I Would Live In Your Love: Sarah Teasdale

I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,
Bourne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes;
I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me,
I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads.

One hour, I was thinking as I watched Michael prowl across the vestibule to go up to Operations aerie. Just one hour alone with him. If there were somehow I could get away for that long. If it could just be him and me. It's been six weeks. The longest six weeks of my life.

He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and sneezed twice. Then he cleared his throat. I thought he'd sounded rather nasal and hoarse this morning in the briefing. My God, I thought to myself, he's sick. I can't even take care of him. Make sure he's warmly dressed, lay my cool palm across his forehead to see if he's too hot.

See if he's too hot!

Jeez. The man is so hot he sizzles. Naughty Nurse Nikita and sick, helpless Mikey. Another fantasy blown all to rat-shit. Three more giant sneezes and watching him rub his temples with his thumbs made me want to spring into action.

" Have you got a cold, Michael? " I asked him casually later. He was leaning over Birkoff's desk.

" It's nothing, Ni-kee-ta. Thanks for asking." He gave a half-hearted shrug and walked away. He is taking this hands off policy to polite extremes now. That's my fault. That's the way I said it had to be when I told him to go to them, get his status back and say it was over between us.

Birkoff watched him walk away. "He came in with walking pneumonia once. No one knew he had it until he passed out cold after a successful mission with a fever of 104. Jeez. Only Michael." He shook his head.

I left a bag with a bottle of Vitamin C, some blood oranges and some Chinese herbal cold tea on his desk the next day. And I went home that night with a plan of action.

If you asked my mother if there was something I was really good at as a kid she might have said that it was 'sneaking out'. I had this uncanny ability to escape. It started when I was very small. I could wriggle through the bars of my playpen in five minutes, according to Bobbie, blow that pop stand and get into real good stuff while she took her nap. Bobbie said I drank a bottle of grape cough syrup one time and wound up in the emergency room getting my stomach pumped. To this day I have vague memories of a man with a white suit trying to put a tube down my throat.

Vaguely Section-like.

I don't think I learned my lesson then. I don't learn lessons easily. There were plenty of escape attempts after that. I'm still an escape artist at heart. Literally and figuratively. When things get tough I've always wanted out. Like an animal caged, I need to run or chew off the leg that binds me. Even bite the hand that feeds.

For a long time The Great Escape was one of my favourite movies. Steve McQueen on that Nazi motorbike going out in a blaze of glory. How cool was that? Maybe I should start digging the tunnel to Michael's place now. It should be finished by the time I'm a hundred. I'll claw my way out of the hole and heave myself up with my cane like a great big mole and then I'll collapse happily at his feet. But being ten years older than me he'll probably be dead of old age already.

I know that lately there's a Section Nazi on every corner just waiting to bag my ass if I just leave by my front door and go to him. I know they have cameras in my place. It's a given. They've always been there. My phone is tapped. I know they watch, but I'm pretty sure they slack off at night when I'm finally in my bed. Whoever is watching me probably nods off in their chair soon after I do. I'm a bore. This is not Nikita's porno palace.

God, I wish I'd never started it with the night lights. This would be one hell of a lot easier if I couldn't be seen. It's just that I never dreamed I'd be in the position I'm in now, with Michael actually wanting to be with me and Section putting the kybosh to it all.

I'm wondering if Michael will get pissed at me for attempting this. I might be really screwing things up big time here. You know it was my big idea to just do what Madeline and Ops wanted and stop seeing him all together. He was the defiant one. But now maybe we've switched paths in our thinking. He has not mentioned it to me lately, not a word about how he's going to find a way for us to be together. I want to get something going again and maybe now he doesn't. I don't know what to think anymore.

Can he turn it off and on that easily? Six weeks is a long time. Long enough to have a change of heart.

