Читать книгу Sleeping With The Playboy - Julianne Maclean - Страница 10

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.”