Love Another Day

by Gina Robinson

  “Well, then. Let me show you both. It’ll be easier for the young lady to tie it than for you to try to tie it yourself.” She waved Mal over. “Come. Let me show you.”

  Mal stepped closer.

  Alice handed her the tie. “Wrap it around his neck just over the collar.”

  Yeah, Mal looked like she wanted to wrap it around his neck all right. And cinch it so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. Tate was enjoying himself immensely as Mal fumbled with the tie and adjusted it beneath Alice’s appraising eye.

  “Pull a little more to that side. Yes, just so.” Alice grabbed the ends and started her lesson on tying the perfect bow tie, pausing at each step to let Mal give it a try.

  Tate was enjoying himself until a flash from the past came at him from nowhere—Mal learning to tie his ties for him when they were first married. The way her head was bent over the tie and he could see her part, just like the present. The look of determination and excitement she flashed Alice and him as she tackled each step.

  He’d learned how to tie all sorts of ties at the tender age of eight. It was expected of a young man from his social class. He’d never needed Mal’s help, but his mother had goaded Mal into learning. Mal, not to be outdone by his mother, learned to tie fancy knots and even cravats, a skill that would have come in handy in Regency England, but was pretty much useless in modern-day America.

  Why was he thinking about this now? And why was the gentle way she touched his shoulder so damn erotic?

  “There, there. You almost have it!” Alice had all the enthusiasm of a cheerleader. “One more move. Ah! Excellent.”

  Mal stood back to admire her work and clapped. “I did it! I did it!” She leaned forward and brushed Tate’s lips with a whisper of a kiss that sent a tremor of desire all the way to his toes. “You look wonderful.” Mal grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him so he could get a look at himself in the three-way mirror.

  Tate tugged the tails down and preened. “Does this mean I don’t have to try on any more monkey suits?”

  Mal kissed him again, this time on the cheek. “We’ll take it.”

  Alice measured the trousers for the hem and promised to have the tux delivered to their hotel by five.

  “My girl needs a dress,” Tate said to Alice when she was done ringing up the transaction.

  “There’s a lovely little dress shop three doors down. Good prices. I’m sure they’ll have something for you, miss.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Tate took Mal’s hand. “We don’t have much time.”

  He waited until they were out on the sidewalk before he spoke. “No Sophia in the dressing rooms.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “Not at all. A romantic girl like her? I can’t see her missing Witham’s grand dinner party, can you?”

  She squeezed his hand.

  “You were great in there,” he said. He hadn’t meant to compliment her. It just slipped out. “Very convincing.”

  She shrugged. “I was always good in drama class.”

  She was lying. It was written all over her face. She’d been remembering the good times of their past, too, and using that to put on a convincing show for Alice and whoever else was watching.

  “But you were awful,” she said.

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “Got a very, what’s the word I’m looking for—dapper? A dapper tux, one that makes you look good and more like yourself.” She laughed. “Dapper sounds so old-fashioned.”

  “I’m supposed to be catching a hot, young woman’s eye. You would have put me in something tacky.”

  “She knows you’re undercover. She’s not going to hold that against you.”

  “Isn’t she? First impressions are the strongest. I have to make her feel my animal magnetism.” He flexed his bicep.

  “Right, tiger. You used Alice to punk me. Once you were dressed in that high-end rental, what was poor little professor-struck Mallie supposed to say? That you looked horrible? You hold the power of her grant in your hand.”

  “Mallie’s a fictional character.”

  “Not when we’re in public.”

  “I can’t help it if I outsmarted you. That’s the game.”

  “It’s a game, is it? We’re supposed to be on the same team, not fighting each other.”

  “Exactly,” he said. “You’re supposed to be handsoming me up for my date, not screwing it up for me.”

  They came to a stop in front of the dress shop Alice had suggested and paused to peer into the display window.

