Книга - Sleeping With The Playboy

Sleeping With The Playboy
Julianne Maclean








She Ignored Him, And That Intrigued Him.


He caught a perfumed whiff of her dark, shoulder-length hair as she strode by him.

“You are definitely in need of help.” She handed him her business card and turned to the door.

He glanced down at the card, then followed her out to the elevator. “Wait a second. Dose this mean you’re taking the job?”

She pushed the button. “Yes.”

“But…when will you start?”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. She stepped inside. “Right away.”

“But how do we do this? If you’re going to be my bodyguard, shouldn’t you be staying here? Where are you going?”

As she pushed the down button inside the elevator, a tiny infectious grin sneaked across her lips. “I liked the look of those feathery pillows in your guest room, Dr. Knight, so if you must know, I’m going to get my toothbrush and jammies.”

The doors closed in front of Donovan’s face.

He stood in the vestibule holding her card, feeling transfixed and suddenly exuberant, and totally surprised by the fact that his cool, reserved bodyguard actually had a sense of humor.

Things were definitely going to get interesting around here.


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Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




Sleeping with the Playboy

Julianne MacLean










JULIANNE MACLEAN


Before embarking on the wonderful challenge of writing romance, Julianne earned degrees in both English literature and business administration. She spent some time as a financial statement auditor, but is now wildly happy to be a full-time mom and romance writer. She lives in Nova Scotia, Canada, with her husband and five-year-old daughter. Julianne loves to hear from readers, and invites you to visit her Web site at www.juliannemaclean.com.


A thousand thank-yous to a writer’s dream editor, Melissa Endlich.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve




One


Here we go—trotting into someone else’s world again. Jocelyn Mackenzie followed her client out of the mahogany-paneled elevator and across the marble vestibule, to the double doors of the ritzy Chicago penthouse. She glanced up at the crystal chandelier overhead and the modern steel sculpture against the side wall, and felt the familiar onslaught of awe.

Not that she hadn’t seen her share of fancy penthouses and stone mansions. To be honest, that’s where she usually took assignments as a bodyguard, because quite simply, the average Joe couldn’t afford her.

It was for reasons of her own, however, that she would never choose this kind of lavish, pretentious lifestyle for herself.

The elevator doors slid closed behind them, and Dr. Reeves knocked on the door. Jocelyn waited beside him, hands clasped at her back, curious as to how her potential “principal” would answer. Would he open the door without asking who it was, or would he use the optical viewer?

The crystal knob turned, and the door swung open. She’d have to educate her client about that.

Before she could give that another thought, however, Jocelyn found herself gazing up at a handsome, golden-haired gentleman dressed in a tuxedo, his starched, white shirt unbuttoned at the neck, his black bow tie undone and dangling in front. Slender and strong, tall and confident, with just the right mixture of arrogance and appeal, he was alarmingly, heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

This was a man who belonged on the cover of GQ magazine—a man who made Jocelyn’s breath stop and twirl around in her throat. Before she realized it, she’d taken a stupefied step back.

Good God, what was wrong with her? This was a business call.

Sweeping her feminine instincts out of her head and summoning more professional ones, she surmised that this wealthy doctor undoubtedly had his share of obsessed lovers. Potential stalkers were probably where she should begin if his case was typical.

The man’s green eyes warmed at the sight of Dr. Reeves, then his gaze moved leisurely to Jocelyn and settled on her face.

“Mark, what are you doing here?” he asked, looking at Jocelyn, not Mark. His voice was calm, but there was an underlying sensuality as he watched Jocelyn, a tone that warned her right off that he was a flirt.

Why wouldn’t he be? Most women would probably fall at his feet for a single moment’s pleasure of being the object of that fiery gaze.

She chastised herself again. He’s a client, Jocelyn. Those thoughts should not even be in your brain.

Still holding the door open, he backed up a step. “Come in.”

Dr. Reeves gestured for Jocelyn to enter first. She stepped inside, her loafers hushed by the oriental rug as she took in the style of the penthouse—the marble floors, the Grecian columns and the sheer square-footage and height of the ceilings. Classical music played softly from the living room just ahead of her, where the lighting was dim and restful. A glass of red wine had been placed on the coffee table. An open, hard-covered book lay beside it.

Jocelyn looked up at another enormous crystal chandelier over her head in the center of the foyer, then pulled her gaze down and held out her hand. “Dr. Knight, I’m Jocelyn Mackenzie.”

He hesitated a moment, then shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He looked over her shoulder at Dr. Reeves. “What’s this all about?”

Jocelyn turned. Dr. Reeves, the man who had retained her to be Dr. Knight’s bodyguard for the in-determinable future, fumbled for an answer. The two doctors stared at each other for a second or two.

Oh, no. “He’s not expecting us?” she asked Dr. Reeves.

“Should I be?”

Jocelyn felt her temper begin to rise. She didn’t like being misled, nor did she wish to work for anyone who wasn’t absolutely in need of her help. In desperate need. She had been under the impression that Dr. Knight was anxious for her to begin. His friend, Dr. Reeves, had told her about the intruder who’d broken into this penthouse a few nights ago, and the threatening letter that had come the next day.

Hell, she’d already done the advance breakdowns on Dr. Knight’s parking garage, the hospital where he worked and his regular route to and from.

“Now, wait a second, let me explain,” Dr. Reeves said.

“Explain what?” her principal replied.

Jocelyn shook her head and stared at the man who’d hired her. “He’s waiting, Dr. Reeves, and frankly so am I.”

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Dr. Reeves raised his hands. “Calm down, both of you. Donovan, I wanted you to meet Ms. Mackenzie before you said no.”

“Said no to what?” He took in Jocelyn’s full appearance, from her starched white shirt and brown blazer, down the length of her pants to her brown leather shoes. “Who are you?”

Jocelyn squared her shoulders. “I’ve been hired to be your bodyguard, Dr. Knight, but I was under the impression you wanted one.”

“A bodyguard? Mark, you had no right—”

“I had every right. You’re my partner and I’m not about to lose you and have to cover all our patients while you’re laid up or dead. I’d be on call 24-7, and that was never how we intended to run our practice.” Dr. Reeves’s cheeks colored. “Besides, I’m worried about you, buddy.”