Has he just realised that I was not worth it? I know what I am. For a long time I didn't believe anything so good could happen to me. I couldn't believe anything would last. And it didn't. After a life of lies, I received only lies from Section. I had come to expect the lies in all their forms, subtle and outright, as the norm. Until I did not know what truth was. Until I could trust no one. Even him. He lied to me so many times.

But that changed and he made me believe want to believe again. That he needs me, even loves me.

Love and Michael. They are synonymous. Both life's mysteries. Love is just something that gets lost or held back or taken away at a whim. Love is beyond my understanding but I crave it as any human does. And Michael, even having been close to him, I can't begin to fathom his depths.

All I know is that he makes me feel things I've never felt for anyone before. Things I know no other man will ever make me feel again. He even makes me like and respect myself. And that is an accomplishment. I love him. I have not really said the words to him yet, but I will. Soon.

I really thought, for a short time, conjugal happiness or what passes for it in Section, was finally within my grasp. It's the thing that haunts me now. I have to know. Does he still want me?

Maybe I can use his cold as an excuse to just walk up to his door with chicken soup. Madeline couldn't possibly fault me for helping a sick friend. Could she?

Here's some soup, Michael, I'll say nonchalantly. Did I dream it all? Did you love me?

I have to be with him. I have to. I don't care what they do to me. I am a walking mess. I am freaking insane. Despite my fears and uncertainty, I want to just lose myself in the intensity of his lovemaking for one night. Just have it wash me away like a tempest. I will be cast adrift by pleasure, just get lost in his green eyes once more and never need to come up for air. And I will know once and for all that I did not dream being with him.

I heave a big sigh here. What the hell am I going to do?

**********

I'll tell you what I know and this is a secret you have to take to the grave. I know that the cameras don't see all the way into the right corner of my room. There's a narrow window there that leads out to the deck. I have a grouping of plants in front of the window. I think I can hide from any surveillance out there on the dark side of the building. I have a rope ladder hidden there now. It drops to the balcony on the floor under me.

I know there are no cameras in the bathroom. At least they've been merciful about not spying on me in the john. I'd hate to think some guys are watching me pee. I guess they figure that cause there's no window in there I really don't have any way out. And no one has any way in.

So I've been doing stuff that might seem weird to them the last few weeks. I've been taking these three hour bubble baths. Just going into the bath with a good book and the radio at all hours of the night and floating there in the tub. I come out extremely prune-like, but once I've climbed out and into bed I've been sleeping like a baby.

I think Madeline was looking at me the other day to determine if my skin was about to flake off.

The other day I had some downtime and went into a cleaning frenzy, arranging and rearranging the furniture, moving my bed at an angle a little closer to the bath and out of the range of the surveillance camera. It isn't a weird thing for me to do. I am always changing things. Nothing is permanent in my world.

I figure they don't always know when I've finished the marathon bath and climbed back into bed. If I stack the pillows just right it looks like I'm in there.

I have the plan almost cooked up. It gets a little more urgent every time I look at him and that sexy walk and that body, knowing that I'm going home alone.

He needs a back rub. He needs some TLC from someone who loves him.

I don't think his place has surveillance inside. Maybe outside now, maybe the perimeter, but I don't think that he'd stand for it if it were in his space. He'd find some way to circumvent that. He is Level 5. Michael still gets some of the perks even though he's been a bad, bad boy.

I'm going to make like Steve McQueen tonight. I'm going to sneak out of the bathroom on my belly and out the window and shimmy down the side of the building while they think I'm having my three hour bath. It's not all that far down and it isn't like I haven't done stunts like that a million times before. I know I can do it. My escape clothes, a pair of black sweats and a hooded sweatshirt and some black Nikes are hidden in my bathroom in a basket I use for towels. I have a gun in there, too, just in case.

I will jog through the park to his loft. I can make it there in fifteen minutes if I run at a sedate, normal pace. Ten if I run like a crazy person. But I don't want to sweat too much and turn him off so--

Okay, I think he'll be home. I haven't asked him what his plans are. I know he has down time most evenings lately, I just don't know if he's going out or having company. I doubt it. He'll probably want to sleep. They've been working him like a dog and he's sick.

