Author’s Note: The events of this story take place after “Unacceptable Risk” and “Betrayed.” This story has strong adult themes and a few NC-17 chapters. Be warned!

***** Nikita’s early afternoon cat nap was interrupted by the shrill ring of her telephone. She rolled over in bed and swiftly answered the annoying device before it had a chance to ring a second time, hoping as she did so that she would be greeted by Michael’s soft lilting voice. It had been well over a month since she had seen him and she found herself missing him more and more with each passing day.

“Yes,” she voiced into the phone, trying not to sound as though she had been sleeping.

“Josephine,” Madeline intoned quietly, “Come in.”

Damn. No Michael. Nikita hid her disappointment and informed Madeline that she would be there as soon as possible, then scrambled to change clothes and hurry in to Section. She arrived for the briefing mere seconds before Operations and had only a moment to seat herself before he swept into the room, punched the keypad on the table and brought the video screen to life.

An image of a balding, portly male in his mid-fifties appeared on screen. Physically, the man looked like someone’s kindly grandfather, except for a pair of piercing black eyes which seemed to allude to an even darker inner self. His gaze was almost reptilian, frightening yet compelling.

Nikita felt a shiver run down her spine and marveled at the fact that a mere video clip could cause such an adverse physical reaction. How much more potent was he in person? She shuddered at the thought that she was probably going to find out soon enough. Turning her gaze away from the offensive image, her eyes lit upon a much more welcome sight. Michael.

He was back! She suppressed a smile, losing focus on the briefing for a moment as she allowed herself time to drink in the sight of him. He looked the same as always… black suit, hair carefully tucked behind his ears, his face fully concentrating on absorbing the information being imparted by Operations. A little tired, perhaps, as indicated by a tightening to his eyes, but otherwise safe and sound. Nikita could feel her muscles loosen as the tension she had felt while he was gone slowly dissipated. Even as she knew that Michael was more than capable of taking care of himself, she couldn’t help but worry about him when they were on separate assignments. There was no one she trusted to watch his back more than herself.

“Nicholas Karmis,” Operations intoned with obvious distaste, snapping Nikita out of her reverie. “Greek mafioso. Arms dealer. Drug smuggler. You name it, he’s probably got a branch of his organization which is involved in it. His reach is long, and it is insidious. He controls local politicians as well as high level international figures who arrange for his activities to flourish unchecked. We have had no way to penetrate his organization. That is, no way…” Operations paused for a moment to survey the group, his head tilting so that his light blue eyes peered intently over the rims of his glasses. “… until now.”

He clicked the remote again and the image of another man in his mid-fifties appeared. Where Karmis was heavy, this man was thin. Where Karmis was balding, he possessed a thick, rich mane of black hair. Yet the eyes, the small, black portents of inner evil that made Nicholas Karmis so repulsive, were exactly the same. The two men had to be related.

“Stefan Karmis,” Operations continued. “Nicholas’ younger brother. He is not particularly intelligent, but he is extremely discreet. He holds Nicholas’ full confidence and is responsible for eliminating problems… Think of him as his brother’s housekeeper.” Operations smiled at his joke, finding it amusing that Section was not the only organization who employed ‘cleaners’. “During some routine intelligence gathering Mr. Birkoff happened upon a coded communiqué from Stefan to an unknown assassin. Apparently the Karmis brothers are planning on having a high-ranking member of the Cabinet assassinated because he is impervious to their attempts at bribery and is actively working to damage their organization. Your mission is to find out who the target is, protect him and arrange for the Karmis brothers’ to be exposed in such a way that they will have no alternative but to allow their organization to fall under Section’s direct control.”

Nikita’s eyes flew wide open, her face confused yet suspicious. “You want to control the organization?” she asked, hoping that for once Operations would clarify the end game. “Why not destroy it?” Was he trying to save an innocent, or add to the vast array of detestable groups already under his control?

