, yeah I know, but we're home now and you've already searched the place. The new alarm system is up and running for later in the night. Surely you can consider yourself off duty for the next hour. Just one glass of wine. Or pop. Your choice.”

Jocelyn sighed heavily. “I haven't had a glass of wine in eons.”

He spread his hands wide. “I have just about every kind you can imagine—Shiraz, merlot, sauvignon blanc, Chardonnay—you name it.”

“Well, I did want to talk to you some more about who could be stalking you.”

“We can talk about whatever you want.”

She hesitated for a few seconds. “I guess one glass of merlot wouldn't hurt.”

“Excellent.” He backed away from her toward the
kitchen. “Don't go away. I'll bring it to you. Just make yourself comfortable.”

Donovan left Jocelyn in the living room and went to pour two glasses of the best red wine he had in his collection.

D
onovan brought the wine into the living room where Jocelyn sat, curled up on his huge white sofa.

He stopped in the entranceway. God, he couldn't get over how incredible she looked in that slinky, black dress. It set off the ebony color of her hair and complemented the creamy whiteness of her complexion; it brought out her full, rose-petal lips. She looked like a goddess.

“This really is a beautiful home you have, Donovan,” she said, looking up at him. “I haven't said it before, but it's very inviting. And this sofa—I could get lost in it.”

She stroked the soft upholstery with a graceful hand.

Donovan stood motionless, watching her long slender arm move back and forth across the cushions.
His blood quickened in his veins. What he wouldn't give to be one of those cushions now….

Groping for his equilibrium, he fully entered the room and handed a glass to her, then sat down on the sofa.

“I had a great time tonight,” he said. “We should do it again.”

She looked at him with those big brown eyes over the rim of her glass as she took the first sip, then set her glass on the coffee table. “I had a nice time, too, but I'm not so sure we should do it again.”

“And why is that?” But he knew why.

“Because I wouldn't want us to end up having
too
good a time together.”

“I see. Better that we have completely lousy conversations and get on each others nerves every minute of the day?”

She peered down at her glass. “You know what I mean.”

He gazed at her feminine profile, feeling the pulse of his heart, the hum of his blood through his body. “No, I don't. Tell me.”

He wanted this woman. There was no point denying it. She was the most intriguing creature he'd ever encountered in his life. Brave. Intelligent. Witty. Independent. Unimpressed with the fact that he was a millionaire.

He set down his wine. Reaching one arm across the back of the sofa, he stroked her bare shoulder with a thumb.

She didn't push his hand away; all she did was wet her deliciously full lips, which were already moist from the wine.

“I mean the same thing I've said before,” she said. “That you're my client and there's—”

“Something happening between us.”

He could see the gentle pulse at her neck begin to beat with fervent intensity. He half expected her to get up off the sofa and walk out on him. But she didn't. For a long, tense few seconds, she just sat there while he stroked her shoulder.

“Yes, there is,” she finally said in a breathy voice that sent him hurling over the edge.

He couldn't fight it anymore. Desire was burning through him like an all-encompassing fire. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted a woman this badly.

How did she do this to him, and why?

He didn't care why. All he knew was that he had to have her. He had to satisfy this searing need to touch.

Slowly, cautiously, he leaned toward her. Close enough that he could smell the perfumed fragrance of her hair, feel her wine-scented breath against his face.

He hovered there, inches from her lips, waiting to see if she was in agreement, and when she made no move to pull back, he pressed his lips to hers.

Tentatively at first. Exploring. Seeking. Then she let out a soft little erotic whimper that fired his blood to the breaking point.

Her willing response sent a surge of voracious lust whipping through him like a cyclone. He cupped her head in his hands and felt her lips part for him, then he swept his tongue into her hot, wet mouth and deepened the kiss.

She whimpered with pleasure again….

He inched across the sofa, close enough so that he could take all of her into his arms. She melted into him like warm butter, reaching around his shoulders and raking her fingers through his hair. She was bewitching.

He slid his hand down the side of her gown and around her curvaceous bottom, feeling his tuxedo trousers tighten over his growing arousal.

