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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?
    â€œWhy?” 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.”
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œThank 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 lampinside, 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 resistedher 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.”
    Â 
    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