“We intend to blackmail Karmis into allowing us to use his channels for disinformation. Once that goal is accomplished we will disable his organization,” Operations replied.

Nikita searched Operations’ face for a hint of sincerity but found only an implacable, unreadable expression. Was he telling the truth? Did he ever? There were times that she thought briefings were more about misleading the operatives than educating them. There always seemed to be another agenda, a secret hidden strategy known only to upper level management. Resigned to the fact that she would not know the truth until the mission was over, and even then she probably wouldn’t know the whole truth, Nikita mutely nodded her head in assent. There was no point in probing any further.

“Birkoff is monitoring additional intelligence now,” Operations continued. “As soon as we have the target identified you will be notified. Michael is in charge. Any questions?” His eyes surveyed the assembled group once again and found no inquisitive stares. “Good. Dismissed.”

Nikita pushed her chair out slowly from the table and brought herself to a standing position. She noted surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye that Michael did the same. His green eyes appreciatively scanned over her form before coming to rest on her face.

A shared look, a slight nod, and a meet was set.

Michael crossed the main area and disappeared down a hallway while Nikita meandered over to the weapons area to kill time with Walter.

“Hey Walter,” she greeted as she entered his work area.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, the pleasure at seeing her evident in his face. “What brings you by?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to say hello.”

Walter leaned over his workbench and resumed cleaning the gun he had put down when she first approached. His voice was laced with sarcasm as he gave her a knowing look and replied, “Uh huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked as she seated herself on the stool across from his table.

Walter smiled at her display of confused indignation. “It means… Michael is back, so why are you here talking to me?”

Nikita swiveled her head from side to side, thankfully noticing that no one was present to hear their conversation, then leaned over the table and exclaimed in a low voice, “Walter!”

Walter responded with his most innocent expression. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me… Someone might have heard you!”

Walter started chuckling to himself at her irritation. Did she really think it was such a big secret? “Look around, Sugar, it’s just you and me.” His eyes gave her a friendly leer as his mouth formed a devilish grin.

Heading off the proposition that she was certain was forthcoming, Nikita gave an exasperated huff. “Walter…”

“Okay, okay,” he backed off. “Since you’re only here to talk, what would you like to discuss? I figure we have, what, ten minutes to kill?”

Nikita laughed out loud. God, he was incorrigible! “Nicholas Karmis?”

Walter’s face went from amused to disgusted in the blink of an eye. “Karmis?”

“Yeah… Greek, real evil looking…”

“He’s bad news, Sugar. That cockroach could survive a nuclear explosion.”

Nikita grimaced, but was not surprised. Walter’s characterization was completely in line with the initial impression of Karmis that she had received during the briefing. “You’ve met him?”

“Nah. But we’ve gone up against him in the past. Every time he’s managed to slither away unscathed, usually with the help of strategically placed friends in the usual high places.”

Nikita’s grimace morphed into a full-fledged scowl. Karmis sounded like a card carrying member of the Perry Bauer club… Would Operations grant him immunity if he allowed his organization to be used to distribute faulty intelligence? Would she have to stand by and watch? She hoped not… Secretly, she wondered how committed Operations was to saving the life of the Cabinet member who had been contracted against. What better evidence to use to blackmail Karmis than proof of a successful assassination? It carried far more weight than a mere attempt…

Walter became concerned as he watched her face grow darker by the minute. She had seemed so radiant when she had first approached him, no doubt glowing at Michael’s proximity. That look of joy was gone now, replaced by one of concern. “Hey, Sugar?” he asked gently.

“Yeah?”

“I think your ten minutes are up.” He smiled as her blue eyes lost their clouded look and became bright with expectation.

“Mmmm, uh, yeah,” she replied, easing herself off the stool to stand upright, “I think you’re right.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he joked.

Nikita laughed again, then leaned over to place her palms against Walter’s cheeks and deliver a quick kiss to his lips. “In that case…” she smiled into his eyes, “I’d better get going.”