Shit. He'd better be home.

What if we get caught? What can they do to us? Yea, well, what can't they do to us, but it'll be worth it.

**********

I did it. I was out.

I ran along humming: Dum, dum, de dum da dum dum. Dum dum de dum de dum da dum. In case you haven't guessed, that's the theme to the Great Escape.

Not quite home free yet, but his building was in sight and I was feeling pretty damn good about it. I looked around the dimly lit park. No shadows behind the trees. No black cars following me. I did pass an old homeless man on the street who was mumbling something about a body not being able to live without water.

Yea, I say, and she can't live without love either.

Getting up his fire escape was no problem either until I cracked the top of my head on a metal railing really hard. The swear word was out before I could bite it back. I looped my leg over the railing. His laundry/bathroom window in the lower loft was open a crack. I could hear the clothes whirling in the dryer, the buttons of his jeans going plink-a- plink on the steel drum. I managed to squeeze myself through opening, with a mental note to forgo the Jello pudding pops and the s'mores pop tarts for a while. I think my hips have grown an inch lately

With an oof and a moan I managed to get my shoulder on the dryer and slip my legs through the narrow window. I checked my watch. 11:15. I slipped off my shoes and padded in my bare feet through his quiet apartment.

Be home, Michael. Be home.

I could hear him splashing. The water was flowing into that big, old fashioned tub of his.

I peered in through the bedroom door. I could see him in the tub, naked and off guard. So splendid. He was leaning his head back and I could see his the magnificent curve of his throat, his eyes closed in pleasure, his lashes, so thick and wet, grazing his flushed cheeks. One hand was caught in a tangle of glossy, cinnamon tinged brown hair, darkened by the water to the colour of mahogany. I could see the graceful, clean lines of his wide shoulders, his hard, elegantly sculpted chest with its small light coloured nipples just breaking the waterline, the lithe muscles in the long arm that hung out of the tub, his long, slim, elegant fingers clasping a book. One foot was propped over the far edge. I could just make out a very slightly hairy knee and the firm, bulge of his calf muscle.

He is so beautiful. Everything that God could allow in a mere man, with his leanly, sculpted build and his bright, intelligent eyes and aesthetically perfect features, even though on closer examination I knew him to be slightly weary looking, the shadows of lack of sleep dark beneath his eyes, his colouring dulled from living in the sunless shadows of Section. There was a yellowed bruise and scrape on his chin as well, the dubious trophy of a collision with a brick wall during a mission last week.

I knew my mouth was hanging open at the tantalizing picture he made. I was surprised he was in the bath. He told me that he liked showers. In and out twice a day. Quick. Efficient. So Michael. I remember him smiling teasingly at the blanched, jealous look on my face when he first told me that the tub was for company. I wanted to ask him just what sort of exclusive company he let use his private bed and bath.

That was a while before I became the exclusive company. I introduced him to my good pals, Crabtree and Evelyn and Lush. Mountains of bubbles scented like jasmine and lemon pie and big round soaps with slices of loofa encased within. And exotically scented candles. Heavenly. My heart was pounding as I remembered the look his eyes as I soaped his supple skin, his face gilded by the candlelight, flushed with the heat of the water and desire as he lowered his head to kiss me.

I drew the sharp scent of the Body Shop cinnamon and nutmeg bath foam I'd left here into my lungs as I walked through his bedroom, breathing hard and fast, my legs plodding, my body leaden, like a freight train had just hit me. I have missed him so much. Thinking of him makes my body forget to do what I want it to do. I just become this big oozing blob of terminally sex-starved goo.

I closed my eyes and remembered what we had shared in the tub late one Sunday afternoon after a run in the park and lunch on the quay. I was clobbered with a swell of desire, reliving memories of his mouth, sweet and intoxicating, tasting of wine, the corners lifting in a welcoming smile, his voice teasing, husky, his eyes a stormy green-blue, mysterious as the ocean.

