Love Another Day

by Gina Robinson

  What? Sophia was stealing her headache cover story. No way Mal was losing her now. She followed Sophia out to the driveway where a car picked Sophia up.

  Mal flagged the parking valet and asked for her car, waiting impatiently for the valet to bring it around. She texted Tate—Sophia has fled. Am in pursuit.

  The valet appeared with her car. Mal hopped in and squealed out after Sophia.

  She saw Sophia’s car in the distance, heading toward town. There was only one route to Highfield Park from town.

  Mal sped down the narrow hedge-lined country road in pursuit, praying she didn’t meet any oncoming traffic. Her cell phone buzzed. Probably Tate. She couldn’t take her focus off the road so she ignored it.

  Sophia raced away from the party like a scared chick out of RIOT. Mal couldn’t close the gap. Sophia’s car disappeared from sight just as Mal reached the roundabout to A4019. Where would Sophia head and why?

  Mal bet on the hotel. She sped through the roundabout, caught the A4019, and headed back to the hotel in the center of town. Sophia had taken a hired car. There was no reason to look for it in the parking lot to see if her guess was right.

  Mal read Tate’s text. Mason and I are on it. We’ll find her.

  Mal didn’t bother to reply. Tate would use one of his apps to track her to the hotel. Mal let herself into the lobby and took the stairs to Tate’s room to do a quick change before going to Sophia’s room to look for her. Mal was just a little too obvious dressed in a formal gown. She’d draw too much attention as she prowled around.

  At the door to the room, she removed the tiny pistol she had strapped to her leg beneath her gown. When dealing with RIOT, never walk into any room unprepared. She held it at ready as she opened the door and flipped on the light.

  The bed was open. The sheets were turned back and Sophia lounged naked in a provocative pose. The ribbon around her neck was the only stitch of anything she wore, besides a stunned expression.

  “What are you doing here?” they said in unison.

  Mal closed the door behind her. This was too much. Damn, she hated it when her hunches were right. Sophia had run off to—Tate’s bed.

  Sophia sat up and pulled the sheets over her up to her chin. Her clothes were laid out on the back of the sofa. Mal stalked across the room, grabbed Sophia’s dress and shook it as she held it out to her while aiming the pistol at her at the same time. “Get dressed.”

  Sophia’s eyes went wide and her mouth made a perfect O. But she didn’t reach for the dress.

  “Scared little girl? Right. What are you trying to pull?” Mal shot her a steely gaze. “Why did you run here?”

  “I told Tate at dinner I’d meet him here later.”

  It was a good thing for Sophia at that moment that she was a valuable asset to the Agency. It was about the only thing that kept Mal from pulling the trigger. If Sophia’s story was true, why hadn’t Tate mentioned it in his text?

  “Did you.” Mal didn’t believe her.

  “What are you doing here?” Sophia made no move to grab the dress and get dressed.

  Mal had to get her out of here and back to her room before Tate showed up.

  “Keeping up my cover. And doing my job—keeping an eye on you.” Mal fought to keep her tone even. She kept the gun trained on Sophia.

  Sophia continued to stare at her.

  Mal sighed. “I hate to tell you, but lying in wait for Tate in bed is not the way to his heart. Better to let him do the seducing.”

  “That’s not what I heard—” Sophia cut herself off.

  Mal fought to hold her temper in check. “As his ex-wife, I’ve heard pretty much everything.” And each exploit grated and stung. “Women have a habit of sneaking into his bed with startling regularity, as if he’s a rock god or something.”

  Mal’s laugh was more of a snort, really. “Famous singer. Software billionaire. I guess it’s all the same to some women. Finding women in his bed happens so often, it’s become a cliché and mundane. In other words, not the smartest move on your part. Not if you’re trying to win his heart.

  “If you’re truly in love with him, as your dossier claims, use a more subtle technique and let him do the chasing. Why do you think none of these brazen women have succeeded in dragging him down the aisle since I divorced him?”

  Sophia didn’t have an answer.