The two men stood in silence, as if neither was sure what to say to the other.

“Maybe I should leave,” Jocelyn said. “You two can discuss this, and when you’ve got it figured out, you can call me, though I can’t guarantee I’ll be available.” She turned to go, wishing she had taken Congressman Jenkin’s request instead.

Dr. Reeves grabbed her arm as she tried to pass. “Ms. Mackenzie, please wait.”

Jocelyn glanced down at his hand, tight around her elbow, then sent him a warning look.

He immediately released her.

“Dr. Knight needs your services, and his patients need him. Chicago can’t afford to lose its best heart surgeon, nor can I lose a friend.”

She shook her head. “It’s his choice, not yours. I need cooperation from my clients. They have to be willing and eager to work with me and take the situation seriously. Without that kind of commitment from the people I work with, I walk.”

She tried to leave again. Dr. Reeves followed her into the vestibule. Jocelyn pressed the elevator button.

“Please, I’m begging you,” Dr. Reeves said. “Stay and check things out. See what you can do for him.”

“Why is it you’re the one out here begging me, and not him?” She gestured toward the open door of the penthouse, where Dr. Knight was still standing in the foyer, looking as relaxed as ever, watching.

“I can convince him.” Dr. Reeves took a desperate step toward his friend. “Donovan, you need her. You can’t put yourself in danger like this. Your patients need you and your penthouse needs a security system. The police don’t have time to give your case the attention it needs, and I sure as hell am not going to lose any more sleep worrying about you.”

“I’ll change my locks.”

“That’s not enough. If this attacker is determined, he’ll be back. Besides…” Dr. Reeves lowered his voice. “Think of the Counseling Center. You’re almost there, buddy, and it means everything to you. You can’t take these kinds of risks with your life, nor can you give the project what it needs if you’re checking over your shoulder every five minutes. You need to finish what you started.”

A long silence ensued. Jocelyn had the impression Dr. Reeves had touched a nerve with that Counseling Center argument, whatever that was about.

Jocelyn pressed the elevator button again, and Dr. Reeves returned to her. “Please, Ms. Mackenzie, don’t go.”

“You should have discussed this with Dr. Knight before you called me out here and wasted my time. I have a long waiting list of people who need and want my help, and this is not—”

“How long a waiting list?” Dr. Knight asked, moving forward to stand in the open doorway. He leaned a broad shoulder against the doorjamb.

Both Jocelyn and Dr. Reeves faced him in silence.

He had way of halting a conversation just by entering into it, Jocelyn thought as she stared at him in a studious kind of way. She had the most intense desire to know what he was thinking.

God, he was gorgeous.

“Long enough,” she replied.

“So you’re that good?”

“She’s the best,” Dr. Reeves replied. “She used to be in the Secret Service. She has a list of references a mile long. Very impressive references, Donovan.”

Dr. Knight stepped out of the doorway and sauntered leisurely toward her. Jocelyn’s senses became acutely alert as he grew closer and closer, and she fought the urge to take another step back.

She fought also to understand that self-preserving urge, for he was in no way threatening. Predatory, yes, in a sexual kind of way, when she suspected he was not trying to be sexual. That particular aspect of his demeanor seemed to come naturally; it was an unconscious part of him.

Maybe that’s why she found him threatening.

“Why did you leave the Secret Service?” he asked. “You weren’t fired, were you?”

Now he was insulting her. “No, I wasn’t fired. The money’s better in this racket.”

Money, as it happened, was something she needed a great deal of right now.

He nodded. “I take it you know how to use that Glock.” He glanced down at the gun she wore inside her jacket.

“I can drop you on your ass with it, Dr. Knight, and that’s without pulling the trigger.”

He inclined his head at her and said nothing for a long moment. She guessed he was taking his turn at being studious.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. No one moved. Dr. Knight continued to gaze at her, waiting to see what she would do. For a moment or two, they all stood in the gleaming vestibule while the elevator waited.

Then the doors quietly closed, and the lighted buttons went dark.

Jocelyn sensed Dr. Reeves’ heavy sigh of relief.

“I’d like to know how you work,” Dr. Knight said. “Then I’ll decide whether or not I can commit.”

Jocelyn raised an eyebrow. She almost laughed. “I’m afraid it’s going to be the other way around, Dr. Knight. I’ll be the one to ask the questions, then I’ll decide if I want to commit.”

To her surprise, Dr. Knight smiled at Dr. Reeves. “You’ve checked out her references?”

“Of course.”

“Good, because I think I like her.”

Dr. Reeves sighed again. “I figured you would.”

Jocelyn leaned forward in the plush, white, over-stuffed armchair. “So you think the intruder had a key, Dr. Knight?”

“Yes. He was already inside when I returned home from the opera three nights ago, and the door was locked as usual when I came in. He must have wanted me to think everything was normal, so he’d have the element of surprise on his side.”

The doctor crossed one long leg over the other and took a sip of his red wine. Jocelyn had to resist staring at what was obviously a beautiful, muscled thigh under those black tuxedo trousers.

“Possibly.” Jocelyn noted the details in her Palm Pilot.

“And call me Donovan.”

Jocelyn didn’t glance up. She merely nodded. “Is that how you got that mark on your knuckle?”

Donovan looked at the tiny laceration, no more than a quarter of an inch long. “You’re very observant, Ms. Mackenzie. Yes. I got in a few good swings before he gave up whatever he was looking for and took off.”

“And what do you think he was looking for?”

He shrugged. “That night, the police concluded it was a burglary. They said keys can be stolen easily enough, an imprint made in a matter of minutes. I’ve often left my keys in my lab coat pocket at the hospital while I grab a bite to eat, or misplaced them every so often.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Dr. Reeves offered helpfully.

Jocelyn didn’t crack a smile. “I don’t. And if I take this case, Dr. Knight, the first thing I’m going to do is work on getting you out of habits like those.”

Donovan’s brow furrowed. “You’ve never lost your keys?”

“Not since I was in high school.”

“You’ve never left your purse anywhere? Forgotten a credit card in a store?”

“Never.”

