Sleeping with the Playboy

by Julianne MacLean

  Then she heard laughter from somewhere outside her hazy consciousness, somewhere outside the car. She pulled back and turned. Two teenagers were standing outside her window, watching them! How long had they been there?

  Realizing they’d been discovered, the youths immediately turned and took off down the street, but the damage was already done. Jocelyn had fallen down in her duties, to an unimaginable degree.

  “They’re gone,” Donovan whispered, leaning forward to continue kissing her, but she held him back with a hand.

  “No, that was a sign.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re superstitious now.”

  “No, I’m awake now, thank God. What if that had been your stalker? This is crazy, Donovan, and you know it.”

  He grabbed hold of the steering wheel with both hands and tapped his forehead against it. “This is crazy. It’s a good thing you resigned, because if you didn’t I’d have to fire you. Because I don’t want you as my bodyguard anymore. I want you as a woman. In my bed.”

  “That can’t happen.” She tried to fight her impossible desires. “Not yet. Not now.”

  “But someday? Can I at least entertain some hopes?”

  She couldn’t seem to answer right away. What just happened had spooked her, doused her with a healthy splash of reality. Her heart was racing inside her chest. Besides that, she wasn’t sure she could handle this with Donovan, not if it was going to blow up in her face in a month’s time.

  At her hesitation, his eyes narrowed, then he blew out a breath of air. “I need a second or two to get a hold of myself.” He flicked the latch on the door and got out.

  “No, wait! Donovan!” She got out, too, meeting him around the front of the vehicle and taking him by the arm. “Get back in the car. I can’t be sure we’re safe here.”

  Just then, a navy blue sedan came speeding out from behind the car that was parked to the rear of them. Jocelyn’s senses thrummed to life, and she pulled Donovan across the sidewalk to the shelter of a huge oak tree. She shielded his body with hers, just as the driver opened fire out of the passenger side window.

  Seven

  Tree bark exploded beside Jocelyn’s head, then tires squealed and the car sped off. She tried to see the license plate, but it was too late.

  Donovan stepped back onto the sidewalk, staring after the attacker.

  “Get in the car,” Jocelyn ordered. “I’ll drive.”

  She flipped open her cell phone to call the police as she ran around the front of the vehicle. She had the emergency number on speed dial. She gave the particulars about the assailant while she got in and started the engine. “You better buckle up,” she said.

  Donovan watched her squeal out onto the road. “What the hell just happened?”

  “We were being watched, and not just by those teenagers. Look out the rear window. Did he come back around? Are we being followed?”

  “No, there’s no one behind us.”

  She pulled a U-turn and started back in the other direction, got onto the main road and shifted quickly in and out of lanes.

  Donovan kept one hand on the dash to brace himself. “You’re quite a driver.”

  “Comes with the territory. Anybody else shifting around behind us?”

  He turned to look. “No. It’s clear.”

  She turned left at a busy intersection and went up and down some side streets to avoid the direct route home. They finally reached his building, and Jocelyn parked out back instead of in his usual spot inside the garage. She escorted him out of the car quickly and skirted through a back entrance for which she had a key.

  “I didn’t even know this door was here,” Donovan said. “You did your homework, didn’t you?”

  “Preparation is everything.” She checked around corners in basement halls, moving quickly to the elevator and keeping an eye out until he was safely inside. They rode up the twenty-two floors in complete silence.

  Jocelyn took all possible precautions entering Donovan’s penthouse and locking the door behind them. She searched the place, then closed all the blinds and curtains and told Donovan to stay away from the windows.

  Once they were sure they were out of immediate danger, Jocelyn led the way into the kitchen where Donovan sat on one of the stools at the center island.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water?”

  “That would be great, thanks. Things were pretty nutty back there.”

  She went to fill a glass from the water cooler in the corner. “This is obviously a very determined stalker, and what happened today will happen again and again until he’s caught, so I want to do everything I can to assist the police in their investigation.” She set the glass of water down in front of him. “They’re going to be here soon, so let’s try again to figure out who would want to hurt you. We need to give the police something more to work with. You mentioned the grief counseling center you’re working on. You don’t have any plans to pave over a park or anything like that, do you?

  “No, the location hasn’t even been decided yet. We’re still in the fund-raising stage.”

  “What else can you think of? Have you lost any patients lately? Could there be a grieving loved one who blames you?”

  “I guess it’s possible. I’m a good surgeon, but I’m not God. I’ve lost my share.”

  “Can you get me their names? Maybe the police could look into it.”

  He nodded.

  Jocelyn flipped open her phone to call the police and see if they’d apprehended anyone. Unfortunately they hadn’t, which was not surprising, since the assailant had sped off too quickly and she hadn’t identified the plate number.

  She was told an officer would be there soon to ask questions, and that they would be heightening the investigation.

  Two hours later, after Jocelyn had dealt with the police and called Tess to report what had happened, she found Donovan in the kitchen, cooking.

  She took a seat on one of the stools. “How are you doing?”

  He stood over the stovetop on the island, whisking something in a saucepan. He wore his faded jeans and a white T-shirt, tucked in.

