“It’s not that expensive. Not relatively.”
“Relative to what?”
“To…to other shops. Really, twelve hundred’s not that much for a dress like that.”
“What, twelve thousand would be more in line with what you’d call expensive?”
“Well, yeah.”
She felt the difference between them like a deep chasm at that moment. Twelve hundred dollars was pocket change to him.
“And how do you know about prices of dresses anyway?” she asked, still whispering. “And how does Doris know your name? Do you often come here to buy clothes for your lady friends? The ones who leave messages on your answering machine? The ones you never call back?”
He raised his eyebrows, looking amused. “You sound jealous.”
“I am not jealous. I just find it odd that the clerk here knows you by name and—”
“What about this one?” Doris said, appearing unexpectedly behind Jocelyn, who felt her face color.
“I liked the other one better,” Donovan said.
Doris went away, and he took a step closer to Jocelyn to whisper in her ear. “Why don’t you just try it on? I really want to see you in it.”
His hot, moist breath sent goose bumps tingling down her body. Oh, where was her iron hormonal resistance mechanism when she needed it?
“Why?” she asked. “This isn’t a date we’re going on. I’m just there for your security. You don’t need to dress me up in something I guarantee I’ll never wear again.”
“You said yourself that you need to blend in. This is appropriate for where we’re going.”
Jocelyn gazed at his imploring expression for a long time, then remembered one of the strict rules of her profession: It’s not my job should never be thought or spoken.
It was her duty to always ensure that her principal felt secure and comfortable, whether that meant raising an umbrella over his head if it started to rain, or making sure that his luggage didn’t get lost on a flight across the country. In this case, if seeing her dressed to “fit in” with the clientele at the restaurant would make her principal feel more at ease, then she had to do as she was asked.
With a deep sigh of defeat, she raised her hands in the air. “All right, I’ll try it on.”
“Thank you,” he whispered close to her ear, causing another torrent of goose bumps to tickle all over her skin.
Doris led her into an enormous wallpapered change room with a small mahogany table and lamp inside, as well as a brocade settee. There were three pairs of patent leather shoes on a low shelf, for the customers to use.
Lord, this was not her life.
She tried on the floor-length gown, slipped the heels on her feet, then turned to look at herself in the mirror.
Good God. Her heart almost skipped a beat. It had to be someone else’s reflection she was looking at. The dress hugged all her curves—curves she wasn’t even aware she possessed—and made her look sophisticated and radiant, like a movie star on the red carpet. Like a woman.
A knock sounded at the dressing room door. “How are you doing?” Doris asked. “Can I get you anything?”
Feeling uncertain and turning around carefully—for she wasn’t used to walking in high-heeled shoes—Jocelyn slowly grasped the crystal knob and stepped out. She tried to ignore how uncomfortable and ridiculous she felt.
Doris smiled and nodded. “That’s the one.”
Jocelyn, who had kept her head down since she’d opened the door, finally looked up. Donovan’s lazy gaze was moving slowly up and down the length of her body.
Her heart held still, waiting for what he would say, while she chided herself for letting it matter. She shouldn’t care what she looked like in his eyes. In fact, she should hate the fact that he wanted to dress her up like her father used to do. She wasn’t a doll or an ornament.
Yet, another part of her felt oddly liberated seeing herself this way. All through her life she had resisted her natural urges to wear something pretty, to feel soft and feminine, because she didn’t want to be valued for that. She wanted to be valued for something deeper.
Contemplatively, Donovan tilted his head to the side and stared into her eyes. “Yes, this is definitely the one.”
The restaurant was small, intimate and very romantic.
Located in the low-ceilinged basement of an old stone mansion in a quiet part of town, it was dimly lit with flickering candles and staffed with soft-spoken waiters in tuxedos. White-clothed tables—set with sparkling crystal wineglasses and shiny silver utensils—were spaced apart in little alcoves or surrounded by creeping ivy plants to provide privacy. It was the perfect place for a discreet affair.
Jocelyn had called ahead to arrange for cooperation regarding Donovan’s security, and had ascertained that this would be a low-risk detail, judging by the floor plan the manager had faxed over to her. Still, she kept her gun strapped to her ankle and looked around the restaurant with discerning eyes as they were led to their table in the back corner.
“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 finally 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.
Six
Donovan 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.
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