Donovan set his wineglass down on the wrought iron end table. “You must be a detail-oriented person.”

“I’m an everything person. I value my security.”

“Hence your career choice.” He gave her a probing look that told her he wanted to know more about her career choice and why she was what she was.

Jocelyn shrugged. She wasn’t about to give him the how’s and why’s of her life. She had her reasons and they were her own. Besides that, she made it a rule not to divulge personal things about herself that cultivated a familiarity with her clients. She asked them the questions. It was entirely a one-way street, and she liked it that way.

That was the “hence” in her career choice.

“Dr. Reeves told me a threatening letter came the next day,” she said.

“Yes, the police have it. It said, ‘You deserve to die.’”

“Do you have any enemies, Dr. Knight?”

“Donovan. No, not that I can think of.”

“Any medical malpractice suits against you? In the past or pending?”

“No.”

“And it was definitely a man who attacked you? You’re sure of that, even though the intruder wore a ski mask?”

“I’m sure. Why? You look like you don’t believe that.”

Not the least bit concerned with what he thought she believed or didn’t believe, Jocelyn continued to take notes on her Palm Pilot. “I like to ask questions, Dr. Knight. Cover everything.”

“Donovan,” he repeated more forcefully. “Do you have a problem with first names?”

She stopped her note taking and looked directly at him. Perfection. His face was completely flawless. And damn her eyes for noticing. Again. “I don’t have any problem with first names, Dr. Knight. Do you have a problem with last names?”

He watched her for a moment, then the tension in his face broke, and he smiled—the most sensual, sexy, flirtatious smile she’d ever seen in her life. His eyes flashed and he exuded an almost tangible charisma.

A hot current tingled through Jocelyn’s veins. She clenched her jaw and worked hard to throttle the vexing sensation. What was wrong with her tonight? She was a professional. A damn good one.

He took another sip of wine.

Jocelyn turned her attention to Donovan’s partner, because she couldn’t bear another second of those olive-green eyes moving over her in that disarming way, studying her. She was not an open book, nor did she wish to feel like one. Neither did she appreciate her hormones behaving like she was back in high school. She had thought life experience had taught her to be stronger than that.

“Dr. Reeves, do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Dr. Knight?”

He shook his head. “Could be anyone. Donovan has a lot of…female acquaintances.”

Jocelyn nodded, getting the picture. “Perhaps the man was a jealous lover or a husband of one of Dr. Knight’s ‘acquaintances.’” She turned back to Donovan. “Have you had any threats or meetings with anyone like that?”

“Hey, wait a second here. I don’t have that many acquaintances, and certainly not ones with husbands, jealous or otherwise. Mark, you’re making me out to be some kind of sex addict.”

“No, not at all,” Dr. Reeves replied, holding up his hands. “I just want to make sure we have all the bases covered.”

Jocelyn interrupted and spoke in a professional, detached voice. “I’m not judging you, Dr. Knight. To tell you the truth, I don’t really care if you’re a sex addict or a gigolo or a Chippendales model on the weekends for that matter. I just want to know who would want to break into your home, and how I can prevent it from happening again. Now, I would appreciate it if you would just answer my questions honestly and stop worrying about what I think of you.”

He set down his wineglass. Looking almost amused, he inclined his head at her. “I truly believe you don’t care, Ms. Mackenzie, and that, oddly enough, is what makes me want to hire you.”

What did he mean by that?

He glanced at his friend. “You chose well, Mark. Even if I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I knew you’d see the light,” Dr. Reeves replied.

Donovan stood. “I’d like you to start right away, Ms. Mackenzie. Tonight as a matter of fact.”

Jocelyn raised her eyebrow at him again. “When I start—if I start—Dr. Knight, is entirely up to me. I’ll take a look around and ask some more questions first, then, and only then, will I consider taking your case. So you might as well sit back down and think back to every woman you’ve been with in the past six months. Then we’ll talk about a retainer.”

Dr. Knight smiled again, and quite agreeably sat down.

She was the rudest, coldest, least friendly woman he had encountered since he’d finished medical school ten years ago. And she was completely irresistible.

After Mark left, Donovan followed Jocelyn into his bedroom while she examined the door that led out onto the rooftop terrace. She tried to stick a finger into the gap between the door and the frame.

“This needs to be reinforced. It should be less than one-sixteenth of an inch, or a pry bar could be slipped in and the door worked open. And you could use some more floodlights on your terrace.” She tapped the glass. “Is this shatterproof?”

He nodded, and listened attentively to all her comments and suggestions, all the while thinking about how long it had been since a woman had spoken to him with such disinterest.

Because of his profession and his wealth—a good deal of which was inherited from his parents—women pasted on exaggerated smiles and laughed a little too long at his jokes. They generally dressed to kill, showing off cleavage and wearing spiky heels and glittery lipstick when they were in his company. The women in his life were predictable. They always had that “Maybe I can be the future Mrs. Dr. Knight” look in their eyes. Over the past few years, that kind of social life had begun to grow tiresome.

Jocelyn Mackenzie was different, though. She wore a plain brown suit with flat shoes, and practically no makeup. Not that she needed any. Her face had a natural beauty with healthy, rosy cheeks, full, moist lips and huge dark eyes a man could lose himself in.

She didn’t give him that flirtatious look, either, batting her lashes at him. Hell, she barely even noticed him. She was more interested in the nooks and crannies of his penthouse where there were flaws in the security, and figuring out how best to fix those flaws. She didn’t want to impress him. She didn’t care if she pissed him off.

It was a refreshing change, to be sure.

“So tell me, Ms. Mackenzie, is my penthouse in bad shape security-wise?”

She glanced around the bedroom, her face serious, her gaze going everywhere. She eyed the mahogany, king-size bed and the cream-colored, down-filled duvet, the black-and-white photographs on the wall; she glanced at his dresser with his wallet lying open on top of it, loose change from his pockets scattered all around.

“There’s always room for improvement,” she replied, still in that disinterested tone. She moved to the door, wiggled the doorknob and tried the lock.

“You’re being vague, now. Are you going to transform me, or not?”

She turned around to touch and inspect the doorjamb. “I don’t transform people.”