Walter’s laughter followed her as she exited his workstation and headed for the stairs leading deep into the bowels of Section.

************

The steady hum of electrical equipment was Nikita’s only companion as she approached the end of a recessed hallway. She was in a deserted area of Section, one that had been busy when they were at full staff but which had fallen into disuse after so many operatives had been lost during the war with Red Cell. The space was barren now, dormant until maximum capacity could be realized once again. Low-wattage green security lights gave the corridor an almost surreal atmosphere.

Her heels clicked against the steel floor creating a metallic echo that somehow managed to find harmony with the buzzing sounds which surrounded her. She peered intently into the shadows, searching, as she rounded a corner and reached the alcove that was her destination.

She was alone.

Suddenly, strong arms gripped her from behind pulling her back against a solid chest. Warm lips brushed against her neck, her cheek.

“Michael,” she breathed, turning in his arms to face him. His lips silenced her, capturing her in a fierce embrace that communicated in no uncertain terms that he had missed her as much as she had missed him. Her arms stole around his neck. His wrapped around her torso, shifting under her shirt, kneading, probing. Her hands raked through his hair, pulling his face closer toward hers. They tasted, touched and savored each other.

And then they pulled away, chests heaving, the moment broken by the insistent beeping of Michael’s pager. He reached down to pull the offending device from his trouser pocket, registered Birkoff’s extension followed by an ‘urgent’ code, and gave an aggravated sigh. Raising his eyes, Michael noted that the frustration and disappointment he was feeling were mirrored in Nikita’s distressed gaze. He closed his eyes, then slowly reopened them and stated the obvious. “I have to go.”

Nikita gently straightened his jacket and smoothed her hands over his lapels, replying “I know” in a resigned voice. Such was the nature of conducting a clandestine relationship in Section.

Stalling his imminent departure for just a moment, Michael traced Nikita’s cheekbone with his hand, sliding his fingers ever so slowly back and forth. “I missed you,” he murmured, slightly out of breath. “Are you free tonight?”

“That all depends…” Nikita replied in an equally breathless voice as she turned her face to press a light kiss against his hand, “what did you have in mind?”

“I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” she responded with genuine surprise. She’d been expecting a slightly more intimate suggestion. “You mean, like a date?” She and Michael never went out. Truth be told, they rarely made it out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, let alone a restaurant.

His hand trailed down her face, her arm, to capture her hand in his. He rubbed his thumb against her palm. “Yes, a date.”

Nikita rewarded Michael with a smile of genuine pleasure and squeezed his hand, her excitement at his invitation contagious. If this was part of his plan to open up, to become better friends, she was more than happy to oblige. “I would love to have dinner with you, Michael.”

His lips curved into a deliciously sensual smile as he gallantly raised her hand and placed a soft kiss against the inside of her wrist. His eyes were filled with promise. “Wear something elegant. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

A quick brush of his lips against hers, a fleeting smile, and then he retreated back into the shadows from which he had emerged only minutes before. As Nikita heard his footsteps grow faint she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. A date with Michael… Checking her watch, she figured she had just enough time to shop for a killer dress and still make it home in time to primp. Assuming, of course, that Birkoff’s intel didn’t require immediate action.

************

“Nikita!” Birkoff called as she attempted to make her escape from Section a short while later. She’d almost made it across the main area when his excited voice burst across the space between them. “Never assume,” she muttered to herself as she turned around and stepped up onto the communications platform. “You found something?” she asked innocently, knowing full well that he had. Why else would he have paged Michael?

“Yeah, you’ll never guess…” Birkoff could hardly restrain his excitement at the identity of the target. “They’re going after Alan Harwell. Can you believe that?” He shook his head back and forth a few times, repeating the name to himself in a tone of disbelief.

“You lost me, Birkoff. Who’s Alan Harwell?”