  “What do you think?” Tate asked. He saw several possibilities, including a skintight mermaid fit number with a neckline that plunged to the navel.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Mal said without even looking at him.

  Maybe she’d seen his wolfish expression in the window.

  “I’m not twenty-three and trying to look it is killing me. I’m looking for something young looking and innocent. Poor little Mallie is still naïve.”

  “Naïve, hell.” Tate stared at her. “She seduced her professor.”

  “He used his power and position and seduced her, preying on her aspirations and dreams.”

  “That wasn’t in the cover brief.” He pulled the shop door open for her.

  “It should have been.”

  * * *

  Shopping with Tate was bringing back too many happy memories. Few men shopped with panache. Even though he claimed to hate shopping, Tate was one of them. He had a discerning eye, particularly when it came to dressing women. He knew the female figure like he knew the intricacies of software apps, down to which accessories took an outfit from good to fabulous. Mal didn’t have much good to say about her former mother-in-law, but Lenora had imparted her elegant taste to her son.

  Even though she loved shopping, in this situation, Mal would have approached getting her dress like running into the market for a loaf of bread—head right to the bread aisle, grab a loaf, and run for the checkout counter. As she entered the shop and quickly scanned the racks, her trained eye immediately fell on a nude A-line princess scoop-neck floor-length chiffon gown with ruffle beading.

  Tate leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I see you in a plunging-neck number. Like the one in the window, but with one side of the dress held together at the hips with a single small gold ring. A dress so fabulous and seductive, you’ll leave all the male guests wondering whether you’re wearing anything at all beneath it.”

  Tate was either teasing, or hoping she’d have to switch places with Sophia and he was salivating over the fantasy of the twenty-three-year-old RIOT agent in it. Mal had a mission, a mission to prevent Tate from falling for that RIOT vixen. No way in hell was she going to help the adversary out by giving her the opportunity to wear the dress of Tate’s wet dreams.

  “In your dreams, professor. Besides, you know a dress like that is all smoke and mirrors and tape. Plenty of it to hold all the bits in place and prevent a wardrobe malfunction. Not so sexy when it comes off.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Besides, Mallie has a limited collegiate budget that would be stretched at H and M. The gown in the window is out of hers.”

  A shop clerk greeted them and, just like in the tux hire shop, Mal had to swallow her professional skill and pretend she didn’t know a thing about fashion. Fortunately, the shopgirl had good taste. The armful of gowns she picked for Mal to try on included the nude number Mal had already decided on.

  Tate was ushered into a chair just outside the dressing room. When Mal stepped out of the dressing room wearing the first gown—a white off-the-shoulder belted Grecian number, Tate was holding one of the damned, ruffled mermaid gowns in hot pink.

  Tate, as professor nerd extraordinaire, shook his head. “Looks like a Halloween costume for a sorority party. Try this one on next.” As he handed her the monstrosity, he whispered, “You told me to stay in character. I’m not supposed to have a sense of style, just a sense of lecher.”

  He was testing her patience, pushing her to the max. It took
all of her willpower to keep an expression of girlish infatuation and wanting to please on her face as she grabbed the gown and went back to the fitting room to struggle into it.

  It had a corset top that laced up the back. The shopgirl had to lace her into it. When the girl was done, Mal took one look at herself in the mirror and frowned.

  “It’s not as bad as all that. He wants to see a little skin. Let him have his fun and then we’ll fix you up with something nice.”

  Let him have his fun. Right.

  She could have fun, too. She strode out of the dressing room, hips thrust forward like a runway model, giggling to stay in character. The dress was too long. She had to hold it up to keep from tripping on it, which ruined her runway walk.

  When he saw her, Tate’s eyes nearly popped out of his head the way she was popping out of the bodice of the dress. True to his warning, he’d picked a dress that plunged to the top of the mermaid skirt and flared into a ruffle.

  She stepped up on the round platform in front of the three-way mirror. “Well?” She held her arms out.

  “Spin.” He made the motion with his fingers.