“No, but you said you were going to break me of some bad habits. I think I might enjoy that.”

She gave him an unimpressed look. “Like leaving your keys places. If you leave the toilet seat up, that’s your problem.”

He followed her out to the kitchen. She glanced quickly at the stainless steel appliances, the butcher’s block in the center and the white custom cabinetry.

He would’ve given his eyeteeth to know what she was thinking. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she sized up his penthouse before she decided if she wanted to take this case.

“Do you have any hired help?” she asked.

“Yeah, I have a housekeeper who comes in every morning through the week.”

She walked down the hall and returned to the foyer, then faced him. She was petite, but there was a strength in her that she emitted like perfume. He wondered what kind of personal life she led. He glanced down at her hands. No wedding ring.

Some deep male instinct in him rejoiced.

“First of all, whether we work together or not,” she said, “I would recommend updating your alarm system. The one you have is at least fifteen years old. It’s a dinosaur.”

“Done.”

“And you need to use the system. Half the people who have them installed can’t be bothered punching in the codes, so they leave them inactive.”

Donovan smiled. “I’m guilty of that, I’m afraid.”

“I figured you were.” She moved to the front door to gaze out the peephole. “Are you looking for round-the-clock management and surveillance, Dr. Knight, or just improvements to your home security?”

“I think Mark had a round-the-clock bodyguard in mind.”

She faced him. “I asked what you wanted, Dr. Knight.”

He thought about the baseball bat under his bed, and how he’d stared at the ceiling for six hours last night, then fallen asleep on his lunch hour today.

Then he thought about what his twenty-four-hour-a-day bodyguard would look like in a nightie. If she wore one. Negligee maybe? He could picture her in a red one….

“I think round-the-clock management might be beneficial—at least for the short term.”

She nodded, then quietly returned to the living room. Touching a long slender finger to the book he was reading that lay open on the coffee table, she raised her eyebrows as she gazed over the page. “Triathlons.”

“You look surprised.”

She shrugged. “I was expecting it to be about art history or something.” She moved across the room and knelt on the white sofa, to pull the ivory-colored shears back to examine the windows.

Donovan watched her reflection in the clean, dark panes. She flicked a latch.

As she reached up to try a higher latch, her jacket lifted and pulled tight around her shoulder blades, and he could see that she had a shapely behind, trim and firm beneath her loose, wool dress pants. He found himself wondering what kind of panties she wore. He suspected they’d be white. Probably cotton. Maybe silk.

“I’m not much interested in art history,” he said distractedly, watching her return to her feet and smooth out her clothes.

She ignored him, and that intrigued him even more. He caught a perfumy whiff of her dark, shoulder-length hair as she strode by him.

A few minutes later, they were back in the foyer and she was reaching into her breast pocket for a business card. She gazed directly into his eyes. “You are definitely in need of help.”

She handed him the card, and turned to the door.

He glanced down at the card, then followed her out to the elevator. “Wait a second. Does this mean you’re taking the job?”

She pushed the button. “Yes.”

“But…when will you start?”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. She stepped inside. “Right away.”

“But how do we do this? If you’re going to be my bodyguard, shouldn’t you be staying here? Where are you going?”

As she pushed the down button inside the elevator, a tiny infectious grin sneaked across her lips. “I liked the look of those feathery pillows in your guest room, Dr. Knight, so if you must know, I’m going to get my toothbrush and jammies.”

The doors closed in front of Donovan’s face.

He stood in the vestibule holding her card, feeling transfixed and suddenly exuberant, and totally surprised by the fact that his cool, reserved bodyguard actually had a sense of humor.

Things were definitely going to get interesting around here.




Two


Jocelyn grabbed hold of the brass handrail in the elevator, then tipped her head back and tapped it three times, hard against the oak-paneled wall.

What in God’s name had possessed her to say such a stupid, suggestive thing? She was a professional, dammit, and she had a well-deserved reputation for objective, serious behavior and an almost masculine demeanor that demanded respect from the world of executive protection. She never smiled at clients. Not unless they made a joke and etiquette required it. Never was she the one to make the joke. And certainly not a sexual one!

She reached the bottom floor and stepped off the elevator into the lobby. The uniformed gentleman at the security desk nodded at her as she passed by.

A few minutes later, she was walking down the dark street to where her car was parked, debating whether or not she should have taken this job. She didn’t approve of rich, snobby doctors—especially gorgeous ones who wore tuxedos and went to the opera and ballet just to add polish to their appearance, and expected every female within spitting distance to dissolve into a puddle of infatuation at their feet.

It was all so pretentious, and she hated that kind of thing. She had her reasons, of course. And okay, maybe they were personal, but what had happened in her life happened, and she’d experienced firsthand the kind of shallow pomposity people like Dr. Knight were capable of.

Besides her father—who had left his own, personal imprint on her as a woman—she’d experienced the social-climbing doctor type. The type who went to medical school just to get a summer home on Rhode Island, a yacht moored at the most prestigious club and a Mercedes parked in a three-car garage.

A Mercedes. All through medical school, Tom had talked about getting one. He’d lovingly referred to his future purchase as “The Merc.”

Jocelyn pushed those memories aside and pulled out her cell phone. She called her assistant, Tess, to tell her she’d be taking the assignment. She then retrieved her overnight bag from the trunk of her 1987 Acura Legend, and headed back to Dr. Knight’s high-rise, wondering if it wasn’t too late to back out, and how she could go about doing that. Because, despite everything she’d just told herself about how much she hated pretentious men who wielded their wealth like swords dipped in liquid aphrodisiac, she had responded to the bold, sexy look in Dr. Knight’s eyes. The sheer perfection of his face and the sensual way he’d walked as he’d followed her around his penthouse, so relaxed and casual about everything, had made her feel uncomfortably hot beneath her starchy, cotton blouse. She’d had to work hard to keep her eyes to herself and concentrate on her job, and she wasn’t used to distractions like that.

Perhaps she could tell him that her assistant had just called to inform her that her previous principal wanted her to return for another month.

But that would be lying, and she really hated people who lied.

Surely she could handle this.