  “A word of friendly advice—let him make the moves. That’s the way to reel him in, if that’s what you really want.” Mal didn’t know why she was telling Sophia all this. She had no intention of letting Sophia snag Tate. And she was doing her own share of lying—how could Tate resist such a stunning woman in his bed?

  Sophia lifted her chin. “Get out. I want some time alone with Tate. I need to get to know him before I trust him with my life.”

  “In the biblical sense? That’s how you’re going to judge his character?” Mal shook her head. “There will be plenty of time to get to know him once we get you safely to the States. For now, this is perfect. We can make the switch here and proceed with the original plan. I’ll text Tate—”

  “No!”

  “What’s wrong now? This is the optimal opportunity—”

  “No.” Sophia paled. “I know Edvid and how he operates. It’s too dangerous to switch tonight. I’m risking my life. I won’t go until the odds are better.”

  “We’re risking ours, too.” Mal took a deep breath. “We’ll have to move soon. Our window for success is rapidly shrinking. The longer we stay here, the more scrutiny we draw. Maybe you haven’t noticed—the festival is crawling with spies.

  “We’re going to try this all over again tomorrow. Tate and I will attend your lecture. Afterward, you and I will exchange clothes and identities. Tate will have a car waiting and you two will head off to Heathrow, again because of a family emergency.

  “I’ll return to your room and fool your handler for as long as I can. Hopefully I can buy you enough time to get on that airplane and back to the States before anyone catches on.

  “I hope you realize the inconvenience you’ve caused. I’m going to have to reschedule your flight.” Mal paused and gave Sophia her “hard-ass take no guff” stare. “You should be glad I’m still willing to put my life on the line for you.” Mal waved her gun, just because she could. “Now. Get dressed and go back to your room. I’ll give Tate your regrets.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.”

  Sophia scowled at her. She wasn’t nearly as alluring wearing that expression. Mal made a mental note to somehow bring it out for Tate to see.

  “Turn around while I get dressed,” Sophia said with enough anger in her voice to fuel a small volcanic eruption.

  “Suddenly shy? How very sweet and innocent of you.” Mal laughed again without mirth. “Girl, I’d have to be stupid to turn my back on you. I’ve seen everything you’ve got. Now, put your dress on.” Mal dropped it at the edge of the bed.

  Sophia slid out of bed and dressed hurriedly in an obvious huff, not bothering to put on her shoes or straighten her dress. In fact, she angrily removed the bow around her neck and tossed it away.

  Mal kept the gun on Sophia until she was dressed. She showed her the door. As she closed it behind her with a satisfying thud, she noticed Sophia’s ribbon lying on the floor.

  Mal picked it up and stared at it. What was Sophia really up to hiding out in Tate’s bed? Sophia seemed determined to get naked with Tate. Call it womanly intuition again, Mal couldn’t put her finger on the reasons, but she had the feeling Sophia’s determination had little to do with love and longing. She just didn’t have the look of a woman in love. Mal bit her lip and walked to the mirror.

  She studied herself a moment. Her plan was a good one—she and Sophia really could pass for each other, especially if they mimicked each other’s actions. Mal was convinced she could copycat Sophia’s. She just hoped Sophia was the actress and mimic that she was.

  Mal stared at the ribbon again, feeling all the betrayal it represented—Ta
te sleeping with other women in the name of duty. These few days together had made her face facts—no matter how much she tried to deny it, she was still in love with Tate. Always had been.

  She made a split-second decision. After his betrayal, Tate had claimed sleeping with other women meant nothing to him. That he was never eager to do it. Mal read him better than anyone. A test of Tate’s character and a trial run of the switch were in order. Mal was going to play the role of Sophia tonight. How long could she fool Tate? Long enough to read his instant reaction to finding Sophia naked in his bed was all she needed.

  She texted Tate. Found her. S. is waiting for you in your bed.