  “Better,” he replied. “Cooking relaxes me. Want some bacon-wrapped scallops?” He set down the whisk, opened one of the stainless steel ovens behind him, and pulled out a pan of sizzling hors d’oeuvres. He set them on a china platter, and after sticking toothpicks in them, set the platter in front of Jocelyn.

  “Don’t mind if I do. Oh, sweet heaven, these are delicious.” Then she realized how hot they were and opened her mouth to wave a hand in front of her face. “Ow.”

  Donovan smiled as he returned to his whisking. “Burn yourself? If only you would exercise such a lack of caution and restraint with me.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “I’m sorry, Donovan, but you have to admit I’m right. Especially after today.”

  He whisked faster. “Yes, and I must say, you were pretty impressive driving my car.” He lifted his sexy gaze. “You, my dear, are no debutante.”

  She laughed. “And you, kind sir, are an excellent cook.” She popped another tender, juicy scallop into her mouth. “What are you making?”

  “Grilled chicken with lemon cream sauce over angel hair pasta, and sautéed snow peas. Are you hungry?”

  “I’m starved and that sounds amazing. We forgot to eat dinner, didn’t we? For obvious reasons, I guess.”

  He tilted his head, not bothering to speak about why.

  “Listen…Donovan,” she said cautiously, “before we sit down to eat, I’d like to clear the air about what happened today.”

  His gaze lifted again. “I got shot at by a stalker.”

  “Before that.”

  “You mean what attracted the voyeuristic teenagers? Yeah, that was interesting, too, wasn’t it?”

  “It was more than interesting,” she replied, feeling like she was treading into dangerous territory, but needing to get this out in the open so it wouldn’t happen again. “It was excruci
ating.”

  He set the saucepan aside and flicked off the burner. Slowly, sensuously, he moved toward her like a confident panther on the prowl. Her blood began to race faster through her veins.

  “In what way was it excruciating?” He took her hand and pulled her gently to her feet. She stared at him for a shaky moment while he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Tremors of delight danced across her skin.

  “In that way.”

  His wicked gaze met hers.

  “You’re cruel, Donovan,” she said in a low, breathy voice while she tried to fight the powerful emotions that were tugging at her from all directions.

  “No more cruel than you are, not allowing me to have hope.”

  She swallowed over the huge lump of anxiety in her throat. “We shouldn’t be thinking about this kind of thing right now.”

  “You’re the one who brought it up.”

  This was agonizing. “Yes, I did, because I thought we should—” He laid a few more soft kisses upon her knuckles, and the cool, lingering moisture from his lips seemed to tingle all the way up her arm. She forgot what she was going to say. Damn him….

  “You thought we should clear the air,” he said for her.

  “Yes.” Thank you.

  “Let’s clear it, then. I promise I’ll be good.” He gave her hand back to her and let his own hands fall to his sides. “I’m listening.”

  Her heart did a few wild little somersaults in her chest. How was it possible that he could reduce her to a stammering idiot, when she’d promised herself she would be a brick wall?

  “I know I said I was going to resign,” she told him, “but in light of what happened today, and the fact that Tess can’t seem to find anyone to replace me on such short notice, I think it’s important for me to stay on for a little while.”

  He wet his too-inviting lips. “Ah. I suppose the next thing you’re going to tell me is that the kissing has to stop.”

  “Precisely.” She waited with apprehension for his argument, prepared her rebuttals in her mind….

  “Done,” he said flatly.

  She shook her head in disbelief; her voice revealed her utter amusement. “Done? I don’t believe you.”

  He laid his hand on his chest, looking dismayed by her lack of confidence in his ability to keep his hands to himself. “You don’t trust me.”

  “I do trust you, it’s just that…well, you haven’t exactly been agreeable to my requests before now.”

  He considered her point. “Maybe not, but I’ve had some time to think about things, and I feel differently about everything tonight.”

  “Differently? How so?”

  “I realize that in addition to the fact that I’m your client, and the fact that I was shot at today and you feel responsible, you’re nervous about getting involved with me because you don’t know me very well and you’re afraid I might turn out to be the playboy you thought I was when you first met me. A little more time together will give me the chance to prove to you that you’re wrong. And maybe prove it to myself, too.”

  The last thing he said went straight through her. He was revealing something of himself. A deeper vulnerability. A desire to improve some of his shortcomings.

  She hadn’t imagined he was aware that he even had any.

  “So you’re going to be good?” she replied, trying to recapture the mood from a few minutes ago—when it was a little more simple. A little more casual. “You’re not going to try to tempt me?”

  He touched her chin briefly. “I’m going to do my very best, hoping of course, that there will be a reward at the end.”

  “Like a dog treat?” she replied, finding this all very hard to believe.

  “No.” He backed away and opened the oven to serve up dinner. “Like your heart.”

  A ripple of unwelcome anticipation coursed through Jocelyn. My heart?

  Damn him for being so impossibly, wonderfully charming.

  They ate dinner by candlelight in the formal dining room, on the shiny, polished mahogany table, and sipped sparkling, alcohol-free cranberry cocktail from crystal goblets. After the dishes were cleared, it was past ten o’clock.