Deciding to at least give Dr. Knight’s case some time—it would be a hefty paycheck after all, and she wanted to cover her sister’s university tuition—Jocelyn returned to his building and purposefully didn’t stop at the security desk to check in. The guard didn’t say a word. Sure, he might have already seen her come and go once, but that wasn’t good enough for her. She pulled out her Palm Pilot and made note of it, then while she rode the elevator up, checked the red emergency phone, just to make sure it worked.

Donovan leaned back against the kitchen counter and took a sip of his beer. What had he been thinking, hiring a woman on the spot to move into his place and be his bodyguard? His bodyguard!

He should have given it more thought. He usually didn’t make decisions on the spur of the moment, unless they were medical emergencies and circumstances demanded it. When it came to his personal life, he preferred to take three days to mull over a decision, just to make sure he wasn’t acting impulsively.

Which in this case, he most certainly was.

Damn Mark for bringing up the Counseling Center. Mark knew Donovan too well—knew he wouldn’t be able to say no after that. The Center was, after all, the most important thing in his life these days, and he wanted to see it through to the end. A security expert was definitely a sensible idea.

Sensible indeed. While his “expert” had been wandering around the penthouse poking her nose everywhere, all he’d been able to think about was what she would look like naked.

Unfortunately, that last bit weighed a little too heavily in the decision-making process. What could he say? He was a man, and the idea of sharing his penthouse with an attractive woman who didn’t seem to want something from him was an appealing notion. It hadn’t been entirely about her skill as a security expert, though she certainly seemed competent enough, and as much as he’d initially denied it to Mark, he did feel the need for hired protection.

To give himself credit, though, he supposed his decision was something his gut had played a part in. Somehow he’d sensed that Jocelyn Mackenzie was knowledgeable about security and more than capable, and for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he felt comfortable trusting her—which was a novel concept for Donovan.

The doorbell rang, and he carried his beer with him to answer it.

“That’s the second time you did that,” Jocelyn said as soon as their eyes met.

“Did what?”

“You opened the door without using the optical viewer.”

“The peephole? I knew it was you.”

“How?”

“I knew you were coming right back.” He stepped aside to invite her in.

“I could have been anybody. And your security guard downstairs isn’t a hundred percent reliable, by the way. I’ll deal with that tomorrow, after a few more tests.”

“Tests? What kind of tests?”

“I’m just going to see how easy it is to get by.” With a large, black tote bag slung over her shoulder, she waited in the center of the foyer while Donovan closed the door.

“How do you know I didn’t use the optical viewer?”

“I know. I heard your footsteps and there wasn’t time. Lock that, will you?”

He stared at her a moment, then realized she was right. He hadn’t locked his door, and if she hadn’t mentioned it, he might not have realized it until he went to bed, when he made a point to routinely check locks.

Her intelligent gaze swept the penthouse again. “One of the first things I do is get a feel for the boundaries with new clients. Some people like their privacy and don’t want me to disturb their things, or they want me to stay out of certain rooms. Other people want me anywhere and everywhere, attached to their hip so to speak. What about you, Dr. Knight? Any preferences? Any limits?”

He considered it. Attached at the hip sounded kind of interesting, though he could imagine some other places on her body where he might prefer to be attached.

“No, not really. Go ahead and snoop around, especially if you think it will help you do your job. You can go through my underwear drawer if it turns your crank.”

She glared at him, stone-sober. No giggles. No leaping on an opportunity.

This was new territory for sure.

“The guest room is down here,” he told her, leading the way down the hall, fully aware that she knew exactly where it was. “You know, I’ve never done this before and I’m not sure how to treat you. Like a guest, or an employee.”

“I’m neither. Mostly, treat me like I’m invisible. I’ll take care of myself and try to stay out of your way as much as possible. We’ll go over the contract tomorrow, and I can fill you in more on how I work. But it’s late now, so…”

Donovan reached the door of the guest bedroom and held out his hand for her to enter first. As her tiny body brushed by his in the doorway, he breathed in the scent of her hair again. It smelled fruity, and the fragrance wafted by him and disappeared all too quickly, leaving him feeling a little parched, so to speak.

She glanced at the bottle of beer in his hand. “What happened to the red wine in the fancy crystal glass?”

“My mood changed. You want one?”

She moved all the way into the room and set her bag on the bed. “No, I never drink on duty. You like Canadian beer?”

He looked down at the label. God, she was observant. “Yeah.”

“Me, too. I didn’t take you for a beer drinker, though.” She unzipped her bag, pulled out a baby monitor and an alarm clock, which she set on the bedside table.

“That’s two things then,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Two things that have surprised you about me. Triathlons and beer.”

She smiled noncommittally. “Yeah. Two things.” She pulled out a laptop and set it on the bed, then unraveled the cord and went looking for an outlet.

Donovan continued to stand in the doorway. “Can I get you anything? Towels? Something to eat? If you don’t want a beer, there’s orange juice and Perrier and Coke and…I think there’s ginger ale—”

“I’m fine. If I want anything, I’ll help myself if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” He continued to stand there while she plugged in her computer at the desk.

After a moment, she approached him. “Look, you don’t have to baby-sit me. It’s my job to baby-sit you. I don’t sleep much, so I’ll be working late on some proposals for improvements to your alarm system, and making sure your place isn’t bugged. I’ve got keen ears, and when I do sleep, I generally do it with one eye open, so you can relax and get a good night’s sleep tonight, and not worry so much about being able to reach that baseball bat you’ve got stowed under your bed.”

Donovan slowly blinked. She’d noticed the bat, too. And she wanted him out of her hair. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had told him to go away, and certainly not in a bedroom doorway at this time of the night.

He never imagined rejection could feel so damn good. And so damn frustrating.

Sometime after three in the morning, wearing her tank top and plaid pajama bottoms, Jocelyn e-mailed her assistant, Tess. She gave her instructions to contact the two alarm system companies she trusted for quotes, and to arrange for Dr. Knight’s locks to be changed first thing in the morning. She then shut off her computer and rubbed her burning eyes with the heels of her hands.

Dr. Knight seemed to prefer lamps that gave off dim, golden lighting. Relaxing and romantic, yes, but not very practical. She should have had the overhead light on, rather than staring at that bright screen in the semidarkness.

