Sleeping with the Playboy by Julianne MacLean Page B

Jocelyn.”
    â€œFor what?”
    He paused in the hall. “For being here.”
    â€œIt’s my job.”
    â€œNo, 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.”
    â€œParcheesi?”
    He laughed. “Is that what they call it these days?”
    â€œGod only knows.”
    He laughed again, still backing away. “You’re adorable, you know.”
    Jocelyn began to close her door. “Good night, Doctor.”
    â€œAnd you’re breaking my heart.”
    â€œWhile 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.
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    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.
    â€œI woke you, didn’t I?”
    â€œIt’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?”
    â€œI haven’t gotten a wink so far. I think it was everything that happened today. I’m still wired.”
    â€œI know the feeling. What can I do? Want some hot milk or something?”
    â€œHot milk? What, am I twelve?”
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œIf you want it to work, you have to make sure you close your eyes as soon as the sleepy feelinghits, 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.”
    â€œI see. Sounds like you’ve got it down to a science.”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œI don’t know. It depends on the hot milk.”
    She was about to