My knees were trembling. As I was standing there gaping at him, so lovesick my stomach ached, it hit me what I'd done coming to him like this. Maybe he'd be angry. He'd think I was acting like a hormone-basted teenager. Like I have no patience or shame or backbone.

I felt like a horny teenager. I freely admit that I have no shame when it comes to him.

You do miss me, don't you, Michael, I was thinking, my bravado washing away like an ebbing ocean wave, scouring away my dreams of reunion with the reality of what I had done in coming to him. Reality that etched my conscience like sharp, jagged rocks and pieces of glass.

Michael, you do want me here? Oh, please, please want me to be here. I walked towards the bathroom and stopped, my hand trembling uncertainly on the edge of the door.

" Kita? Are you coming in or not?" His voice was rough, raspy.

I think I jumped about eight feet in the air. I had figured that he'd be the startled party. I stepped into the steamy room, putting my Section cell phone and my weapon on the antique dresser in the corner of the huge bathroom.

Michael's eyes were half closed as they perused me, up close a deep, misty, gray-green. His face was arresting: Dreamy. Relaxed. Almost drowsy. Maybe he had used the herbal tea I gave him.

He was relaxed to the point that his face seemed boyish, almost guileless. One would never look at this seraphic being and suspect how hard he can be, how calculating. He's so like the sea, deceptively calm and still, yet with depths that can be so cold and dark and intimidating. Depths that guard rare beauty and sparkling treasures that he hides from the world. The contrasts are what make him what he is, an intriguing puzzle I long to have the time to solve at leisure should I ever have the chance..

My heart started to hammer even harder in my chest.

" Hi, Michael, " I managed. " How did you know it was me? I could have been a serial killer."

" I heard you swear when you banged into the fire-escape. This bath's right above the lower one. Colourful language, by the way," he remarked. His voice was lazy, husky. " I think I trained you better than that."

" So I ain't exactly Spiderman. I misjudged the headroom," I took a deep, shaky breath, " My legs were tired. I climbed down the side of my building and ran four miles. See how co-ordinated you'd be after that, Mr. Smarty-pants. Never mind that comment, since you're not even wearing pants."

" I'll get out and get dressed." He grasped the sides of the tub.

" No! Um, no, please don't." Not good. Do not stand up. If I see any more of your supreme nakedness I will faint. " Don't bother. I'm sure you just got in. I d-don't mind. It's nothing I haven't seen before. "

" Suit yourself." He sank back down and smiled.

I leaned against the door frame. Oh, God, along with the tumult going on in my body at being with him and seeing him like this, second thoughts were just swamping over me. What was I doing here? What was I saying? It's nothing I haven't seen before? Jeez. Do I need a reality check or what? Maybe I could pretend that I was sleepwalking.

He smoothed his hair back with one hand, those unfathomable eyes never leaving my face. The muscles jumping in his chest when he lifted his arm were mesmerising me. I wanted so desperately to touch him. I watched a small bead of sweat trickle down the curve of his cheek. His skin would taste salty there, the texture incredibly smooth, like satin, such a contrast to his raspy beard.

His hair was curling down over his forehead in rather sweet ringlets. I'm certain, that besides me when I'm in a belligerent mood, his hair is the only thing he can't control. He tries to make it behave, but it doesn't co-operate. The curls always win, make him look like the angel he doesn't want to be. I think he should just give up, throw away the gel and the blow dryer and stop trying to look tough. And if we're ever together again I'm going to ban him from taking whacks at it with sewing scissors. I know he trims off his curls himself. Either that or his barber should be flayed alive.

I really didn't know what to say to him. Nothing like making polite small talk with a sleek, shiny, exotic male deity in a bathtub. Especially when you are dying to love him, have him love you. I was not all that certain he was glad to have me there.

" What are you reading?"

