I just got back from my Greek honeymoon with Michael.

Now that you have picked yourself up off the floor, I will tell you what this is all about. From the beginning.

It's been a long time since I've written. I think I left off telling you about being at the park with that sweet little girl named Vanessa. I received a diner invitation from Michael and I accepted, but instead of his taking me to a restaurant, we ate at my apartment. The food I cooked was pretty good: turkey scallopini with lemon and wild rice pilaf. It wasn't as delicious as the meal he cooked for me, but it was passable. He complimented me on it. I left out the garlic, just in case. Okay. I know what you're thinking, that I am uncertain about where Michael's and my relationship is heading and yet I'm still thinking about kissing him. Well, that's not going to change. I'm always going to think about kissing Michael! I'll think about that when I am a doddering old maid of a hundred. If I ever live that long.

We drank some more wine that evening after dinner and we talked. It was snowing again and I was sitting there in that cold leather chair wishing for a fireplace like the one in his farmhouse. I told him right then how I felt and I think that he agreed, that it could not be casual between us. He raised his glass in a toast to my words. He stared right into my eyes and then he drank to me. I kept staring at his sculpted lips, showing the tiniest hint of a smile. A smile that didn't quite reflect the sadness in his green eyes.

I really wanted to taste his lips then, to taste the wine that lingered there. I knew if I drank after that toast I'd not be able to swallow because I had started getting all choked up by his look and the gesture. Before we could discuss it any further Michael's cell phone rang. He was called in on another mission and had to leave. When he left a few minutes later, I handed him his coat. He leaned in and brushed his lips very softly against my cheek. I didn't know quite what to make of that. I hoped it was more of a hello than a goodbye. I didn't really speak to him again for three days.

I was called into an early briefing on the following morning. I was tired. I'd had strange dreams that night. I burned my toast in the morning and set off the smoke alarm. I couldn't get it to stop beeping no matter how many times I banged it with the handle of the broom. And then when I was leaving at around five-thirty Mick came out at the same time.

" Goin' in, luv? " he asked. He was looking rather tired himself.

" Yes, Mick." I sighed.

" Can I get a lift in with you? I'm having my car fumigated. I had this date. She just couldn't handle all the champers we drank at the club and threw up, you know "

I just rolled my eyes. " Please, Mick. Spare me the details," I said. " Yea, you can have a ride, if you don't tell spend the entire trip telling me about your under aged honeys who can't handle liquor."

Wouldn't you know we'd be at the same briefing? Michael was there, too. Ops had been waiting a full five minutes for us and gave me the look.

Since 1997 an anti-government, anarchist group called Revolutionary People's Struggle, which is a faction of Red Cell, has been committing terrorist attacks in Greece. In 1997, six government employees were kidnapped and held for ransom. A hardline stance by the Greek government didn't work. The employees were killed one by one, their bodies found in the streets of Athens.

In May of 1998, Greek shipping tycoon, Delos Nicaros was shot in broad daylight in a night club. The manifesto that accompanied the crime said that he had been targeted because he was in cahoots with the government to put 2,000 employees out of work. The criminals received widespread sympathy from the common people. As of today no one was ever charged with the crime.

Soon after that a busload of European and North American tourists were hijacked on a day trip to an archaeological site. They were released ten days later after a heavy ransom was paid by the wealthy families of the victims. That is all but one of them, a female, Nancy Stodder, the daughter of a British M.P. It was said that she had fallen in love with Stathis Saavis, the leader of the RPS, and had decided to stay with him to her family's horror.

Section had just received intel from an agent on a different mission that Saavis was becoming active again. The RPS was planning a reprise of the successful bus jacking incident. He had given a proposed date and the name of the tour group. In the last six months security has become lax again as things had calmed down, but Saavis needed money. There are thousands of tour groups operating in Greece, some catering to the student back packing clientele, some to the wealthy Americans and British who want to go on day tours to remote historical sites in luxurious motor coaches. It was most imperative that Saavis be captured, that the RPS be squashed. Section didn't have the exact location of the Saavis hideout except that it was purported to be somewhere in the Holomontas Mountains very near the Yugoslavian border. Saavis was as elusive as a snake.

I was horrified to discover that myself, Michael and Mick would be the only non-civilians on the mission at the beginning. We were being sent to the gulf of Kassandra to stay in an exclusive resort that looked out over the breathtaking view if the azure blue Kassandra Gulf, part of the Aegean Sea. The rest of the people would be actual tourists, rich tourists at that, who would be put at risk for the sake of getting Stathis Saavis and bringing him to justice. We would allow ourselves to be taken in order to infiltrate the compound. Is Saavis was there, Section would come on our call and hopefully the hostages would be liberated at the same time.

I have never been able to understand Section's cavalier regard for civilians. They knew these people were in possible danger. Why not just relace the other people on the tour with Section operatives playing parts? Their usual answer, I suppose. A few for the greater good. It would be more realistic this way and what if the threat did not come off? Then a lot of manpower would be wasted.

Well, anyway, there it was. Michael and I were playing a honeymooning couple. Michael, was, of all things, an orthodontist. I was his new bride, the daughter of an Australian shipping magnate. I was a budding fashion designer and filthy rich. My husband had just received a ten million dollar cheque for the patent of a new type of braces he invented. We were madly in love after having a magnificent wedding in Britain, where we would reside after the honeymoon. Mick was playing the part of a movie producer scouting locations.

I could barely sleep the night before the wedding re-enactment. It was being staged to provide us with a picture album, a testament to the reality of our relationship. I would carry the book with me on the honeymoon. The dress that Madeline had chosen for me came straight from a London fashion house and it was fitted like a dream. I looked at myself in that tasteful ivory gown with it's fashionable boned bodice and fitted removable jacket and couldn't believe my eyes. Me in a wedding gown. I thought I would never see that! My hands were shaking as I lowered my head allowing the Section stylist to fit the veil. It was a simple free flowing mantilla of old ivory lace. My hair had been swept back in a loose knot, little wisps allowed to trail down my neck. It was a very romantic look. I wondered what Michael would think when he saw me dressed this way in the lushly decorated ballroom where we would take the pictures.

The stylist was just finishing my makeup when Madeline came in. She smiled at me. " The dress we chose was perfect, Iris." she said to the stylist. " I'm glad I went with ivory rather than white. With your pale complexion and hair the white would have been far too stark, Nikita."

"I'm sure white would have been too pure for the likes of me, Madeline." I traced my finger down one of the silk ribbons on my bouquet. It was a large trailing thing composed of trumpet lilies and ivory roses. I think I would have chosen something smaller but the stylist said that with my height I could carry off a large arrangement. I could smell the sweet perfume of the lilies, a little overpowering in the small room.

" I'm afraid that I'm breaking with tradition. I've got nothing borrowed and the only thing blue on me is my eyes."

She smiled. " This feels almost real to you, doesn't it?"

I looked down at my satin shoes. They were just a little bit tight. " I don't know."

" You'd make a lovely bride."

I'd never make anyone a bride. I just shrugged my shoulders like I didn't care.

" Are you ready? " she asked.

I was shaking like an actual bride as we left the dressing room. In the ballroom, I took the arm of Walter, who would act the part of my father. He squeezed the hand tucked under his elbow and grinned at me. He shook his head as if he couldn't believe his eyes. " You are so beautiful, Sugar. So beautiful. I wish this were real."

" Thank you, Walter. I wish it were, too."

It was so weird to walk down the aisle, looking at the faces of the operatives pretending to be friends and family. I didn't know a single one of them well and yet as they smiled for the camera and wiped away tears of joy I felt almost as if it were real.

Michael was waiting at the alter with his best man. He was smiling at me. Beaming actually. He made my breath stop in my chest, my knees go weak. He looked so incredibly handsome in his black morning coat and green brocade vest. An old-fashioned white stock tie was wrapped around his throat. He looked for all the world like a nineteenth century rake. All he needed was polished riding boots and a top hat. According to Madeline and the stylist, Iris the look was in for English society weddings, started I think, by the trend towards Jane Austin novels. At any rate, Michael looked the part of the handsome bridegroom. I was one lucky girl.