She rose from her chair to take her empty water glass back to the kitchen. After rinsing it out in the spotless, gleaming sink, she still didn’t feel much like going to sleep, so she decided to look around the penthouse a bit more. She wandered leisurely around the kitchen.

Dr. Knight certainly had an impressive collection of cookbooks. He had an entire floor-to-ceiling bookcase full of them, and they covered everything from vegetarian cooking to Indian food to chocolate and poultry. Did he like to cook for himself? she wondered, imagining those hands of his stirring chocolate batter, cracking a delicate egg.

She could imagine those hands doing a lot of things—unbuttoning buttons, unzipping zippers, sliding beneath a waistband….

Something inside her tingled pleasurably as her mind meandered around that idea, but when she caught herself veering off the path of professionalism again, she shut her eyes and shook her head. She spent the next few minutes forcing herself to think about the penthouse, instead of the man who inhabited it.

Jocelyn made her way out into the main hall and walked slowly in her bare feet, checking out the paintings on the walls. Most of them were contemporary landscapes, with plenty of seascapes as well. Closer to the front door, there were more framed black-and-white photographs of old abandoned, dilapidated farm houses.

She peeked into Dr. Knight’s exercise room and flicked on the light. He had a treadmill, a life cycle and a weight bench, and again, everything was shiny and clean. There wasn’t a hint of clutter anywhere. She wondered how anyone could be so perfect all the time.

Where did he keep his junk? Did he even have any?

She crossed the room to check the window latches, even though she had already checked them a couple of hours ago, then realized with some uneasiness that she was overcompensating for something: a personal rather than professional interest in poking around. She had questions about the man down the hall, sleeping soundly in his bed for what must be the first time in days.

An image of Dr. Knight stretched out on that huge bed, his muscular arms and legs sprawled out, his sun-bronzed body tangled in that thick, down duvet, burned suddenly in her brain. Her vision had him sleeping in jockeys, but perhaps he slept in boxers. Or maybe nothing at all.

Damn, she was doing it again. She willed herself to stop, and tried to remember her rule about not permitting herself to entertain any personal curiosities about her clients.

Not to mention the fact that Dr. Knight seemed like Tom in every way, and she had no business feeling curious about anyone who resembled her ex—people who derived their joy from living in lavish penthouses, wearing expensive tuxes and being spotted at the opera.

Then again, a few little things had made her wonder if there was more to Dr. Knight than what appeared on the surface. The beer thing had thrown her.

She came to the telephone near the front door, and noticed the high-tech answering machine beside it. Since he’d told her she could go through his underwear drawer if she wanted to, she decided to listen to his messages. One never knew where clues about stalkers could emerge.

She pressed play and reached for the volume control so she could keep the messages from waking her client. The machine clicked as it kicked in.

“Hi, Donovan, it’s Eleanor. I had a great time last week. Just wondering how you’re doing. Give me a call.” Beep.

“Donovan, where were you the other night? I missed you, baby. Oh, it’s Christine.” Beep.

“Hi, gorgeous. Where’ve you been? Call me when you get a chance. I have tickets to Die Tageszeiten on Saturday night, and no one to go with.” Beep.

There was one message from Mark, then four more like the first—more women sounding desperate and needy, wondering why Donovan hadn’t returned their calls.

Pitying those poor women, Jocelyn shook her head and slid back into security specialist mode. She returned to her computer to note the names of the women, and decided to ask Dr. Knight about them in the morning.

At 4:45 a.m., the baby monitor that Jocelyn had positioned by the front door woke her instantly. She heard the sound of a key in the lock. She sat up and grabbed her gun.

Slipping out of bed without making a sound, she glided out of the room and made her way down the hall. A woman was sneaking in, quietly closing the door while she made an effort to be quiet. Before she had a chance to turn around, Jocelyn was behind her with the gun pointed at her head. “Hold it!”

The woman screamed and jumped.

“Put your hands on your head!” Jocelyn ordered.

Dr. Knight’s bedroom door flew open and he came hurling out. Jocelyn kept her eyes on the intruder. “Get back in your room, Dr. Knight.”

“No, no, it’s okay!” he said. “This is my housekeeper!”

Only then did Jocelyn feel her own heart racing and the searing sensation of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She lowered her weapon. “I thought you said she came in the morning! It’s 4:45 a.m.”

“She likes to start early.”

Jocelyn’s shoulders went slack. “You could’ve told me! What was I supposed to think when someone sneaks into your penthouse at this hour?”

Dr. Knight moved toward the woman at the door. “I do apologize, Mrs. Meinhard. I’m so sorry. This is Jocelyn Mackenzie. She’s a security specialist. I hired her last night. Jocelyn, this is Brunhilde Meinhard.”

Shakily, the older woman turned around. Her gray hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head. Her glasses were large with clear, plastic rims—the old-fashioned kind from the eighties.

Jocelyn, feeling guilty for frightening the poor woman, held out her hand and gave her an apologetic smile. “Hi.”

With trembling fingers and a limp, fishlike grip, Mrs. Meinhard shook Jocelyn’s hand.

Suddenly uncomfortable in her skintight tank top and pajama bottoms, Jocelyn nodded politely and pointed toward her bedroom. “Well, now that I’m up, I’ll go get dressed.”

Neither Dr. Knight nor Mrs. Meinhard said a word. Jocelyn turned away from them.

In her bare feet, she padded down the hall, and to her chagrin, all she could think about was one thing: Her client wore pajama bottoms to bed. And Lord, what a chest.

She was in deep trouble.




Three


An hour later, showered and dressed, Jocelyn walked out of her room with her gun holstered under her arm, her blazer buttoned over it. She went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, and met Mrs. Meinhard who had already taken care of that and was now polishing the brass knobs on the white cabinetry.

“Good morning, again,” Jocelyn said.

Mrs. Meinhard regarded her coolly. “Morning.”

Jocelyn poured herself a cup of coffee and watched the housekeeper scrub the hardware. “Look, I’m sorry for what happened earlier. I didn’t mean to frighten you, but Dr. Knight hired me to do a job, and that’s what I was doing.”