He raised a dark brow. " Elias Letelier, Basque revolutionary poet and all around downer," he said, holding up the book. " I was just thinking about you. I wasn't expecting you to drop in. If I'd have known you were coming I'd have-- "

" ...baked a cake? "

" ... had a quick shower."

" I'm sorry I came unannounced, but, well, you know how things are. I can't just pick up the phone when I " I cleared my throat. No sense letting him in on my desperation. I find it so hard to be cool.

" When you what? " No escaping those eyes.

" Um, when I need to-- talk to you, or something," I tried to make myself sound natural. " You're not being monitored here like I am, are you?"

" No."

I nodded. Of course not. No way they'd closely monitor him. " That's good. I like your new towels." They were a very trendy waffle weave cotton as opposed to terry, almost the size of horse blankets. I remember seeing them in a catalogue and telling him that I thought they were cool. Strange that he'd have bought them.

" Kita "

"Nice blue-green colour. Did you choose this shade to match your eyes? Are they the ones from Chintz and Company? "

"Kita, you're chattering." I was amusing him. And he was humouring me a little. I could tell. He always knows when he has the upper hand. Even naked and defenceless.

Okay, he's not ever defenceless. He knows he has me where he wants me.

" I can't seem to help chattering. I'm nervous, I guess."

He sat up a little more. " So what's there to be nervous about? I'm the one who's naked and I'm not nervous."

" You haven't got a nervous bone in your body, Michael. Even naked you have a distinct advantage." I gulped at all that bare skin, those roguish eyes and that half-smile lifting the corners of his beautifully formed mouth. "So, Michael, I'm glad to hear you're feeling more the thing. "

" What does that mean? Feeling the thing? "

" Ahem... That's a British expression, I think-- I mean, better, um, good?"

" I don't feel 'the thing', but this moment I feel a lot better. I thought you were the one who didn't want to take chances, Kita. This is one hell of a chance you took coming here tonight."

" Well, Michael, " I averted my eyes from his probing gaze, " I was very concerned about your health."

He laughed, one hand moving the bubbles around. I wanted to ask him to move the bubbles just a little more to the right so I could see how he really felt about my being there. " It's actually nothing, Nikita."

" Just a cold. I know, but... it was a good reason uh to s-see you. And if they find out I will just say: 'You must believe me, Madeline, I was concerned about his nasty cough and this need to be motherly is just an impulse I could not control.' Then maybe she won't kill me."

He frowned at me. " Us. The operative word is us. I think we're in this together."

I pressed my shoulder blades into the door." I know that, Michael, but you aren't the one they want to take down. You're more valuable to them. It's only because of you that I am still here. "

He said nothing to that. There are still things that he keeps from me despite everything we have been to each other. He set his book down, reached over and turned off the taps. The silence filled the room.

Not only had I intruded on his privacy-- I had put us both in danger again. He knew very well what they'd do to us. Us. As a pair of deceivers. He had nothing whatsoever to do with this visit. But he would be punished, too. What seemed like a lark, a challenge, was a very serious matter. He is the patient, careful one. I am the impulsive, anxious goof. As usual I'd been thinking only about me.

It was hard to drag the words out. " I shouldn't have come here, Michael."

He shrugged. "Probably not. So why are you here, exactly? What do you want? Tell me. I'm a captive audience. "

I wanted to scream the truth at him. You know why I am here! I need you, Michael. I want your body, Michael. I want to know some things, too, but that can wait until the more primitive urges are somewhat satisfied.

" Why can't they just stay out of this? What does it matter to Section if I -- " I almost said 'love you' " if I need to see you sometimes, if I miss your company... our conversations and um... other things. I feel like a prisoner in my apartment." My tone was slightly petulant. I hate myself like that.

" We can see each other if we're careful. If that's what you want."

" In the long run it's not about me, really. I don't want to see you feeling like you were those few weeks we were together. I can't let them do what they did to you again. If they find out things will be worse."

" I told you I can do what ever you want me to do."