“Oh, that’s right,” he replied, looking a little sheepish. “Um, there was some stuff that happened a while back, when you were… missing… Harwell was instrumental in bringing down another family that was involved in organized crime. He’s got a pretty high public profile, mostly because he’s awfully young for his job, he’s single, and the media likes to glamorize him as a crusader…” Birkoff hit a few buttons on his keyboard and brought up a digital photo and bio of a very handsome man in his late thirties. “Harwell is independently wealthy, so he can afford his morals. It’s what makes him so valuable to the President, and so dangerous to people like Karmis.”

Nikita nodded to indicate that she was listening, then leaned in closer to the monitor to get a better look at Harwell. He was no Michael, but he was a fine specimen of a man… Tall, athletic looking and attractive in a Brooks Brothers sort of way. Purposeful brown eyes peered out from behind designer tortoiseshell glasses. She hoped that Operations wasn’t planning on finding him acceptable collateral. “Any word on the hit?” she asked, turning away from the monitor to look Birkoff in the eye.

“Yeah, it’s scheduled for next week at a public location. Harwell is attending several charitable functions and we’re trying to narrow down the most likely venue. Michael is reviewing the intel now.”

A sense of foreboding began to slowly unfurl in Nikita’s stomach. Michael was reviewing the intel? Knowing his penchant for thoroughness, that could take hours…“Is there a lot of information?” she asked, already fearful of Birkoff’s reply.

“Mmmm,” he furrowed his brow and stared up at the ceiling, mentally running through the contents of the file he had just given Michael. After a minute he lowered his gaze, met Nikita’s questioning stare and shrugged. “No more so than you’d expect.”

Nikita took that as an affirmative and groaned inwardly. First their ‘reunion’ got busted, now it looked like dinner was a casualty as well. It was a good thing she liked Birkoff so much, otherwise she might have had to hurt him. “Thanks, Birkoff,” she said, patting his shoulder as she exited the area and headed for Michael’s office.

Sure enough, as Nikita neared Michael’s office and peered intently through his windows she found him seated at his desk scrutinizing his computer. He noticed her out of the corner of his eye and motioned with his head for her to come in. She obliged, quickly opening and closing his door and collapsing into the chair across from his desk with an aggravated sigh.

“Let me guess,” she began in a sarcastic tone as she plucked at the fabric of her shirt. “Dinner is off?” Rather than look him in the eye she concentrated on pulling an errant piece of string from her left cuff.

Michael took in her dejected, frustrated appearance and allowed himself a small smile. He was touched that she so obviously wanted to have dinner with him. “No, just delayed.”

Nikita perked up immediately. “Really?”

“Really,” he mimicked. “I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

“What restaurant?”

“Where would you like to go?”

Nikita tilted her head to the side, bit her lower lip and gave him a considering look. Michael met her gaze head on, his face expressionless while he waited for her decision. “Volaré’s,” she finally said, her voice decisive as she nodded her head and sat straight up in the chair.

“Volaré’s?” Michael questioned. Considering what had happened with Amber Carson the last time they’d been there, it was not the location he had expected.

Nikita responded to his look of total surprise with a mischievous grin and an arched eyebrow. “I feel the need to create some new memories.”

“Ah,” Michael replied knowingly as he leaned back in his chair. He met her arched eyebrow with one of his own, and the pair traded complicit smiles as they gazed into each other’s eyes and contemplated the nature of the new memories they planned to create. Nikita was first to break the look as she recognized the fact that the sooner she left, the sooner Michael could finish his work. “What time?” she asked huskily.

“Eight o’clock?”

She rose gracefully from her chair and gave Michael her most charming smile. “I’ll see you then.”

Once she had exited his office and moved beyond the sight range of his windows, Nikita picked up her pace and scurried out of Section before Birkoff could waylay her with additional intel. If she hurried, she still had time to look for a dress.