I kissed Walter on the cheek. He hugged me tightly. Michael offered me his hand. I placed mine in his upturned palm. My hand was shaking a little. He smiled at me." Don't be nervous," he whispered. "You look beautiful, Kita." And then the stylist and the photographer stopped things so they could arrange the perfect photos. We were stopped to pose about ten more times, until it came time for him to put the ring on my finger and kiss me.

I think I am always going to remember that moment, how he took my hand and slipped the ring over my finger, how his eyes met mine. They were such a soft, misty jade colour. He is actually a very fine actor. I could almost believe that I saw a sheen of tears in his eyes when he looked up from giving me the ring. It slid onto my finger with perfect ease . And the kiss. I'll remember that, too, how he raised the veil and laid it carefully over my hair, how he leaned toward me and pressed his mouth to mine so sweetly. There was no music, no crying family, but to me it seemed real.

They made us do it a few more times, just so that the pictures would be perfect. Every time he repeated that kiss my heart would pound wildly like it was the first time he had ever kissed me that day in my apartment when he " saved " me from leaving Section.

I wanted to cry when we were walking back down the aisle as Mr. and Mrs. Michael Minette. The guests were pelting us with rose petals. He looked at me and took my hand, raising it up to his lips to kiss the back. I looked at his handsome face, the way his lashes made shadows on his cheeks.

And then there was the reception to get through. I swear it took as long as a real wedding, with all the stopping to set up lights and poses. There were champagne toasts trips to a sumptuous buffet, cake cutting, dancing, bouquet throwing. I flushed hotly as he removed the garter from my leg with this sexy grin and tossed it over his head. I laughed as one of the bridesmaids leapt for the bouquet.

By the evening's end Michael looked adorably dishevelled, his tie and jacket long discarded in favour of the green brocade vest, the white shirt and the black pants, his hair delightfully tousled. At one point we were dancing and the photographer was snapping pictures very close to us. Michael was kissing me as we danced. He picked me up off my feet and held me tightly against him, whirling me around in this wild, beautiful kiss. I forgot everything and got caught up in the charade, kissing him back, hugging him around his neck. I guess the photographer was yelling at us to stop and we didn't even hear him. When we finally broke apart the other ops had stopped laughing and were completely quiet and staring like they knew how it was with us. Like they pitied us. The silence in that room was deafening.

It was then that reality set in. I felt sick for the rest of it, just going through the motions. This was not a real wedding but it was the closest that I would ever come to living my dream. As I was laying in bed alone that night my thoughts kept returning to that moment. That kiss. That's how it would be for us if we were ever to truly marry. Blissful. Perfect. I wondered what he had been feeling. How would it be on our bogus honeymoon, I wondered. We had at least three days at the resort until the highjacking. What would we do those three nights alone together?

The scenery was breathtaking. I had never been to Greece. We had left Thessaloniki airport by rental car and drove down the coast of Macedonia to almost the tip of the trident of peninsulas known as the Halkidiki. It was hot but there was a delightful breeze and the scent of lemon, orange, eucalyptus and almond trees and the sea filled my lungs. Everything was so clean, so beautiful. The geometric homes in the cliffs shone in the sun. Michael smiled at me. " What do you think?"

" It's incredible," I said. I leaned my head back on the seat and just breathed. " Have you been here before? " I stared at his profile. He seemed to be tanning already. He was wearing sunglasses and that backwards baseball cap. He wore khaki cargo shorts and hiking boots with white socks. His white Ralph Lauren polo shirt had the collar flipped up on one side, not I'm sure, as a fashion statement but because I'm sure Michael never bothers looking in a mirror.

" I've been to Greece, but not this particular area."

" Where were you, Michael?" I held on the my straw hat. I could feel the tip of my nose burning.

"Corfu."

" When was that?"

" My honeymoon, actually. Simone and I came here for a few days."

I bit my lip. I didn't know what to say to him. Oh, did you have a nice time? Eat a lot of Souvlaki? Make love on the beach. How horrible this had to be for him.

" It's all right, Nikita. You don't have to be quiet just because I've mentioned Simone."

I nodded. I turned my head and looked out over the coastline to the water. The sun sparkled on the dappled stillness. I could count hundreds of little boats setting their nets out.

" It's easy to forget, isn't it?"

" Forget?"

" That we're here to do a job."

I sighed. " Yes, Michael. It's very easy to forget. " Each time I looked at the wedding pictures I forgot all over again that I really was not Michael's new bride.

I have been reading back on my words and I notice something. I'm not the greatest writer in the world, but I figure that my repeating certain phrases and adjectives over and over has more to do with how I must live my life than with my lack of skill. And that's not an excuse, you must understand. I have every intention of self-improvement. If I ever get the chance I'm going to go and take a writing class so I can describe a sunset or a bird's wing or a baby's smile in a hundred words or less. And not repeat any of them.

Anyway, I find that I am using the word "real " a lot. Too often, I'm sure. I think I used it ten times in the last page I wrote describing the wedding. That Walter and Madeline both used the word in what they said to me was a mere coincidence. I wrote what they said exactly as I remembered it. Maybe they long for 'real' too, just like me. Everyone must look into my eyes and know exactly what my heart speaks, what I long for This is not real, I have said, with profound sadness. I wish this were real. And if I go back there might be ten more passages where I have spouted it profusely. It's probably my favourite word.

Real. It is described in my dictionary as having existence or actuality as a thing or state, not imaginary, not counterfeit: Genuine. Unaffected. Unpretentious.

I think it because I have been in Section too long. I am always in that state of figuring out what is real and what is not. I live in a world of lies and deceit and it is hard to deal with the fact of that daily and still stay true to myself.

I have to ask myself all the time if things are real. Legitimate. True. Whatever the word. I want my life to be all these things, even if it has to be stagnant and boring sometimes. I long for boring. I want it so badly. What I have now is like living in hell. Hell with these snatches of perfect beauty. Sometimes it seems like I am living my life in one of those Italian and German films Ben likes. One minute I am dancing with angels and the next I am consumed by fire. Right now, at this minute, I am dancing with an angel, a very handsome angel and I wish--

There I go again. I'm telling myself now. I will not say I wish this were real any more. Well, at least as long as I can.

The resort where Section had us booked was the most romantic place I had ever seen. Hard to believe that war had raged, and if our intel is correct, continues in more subtle ways, just miles away from us. The hotel was like nothing I had ever seen before, a series of box like structures an fitted together like a child's Lego set, each room having a magnificent, unfettered view of the Kassandra Gulf. This was like no hotel I have ever been in and like no place either. Michael told me that at noon everything in these tiny fishing villages shuts down. People eat their noon meal and then go back home rest. The townspeople anyway. The tourists want to squeeze every drop of joy from their stay at first and venture out in the heat finding most things closed up tight. I was thinking there could be a lot worse things than having to drop everything and lay in that lovely bed with Michael. I could not help but think of him and Simone.

The room was the honeymoon suite. It was not air conditioned, but the placement of the windows allowed for a lovely cross breeze from the ocean. The ceiling was high and crossed by hand hewn beams that still had traces of bark clinging to them. The rest of the walls were whitewashed . A huge paddle fan whirred in the ceiling taking away any cloying heat and though I could feel the humidity collect on my skin, the feeling was not unpleasant. I thought of the winter chill back where Michael and I lived and breathed a sigh of contentment. That one breath was filled with a thousand new scents, or so it seemed. The high notes being the exotic flowers on the dresser and tables and the lemon trees outside the window. And the smell of the sea. Since I was a little girl I have missed that scent.

The porter who had let us in had set the suitcases near the bed. I'd been trying not to look at it. It was placed close to the French doors to allow for the breezes I supposed. It was wide and lush and had a high canopy made, I think, of cyprus poles, almost in their raw state, Around the canopy was draped a filmy scarf of gauze that had been allowed to puddle at each corner. The pillows on the bed were the rooms only colour. I just looked at that one bed and swallowed hard.

One bed.

Honeymoon suites only need one bed. I walked over and pressed down on it with my hand. Soft. Like a gossamer cloud. Like heaven.