  “One last chance,” Jocelyn said, “to cancel your surgery tomorrow morning. We could stay here and watch TV and avoid risks.”

  “I would if I could, but it’s an important procedure. It’s not something that should be postponed.”

  She nodded, helping him load the dishwasher. A few minutes later, they were yawning.

  “Will you be able to sleep?” she asked.

  He walked her to her bedroom door. “I doubt it.”

  “Would you like to stay up a little longer? We could watch a movie if it would help.”

  “No, I have to be in the O.R. at 6:00 a.m. I should at least try to get some shut-eye.”

  “All right. Well, don’t worry. I’m here, and remember I sleep with one eye open, the monitor’s on and your new alarm system is second to none. You’ll be fine tonight.”

  He settled one broad shoulder against her doorjamb, and relaxed there, just looking at her. “Will I?”

  Jocelyn’s insides began to quiver at the awesome effect of his words in the wake of his sexy green eyes, half-shuttered in the dim light.

  “Of course,” she replied, even though she knew he was referring to another kind of danger. The kind that went hand in hand with temptations and consequences.

  His voice was calm and soothing after the madness of the day. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Still, he remained at her door, gazing into her eyes, then down at her lips, back up to her eyes again.

  “You’re hovering,” she said in a playful tone. “Remember what you promised.”

  “I promised I wouldn’t kiss you. I didn’t promise I wouldn’t look at you. It’s not easy to pry my eyes away, you know.”

  “Well, you’d better if you’re going to be able to keep them open during surgery in the morning.”

  He visibly snapped himself out of it, and stepped away from the doorjamb. “You’re right, you’re right. I should go.” He started to back away. “Thanks, Jocelyn.”

  “For what?”

  He paused in the hall. “For being here.”

  “It’s my job.”

  “No, it’s more than that. You make me feel…” He shrugged, starting to back away again. “Happy. I’ve never been so happy to have a woman stay overnight, when there wasn’t any chance of you know what.”

  “Parcheesi?”

  He laughed. “Is that what they call it these days?”

  “God only knows.”

  He laughed again, still backing away. “You’re adorable, you know.”

  Jocelyn began to close her door. “Good night, Doctor.”

  “And you’re breaking my heart.”

  “While you’re breaking a promise. Good night,” she repeated, closing her door until it clicked, but remaining there with her ear against it, just to hear the sound of his footfalls until they disappeared into his room.

  At 3:00 a.m., Jocelyn awoke to a knock at her door. “Yes?”

  Donovan answered from the hall. “You awake?”

  Her shoulders heaved with a sigh, and she climbed out of bed and opened the door to find him standing there looking sleepy, disheveled and delicious, shirtless with nothing on but a pair of black pajama bottoms.

  “I woke you, didn’t I?”

  “It’s okay. I had to get up to answer your knock on my door anyway.”

  He smiled, and she wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to speak, with that smooth, golden chest at eye level, scrambling her senses into a jumbled mess.

  She noticed his eyes were bloodshot. “Can’t sleep?”

  “I haven’t gotten a wink so far. I think it was everything that happened today. I’m still wired.”

  “I know the feeling. What can I do? Want some hot milk or something?”

  “Hot milk? What, am I twelve?”

  “You don’t drink hot milk?”


  He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “I didn’t think anybody drank hot milk. At least not since the fifties.”

  “I do, and it works. Truly.” She started toward the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll prove it to you.”

  They both walked barefoot to the kitchen and turned on the lights. Jocelyn poured some milk into a mug and stuck it in the microwave. While the appliance hummed, she explained the hot milk technique.

  “If you want it to work, you have to make sure you close your eyes as soon as the sleepy feeling hits, because if you don’t, you’ll miss it. It’s like a wave you have to catch. So you shouldn’t drink it in the living room, because then you’ll have to get up and go to bed, and that alone might make you miss the wave. Drink it in bed.”

  “I see. Sounds like you’ve got it down to a science.”

  “I do.” The microwave beeped, and she removed the steaming cup and stirred it with a spoon. “There you go.”

  He took the cup and smelled it. “Hot milk. Hmm.”

  She put her hand on his back to usher him to bed, and the warm feel of his well-toned muscles beneath her fingertips sent shivers up and down her spine. She tried to ignore them, but it was no use. She gave up trying, and resolved to go back to her own bed ASAP.

  They reached his bedroom, and she hesitated for a fraction of a second before going with him inside. She’d never escorted a principal to bed before—and certainly not a principal who looked like Donovan, bare-chested and devastatingly masculine in nothing but his drawstring pajama bottoms. It would never have seemed appropriate with any of her previous clients, nor had any of them ever attempted to push the boundaries like Donovan did.

  Still, his comfort and safety were her concern, so she entered the room. “You’ll be all right now?” she asked, pausing at the bottom of the king-size bed while he set the mug on his side table and climbed in.

  “I don’t know. It depends on the hot milk.”

  She was about to say good-night when he gestured toward the chair in the corner. “Have a seat. Stay and talk to me for a few minutes. Tell me something personal.”

  She swallowed nervously. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Like what kind of person you were in high school. Were you popular—you know, the student council type, the prom queen—or did you hang out with the druggies?”