*************

Nikita stood before her mirror putting the finishing touches on her make-up before leaving for the restaurant to meet Michael. When her face was done she took a step back and surveyed her appearance, evaluating every nuance as Madeline had taught her to do so very long ago. Such an appraisal was a subconscious gesture now, one that she made without thinking. Even knowing that she was going to meet Michael her Section persona took pains to make sure that she projected the image that the situation required. In this particular case Michael had requested something elegant, and he was going to get it.

She turned sideways, clinically evaluating the line of her garment and the way in which the fabric clung to her slender figure. She turned one leg, then the other, checking for flaws in her stockings. Then she turned slowly back so that she was fully facing the glass. Perfect.

The image that was reflected back at her was a bit of a surprise. Every now and then she caught herself, really caught herself, and wondered where on earth the homeless girl dressed in oversized men’s clothing had gone. Was she still there, buried beneath layers of silk and lace? Or had she been eradicated completely, subjugated to Section and remodeled in the form of cold op?

What would her mother think if she could see her now? Would she recognize her? Would she compliment her on how pretty she had turned out? Or would she criticize her as she always had, telling her that her legs were too skinny or her hem was too short… That she was worthless, undesirable…

Sighing, Nikita clamped down on that train of thought immediately. Tonight was a special evening between her and Michael. It was a celebration of the present, not a regretful look back at the past or a fearful contemplation of what the future might bring. They were slowly learning, as Michael had once so eloquently put it, ‘to take what they could get.’

Which wouldn’t be much she realized, glancing down at her watch, if she didn’t hurry. Quickly grabbing her shawl and purse she pulled her car keys off her counter and left. Her car practically purred through the city streets, and she allowed herself a cheeky grin at the way a sleek automobile and an even sleeker outfit could make a woman feel... Dangerous, potent and slightly sassy…

Arriving at the restaurant exactly on time, she valet parked her car and sauntered in to Volaré’s primed to see Michael. Or, to not see Michael, as the case turned out to be…

She should have known that he would be delayed. In an attempt to be helpful, Birkoff had probably unearthed some ridiculously minute piece of information that Michael had felt compelled to incorporate into his mission profile at the last possible moment. She could envision the scene… Michael flipping off his computer, buttoning his jacket, walking out of Section with that captivating stride of his, only to make the mistake of walking by the communications area…

Nikita smiled at the image and could just feel Michael’s irritation all the way from Section. Having every confidence that he would escape as soon as he could, she took a seat at the bar, ordered a glass of Merlot and waited. She was vaguely aware of a man at the end of the bar watching her with avid interest, but she avoided eye contact with him in an effort to stave off the pick-up attempt she was sure was imminent. Sure enough, the man made no move without visual provocation. He merely stood elegantly by and continued to watch, waiting for her to reciprocate his interest. Which she certainly wouldn’t, she scoffed to herself as she raised her wine glass to her lips. What woman would? Not with Michael…

Her glass paused just inches off the bar… Her body froze, her senses locked… Michael…

His presence was like a brief tickle to the back of her mind, a heightened awareness that elicited an involuntary turn of the head as her eyes unerringly connected with his the moment he entered the room. He, too, had sensed her. Only seconds after walking through the door his eyes had targeted hers, discerned her presence as she had discerned his.

She was startled by the intimacy of that simple act of recognition. It wasn’t the first time she had reached out with her senses to feel him near, and yet, she felt as though it was. Every time it happened there was a sense of elation at the discovery that he had arrived, followed by shock that she had known intuitively that it was him. At times, their connection was somewhat frightening.

Nikita shivered as slowly, purposefully, Michael held her gaze and wove his way across the room to where she was seated. His eyes scanned over her form with obvious appreciation, and she felt herself glow under the subtle caress of his warm perusal.

“Hi,” she murmured in her best come hither voice as he came to stand before her.