Oh, God. Three days and perhaps three nights. Alone with him in that exotic bed. A man who made the glorious statues of naked men that seem to be everywhere one looks in Greece seem utterly uninspiring in comparison.

Speaking of naked statues. There was one the corner by the bathtub. Two naked entwined lovers. A mermaid and a sailor, I assumed. The huge bathtub, was made of greenish blue mosaic tile, a colour that exactly replicated the colour of Michael's eyes. That bathtub shimmered like a jewel. The taps were gold and looked like playing dolphins. The spout was Neptune or someone with his mouth open. The tub, the porter told me with pride, took a full half-hour to fill and was made, obviously, for two. He gave me a smile. A knowing smile. And the hotel and very thoughtfully supplied bath stuff. Tons of it. I told myself I was only going to use the shower.

Had Madeline chosen this place to taunt us? No, I suppose not. It was fate. The intel said that this was the place. Michael and I were here because of Saavis. I didn't know if I should hate him or be grateful.

I walked through the French doors. The view was indescribable. Clean. White. The gulf seemed to go on forever. The sky was totally cloudless. The sea mirror still, cobalt blue. The streets were a light gray colour or coloured stone. Each house or shop or inn had a roof that seemed sun bleached to a different pink or red tone. There were tiny boats tied along the shore and as I stood there a huge cruise ship slowly passed by, barely moving the water, slight foam topped waves in its wake. I imagined the lovers waving at me from the deck.

The breeze caught my hair, carrying something sweet, like wild mountain honey. No wonder lovers come to Greece. No wonder so many magical things have happened in this part of the world. For a million reasons, I will never forget it. One day, I tell myself as I write, as ice crystals pelt the windows of my small apartment, I will go back there. Maybe, if I am lucky, it will be with him. The one that I love.

I remember how he startled me as I stood there looking over the balcony rail, looking at the cruise ship. He slid his arm over my shoulder and lowered his mouth to mine for a kiss. A long, drugging kiss. A kiss heightened with the scent of lemon and wild mountain thyme and the hot breeze that blew in from the Aegean. A kiss that, at the time, was as real as I wanted it to be.

There I go again with that damned word.

I didn't want him to stop. Not ever. I love kissing him, the feel of his lips, the thrust of his tongue. I love to slide my hands up his neck to touch the perfect lobes of his ears, his thick curls of his hair. And in the heat and humidity his hair was curling. I know he hates it. He tries to smooth the waves down with the palm of his hand. He looks for all the world like one of Raphael's beautiful angels.

With a mouth like that you know he has to be the world's most fabulous kisser. Oh, he is. He really is. He is the inventor of the kiss. The Einstein of kisses. And he made this sound as we stood there, like a low, gravelly purr in his throat. I know he didn't want to pull away either.

I touched my lips. He moved his mouth back toward my ear. I thought he was going to kiss me again and I shivered in anticipation. " The people on the other balconies can see us."

My eyes widened. " They can? " I peered around. True. The place had not been designed for naked sunbathing.

He seemed to read my mind. " People tend to be more open minded in this part of the world. You ought to see the private nude beaches." He grinned , his green-blue eyes teasing me. " This is the honeymoon suite. We're supposed to be newlyweds. In other words, unable to keep our hands off each other. We have to give that impression. "

I swallowed hard. " Of course." There was a fine sheen of perspiration on his smooth forehead His hair was getting curlier by the minute with the humidity. He raised his arm and rubbed away the sweat on one wide shoulder. He leaned over the balcony rail. Michael has the nicest forearms, taut and hard, the skin covered with light blonde hairs that sparkle in the sun. I could stare at his arms for days. I know every cord of muscle, every vein. He loosely clasped his hands. I love his hands. I could spend pages describing each finger.

" It's so beautiful here."

" Yes, it is. You should see the sunsets. I will never forget the sunsets." He stared out across the water, thinking of Simone maybe. It is hard to share him with those other women he has known.

" What are they like, Michael? " I love to hear him describe things in that slightly accented voice. It was better for us to talk. If we talked I didn't have to think about kissing. And that bed.

" They are every hot colour you can think of. Like an explosion of reds and purples and lilacs. And the sea becomes so blue just at the start. The exact colour of " He shook his head and stopped speaking. " That's too corny to say."

" Of what? "

" Of your eyes." He grinned, shyly.

" That is not corny. Thank you."

" You're welcome."

I took a deep breath. Heat was pooling in my lower limbs. There was this sense of urgency, a need, a yearning that I can't describe. What this man can do to me with one compliment. A compliment that he found too corny to say. I wanted to take him by the hand and lead him back into the room, to that gloriously romantic bed. " Have you spoken to Birkoff? "

" Yes."

" He still hasn't found where Saavis is located? "

" No. It's very wild terrain in parts of the Halkidiki. And there are a lot of itinerant people still camped out in the country. All over the place. Some of them are hiding from the war, still afraid to go back to Yugoslavia. It's impossible to have accurate intel about everything that's going on out there. That's what makes this difficult. Saavis hasn't surfaced for months."

" But Birkoff still feels it will be three days? "

" Yes. Thursday. Three days. There's a tour scheduled to this monastery. It should happen then. Birkoff thinks that someone with the tour agency or the hotel chain is informing Saavis. The last venture was very profitable."

" Where is Mick?"

" Room 301. You can see it right over there. The one that has the red flower pots."

I frowned. " Please God, don't let him roam around out there naked."

Michael laughed.

" I know he's already down by the pool trying to get some stewardess between flights to come up to his room and shag him silly. Do you think he wears a Speedo? "

" I don't know. I don't think about stuff like that."

" He has hair on his back. He came out of his door once in a towel. He was covered with this pelt of hair, Michael. It was gross. I don't know how he gets girls. Does that sound awfully shallow? My judging him like that? Because he looks like he's wearing a bearskin rug? "

He shook his head, smiling. I know he thinks me silly. " Mick's okay."

" You don't have to live next door to him."

" Are you hungry?"

" Yea. I was about to raid the mini-fridge. This is all on Section, right? Ops isn't going to care about how many almond bars I have."

" I doubt it. Indulge yourself, Kita." His eyes were sparkling again.

Oh, that word sounded good coming out of his mouth. Indulge. Is there a word for that in French?

" I'll order something from room service. Then I'm going to have a shower." He picked up the phone, punched the numbers and rattled something off in Greek.

I was nervous. I opened my suitcase. It had been packed by Madeline with exactly what a newlywed woman would take on her honeymoon. I chattered while I unzipped it. "What did you order? Something good, I hope. Your Greek is impeccable, not that I understood a word." I flipped it open. On the top of the pile was a skimpy ice blue satin nighty and matching thong panties. Nestled in the folds of satin was a silver foil packet. I slammed the bag shut.

Oh, Madeline. You devil.

He was looking at me. He smiled and said something else to me in Greek. As he said it his eyes travelled from mine, down my body and all the way back up. Slowly, languidly. Like I had been expertly caressed. I don't know what he said. I won't ask. I'm sure it had something to do with that nighty. I want to imagine that he was just putting words to what we both were feeling.

I think we both had cold showers before our room service came.

[Note: the festival of St. Michael is on Nov 8. I have made it later in the month.]

We ate lunch on the balcony. Pan fried squid and shrimp with lemon. Fluffy rice with olive bits and thyme and parsley in it. Vine ripened tomatoes and cucumbers with feta. Oh, yum. It was all too good. Michael does not like the curly little tentacles of the squid so I ate them all with delight as he wrinkled his nose at me. Just to tease him I picked them up and made them dance on the plate.

" You are a sick woman," was all he said.

At three he announced that he was going to have a look around. Do some spying.

I told him that I would go to the pool. He would meet me later. I wondered what sort of bathing attire Madeline had packed for him. I hoped it was some thing not too revealing, but sexy. I don't know. I'm not a big fan of bikinis or thongs on men at the beach. It is a little too scary.

I chose the least hideous of the two bathing suits Madeline had chosen., a high cut black tank-kini. The bikini was definitely out. She could have chosen something I could swim in, like my Speedo at home. I should never have let her pack for me, but I have to admit the clothes she chose are in very good taste. I plan to buy something local though. One of those embroidered blouses and a fisherman's hat like the men wear here. I think it will look cool.

