"I don't regret it." He nipped lightly at her lower lip, then soothed the small pain with his tongue. "It's just that seeing you tonight, in your quiet little suit, makes me want to treat you like a lady. Until it drives you crazy."

Her laugh was breathless as his tongue danced up her throat. "I think you already are."

"I haven't even started."

With his free hand, he nudged the jacket from her shoulder. She wore a sheer pastel blouse underneath that made him think of summer teas and formal garden parties. While his mouth roamed over her face and throat, he traced his fingers over the sheer cloth and the lace beneath.

Her body was already quivering. She thought it ridiculous that he held her arms captive, that she allowed it. But there was a dreamy excitement at having him touch her this way, slowly, experimentally, thoroughly.

She felt his breath against her flesh as he opened her blouse, and the moist warmth of his tongue cruising over the tops of her breast just above, then just beneath, the chemise. She knew she was still standing, her feet on the floor, her legs pressed back against the bed, but it felt like floating. Floating, while he lazily savored her as if she were a banquet to be sampled at his whim.

Her skirt slithered down her legs. His hand trailed up. Her murmur of approval was low and long as his fingers toyed seductively with the hook of her garter.

"So unexpected, Mary Ellen." With one expert flick, he unsnapped the front.

"Practical," she said on a gasp as his fingers skimmed up toward the heat. "Cheaper this way, because I'm always… running them."

"Delightfully practical."

Struggling against the need to rush, he laid her back on the bed. In the name of Finn, how could he have known that the sight of that strong, angular body in bits of lace would rip his self-control to shreds?

He wanted to devour, to conquer, to possess.

But he had promised her some tenderness.

He knelt over her, lowered his mouth to hers, and kept his word.

And he was right. In mere moments she understood he was so very right. It was easy to think of nothing but him. To feel nothing but him. To want nothing but him.

She was rocked in the cradle of his gentleness, her body as alive as it had been the night before, certainly as desired as it had been but with the added aspect of being treasured for a femininity she so often forgot.

He savored her, and sent her gliding. He explored and showed her new secrets of herself. All the rush and fury they had indulged in the night before had shifted focus. Now the world was slow, the air was soft, and passion was languid.

And when she felt his heart thudding wildly against hers, when his murmurs became urgent, breathless, she understood that he was as seduced as she by what they made together.

She opened for him, drawing him in, heat to heat, pulse to pulse. When his body shuddered, it was she who cradled him.

Chapter 9

"We're wasting time."

"On the contrary," Sebastian said, pausing at a shop window to examine an outfit on a stylized, faceless mannequin. "What we're doing is basic, even intricate, groundwork for the operation."

"Shopping?" She made a disgusted sound and hooked her thumbs in her front pockets. "Shopping for an entire day?"

"My dear Sutherland, I'm quite fond of the way you look in jeans, but as the wife of an affluent businessman you need a more extensive wardrobe."

"I've already tried on enough stuff to clothe three women for a year. It'll take a tractor-trailer to deliver it all to your house."

He gave her a bland look. "It was easier to convince the FBI to cooperate than it is you."

Because that made her feel ungrateful and petty, she squirmed. "I'm cooperating. I've been cooperating for hours. I just think we have enough."

"Not quite." He gestured toward the dress in the display. "Now this would make a statement."

Mel chewed on her lower lip as she studied it. "It has sequins."

"You have religious or political objections to sequins?"

"No. It's just that I'm not the glittery type. I'd feel like a jerk. And there's hardly anything to it." She flicked her gaze over the tiny strapless black dress, which left the mannequin's white legs bare to midthigh. "I don't see how you could sit down in it."

"I seem to recall a little number you wore to go to a bar a few weeks ago."

"That was different. I was working." At his patient, amused look, she grimaced. "Okay, okay, Donovan, you made your point."

"Be a good soldier," he said, and patted her cheek. "Go in and try it on."

She grumbled and muttered and swore under her breath, but she was a good soldier. Sebastian roamed the boutique, selecting accessories and thinking of her.

She didn't give a hang for fashion, he mused, and was more embarrassed than pleased that she could now lay claim to a wardrobe most woman would envy. She would play her part, and play it well. She would wear the clothes he'd selected and be totally oblivious to the fact that she looked spectacular in them.

As soon as it was possible, she would slip back into her jeans and boots and faded shirts. And be equally oblivious to the fact that she looked equally spectacular in them.

By Merlin's beard, you have it bad, Donovan, he thought as he chose a silver evening bag with an emerald clasp. His mother had once told him that love was more painful, more delightful and more unstoppable when it came unexpectedly.

How right she had been.

The last thing he'd expected was to feel anything more than an amused attraction for a woman like Mel. She was tough, argumentative, prickly and radically independent. Hardly seductive qualities in a woman.

She was also warm and generous, loyal and brave, and honest.

What man could resist an acid-tongued woman with a caring heart and a questing mind? Certainly not Sebastian Donovan.

It would take time and patience to win her over completely. He didn't have to look to know. She was much too cautious—and, despite her cocky exterior, too insecure—to hand over her heart with both hands until she was sure of its reception.

He had time, and he had patience. If he didn't look to be sure, it was because he felt it would be unfair to both of them. And because, in a deep, secret chamber of his own heart, he was afraid he would look and see her walking away.

"Well, I got it on," Mel griped behind him. "But I don't see how it's going to stay up for long."