Read Online Sleeping with the Playboy by Julianne MacLean - Free Book Online Page B

around the restaurant with discerning eyes as they were led to their table in the back corner.
    â€œSo 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.
    â€œSo 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?”
    â€œReally, 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?
    â€œIf 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.”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œDonovan,” she said point-blank. “If we’re going to have any kind of normal working relationship, it’s time I did some intelligence gathering.”
    â€œIntelligence 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.
    â€œAll 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.”
    â€œMostly.”
    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…”
    â€œIt’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