I adjusted my sun hat and shades, choosing a lounge chair with a bit of shade beside two older women. I'd judge them to be about fifty. One was small and red headed, one blonde, and a little taller with a zoftig chest and very nice legs. She was wearing gold wedgies laced up her calves. They smiled at me as I sat down. One of them was tapping away at a laptop computer.

" What should his name be?" asked the redhead.

" Anything but a J name."

" J names are the best."

" Jared has been done to death, as has Jesse and Jade and Jason."

" I like Jack."

" I like Michael. For St. Michael's day. Stavros, the waiter, told me that's today. I say Michael. "

" Okay, Michael then. But not Mike. Or Mick."

" Oh, never. That dreadful little man was called Mick wasn't he. The one in the Speedo. He needs a trip to the waxing parlour."

I listened with interest, my novel forgotten on my lap. I love to eavesdrop on conversations. So Mick had been down here already. Lucky I missed it.

" He wasn't so bad. I mean look at how it was in Mykonos. They were all gay! Gorgeous, but gay. At least he tried to hit on us."

" Forget Mykonos. It was a nightmarish waste of man-flesh," said the redhead. " Blonde or black hair. Hirsute or smooth? "

" I'm sick of blondes. Stephan was blonde. And I hated that name. It was so fruity. He was fruity. No one liked him at all."

" Oh, he was not fruity. I can't get into this. Let's just come up with some euphemisms. We need some new ones for the penis. Our old ones are getting really trite."

" You're right. How many times can you say : " He let his pants fall down around his ankles and unsheathed his massive blade." "

" I like turgid shaft much better. How about: " She gasped as Michael revealed the massive length of his turgid shaft inch by glistening inch." How is that? "

At that point I choked on my soda. It stared coming out of my nose and one of the ladies came over and began whacking me between the shoulder blades.

" I'm okay now."

" We're so sorry, dear. So sorry. Are you sure you're all right? "

" Fine. Really," I managed.

" We're writing. We forget that other people don't talk about penises, like well ... Like candy. "

" Oh, I see."

" My name is Terry Mitchell and this is my sister, Michelle."

" Mitch, dear." She extended a hand. " We write novels. Women's fiction. I see you read women's fiction. "

" Yes. I do, actually."

" We write as Michelle Terry."

I nodded. " Shattered Embers."

The sisters nodded, obviously surprised and proud that I knew it. Bobbie had read that one. I hadn't read any of their books myself. They were quite famous. " My name is Nikita Minette."

" Oh, lovely. Like that Elton John song. Isn't she gorgeous, Mitch? " said Terry. " How long have you been here, Nikita? "

"Just got here. It's my honeymoon."

" I noticed the rock on your hand. So, where's the groom? " asked Terry.

" Michael is checking out the tennis courts, I expect. He likes tennis. I don't."

The sisters looked at each other and then laughed. " Michael. No wonder you choked." They started to giggle. " We're hashing out a story. This is our hundredth book. It had to be something special. We have to come up with the most spectacular man. We're hoping to see him here. And what does your Michael look like? What does he do? Is he Australian? We need ideas. How did you meet him? "

" I was taking my niece in to get her braces tightened. He's an orthodontist in London."

" Oh." They looked at me in abject disappointment.

" He isn't your average dentist. He's very bright," I said lamely. " He's Belgian. He has lovely teeth. "

" Oh, how nice."

There was complete silence. How dare they. Make assumptions like that. Why couldn't a Belgian orthodontist be a dream man? And possess a gleaming, turgid shaft. I didn't think I was going to buy their new book.

" Oh, my. Oh, my gawd . Look at him. There he is, Terr. That's him. That's our Michael. Have you ever seen such a lusty looking specimen? Look at the way he walks. Oh, my gawd, Terr."

" He lives. Boy, does he live. That is our French spy. Can't you see him in tight white breeches, Mitch ?"

Mitch started tapping frantically at her computer between peeks. " I think I need a drink. I wonder how old he is. "

" Michael was thirty-six. On Hallowe'en," I said. " And if you ask me about his penis, I'll pop you one. Let's just say that I will never kick him out of bed for eating crackers. "

They're pickin' up the prisoners and puttin' 'em in a pen, And all she wants to do is dance, dance, Rebels been rebels since I don't know when All she wants to do is dance Molotov cocktail the local drink They mix it up right-- in the kitchen sink And all she wants to do is dance Crazy people walkin' round with blood in their eyes And all she wants to do is dance Wide eyed pistol wavers who ain't afraid to die And all she wants to do is dance, and make romance, She can feel the heat, Comin' off the street She wants to party, Wooooo, She wants to get down All she wants to do is dance.... ( Don Henley)

I introduced my new hubby to the Mitchell sisters. They were, to put it mildly, impressed. I was, too. He had changed into a pair of white tennis shorts and a sea green polo. His hair was mussed, as usual. Like he just rolled out of bed. I liked how his legs looked above the white Nikes he wore. Shapely and muscled, but nice and husky. He is a big man. Everywhere. I hate birdie legs. I wonder if he ever does play tennis. Maybe squash. I can see him knocking the hell out of a squash ball.

" How do you do? " he said, with his natural politeness. He gave each lady that shy smile. I think he looked down my bathing suit top. I think. I'm not sure.

I could tell they were both totally gone. He chatted to them for a little while about dentistry. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Michael knows bombs, not gums. Although, I must say that he was well prepared, as usual.

" Uh, oh," said one of the sisters. " Here comes the movie mogul again. At least he's dressed."

" Oh, you mean Mick. He is in movies. Works for Pinewood. They do the Bond movies. I know him from my club in London. Kita, love, do you mind if I play tennis with Mick? "

" No, sweetheart. Not at all."

He went off after giving me a husbandly peck on the cheek.

" The Bond movies. One could forgive a number of sins in light of that, Terry," said Mitch.

" He is divine. Nikita. Your Michael, I mean. I love the accent. And the face. And the body. He send shivers up my spine. You don't mind us using him, do you?"

" As a model for the book, dear. Not a love slave. He'll never know about it. We just observe."

" Sure. Observe all you like."

" Would you like to come with us tonight? We're going to Vassilis Taverna. It's wonderful. They roast a whole lamb every night. There's belly dancing and then dancing until dawn. This is a festival week so it will be wild. Consider yourself warned."

" I can ask Michael. "

" We won't blame you if you say no. Wink. Wink. Nudge. Nudge." The sisters started to laugh. I wished, and not for the first time, that I had a sister or a close friend. Having both would be a double blessing.

" We'll meet in the lobby at six. Wear your dancing shoes."

" Six. Okay."

" One more thing? " asked Mitch with a grin.. " Is it true that dentists are orally fixated?"

I think I blushed right to my toes.

I know why I said yes to them. Fear. Pure and simple. I was afraid to be alone with him that first night. I was afraid he'd want me. And I was afraid that he wouldn't. I talked him into going. He seemed a little reluctant but after checking in with Birkoff he decided to humour me.

I found out that the sisters were booked for the monastery tour. I wanted to tell them to stay behind at the hotel. I couldn't though. I'd just do my utmost to see that they stayed safe. If they wanted adventure, they were certainly going to get it. Hopefully things would go well and they would be out of there without incident.

I have a warning for you if you ever go to Greece. They keep filling your wine glass. And don't drink retsina. It's like licking the crotch of a pine tree.

I don't know exactly when I started slugging back the retsina. It really was disgusting. I think it was when the belly dancer, The Pearl Of the East, came in. Guess who she bee-lined for. Fifty good looking men in the room and she comes over to Michael. Wraps her scarf around his neck. Wiggles her pierced belly at him. Crushes his face right down into her breasts. He was a very good sport, but I was jealous as hell. When he got up to dance with her every female in the room practically swooned. She was undoing the buttons of his shirt for godsake. Flashing that bare, muscled chest for everyone to see. He had to have been playing tennis sans shirt because he was already tanned.