“You taste great,” he whispered at her cheek, trailing tiny kisses down to her neck while he shifted her in his arms. She tilted her head back to give him full access, and he devoured as much of her as he could, kissing her bare shoulders and tasting her jaw-line.

Within seconds, he was easing her onto the soft cushions beneath him, glorying in the potent sensation of her hands tangled in his hair.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, and he settled himself upon her, pressing his erection against her through all their clothing, pulsing his hips and reveling in the unmitigated pleasure of her thrusting her own hips forward in return.

“Mmm,” she whispered, kissing him deeply, eating at his mouth as if she'd been starving for him for days, in the same way he'd been starving for her.

A hot, searing flame ignited and flared inside him, followed by something resembling panic. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop things if they went much further—and he was surprised he'd gotten
this
far. He was dangerously close to the edge of reason. The feel of this woman beneath him was like a tidal wave of undiluted, intoxicating ecstasy storming his senses.

He slid his hand down her thigh and gathered the
fabric of her skirt in his hand, carefully lifting it inch by glorious inch. Her legs were bare beneath the skirt—no stockings—and the warm softness of her smooth leg wrapped around him gave him the most exhilarating palpitations in his chest. Finally, his hand was up under the skirt and at her soft hip, his fingers reaching the narrow band of her bikini panties.

He slid his fingers inside and around to her bottom and she began to kiss him faster, lifting her head off the couch pillows to deepen the kiss.

This was getting out of control. He wanted to make love to her here and now, half-dressed on the sofa, and again afterward in his bed. He brought his hand around to her flat belly, then slid it down to reach inside her panties….

Like a predictable clock chiming midnight, signaling the end of the ball, she squirmed and turned her face away. She pressed a palm to his chest. “Wait. Donovan, we shouldn't be doing this.”

He froze, immobilized while his heart continued to pump heated blood through his veins. Closing his eyes for a moment to try to gain control of his breathing, he fought the crippling urge to kiss her again and continue this achingly pleasurable indulgence. He removed his hand from the intimate place it had
almost
been, and sighed.

She shifted slightly beneath him. He recognized her uneasiness—and knowing a woman was uneasy beneath him was about as effective as a bucket of cold water splashing over his head.

He backed off immediately and retreated to his side of the sofa, pushing his hair back off his per
spiring forehead. “Sorry.” He paused, catching his breath. “I didn't mean to take it that far.”

God!

All he'd meant to do was kiss her….

Jocelyn pulled and tugged at the neckline of her gown to try and put herself back together. “It was my fault, too.”

An awkward silence ensued.

“Look…”

She didn't let him finish. She stood. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

“No, Jocelyn—” She started to leave. “Don't go. Let's talk about this.” Damn, he'd really done it now. He followed her down the wide hall.

“There's no point talking,” she said. “I knew this was going to happen. I could see it coming, yet I couldn't stop it, and that's dangerous, Donovan. I can't do my job this way. I should resign.”

He caught her arm. “Resign! All we did was kiss, really….”

He knew how ridiculous that sounded. It was a hell of a lot more than just a kiss.

“But it might not be just a kiss next time, and where does it go after that? I'll be honest, I'm very attracted to you. So much so, that I'm finding it hard to keep my mind on my work. I'm supposed to be watching you constantly, but I'm not watching you the way I should be. I'm not thinking about potential dangers, I'm thinking about
you.
About how badly I want to…”

Her chest was heaving.

“To what, Jocelyn?”

“To do what we just did.”

He released her arm. “I won't lie. I've been think
ing about it, too, and it's been getting a little crazy, but please, don't leave. I need you here. At least until the stalker is caught. Then…then maybe we could think about us.”

For a long moment she stood there, staring into his eyes, considering what he'd said.

Please don't leave,
he tried to say without words.

But when she spoke, her voice was cool and back under control. His heart sank.

“If it's protection you need, Donovan, I'm no longer the best person for the job. I'm sorry. I'll make the necessary arrangements for another E.P.P., and stay with you until the new operative can take over, but after that, I'm gone. It's for your own safety.”