" I know. I know what you said. Sometimes I can't believe that you actually said it. That you meant all the things you said to me...that you're leaving this up to me...that you'd want to turn your back on them so easily. Part of me wants to believe and trust, but I can only really trust what I see-- "

" You can't believe yet that you can trust me? "

I worried the string on my sweatshirt. " It's not that, Michael I can't really explain."

" How do I prove it to you? "

" You don't have to prove anything to me."

"Yes. I do. I see it in your eyes. Listen, Kita, if you wanted me to get your name tattooed on my chest to honour this commitment, I'd do it."

My face flushed. " That's not funny. Where I come from that's as good as an engagement ring."

He grinned. " I would. Want your name in a big, ugly heart? Or a red rose. "

" How about a big, fat albatross in the vicinity of your neck."

" I don't feel that way."

" It's a gracious offer, the tattoo, but I don't want you to spoil the canvas."

His face became serious. " I know I've lied to you in the past, Nikita. I used you. I don't blame you for not trusting me. There was always a reason for the things I have done. Not always one I could tell you about or was proud of. You never answered my question: What do you want, Nikita? Why did you come here now if you don't want to change how things are? "

What did he want me to say? He knows what I want, doesn't he? Just him.

"Michael, even I don't know what I really want." The probing way he was looking at me was driving me crazy. I was afraid my legs would go out from under me. " I'm was scared to death that I'd lost touch with you already and that you'd just go on without me like nothing ever happened. You're tough that way. You've lost better people than me and you still manage to function at a hundred percent." He slanted me a look I couldn't read. I swallowed hard. " I'm not very good at giving things up once I've had a taste. You're kind of like chocolate to me, Michael."

" I'm flattered. How many times have you given that up? "

" A million. Sometimes I wish I'd never had chocolate. I wish my mom had been one of those No Sugar freaks. I have an addictive personality. I like things that aren't good for me." I moved my head down, my hair falling in a face hiding curtain. " I'm a mess. I want to be with you and the minute I get here I'm scared spitless to be with you. I'm am so scared being with you right now I want to throw up. "

He smiled. " That's a first for me. I'm so pleased I bring that out in you."

" So, Michael, what do you want? I don't even know if things are the same for you any more."

When he spoke his voice was soft. It held a slightly husky catch. Maybe his cold. Maybe emotion. " I know I want to be with you, Kita. Once I decide I want something I don't usually waver."

Not an open declaration. Slightly round about, as usual. Sort of a mention of permanence if I had a bent to see it that way. But then the tattoo answer had been awesomely good. I was still mulling that over. Appealing, in a way, to a girl from the wrong side of the tracks like me. Self-mutilation was a permanent commitment.

"Unlike me, you seem to always know exactly where you are going and how you will get there. I can't seem to see anything but the obstacles. And half the time they trip me."

" I see them. I just avoid them if I can."

" I know one thing, Michael. You are happiest at Section when you are in the position you're in now and you can't keep it if I do things like this. Stupid, childish things like climbing out of my apartment window to run to you." I turned my back to him, fiddling with a small, kitschy china figurine on the dresser. It was a pirate. A female pirate and her hair was blond. Seeing it there made me smile. I'd never told him about that dream I'd had when we were floating in the sea, but he'd bought this for me before we'd sailed at a market in Mustique. He said she looked like me. I hadn't had the chance to take her home. My hands were shaking as I went to pick her up.

" Nikita, I love you "

My hand jerked and knocked the figurine to the ground, shattering it. " Shit."

" It's okay. Don't touch it. I'll clean it up later."

God. Had he said it? That he loved me? I felt embarrassingly close to tears. Did the words make things better? Or worse? I wanted to throw myself at him. I wanted to run.