Sometime after that Mick asked me to dance and then I was dancing with these Greek boys the Mitchell sisters knew. They were playing the juke box by then. I love dancing. Before I knew it I was dancing with everybody. Everybody but Michael. I don't know for the life of me how I got so drunk. I think I may have tried to dance on a table.

I remember everything about it. I always do. And in perfect clarity. I am that kind of drunk. The memories haunt me for life. There is just something about me and alcohol. I become uninhibited, Not to the extent that I don't know what I am doing or where I am. I remain upright, mostly. I have never passed out. I basically know what I'm doing. I just become a people pleaser. Cute. Funny. Loud. And I'll say anything. Anything. Whatever pops into my head.

I wish I didn't remember, but I do.

I don't think he drank very much. I saw him take the odd sip of wine. I saw him looking at me funny when I was dancing with Spiros. I think he thought that Spiros was getting a little too familiar, because suddenly he was there and he was flipping me over his shoulder. I had this short black dress on and I was barefoot. I had left my shoes somewhere. I am always taking off my shoes. I think he pulled the back of my dress down to cover my butt. I know I liked his hand there.

I was waving goodbye to everyone one minute and flopped on our bed the next. I think as I was flung over his back I may have put my hands down into his jeans pockets. Maybe down the back of his jeans. I think I remember warm skin. I was going to give him a wedgie but I couldn't find his underwear.

Oh, my gawd. I still don't believe it. I know he hates me sometimes.

I remember him laying me on the bed. I pulled him down by the shirt. I could feel the hardness of his chest against the backs of my fingers. I could feel his heart hammering. I don't know if it was because he had carried a six foot tall woman three blocks of because he was excited. " You are the most beautiful man in the world," I said. " Do you have any idea of the effect you have on chicks?"

" No. I don't think so."

" You are kidding me. You are. You have to know that you are totally hot."

" No."

So modest. " Do you want to take a shower with me? "

He smiled. " Sure."

" Maybe we could get in that tub with the mermaids and the dolphins. Can we get my clothes off? My dress is very tight. Do you like this dress? Maddie picked it out.'"

" Yep. I like that dress. I like that dress a lot."

" Can we get your clothes off ? I really want to get your clothes off. Really bad. I really want to see you naked." I yanked at his shirt.

" Nikita, love. Let's take one thing at a time."

" You know what I want for Christmas? "

" What? "

" You. Stark naked. With a big red bow around your neck." I remember laughing drunkenly.

He grinned. " I'll see what I can do."

" You really are so beautiful. You are the most beautiful man. You are like an angel." I think I almost cried at this point.

" You are, too.

And then I felt just too awful for words. His face blurred before my eyes. " Michael. I think this room is spinning. Oh, gawd, Michael. I think I have to talk to Ralph on the big, white telephone. "

********

I opened my eyes with exquisite care. They felt like cherry tomatoes on a shish kabob stick. Someone had opened the drapes. There was cool breeze blowing in me. I pulled my head up from the pillow. I was laying there on my queasy stomach wearing his tee-shirt, my butt barely covered. Had anything of a sexual nature happened? No. I knew that for a fact.

My second though upon waking was: Did I actually ask the five old Greek men who were playing the fiddles and some instrument called the aoud if they knew how to play Marvin Gaye's Sexual Healing? Sheesh.

No wonder Bobbie used to scream at me when I played Saturday morning cartoons too loud. Even my teeth hurt. My hair was aching. I looked around the room. No Michael. Thank, God. I know he'd slept beside me all night, clad in a muscle shirt and a pair of black pyjama shorts. I think I may have told him that I loved those dimples above his butt. I was drunk even after I puked for the second time. As he lay sleeping I think I patted his bottom a number of times. " Oh, Michael. I'm so glad you're still here."

" I'm not going anywhere, Kita. Try to sleep."

I turned over and hugged him rubbing my nose on his tee shirt covered back. " Love you, Michael. I really do, you know. You're such a cuddly lamb."

I think I said that, too.

Speaking of lamb. I will never eat lamb again. Poor fluffy little animals.

I hate myself.

He had been far too kind to me. He had even held my hair back for me when I was being sick, then ran me a shower and helped me remove that tight dress. I remember getting my head stuck in it. I stepped into the shower with my underwear on. I think he was laughing at me when he had to help get the wet bra off me. I didn't look at him. I didn't want to see if he was disgusted. I could barely even brush my teeth.

I thought about him bringing me that satin nighty that Maddie chose. I looked at it and burst into tears. " But that was for the wedding night."

Oh, my lord.

He went back and got me one of his tee shirts. I came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, towelling my hair dry. I was ashamed. He just smiled at me.

" Feel better? "

" Better than what? "

I picked up my hairbrush from the dresser, tugging it through my wet hair. It was painful. And then he was there taking the brush from my hand. " Sit down," he ordered. " I'll brush your hair for you."

" It's okay, Michael. You don't have "

" " I want to, Kita." He turned me around and began to untangle my wet hair. Carefully, gently soothing the snarls. I could feel his long fingers on my scalp, at my temples, the back of my neck. He reached over me to get a ponytail holder from the dresser. He began to braid my hair into a long tail down the back of my neck. It felt so good. So right. I felt this ember of jealousy burn at my chest. Had he done this for other women in his life? " You're very practised at this."

" Call me Vidal Sassoon." I could feel him smiling. " I did this for my sister. She had hair down to her waist and couldn't do this for herself after our parents died. She had a hard time getting ready for school on time. "

"I was kind of you to do that for her, Michael."

He leaned in closer. I could feel his warm breath on my ear. " I wanted to do it. I loved her."

I swallowed and closed my eyes, woozy again. Not from the drink but because he was too close. " Too much trouble. I think I should cut it."

" Don't ," he said softly. I felt his lips touch on the side of my neck. The contact so brief, I wondered if I imagined it.

" Time to sleep, Kita."

" I don't know if I can. The bed is going to spin again. I know it."

I managed to get to sleep while he had his shower, but I was sick two more times. He was there for me all night.

I was still curled up on my side that morning when he came back in. I pretended to be still asleep.

" Kita?"

" Mmmmm."

" I brought you Alka Seltzer."

" Oh, not bubbles. Have you got coffee? I smell coffee."

" Greek coffee will just make you sick."

I opened one eye. He looked delicious in linen pants and a white shirt. I sat up and gulped down the noxious stuff.

" I'm sorry for the trouble."

" It's okay. I liked seeing you let loose for a change." He was smiling. " No more though, okay. We'll think of some other way to have fun.."

" Did I ruin everything ? "

" No. It was all very natural. The cover is better than ever."

" Now the Mitchell sisters think I'm a lush. Did I do the bump with Mick?"

" I think so. You knocked him on his butt a few times. Don't worry about it. The Mitchell sisters were ordering some drinks called Rusty Nails all night. Later they were just calling to bring on the Lusty Males."

" Some of those people, the Mitchell sisters, they'll be there tomorrow. Can't we do it another way, Michael? "

" There is no other way," he said. His eyes seemed sad as he gently tugged on the end of my braid.

I sighed. " Do you think I might just sleep a little while longer? " I flopped back on the pillows.

" Yes. Sleep. It's siesta time now anyway. I'll read on the balcony."

" What are you reading ? "

" Something the Mitchell sisters wrote. They swear that even a major league stud muffin like me can learn something about what women really want from reading women's fiction."

" And you agreed ?"

" Sure." He grinned at me. " Might come in handy one of these days. Want me to read you the passages they marked?"

I just pretended to be asleep.

I went down to the pool later after the worst of the sun was over. The Mitchell sisters were there tapping away of the computer. I swam a few laps hoping that the exercise would clear my mind of the cobwebs. I was feeling better but my stomach was still flip flopping a little. I swam laps in the pool, thinking about the mission, thinking about Michael. I heaved myself out of the pool, drying myself off with one of the resorts huge towels.

" What kid of sex do you like to read about? " Mitch asked at I sat down.

" Uh, well . . ."

" Graphic? Explicit? Veiled references. Sweet and sassy. "

" Uh, subtle, I guess. Maybe sensual. I don't know really, Not gratuitous, certainly. I don't like swear words much. Or long descriptions of ...uh... parts. I kind of like it told from the woman's point of view so I can feel it. I don't really want to know what he's thinking. I want him to say things that give you shivers." God, if they only knew.

