“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.