  She did a slow three-sixty, feeling his gaze on her as he ogled her hips and butt. He was doing a superb job of playing the lovesick professor.

  “Fabulous.” He jumped out of his chair and came up to her, standing in front of the platform. “Gorgeous.” His voice became deep and seductive as he ran his hands over her hips and butt. “It fits like a glove.”

  And she tingled to her toes. “You’re speaking in clichés.”

  “It’s the one, baby.” He pulled on the tag that stuck out beneath her armpit. “And it’s on clearance.”

  She cupped the back of his head and pulled him to her until she was close enough to whisper directly in his ear. “I look like something from My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding in this. We aren’t going to a vicars-and-tarts party. This isn’t the one. In the words of Heidi Klum, ‘It’s out.’”

  “Want to bet?” His eyes danced with devilment.

  “It’s way too long. There’s no way a seamstress can alter it in time for the party tonight. Not without paying a mint, which would put it out of range. Sometimes a bargain isn’t really a bargain.”

  “I’ll pay.”

  “No way, professor. I have my pride.” She held up her skirt and stepped off the platform. “Wait until you see the next one.”

  With the help of the salesgirl, Mal changed into the nude number. It fit her like a second skin and kissed her curves in all the right places. The see-through lace in the bodice dipped low, provocatively teasing at revealing more cleavage than it actually did. The fitted waistband made her waist look tiny and the princess skirt had a beautiful drape to it. At a quick glance, she looked like Lady Godiva—naked.

  Tate would love this dress. She loved this dress.

  “Isn’t it bad luck to see the girl in the dress before the party?” she called to Tate from the fitting room.

  “That’s just weddings,” Tate called back. “Now get out here and show me your stuff.”

  The shopgirl was grinning as she stepped out of the fitting room to talk to Tate. “She looks gorgeous in it, sir. Truly stunning.”

  “Sorry, prof. I’m not coming out.” Mal twirled before the small dressing room mirror. She would have liked a three-way view of it, but not at the expense of Tate seeing her in it. Where was the fun in that?

  “Don’t make me come in there.” His voice was full of tease.

  Through the slats of the dressing room door, Mal watched the shopgirl bar the entrance. “No gentlemen allowed, sir.”

  “I’m no gentleman.”

  The sexy innuendo in his voice curled Mal’s toes. “I have to have this nude princess.”

  “Nude princess?” Tate tried to peek around the salesgirl. “That’s something I’d like to have, too.”

  “Nude princess dress.” The light, flirty sound of her own laughter surprised Mal. She hadn’t sounded so girlishly happy in years. Not since … never mind since. It was since Tate.

  Being coy came back to her like second nature. She’d caught Tate by being coquettish the first time around and she wasn’t above using that particular weapon again. Especially here in Cheltenham with its sense of stepping into a past era of Regency manners and protocol.

  Tate had always had too many women falling at his feet and into his bed. Being rich, handsome, charming, and a spy with an adventurous edge made him irresistible. She’d been smart enough then to realize that Tate wanted to do the chasing. The apparently unattainable drew him in.

  When she first met Tate, he literally made her weak in the knees and gave her stomach an attack of butterflies. Right now, right here, pretending to be Mallie, those butterflies were fluttering their wings again. She felt young and free, totally unlike Kayla’s mom and the Agency’s go-to cover artist. She was just herself, Malene, unencumbered. Tate was a man who was fun to flirt with.

  Mal cracked the dressing room door. “I’ll take this one.” She smiled at Tate. “You’ll have to wait for your nude princess.” She puckered and kissed the air. “Until tonight.”

  She addressed the shopgirl. “Please box this up and have it delivered to our hotel.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tate took Mal’s hand as they left the shop. His simple, casual touch was electric. Megawatts’ worth of sexual attraction and power crackled between them. Too much flirting. Too many memories. Mal willed her traitorous trilling heart to stop, but the happy thing wouldn’t obey. It wanted to sing and fly and, worst of all, was threatening to let her love flow for Tate again.