" I guess a girl like you doesn't need much help from us and out silly books, " said Terry.

" Oh. Well . . ." Oh, yes. I did. I needed help badly.

They were packing up for the day. " Bring your wedding pictures tomorrow. We'll look at them on the bus. That gorgeous man of yours was telling us last night what a beautiful bride you were. You know, you are such a lucky girl. "

" Yes. I really am. " I sipped my Seven-up.

We walked on the beach at sunset. We'd been to dinner. He was quiet. Thinking about the mission. Mulling things over. I remember looking at him and just feeling this wild, sweet rush of love. It was scary, really. It made my knees weak. It made me grit my teeth.

Michael had his hands in his pockets. The cuffs of his pants were rolled up. He dug his perfect toes in the sand. The wind picked up his curls. His eyes were very clear, lit by the moon. " Do you think Madeline gave this to us as a gift?" he asked softly. " She's softened her stance, I think."

I swallowed hard, thinking about the past few months, how Zalman had used Michael's and my relationship to hurt him. Oh, it was too difficult.

He reached for my hand. " Let's go back, Ni-ki-ta. Come. We have one night. This night."

I have had this mind block about writing about sex with Michael. I can only describe it so far and then my words don't seem right. Not adequate enough to convey what I feel. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I come to the brink of absolute disclosure and then I think I think I can write it now. If my kids read this they'll just know how madly in love I was. Maybe they'll think their mother was a lucky woman. I want them to know that sex is a beautiful thing. A gift between two people who want to give each other the moon and the stars but only have their bodies.

Oh, yes. So beautiful. I will come back and read this later. When he is not here with me. When the hell that we live in keeps us separate. Maybe I can get a little bit of that night back.

I was nervous. So nervous. My hands were shaking as I undid the clip I had used to hold back my hair.

" Do you want some wine?"

" I'll never drink again," I said. At least not then. I didn't want my senses dulled. I didn't want to change my perception of this night and I didn't want to have a loose tongue and say things that I might regret. I did not want to see that face, that body through anything but a haze of desire.

He came up behind me, brushed my hair to the side and kissed the nape of my neck, blowing softly at the fine hairs. " Relax, Kita. Fait toi plaisir."

Take your pleasure. Indulge yourself.

I felt his hands at the zipper at my nape. He undid the hook, then slid the zipper slowly all the way down to the small of my back. I had to put the flat of my hand on the dresser to support my weak limbs. I could see us in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed. My mouth was open. I think that I looked beautiful. I wanted to look beautiful. For him.

I felt his lips follow the length of my spine, down to my shoulder blades. He slipped the dress down over my shoulders, taking my panties off, too. One deft stroke. I stepped out of the puddled linen. I was shaking like a leaf. I was glad that I hadn't worn a bra. I felt his hands skim my waist, my hips. He kissed my shoulder. He was aroused, very hard. I could feel him against my hip though his linen pants. I couldn't help but whimper at the feel of his hands on my bare skin. I heard his sharp intake of breath.

" Come. Lie down."

Oh, God. I could hardly breathe. He took my hand and led me to the bed. He was still fully clothed. No man had a right to look that handsome. The maid had turned back the bed and left chocolates on the pillow. " Want some? " he teased.

" No." It was probably the first time I had ever turned down chocolate.

He gazed down at me. At my face, my breasts, my tummy, my legs. Everywhere. His eyes were liquid with desire. I was moved beyond words. For me, he seemed to be telling me, all for me. I couldn't bear it. I closed my eyes.

" Don't close your eyes, Kita. Don't hide yourself from me. Use all of your senses. What do you see? "

I opened one eye. " You still have your clothes on. I could see you better if you took them off."

He laughed softly. " As you wish." He undressed quickly. His body is beautiful. So beautiful. Scars and all, he is beyond perfection.

He loved me with his hands first. Just touching me with those strong, supple fingers. My face, my shoulders, my breasts, thighs, between them, the curve of my leg, my knees, even the arch of my foot. He compelled me to watch. I felt like a voyeur to my own passion.

I was on fire. Totally in flames and we hadn't done anything yet. I wanted to touch him, too, but he stilled my hands. " No," he said. " Too much."

He smoothed the hair back from my face and kissed me, gently at first and then with more pressure, demanding that I match the thrust and parry of his tongue. And then he was kissing my face, trailing his lips down to my ear, my neck, the curve of my arm. He pressed his lips to a bullet scar on my shoulder. Then he gave his undivided attention to my breasts, lifting and shaping them with his hands, loving them each in turn with warm lips and heated tongue and the gentle scrape of his teeth.

I have never known anything like that. I cried out when his mouth left my breast, but he shushed me with a grin. His eyes were a hazy gray blue at that moment. He touched my nipple with his slender, calloused finger as his mouth traced my ribs with tortuous slowness, down my stomach, seeking. Finding.

Oh, my. It was a long time before I came to earth. I tumbled in seconds but I just lay there with my head spinning and my heart pounding. I told you before he is the Einstein of kisses.

After I cried out, he couldn't contain himself any longer. He plunged himself into me. Talk about turgid shafts. The Mitchell sisters had that one right. He was intent on his own pleasure then. I pulled his face down to mine in a kiss. His tongue duelled with mine. It was perfect. Our bodies were made to fit and almost as quickly as I had, he shuddered and cried out his own surrender against my mouth.

We lay there for a long time. Not saying anything. Our hearts hammering, our arms and legs entwined, locking us together.

Neither of us had said the words. There was no need. No need at all.

I closed my eyes and breathed in the smell of his sweat damp hair. Relished the feel of his breath against the curve of my neck. He fell asleep right there, his soft breathing, the pounding of the waves and the whirr of the fan the only noise in the room.

" I love you, Michael," I whispered.

" Love. Yes," he murmured in his sleep. " Oh, Kita, yes."

" If you cut me, I'll dunk your head under the water," he said.

" No, you wouldn't. Besides I'm the one that's covered with stubble burns. Puff your cheeks out like Neptune there. " I pointed to the tub spout behind his back. Neptune, the sea-god was still spitting water into the huge tub from his open mouth. The tub wasn't even half full. Fragrant bubbles and steam filled the room with the scent of jasmine. " I can get your cheeks better in you stop grimacing, you big booby. Why don't you shave every day, Michael? Did some woman say you looked cute all stubbly? "

" No one has ever complained before this," he said smugly. " And no one has ever called me a big booby."

" Oh, bull."

" It's true." He does look cute all stubbly. He looks even cuter covered with shaving cream. Oh, dammit, he is just too beautiful to be mine. I know that I'm only borrowing him, I thought at the time." I carefully scraped the razor down his puffed out cheek then rinsed it in the tub. Shaving a man's face is an incredibly erotic experience.

" You're sure you've done this before? " he asked.

I carefully glided the razor. I could hear the scrape of his beard. I stuck my tongue out, deep in concentration, like little kids do when they are colouring picture books. " Certainly. On my legs. How do you get at that little thing under your nose? That divot? You have some very sexy divots, you know. You never answered my question, Michael."

" I don't remember your question. I'm too interested in other things." He was watching my mouth. He was breathing a little harder, his nostrils flaring. I let my breast brush his arm. " God, Kita, I like when you do that tongue thing." I could feel his hands under the water. Oh, my.

"If you'd do this yourself, I wouldn't have to," I teased." cause if you keep doing what you're doing down there you'll be minus a slightly crooked nose."

" I just don't like shaving. My skin is sensitive."

" Poor baby." I leaned forward and kissed his delectable pink lip. His soapy hand smoothed the skin at my waist. " Maybe I'll just shave half your face. Ever considered one of those little goatees?"

" No." His eyes were two greenish slits. One of his lashes had shave foam at the very tip.

" Don't grow one. They are called that because they make men look like goats. And you are the furthest thing I have ever seen from a goat."

" More like a stallion?"