Saying nothing, the woman continued to scrub.

“I guess you weren’t here when the attack happened,” Jocelyn continued, taking a sip of coffee, “but is there anything you noticed that was out of place when you came in the next morning? Anything out of the ordinary that you might not have told the police?”

The woman straightened and folded her cloth. She spoke with a thick, German accent. “I tell police everything.”

“I don’t doubt that, ma’am, I’m just asking if there might be something you didn’t think of before.”

“No. There is nothing. You work for police?”

Jocelyn carefully studied the woman’s face. “No, I’m a private Executive Protection Professional. E.P.P. for short.”

Mrs. Meinhard nodded, but Jocelyn suspected she wasn’t completely sure what that meant.

Jocelyn fired out some more questions. “Can you tell me anything about the people who visit Dr. Knight? What about friends or family? Do any of them have keys?”

She shook her head. “Dr. Knight has no family—at least, none that come here.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“I don’t know.”

Jocelyn cleared her throat. How could a housekeeper, who worked in someone’s home everyday for four years, not know if her employer had brothers or sisters? Then again, besides one framed picture of a young couple and a baby, there were no photographs of people anywhere, only landscapes and seascapes and old farm houses. Maybe Dr. Knight was at work most of the time when Mrs. Meinhard was here, and she was gone home when he entertained.

Still, it was strange.

“What about friends? Does his partner, Dr. Reeves, have a key? Or what about any girlfriends, past or present?”

Again, she shook her head. “No women. He goes out a lot, but there is no one.”

Jocelyn heard Dr. Knight’s bedroom door open, and the sound of footsteps approaching. She expected to see him in his work clothes, but instead, he wore a tank and shorts.

Jocelyn felt a sharp tingling of awareness move through her. He looked nothing like he did last night in the tuxedo. In sneakers and a shirt that showed off his broad, muscular shoulders, he looked almost like a regular, everyday guy. Well, not too regular. Not with that body.

He passed through the kitchen, apparently on his way to the door. “Morning.”

Jocelyn set down her cup and followed him. “Wait a second, we were supposed to go over the contract this morning. Where are you going?”

“For a run.” He reached the marble foyer and pulled open a small cabinet drawer to retrieve a key in a shoe wallet and fasten it to his sneaker.

“Not without me you’re not. Did you forget what you hired me for? I’m not here to guard your penthouse. I’m here to guard you.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “I was wondering how this was going to work…. Do you think you can keep up?”

She gave him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look.

“Of course you can. Sorry.” He glanced down at her loafers. “Even with those?”

She glanced down, too. “Yes, with these, but I’d rather not risk an injury. Wait here and I’ll change.”

“You have running gear?” His voice gave away his surprise.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she headed to her room. “I have everything. We can discuss the contract while we run.”

Jocelyn placed the flat of her hands on the marble, vestibule wall, and leaned in for a calf stretch. She wore black, thigh-length Lycra shorts and a matching Y-back bra top. Her arms, shoulders and stomach were firmly toned, and just as Donovan had imagined last night as he’d watched her flicking window latches in that brown suit, she had a terrific, tight butt and long, suntanned legs to die for.

“Is there anything you don’t do?” he asked.

She finished the stretch and bent into another one. “Cook.”

“No? I love to cook.”

“We’ll get along well, then. You love to cook, and I love to eat what other people put in front of me.”

Her delivery was deadpan, but there was something there that suggested again that she did have a sense of humor, even if she wasn’t obvious about it.

Donovan suspected there was a lot more to his bodyguard than what she showed the world. No one could be as indifferent as she seemed to be, every day of their life. This had to be her professional persona, and he found himself wondering quite acutely what she was like around her closest friends. He’d give anything to see her smile or laugh. Maybe he should make that his goal for the day.

Donovan continued to watch her. “Anything else you don’t know how to do?”

She pulled her arm across her chest to stretch her triceps. “I don’t know how to fix cars. It’s on my to-do list.”

“Me, neither, but I can’t say it’s on mine.”

“No, you probably hire people to do that kind of menial work.”

Donovan grabbed onto his sneaker and lifted his foot for a thigh stretch. “Now, why do you say it like that? Like I’m a snob or something.”

“I never said that.”

“No, but you implied it with your tone, and it’s not the first time.”

She said nothing. She just continued to stretch.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

“Like I said, I try to be invisible.”

“Invisible is one thing. Rude is another.”

“I wasn’t being rude.”

“Yes, you were. I asked you a question, and you ignored me.”

She glanced at him only briefly. “I didn’t ignore you. I just didn’t reply to what wasn’t a question in the first place. It was an observation on your part, and you’re entitled to your opinions.”

Donovan stretched his hamstrings. “My opinions… God, I don’t even remember what I said now. Do you always have this effect on men?”

Jocelyn ignored the last part of his question. She finished stretching and pressed the elevator button. “You said I implied you were a snob.”

He snickered at her deadpan tone again, as he gazed down at her dainty profile. She was looking up at the lighted numbers over the elevator doors.

“So, did you?” he asked.

“Did I what?”

“Imply that I was a snob? You can’t argue that that wasn’t a question.”

The elevator dinged, the brass doors opened and Jocelyn stepped inside. She held him back from entering, looked up at the ceiling, then motioned for him to follow. “If I implied it, I apologize. It’s none of my business what kind of person you are.”

Donovan pressed the lobby button. “So you don’t deny it. You think I’m a snob.”

Her mouth curved up in a half smile as she shook her head at him. It was a cute smile. A little on the devilish side, but cute. He’d like to see another one. A looser one. The kind of smile she’d have right after sex.

If she ever had sex. He imagined there’d be a few “walls of inhibition” that would have to come down first. Or be scaled.

He would enjoy that—scaling her walls.

“What does it matter what I think, Dr. Knight? I’m just your bodyguard.”

“It matters a great deal. We’re going to be in close quarters over the next little while, and call me vain, but I can’t stand the idea of a woman not liking me, especially when she doesn’t even know me. And why can’t you call me Donovan?”

“Because our relationship is a professional one, and keeping those lines firmly drawn is important in my line of work, especially when I’m required to inhabit people’s homes.”