  She wasn’t a seasoned field professional like he was. She wasn’t used to hardening her heart to every emotion and its consequence, and this deception was becoming too real. The shell she’d built up since their divorce was rapidly cracking, threatening to expose her tender heart and true feelings to Tate, who’d crushed it so callously before. There was every reason to believe he’d break it again now. He didn’t want her love. He wanted to sleep with an enemy operative. He wanted, as he always had, the benefits of the bachelor life and the thrill of his glamorous job without the trappings of a responsibility, namely her and Kayla.

  She beat back her fear of losing control with the old mantra: For a cover to be effective, you have to believe it. She was simply trying to be authentic. For her country’s sake.

  The low cloud cover had finally burned off. The sky was deep blue above and the sun was gaining warmth as they walked up the Promenade toward Imperial Lane. It was June and the foliage around town was deep green.

  “To the bus and coach station?” Mal asked Tate. She was almost as afraid to head there as anywhere in town. Why did Sophia have to choose Cheltenham as the place to meet Tate, and in all probability, seduce him? Why couldn’t she leave Malene’s beautiful, youthful memories of falling headfirst in love alone?

  “Finally. We get to do real spy work.” He sounded less than enthused.

  She wondered if he was feeling the same barrage of emotions and memories as she was.

  “A good spy always knows where all the exits are.” She squeezed his hand and smiled into his eyes, leaning her head against his arm. He’d always had toned biceps to die for.

  “I know where that exit is.”

  “It’s been years. Things change.” Her words were all too true—they’d changed. She had to keep reminding herself.

  “Things like historically preserved Regency-era towns that brag about their authenticity? Don’t let the historical society hear your heresy.”

  She laughed. He had her there. But she never backed down. “Don’t sound so superior—they might. Even a small new detail could make a difference. A new pothole. A fire hydrant where one hadn’t been before. A remodeled interior that repositions an exit from the station. Small details, but crucial.”

  She pulled her hand free from his and wrapped her arm around his waist, tucking her hand familiarly into his back pants pocket and squeezing his tight butt. Tate�
�s butt was still as firm and grabable as it had been when they first met. She spent hours on the elliptical trying to keep hers toned. If she’d surprised him, he didn’t show it.

  He reciprocated by wrapping his arm around her, pulling her even more tightly against him, possessively, like in the old days. Any other man would have struggled to slide his hot, firm hand into her skintight back jeans pocket. There was simply no room for anything in that pocket besides her, not even a dime. But not Tate. His hand glided in as if greased with belonging and experience. How did he do it?

  He cupped her butt and her toes got the curling feeling again and little thrills of pleasure tingled through her.

  Touché, Tate.

  “Coach travel beneath you these days?” she said.

  “I’ve never liked buses—stinky, noisy, gossipy places.”

  “Really? You brought me here from London on the bus. And kissed me right in the station.”

  He shrugged. “I was trying to impress you.”

  “How sweet. I thought you were trying not to scare me off with your wealth and power.”

  “Nah, I’d just blown through my allowance—both personal and Agency allowances. The bus was all I could afford.”

  “Touching.”

  “I really hate this cover.” He paused, cupped her chin, tipped her head up and kissed her lightly on the lips as if they’d never fallen out of love, or whatever it was they’d done.

  “Now there’s a compliment.” She felt breathless.

  “As Dusko Popov said, ‘Your life as a spy is your cover life.’ I used to be lucky.”

  “You’re still lucky. Or, at least, you’ll get lucky very soon.” But not with her. A thought that made her burble with anger. She wouldn’t let this RIOT chit disrupt Kayla’s life. Or Tate’s, though he hardly deserved her loyalty and protection.

  Malene let the implication and innuendo hang in the air as she brushed a lock of hair back from his forehead, lightly skimming his skin with her fingertips.

  He involuntarily shuddered.