" Well, don't go thinking too much of yourself. I'll have to call you Northern Dancer, I suppose. You have a very dark beard, you know. Darker than your hair. And very nice eyelashes." I kissed his eyelid.

" Put down the razor and come here," he said. He was looking hungrily at my breasts again. I wondered if it was possible to do it one more time. I think it was getting on to one a.m. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me. Shaving cream went up my nose. I wrapped my legs around his hips again. The man was hard as a rock. Maybe he is Northern Dancer. He is unbelievable.

And then I didn't have to wonder if we could possibly do it again because his cell phone rang.

" Stay there," he said, dumping me off his lap. He rose out of the tub splashing water and bubbles out. I floated on my back in the sumptuous tub and smiled. Oh my. I was going to hurt in the morning, but I didn't care. This was too delish.

He came back in, flipping the phone shut. " That was Operations. They've changed the mission parameters."

" It's off," I asked, hopefully. I wonder if Ops knew he'd been on the phone to a naked man covered with bubbles and shaving foam.

" No. Get out of the tub. Get dressed in something and I'll tell you about it." He reached for a robe from the hook on the bathroom door. He handed me the other one.

I did as he said, wrapping myself in the luxurious velour robe.

" Why do you look like that? " I asked.

" I'm not going in there tomorrow with you. I won't be on the bus. It's just you and Mick. I'll be staying here and leading the team when it's time to get you out." He shrugged. " It might be better that way. I've thought about that. It never seemed to make sense for both of us to be taken hostage."

" So you can come to the rescue, you mean? "

He gave me that stern Michael look. His body had gone into the rigid stance. " I can do more outside than in. You'll just do what I tell you. You'll follow the plan."

It is hard to take a half naked man seriously. But when the man is Michael, you do. " Is that a question or a command? What are you trying to say?"

" Don't do anything you're not told to do."

I sat down at the end of the bed and watched him towel off the shaving foam. Only an hour ago we had been rolling around on the bed doing things that I would not in a million years have dared hope for. We did it slow and sensual. We had done it wild and frenzied. We had almost done it in the tub. And now here we were having to face the reality of what our lives really mean.

It was all over. Who knew when we might be together again? Who knew when he might ever say those things to me again? I might not even come out of there. I think all the blood drained out of my face at that thought. " Michael? Am I in abeyance?"

He stared at me.

" Maybe I am."

" No. God, no. They would have ... Do you think I'd let that happen?"

" I wouldn't imagine you'd have all that much control over it. Maybe this is my last hurrah." I straightened out the tangle of bed sheets for something to do as much as the fact that I don't like to sleep in a rumpled bed.

"I know the mission profile. It's cut and dried. Nothing like that is happening. You are not scheduled for abeyance."

I just nodded. We both knew it could happen. It can happen anytime. I have not been a good op of late. Would they be so perverse as to give me everything I have dreamed of and then take my life? Oh, I wouldn't put it past them. They are so damned twisted. Maybe they have tricked him, too.

" You need to get to sleep. You have to leave at eight. I'll wake you at six. That'll give you an hour to go over the new profile. Go, get to sleep. I'll call Mick and let him in on what's happening and then I'll join you."

" Okay. Sure."

" Kita. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

" You can't protect me from everything, Michael. You don't have that much control."

" You're right. I have no control where you're concerned. Get some sleep. I'll be out on the balcony. I have some thinking to do."

I remember boarding the bus, thinking that I might never see him again. He pulled me into his arms and gave me a kiss, not an earthshattering one, but a kiss I will remember for its poignancy. I did not want to think about its meaning. The Mitchell sisters were there, as gregarious as ever. I looked at the faces of the people that Section had decided to sacrifice for the greater good. I hoped that we were all coming back.

Mick looked tired. I felt so sorry for him I wanted to go and pat his shoulder. I have no idea why I felt so benevolent. Maybe he's met someone he had to leave, I thought. Poor Mick. I never think about his life being as lonely and unfulfilled as mine can be. We got about ten miles out of town, all up hill, passing the ubiquitous olive groves, lush pastures full of sheep and playful lambs and higher into the rocky, hill country. I thought about Michael. If I closed my eyes I could feel his touch, his kiss. Just thinking about him caused a jolt low in my stomach, my breasts to actually hurt. Was he dreaming about last night as I was , or was he wrapped up in the work? It seems that Michael has an easier time with changing his identities than I. What was he doing now? Was he torn apart with worry for me? Or business as usual.

" You seem awfully preoccupied, Nikita," said Terry.

" I'm sorry. I was daydreaming." I smoothed the a strand of hair back from my face, thinking about his hands tangled in it, his face buried in my neck, murmuring endearments, some French, some English, all on a breath, a sigh, a moan. I love your hair. Your skin tastes like sweet cream.

Oh, Michael. I love you so, my stomach is in knots thinking of you.

" We don't blame you a bit," Mitch said with a giggle. " Have you got a bit of sunburn or are those whisker burns on that fair skin of yours?'

I flushed. The sisters giggled.

Mitch grinned. " He's so sexy. I still can't believe he's a dentist. You must wake up every morning, spread out your arms and cry " Thank you, God !" "

" With my husband I used to wake up in the morning, raise my arms and cry, " Why me? " " said. Terry. " He was a prick. A slimy toad. But slick. Ask every tart from here to NYC. "

" Michael's actually a very quiet and shy man. " It was the truth. Michael is very reserved. But nowhere near as reserved as I had thought, even though we have made love before. I know a lot more about him now.

" The quiet men, those are the ones you have look out for. Still waters run deep," quipped Terry.

" Tell me, are you going on the wine tasting tour tomorrow? " She gave me a look and then looked at her sister. The two of them were off on a gale of laughter.

I just shook my head. God, I hated this. I hated that they were being used this way. Keep them safe, I prayed. Keep all of them safe. " I brought the pictures," I said.

" Oh, good. Give them over," cried Terry. After that they were occupied, ohhing and ahhing.

" Who designed the dress?"

" Alexander McQueen."

" So elegant. I thought he designed wacky stuff. And who is this gorgeous man?"

" My dad." Oh, Walter, I thought. I have to come back to you. I have to tell you what happened to me. How lovely it was. Well, some of what happened anyway. He would laugh his head off about my being drunk.

" Oh, Terry. Look at Michael. What a beautiful man. Oh, Nikita, these pictures make me want to cry. You are so perfect together. You ought to be standing on top of a cake. Can you just see their children? All tall and tawny. Are you planning children soon ? "

I swallowed. My heart ached. " I -uh- there's no hurry."

I watched the delight on their faces as they studied my bogus picture album and felt sick. And then the bus driver slammed on the brakes and we pitched forward.

" I hope he didn't hit a goat, or something," said Terry.

I was a lot worse than that.

I can skip a lot of the details, I think. I'm sure you've seen enough hostage movies to know the score. They didn't mistreat us. We were taken into a room and questioned individually, searched as well. The bastards took away my wedding book. But that was the plan.

As we were led up the mountain by gunpoint, Terry bemoaned the fact that she had worn her wedgies. I had worn sturdy hiking boots in anticipation. I was kicking myself for not having somehow subtly prepared them, but they were strong women and far more resilient than I would have thought at first glace. I was proud of them. They seemed almost to be taking mental notes as we trudged along and all the while we were held there, cheering each other up, making the other women laugh with their ribald stories and jokes. I remember one that had me giggling. It was about a plane that was ready to crash. One woman stood up and cried, " I'm not ready to die until I finally find some man who'll make me feel like a real woman." A gorgeous, tall, dark haired man with green eyes walks up from the back of the plane, undoing his shirt to reveal a glistening muscle rippled chest. He takes off the shirt and hands it to her; " Here, babe," he says. " Iron this."

It took a lot longer than Section had planned. After the second I was getting pretty antsy. We had heard nothing about Saavis. I did meet Nancy Stodder on the first day.

She was a tall, thin redhead. Nothing like the elegant girl she'd been before Saavis had kidnapped her. I knew that look in her eyes. She was trapped. She seemed downtrodden, ashamed. And she had a child. A little girl about three or four months with black curls and huge dark eyes. The child was held to her mother's body with one of those peasant shawls I had seen the women in the village wearing. She served us our food each day. So this was what she had voluntarily left a life of luxury to do?