He nodded. “Ah, that makes sense. You could have said so last night, when the subject came up.”

“I hadn’t decided whether or not I was going to take the job last night.”

The elevator reached the bottom floor, and they crossed the lobby and passed through the large revolving doors. Once out on the street, they began to jog alongside each other.

“How’d you get the scar on your left shoulder?” she asked, never taking her eyes off what was ahead of her.

“You don’t miss a thing, do you? I was in a car accident a year ago.”

“Your fault?”

“No, I was rammed by another driver who ran a red light. My door caved inward and broke my arm and a few ribs. The glass cut me up pretty bad, but it was all fixable. It took me a while to get back in shape, though. I used to compete in triathlons, but now I’m just in training.”

“You seem like an exercise nut.”

“I just like staying healthy.”

They jogged a block or two, then Jocelyn said, “Let’s talk about the contract now, and what level of protection you want from me.”

Donovan settled into a comfortable pace, his breathing controlled. “Since you’re going to be in my house anyway, we might as well go for the highest level.”

“It’ll cost you.”

“Not a problem.”

They jogged down to the lights and crossed the street.

“First,” she said, “let’s start with your penthouse. Do you want me to arrange every improvement possible? Or stick with just the alarm system? Either way, I’ll need to see your deed to ascertain if there are any conditions of occupancy that might limit what we do.”

“I’ll get you the deed right away, and if we can, let’s go the whole nine yards. The only thing I ask is that you keep the improvements from standing out too much. I don’t want my home to look like Fort Knox.”

“That can be arranged. I already put together some ideas last night with that in mind, since I figured cosmetics would be important to you.”

Donovan swerved around a spilled ice-cream cone on the sidewalk. “There you go again.”

“What do you mean, ‘there I go again’?” Her voice got a little haughty, and Donovan couldn’t deny that he liked it. She was inching off that rock of indifference.

“The way you figured cosmetics would be important to me. Now you’re implying that I’m shallow.”

She laughed out loud, and it was everything he had hoped it would be—throaty, from the heart and unbelievably sexy. “I implied no such thing!”

They crossed the street and headed toward Lincoln Park, their running shoes tapping the ground in perfect unison. Donovan had to admit he enjoyed needling her to open up a little, and he wasn’t sure why. He never felt the urge to prod the women he usually dated and get to know more about what they were like deep down. It was usually the other way around.

She was quiet for a moment. “Can we get back to the contract now?”

They jogged onto the running track in the park, and passed other runners along the way. “Sure. You were talking about the penthouse.”

“Yes. I’ll act as your contractor, hiring the appropriate experts to install a new alarm system, as well as to come in and make your doors and windows more secure. As far as personal protection, I’ll accompany you everywhere for a daily fee, which will be payable every thirty days.”

“Even to work?”

“You said you wanted the highest level of protection.”

“I do, but I’m a heart surgeon. You’ll have to sit in the waiting room all day. You won’t find that tiresome?”

“It’s my job, Dr. Knight.”

“What about days off? Surely you’ll need holidays.”

“I take holidays between jobs.”

“What if you get sick?”

“I have colleagues I trust with my life, and we spell each other off in emergencies like that.”

Donovan felt sweat cooling his back between his shoulder blades. Jocelyn had a healthy glow on her face, too, but she wasn’t working too hard, not by a long shot. She was clearly in great shape. “I thought you worked alone.”

“I do, but I didn’t always.”

“These colleagues…buddies from the Secret Service?”

“You got it. There are a number of us who work privately now. We contract each other out whenever we require team details.”

They jogged in silence along the water, in perfect sync with each other, enjoying the fresh, early morning air. For a long time neither of them said anything, until they came to the end of the park.

“Ready to turn back?” Jocelyn asked.

“Yeah, I usually go that way.” He pointed.

She stopped and bent forward, her hands on her knees as she tried to talk through deep breaths. “Really? We should go a different way then, and run somewhere else tomorrow.”

He understood what she was getting at—it was a security thing—and nodded in the other direction. “That way through the park’ll take a little longer, but we’ll end up back where we started.”

“Great.” They began to run again, both of them covered in a shiny film of perspiration, but still keeping perfect pace. When they arrived back on Donovan’s street, they walked for a bit to cool down before going inside. They passed by the security guard, who politely waved.

Jocelyn got on the elevator first, and like before, checked the ceiling before letting him get on.

“What are you checking for?” he asked, as he stepped inside.

“If the hatch is ajar, there could be someone up there.”

On the way up to his penthouse, Donovan was intensely aware of the silence between them, and had to stop himself from gazing down at her just for the sheer pleasure of it.

God, she smelled good. Like the outdoors and fresh, clean sweat. What he wouldn’t give to touch her now. To rub his fingers along her slick, bare shoulder.

His blood began to pulse in his veins, and for the first time in years, he felt nervous around a woman.

“Maybe on the way to your office this morning,” she said, “we could talk about suspects.”

He tried to imagine that. “We could, if you don’t mind people listening in.”

“What do you mean? What people?”

“The people on the El.”

The doors opened, and he stepped off, but Jocelyn stayed on the elevator. Donovan had to put his arm in front of the door to keep it from closing while she was still inside.

“You take the train to your office?” she asked, sounding more than a little shocked.

Donovan couldn’t help smiling, and this time, she smiled back.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” she asked.

“Yes, you are. I suppose you expected me to drive a Jag? Or maybe have a limo and driver?”

At last she stepped off the elevator and held her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, I’m guilty this time.”

Donovan paused in the vestibule. “Why do you have those impressions of me, anyway? Is it because I was wearing a tux last night? Do you think my life is one big cocktail party?”

She shrugged. “Something like that. You have to admit, though, appearances haven’t exactly made you out to be Blue Collar Joe.”

Laughing quietly, Donovan bent down to get his key out of his shoe wallet, then straightened. “I’m a pretty normal guy, you know.”

“Sure. A normal guy who has the best of everything in one of the most expensive penthouses in downtown Chicago.”

“You’re very observant, I’ll give you that, but what you see is not always all that’s there. You can’t possibly know what’s going on inside a person, by seeing what kind of beer they drink or what kind of house they live in.”





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