She went into her room and closed the door behind her.

Donovan backed up against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose. His chest ached, his safety the last thing on his mind as he thought about what she'd just said, and the fact that she hadn't said a word about the
us
part.

 

“I'm in trouble, Tess,” Jocelyn said to her assistant over the phone the next morning, after she escorted Donovan safely to the O.R. She now stood in the waiting room outside. “I need your help.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

Jocelyn felt some of the tension in her shoulders drain away momentarily. Tess was not only her capable and competent assistant, but her truest confidante and dear friend. She was blond, beautiful, an aerobics fanatic and she'd been with Jocelyn since
she'd opened her private agency four years ago. She was a great listener who always told it like it was.

“I gave notice to resign last night,” Jocelyn said, “and Dr. Knight needs a new agent immediately.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “What in the world happened? He didn't make a pass at you, did he? Like that slimy old retired senator in New Jersey?”

Jocelyn cupped her forehead with a hand. “No, it wasn't anything like that. Well, it was…I mean, he did make a pass at me, Tess, but the problem was, I was all for it. I think I might have even encouraged him. I'm not sure. I can barely remember what happened. It was all such a blur.”

Silence again. “How old is this guy?”

“He's young. Thirty-four, and gorgeous.”

“You didn't tell me that!”

“I know. I guess I didn't want to admit that I'd noticed.”

She heard Tess take a deep breath and whistle. “As long as I've known you, you've never let this happen. Do you think you're falling for him?”

Jocelyn closed her eyes. “I don't
want
to say yes. I don't want to admit to it or give in to it, but…Lord help me, yes, I think I am. In fact, I think I already have.”

“Why don't you want to give in to it? Because he's your client? If that's the problem, we can fix it today. I can find someone else to take over, then you'll be free to go for it.”

“No, no, no, I don't
want
to go for it. I want to get as far away from him as possible. I don't want to see him again.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because…” Oh, how could she answer that? It was personal and complicated and would take too long to explain, and it would sound ridiculous. “I just don't want to get involved with anyone right now.”

“I'll say it again.
Why the hell not?
”

Why did Tess always insist on acting as her conscience? “Because I'm busy. I don't have time for a relationship.”

“That's crap and you know it. You're afraid to get involved with anyone because you're worried he'll be like Tom or your father.”

So much for “complicated and too lengthy to explain.” Tess hit the mark in one sentence.

That was Tess. Direct and to the point, even when Jocelyn wasn't quite ready to feel the point jabbing her in the behind.

Jocelyn gathered her resolve. “It's not just that. Donovan isn't my type. He's not looking for commitment—he said it himself over dinner last night—and from what I've learned about him, he's never had a serious, long-term relationship with anyone, at least not in his adult life. Why would I want to get involved with someone like that, when the possibility of getting my heart broken is practically a sure thing?”

“Did you ask him why?”

“Why what?”

“Why he's never had a serious relationship with anyone. Maybe he got burned once, too.”

“No, I didn't ask.”

“Aren't you curious?”

Yes, she was. She was curious about a lot of things.

“I really don't want to ask, because that will only add fuel to the fire. I don't want to get any closer to him. I want to get out of this assignment before I end up in his bed.”

“And what would be wrong with that? You're a grown-up, Jocelyn. You deserve a few guilty pleasures every now and then, and you can handle them if you want.”

Jocelyn sat down on a chair. “Are you implying what I think you're implying?”

“I'm not implying anything. I'm saying it loud and clear. Do I need a megaphone? If you're attracted to him and he's attracted to you, why not steal a little enjoyment while you can? It wouldn't hurt you to ditch your professional, tough-girl attitude for a night. Especially if we find him another bodyguard. There wouldn't be any ethical problems then.”

“You're saying I should have casual sex with him? I'm not good at casual sex. Call me needy, but I have a problem with the ‘casual' part.”

“Maybe it wouldn't end up casual.”

Jocelyn ran a hand through her hair. “I couldn't, Tess. I'm a chicken.”

“No, you're not. You're the bravest person I know. Think about what you do for a living. You can tussle with the best of 'em.”