" This is ridiculous, isn't it? We're just beating our heads against a brick wall. God, I'm so sorry...I don't know why I did this. I should just go. You take care of that cold. " I shook my head, turning away from him. " I'm sorry, Michael. I don't want to get you into more any more trou-- "

I had gone two steps when his hand shot out to grab me by the back of my sweatshirt. I made this squawking sound, as we fell back into the tub, part astonishment, part protest and part thrill. I was draped all over his wet, solid, slick, naked body. A gallon of water sloshed over the sides of the tub.

" There. Now we're both in the tub and we're both wet. Not both naked, but I'm sure I can take care of that. Can we get some things straight between us? " He was speaking through gritted teeth.

I struggled against his rough hold a little. I wanted to wipe the tears from my eyes before he could see them." Yes."

"Number one: Don't assume things about me. I am not made of stone and I am not good at lonely either. I am better at hiding it, that's all."

" Okay. I'm sorry. "

" Number two: You are not an albatross. You are my partner. Maybe in crime at the moment, but that doesn't bother me either."

I just opened my mouth.

"Three: I'm not sorry you came to me, sweetheart," he growled, his breath warm against my ear. " We're wasting time talking circles around each other. We could be doing something we both want very badly to do. You can't say you really came here break stuff and admire my -- my new towels, can you? " He grasped my jaw and turned my face.

" No, I-- oh, my..." I gasped. My eyes were one inch from his. I could feel his breath whisper against my lips. My hand was splayed on his bare stomach, the muscles quivering against my fingertips. He felt very good. Sleek and slippery, and so sexy.

" Yes. Oh, my...is right, Kita. There is no denying what we both feel. But I do want to confess something." He gave me a wicked grin. . " Confess what? Is this number four? " I gulped.

" It's about my nasty cold, " he murmured. His slightly parted mouth covered mine with teasing little kisses. I moaned at the sensation of the heated water enfolding me at the same moment his tongue plunged deep into my mouth, revelling in the bliss of his hand stealing up my side beneath my sweatshirt, his thumb whispering over the edge of my breast. When he pulled away he was breathing hard. " I'm not sick.. It's just hay fever. I always get it. I didn't take my shots or my medication so I'd get a good dose. "

I just looked at him. At his mouth. At his beautiful soft mouth. A mouth that could be so sweet. A mouth that could lie so easily. A mouth that could say " I love you."

" I wanted you to feel sorry for me. I thought my supposed agony would get you here faster. So we could --you know... "

I tried not to smile. I cupped his cheek. He had the grace to look sheepish and turned his head. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my hand.

" You snake in the grass. You really can't be trusted."

" Yes, I am a snake. I very desperate, lonely, frustrated snake. Every time I cleared my throat you'd look at me with those big, blue eyes and I knew you were thinking :" Poor Michael. He needs me to mother him." Remember the time I cut my finger slicing eggplant? I've never got that much attention from my real mother."

I blushed. " Am I that obvious? "

"You are a lot of things. Some I love, some I don't love quite so much. But you are mine. No one can change that. No one but you. That, my love, is number four." He punctuated the words with wild, sweet kisses that sent spirals of longing through me. " Are you mad at me? "

" About the fake cold? You're shocking me with the depths that you will sink, Michael. You are a crass manipulator."

" Snakes in love do desperate things. And the offer of the tattoo still stands."

I forgave him with those words. So he plays me like his cello. It's part of his allure. " I'm not mad, but I... " I pulled away from his seeking mouth. " Michael, I-- maybe we shouldn't "

" Yes. We should. And Nikita, it's not a mother-figure that I need right now." He stared into my eyes, gauging my reaction like a predator as his calloused thumb brushed my nipple with exaggerated slowness.

I guess my reaction didn't disappoint him. He gave me a sweetly savage smile and did it again, a little rougher, just scraping very lightly with the edge of his nail. I cried out as the sensation jolted through me and bit my lip to stifle it.

" Don't hide yourself from me, Kita. I need to hear your desire." His breath was harsh in his throat as his teeth nibbled under my jaw just at the pulse point. It felt delicious. Absolutely right, like it always does.