Mick seemed weary, even fearful. Was he worried about being cancelled this mission? I looked over at him and smiled. He was trying to eat the horrible food they had given him for lunch and gave up. I think everyone figured we would die. One woman had begun to sob constantly, worried about her grandchild.

Most everyone had fallen asleep before nine that night. I figured it was about eleven. I was resting on the thin mattress I'd been assigned to, unable to sleep, thinking about Michael. If I closed my eyes I could almost feel him there with me. I started as the door lock rattled and then sighed in relief as Nancy Stoddard came into the room. She had her baby with her and was carrying a woven bag like some I had seen in the street markets.

She set the bag down and pulled the album out of it. " I brought this back to you. They'd thrown it away. I thought perhaps it might bring you some comfort."

I could not believe her kindness and then I looked at her face. She wanted someone to talk to. I was sure of it; her loneliness, the pain was etched in the lines around her mouth. " Thank you. Can you sit down and talk to me?" I asked.

"Yes."

" Your baby is lovely," I said.

Nancy smiled. " Her name is Serafina."

" What a pretty name. Do you know how long we'll be here?"

" Not long. Stathis won't hurt you. I can promise you that. You'll all be released unharmed. He is not that kind of a man." She said the words vehemently, as if to convince herself.

" Is he here?"

" Yes. He's on his way in now. I shouldn't be telling you that "

My body sagged in relief. " Nancy, are you alright? You and Serafina could leave with us, you know. When we are released. "

" That is not possible. I no longer have a life outside this group. You wouldn't understand that."

I understood it. Far more than she would ever know. " You have family outside. You "

" It would not be the same. Why do you assume I want to do that? Leave him. I can never leave him."

" You don't look happy. He's holding you here against your will, isn't he. We all read about you in the papers. We "

" You assumed that someone like me someone who was rich once, someone who had everything -- could never willingly stay here? That I'm a victim of that Stockholm syndrome, maybe. Maybe I was. I don't know. All I know is that I saw him and I fell in love. I will never love anyone else. Stathis is the most beautiful man I have ever known. His ideas are different. He believes that this is the only way he can cause change. And in many ways I agree with him. He is an idealist in a world that is totally unfair "

" He's just convinced you that his way is right."

" I am not a complete fool. Do you love your husband, Nikita? That's your name isn't it?" she asked. She was gently rocking her child, brushing the curls back from her face.

" Yes. I love him."

" Would you do anything to be with him. To support him? What he believes in? Is your love that deep? "

I swallowed hard. " Yes. I would try. But I would hope that he'd think of my needs, too."

" We can't change what has happened. Stathis took a path in life that others have not dared to take. Perhaps he made the wrong choices. Now he is trapped. His ideals will never be accepted. We can't change that now. No one can go back. He has thought about giving this all up, about taking me and Sera and running away somewhere and living a simple life, but they will find us. Our child would not be safe. We would always be hunted, always be listening, looking over our shoulders, knowing that we will die someday, somewhere. We could never live like normal people. And I do not want to leave here and see him caught and tried for his crimes. I couldn't live without him."

Oh, God, I thought. That is what I want for me and Michael. We are no different. We can never escape and we can never be normal. " You may die here. What if the police come "

"I think Stathis is probably here by now. I have to see him alone before the others "

"Nancy..." I took her arm. A fleeting terror crossed her lovely features. " Could you keep Sera for a little while? I'll come and take her back later. She's been fussy. I have to be alone with Stathis and if she cries, I can't--"

I stared at her. " Yes. I can keep her here."

"Good. Thank you. I knew you looked like a good hearted person. Your husband, too. I looked at the pictures. His eyes are so kind. Such a sweet smile. You'll see him soon," she whispered furtively. " There is a bottle in the bag and a nappy." She kissed the baby on her forehead, and held her for a long moment. " Take good care of her."

"Of course." She set the baby into my arms. She was soft, a slight weight.

"Thank you for listening to me. I hope you can forgive him. And me."

"I can forgive you." I held the baby close. " I'll keep her safe until you come back."

She left. A few seconds later Mick crawled over. " They'll be here soon. Can't come soon enough for me."

"I hope they have a few minutes to talk. At least I know she'll have to come back for her baby. We can get Nancy out of here."

He shook his head. " She doesn't want to leave 'im. Some birds fall for the weirdest guys. Never understood it meself."

I just smiled. And then I heard the shots. Muffled shots. Very close by. I felt my heart sink into my stomach and I found myself clutching Sera so hard she began to cry.

Nancy died that night. Michael and the other ops found her when they came. She had shot Saavis in the head and then turned the gun on herself. The others in the terrorist group were taken down easily by the ops who swarmed the place.

I know that Section was disappointed that they couldn't interrogate him, but at least the group had been stopped and they were able to glean a lot about Red Cell from some of the men they had captured.

I remember walking out into the early morning sun, seeing the Section vehicles and the ops in their black swat gear. Michael was about twenty feet from us. He was wearing a balaclava. He turned and saw me standing there with the baby and the bag flung over my shoulder. Of course I could read no expression on his face but I saw his shoulders sag a little. I did not really know at that point what Nancy had done. When I heard later I could not stop crying.

I recall that Terry and Mitch were standing beside me looking at Michael. " He looks familiar," Terry observed. " Look at the way he walks, Mitch. And get a load of those pants. My goodness. I think I'm having trouble breathing. Should I call and ask him to whip off that mask so we can get a look at the face."

"Who needs a face with a butt like that?" sighed Mitch.

I bit back a grin.

We were to go back in separate cars, ostensibly to be interrogated by some Interpol officers. I told Terry and Mitch that I would see them later at the hotel. They told me that they'd be in the lounge having a stiff drink.

I never saw them again. I think about them often and laugh, wondering if they are still calling to bring on the " lusty males".

I am here writing this on a late evening in early December. It has been snowing steadily all day. I think Mick is having a party to which I have not been invited. I can hear the sound of Christmas carols and laughter.

It wasn't a good week. I was expecting to get my period and then a week passed. And then into the second week I started hoping and then fearing. I was just going to call the clinic when it the back pains came on as familiar as ever. I didn't want to think what might have happened had I been pregnant.

I wanted it, though. Deep in my heart I hoped I was going to have his child.

Serafina has been accepted into her mother's family. There was a letter to them and one to Sera tucked into my wedding album along with an envelope containing a lock of hair. Blue black and red, braided together. In the envelope were a pair of plain wedding bands. Nancy had calmly planned her own death and that of the man she loved. I think a lot about how strong she was and about how weak.

I turned the wedding album into Maddie. There was a picture of Michael and me missing. I assured her that it was not me who kept it. She just frowned.

I have not seen him much. When I do pass him in the hall he gives me one of those shy smiles. I am tempted to bring some mistletoe to work and hang it over the door. I want to drag him under it and kiss him silly. When I lay in bed at night awake, I think about Greece. About the sunsets and the scent of lemons and wild mountain thyme.

I think a lot about that night we spent lost in our own world. About his love.

Four months later:

Yesterday I was at the bookstore. I stopped to get something to read in bed as I had a few days off. It has been raining for days. There was a selection of new paperbacks, foremost in the rack: Michelle Terry's To Love a Frenchman.

It had one of those step back covers. I opened the outer cover and nearly fell over. There on the step back was the most gorgeous painting of me and Michael. As two nineteenth century lovers, of course. We were in the most magnificent clinch. I think my boobs were painted three sizes bigger. But he looked perfect. Just gorgeous in those tight white breeches and knee high boots. I knew who had lifted the picture.

I opened it up to the blurb.

" He was the most beautiful man in the world. Tall, wide shouldered, his hair chestnut brown, his eyes a magnificent blue green. Nicole took one look at him across the ballroom floor and was lost. Their passion for each other knew no bounds.

But it was a forbidden love, for Michel LaSalle was a spy. A French spy...

This is the story of how they fall in love and defy the odds to build a life of passion and joy.

A fairy tale. How wished that it were real.

There I go again with that word.

Send suggestions and comments to ranma.