Читать книгу Sleeping With The Playboy - Julianne Maclean - Страница 8

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.