  Mal ran the ribbon through her fingers before tying it around her neck in a perfect imitation of Sophia’s bow. She hurriedly restyled her hair, making herself into Sophia, stripped off her clothes, laid them over the sofa, smoothed the sheets, and climbed into bed to wait for Tate.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Tate took the stairs to his room, feeling more like a man on his way to his own execution than a man on his way to a round of lovemaking with a beautiful young woman. Sophia wasn’t Mal. And Mal was all he’d ever wanted.

  How the hell was he going to get out of making love with her? Whatever Mal thought, he wasn’t just a shallow playboy looking for his next lay.

  He hesitated at the door to his room. Steeling himself, he opened the door. The room was lit softly with candle- and firelight and smelled deliciously of sexy perfume and fire. Sophia lay naked in his bed, wearing only a ribbon around her neck and a seductive look. She lay sprawled across the covers with her breasts budded tight in a spread worthy of Playboy.

  He hesitated, thinking fast for a way to turn her down and complete the mission without attempting entry. Damn. Now was the moment of truth.

  She smiled and crooked her finger. “What are you waiting for? Close the door, Tate.”

  Mal. Her voice caressed his name. As he took off his fake glasses, he wondered how he could ever have mistaken her for Sophia.

  Relief and lust hit him at once with a force that nearly took his breath away. He closed the door and locked it, noticing the sofa table off to the side, out of place. He cocked a brow in question. Was she serious about making love? “Mal.”

  Mal leaned up on one elbow, still smiling while her breasts bounced enticingly and her skin glowed creamy and delicious in the firelight. “Barricade the door. We don’t want any RIOTous interruptions.”

  “Are we expecting assassins?” He moved the sofa table across the door and loosened his tie.

  “We’re always expecting the unexpected.” Mal slid out of bed, wagging her finger at him. “That’s my job.” She grabbed him by his tie and pulled him against her naked body.

  He ran his hands down her back, massaging and caressing as he went, remembering every smooth, sensuous curve of the body he’d been longing for these past years apart. He grabbed her pert ass and pulled her against him as she untied his bow tie and tossed it away.

  She smiled up at him, wrapping herself around him as she brushed his lips with a kiss and slid off his tux jacket. Even though he was fully clothed, it was as erotic as hell having a naked woman pressed against him.

  * * *

  Being naked and pressed up against Tate’s starched white shirt was more erogenous than Mal could have imagined possible. Her heart danced. Her nipples budded tightly, even in the heat from the fire she’d lit in the fireplace. But nothing came close to the way Tate’s expression had changed when he’d realized it was her in his bed, not Sophia. That switch, the look of love and longing replacing what could only be called dread and hesitation, had curled Mal’s toes and sent a wave of intense heat between her legs so powerful she’d had to resist the urge to touch herself then and there. She owed Sophia one for setting up this situation.

  She broke the gentle kiss, unbuttoning the buttons at his collar and running her tongue along his neck down to the hollow where she sucked and licked until he shuddered. His fingers dug into her bottom as he pressed her against his obvious erection.

  Hold on, Tate. I’ll give you the ride of your life. But only after I build you to it.

  She unbuttoned his shirt until it fell open, running her tongue down his chest as she pulled the shirt free from his pants.

  As he tried to shrug out of it, she sucked his nipple and ran her hands over his firm, flexed bicep, helped him lose his shirt, which fell on the floor with a gentle swish.

  She unfastened and unzipped his pants, grabbing his hips and rubbing her breasts against him as he shimmied out of his pants. He was straining to get out of his underwear.

  She stuck her finger in the waistband of his pants, teasing him as she smiled up at him. With a sudden tug, she pulled them down and waited for him to kick them off.

  He fell out at full, pulsing attention.

  As she leaned down to lick him, he caught her beneath the chin and tipped her head up.

  “I don’t have that much restraint.” His voice was deep and raspy with desire. His eyes were round in the candlelight and his lips slightly parted.

  She smiled up at him and rubbed against him, enjoying the hard planes of his body and the way his breath caught at her touch. Every part of her was tight and straining for release, yet she loved being in control and denying herself and him. When she was fully standing in front of him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and jumped up, coiling her legs around his waist as he cupped her butt and gasped.