I sighed, a liquefying rush making me tremble. I smoothed one hand down his slick, hard chest to the flat plane of his belly. Oh, God, what he does to me has to be a sin. " Oh, God, Michael, I've missed you so wanted you. I've been wanting to tell you how I wretched I feel, how I've needed to talk to you, to touch you... "

" Touch anything you like."

I bit my lip and then grinned. I didn't even feel stupid any more to be sprawled on top of him in the tub in wet clothes. " I was so afraid you'd put me out of your mind again."

" I have never been able to do that, Kita. I never will. You're always here." He touched his fist to his heart, his eyes searching mine. " Maybe one day I can make you see that. I don't know how I can make you believe me, my love."

I touched his lean jaw with the tips of my fingers, loving the familiar rasp of his beard. " I'm trying to believe. They make it so hard."

" Let's not speak of them. Not now. I've been thinking about this for days. Fantasizing. How in hell did you get out of your place? " He began trailing hot, wet kisses down my throat between words. My hip had to be digging into his thigh. One of my legs was hanging over the side of the tub.

I was angled sort of sideways on his lap. I could feel him against my belly though my wet pants, hard and sleek, his need for succour very apparent, a need, it seemed, only I could assuage. He is so very male. He makes me feel so much as his woman, swept-away by an unstoppable natural force, so disarmed and yet so empowered. He doesn't always ask, but he does not have to. I'll give him anything.

I told him between long, drugging kisses and sighs, about my plans, about the escape, about running to be with him. About my loneliness.

" I have been lost without you, mon coeur, ma vie... I'm glad you took the chance." He smoothed the his hand up and down my bare back under the wet jacket, his fingers playing along my spinal bones. " I want you now, here, but this damned tub is too small. We've tried this before. It's woefully inadequate. My back hurts already. "

" I think we're too tall. All bony knees and long legs and elbows ... We need that tub in Greece. The one with the sea-green tiles and the dolphins." The memory of that made my throat thick with longing.

" God...yes. One day I'll take you back there, Kita. Or maybe to Sicily, Morocco or Corsica. You'd love it. We'll make love any time, anywhere we want. One day..." His eyes were shining, full of ardent promises that I knew he longed to keep. " How long do we have, ma belle? "

I bit my lip, sighing as he ran his fingers along my side, slipping them down the back of my pants, skimming them along my hips. He was looking at me in that disconcerting way he has, probing me with those sultry green eyes until I vibrated. I could hardly speak, " An hour. Half an hour -- oh my-- I can't think when you do that, Michael--um--for me to get home and back up to my...apartment."

He pushed me gently up and off him. I toppled rather ungraciously out of the tub and lay there dripping on the floor, shivering with desire and anticipation, while he rose out of the water like a naked, wonderfully aroused Neptune from the sea. He grabbed a towel and draped it over his hips.

I just got to my knees looked up at him with my heart in my eyes, sort of worshipping at his feet. So beautiful. Michael was mine again. For one hour.

He sneezed.

" Hey, was that fake?"

" Nope. I promise from this moment on never to fake anything." He looked down at the tented towel and grinned. I giggled and he pulled me up to my feet. He unzipped my sweatshirt with urgent skill, sliding it down over my shoulders. He looked at my tumid breasts and smiled seductively, just brushing the tips lightly with the backs of his fingers. The pants and panties followed, falling to a wet heap around my ankles. I stepped towards him, giving myself up into the circle of his arms. My heart beat fast against his.

" One hour," he sighed, holding me tightly, pressing his beguiling lips to a sensitive spot below my ear. " Come. Let's go to bed, mon coeur."

I dropped my head to his bare, wet shoulder, happiness bubbling up from every pore, melting into his body like a snowflake in the sea.

Three days later I was sneezing at my desk. Madeline walked by and looked at me. " You have a cold."

" A small one. There's something going around."

" Maybe it's those long baths and sleeping with the window open. Can't be good for you." I was trying hard not to grin as she walked away.

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