  She kissed him again, hard and deep, doing a dance with his tongue. Tate tasted like wine and desire. Like lust and love. Like the Tate she remembered, as he had the first time they’d touched.

  She bit his shoulder and slid down him slowly as if she was sliding down a pole, enjoying the way the heat built between her thighs. She slid until her entrance rested against his erection.

  “You’re not ready,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I’ve been ready for years.”

  With a sudden, swift move that caught her off guard, he swept her to the bed and laid her down. He was inside her in a single, toe-tingling thrust so powerful it was like he’d thrust into her very being.

  Tate rocked her as she arched against him and moaned, her cries riding the rhythm of her waves of pleasure. She’d come home. Back to the man she belonged to and with.

  Legs still wrapped around him, she arched against him until her pleasure could no longer be restrained. The climax took her breath away. She was gasping as Tate climaxed and collapsed on her, sweaty and wonderful.

  Smaller waves washed over her, like the gentle waves of the outgoing tide.

  “I love you,” he whispered into her neck.

  Her heart stopped. “I love you, too.”

  It was what they always said after sex. Except during those last angry months together when sex had been rare and tepid. She hoped he wasn’t repeating his “I love you” by rote because she sure wasn’t. She meant every word and always had.

  He kissed her shoulder and rolled off her. She cuddled into him, tracing the definition in his chest that shone with the exertion of pleasure. That was so much better than saying sweat.

  He pulled the covers over them even though it was early June and a fire crackled away in the antique fireplace across the room.

  “No one can say we don’t know how to create a convincing cover,” he said while stroking her hair.

  “Is that what that was?” She wanted to think it was much more.

  “No, that was ecstasy.”

  She laughed. “We were always good together.”

  “What did you do with Sophia?” He pulled her head into the crook of his neck and played with the ribbon around hers.

  “Sent her back to her room. Did she really tell you earlier at the dinner that she’d be waiting for you?”

  “What? Is this a test? You’re going to talk work in bed?” He played idly with her breasts.

  “No. Never,” she said. “Tate?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Wo
uld you have slept with her?” She lay in his embrace, looking for any sign of lying.

  “No. I’m through with all that, Mal.”

  She believed him. Maybe because she wanted to, or maybe because she’d gotten good at recognizing when he was telling the truth. She put her finger over his lips to silence him. She slid out of bed before he could protest and took his hand, pulling him with her. She grabbed a candle and led him to the bathroom where she set the candle by the sink and turned the water on in an old-fashioned claw-foot tub. Something about the sound of running water had always calmed her.

  Sophia had conveniently left a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket and two wine goblets handy. Mal handed Tate the bottle opener. He popped the cork in the wine like the pro he was and poured them each a glass while she bent over to test the water temperature, stopper the tub, and squirt bubble bath in. Tate came up behind her, caressed her bottom and between her legs as heat and desire built again. He set the wine down and grabbed her hips. She gasped as she felt him hard against her again with his chest pressed against her back.

  In the next instant, he entered her from behind. She gasped. As the air filled with perfumed steam and the aroma of fine wine, they moved together until they climaxed together. Mal’s knees went weak.

  She turned around and kissed him, hard. “Still love me?”

  “More than ever.”

  The tub was already halfway full as she stepped in and did a little dance. “Hot, hot, hot!”

  “Yes, it is.” Tate reached over, turned up the cold water, handed her a glass of wine, grabbed one for himself, and stepped into the water behind her. He pulled her against him and gently cradled her in his lap as he sat in the tub. The water splashed over the sides and some of Mal’s wine sloshed into the tub. But it only perfumed the air more.

  “Ah!” Tate relaxed against the back of the tub and held his glass up to hers. “To us.”

  They clinked and Mal leaned back against him. When the tub was full and threatening to flow over the edges, Mal forced herself forward to turn it off. “We have to talk mission details.”