He remained silent, smiling faintly at her tone, his eyes continuing the survey of her appearance which he had begun when he had first entered the restaurant. She was wearing a new dress, he noted immediately. Happily. It was sublime… A whisper of iridescent chocolate brown silk that seemed to glow dark blue in the room’s muted light. A demure cowl neck that displayed no cleavage, just clavicle. A hem that ran to mid thigh, but which tantalized him with inches of gossamer-thin lace. The cut was tight without being clingy. And the shoes… Well, the shoes were a lightly strapped cocktail of brown silk cording and elastic that only Nikita could wear.

Yes, it was sublime…

“Nice dress,” he finally breathed.

Nikita beamed at his praise, hours of shopping, primping and preparation suddenly made worthwhile by the pronunciation of just two little words. “Thank you.”

They shared a mutual smile, content at the moment just to be together outside Section. Michael mapped Nikita’s features with his eyes as she did the same to him.

“Can I get you something?” the bartender interrupted, staring pointedly at Michael.

Michael continued to stare at Nikita, but responded to the bartender with a request for a glass of Cointreau. The word flowed beautifully from his lips, rather like the French endearments he often whispered to Nikita late at night. She smiled at the memory, earning a raised eyebrow from Michael.

“Nothing,” she said with an embarrassed grin, blushing and turning her attention back to her glass of wine. After Michael had received his requested drink she asked, “Would you like to sit down?”

He nodded, then signaled to the hostess that they would like a table. Within minutes they were safely seated in a booth, a paper lantern illuminating the space between them. Michael sat back and enjoyed the picture that Nikita made, the color of her dress blending with the cobalt paint of the walls. Her hair seeming brighter and blonder by candlelight.

Nikita was oblivious to Michael’s perusal. She was wondering what they were going to talk about. As much time as she and Michael spent together, they never really entered into idle chit chat. Was that perhaps why they never went out? They didn’t talk much at home… Which was not to suggest that there were awkward silences between them, it was just that they could say so much with just a glance or a small touch, that they rarely entered into lengthy discussions. There was always work, she decided. That was a safe topic and one that they could never exhaust.

“So was Birkoff the reason…,” she began, only to have her question silenced by Michael, who placed a warning finger against her lips and nodded his head negatively. Urging her to be quiet, he said simply, “No.”

Thinking Michael feared they would compromise themselves if they talked about work Nikita looked quickly around to see if they had been overheard, but there was no one nearby. Why was he being so cautious? She placed her hands on the table, leaned toward Michael as far as she could, and whispered, “No, what?”

“No talk about Section,” he whispered back.

“Why?” she replied with genuine confusion. “The area’s clean.”

Michael gave a half smile, then reached forward and placed his hand over hers. “I didn’t ask you out to dinner to talk about Section,” he said gently.

“Oh.” Nikita leaned back in her seat and regarded him warmly, her curiosity piqued by the direction of their conversation. “In that case, what did you ask me out to talk about?”

Michael remained silent for a moment, not quite sure how to respond to her question at first. It wasn’t that he had asked Nikita out to discuss any particular issue… He just wanted to spend time with her. Pretend, if only for a moment, that they were normal people with normal lives having a normal conversation that didn’t use vocabulary words like ‘intel’ or ‘collateral.’ If Nikita said the word ‘clean,’ he wanted her to be referring to the absence of food on her dessert plate, not the absence of surveillance in the surrounding area.

“Anything but Section,” he finally replied, hoping she understood the intent behind the response.

Nikita did understand, and she was more touched than she could possibly say. In ruling out Section as a conversation piece he had relegated them to discussing personal ideas, opinions and experiences. She knew the real Michael didn’t consider himself to be much a of a verbal conversationalist despite the fact that he possessed a chameleonlike ability to adapt to any environment or situation. He would much rather observe someone else’s conversation than participate in one of his own. Their time together had taught her that if he had something important to say he spoke through his actions or his beautiful green eyes. That he was making an effort to draw her out, and in doing so to reciprocally expose himself, communicated to her the strength of his desire to create a life for themselves outside of Section. To forge a relationship that transcended the physical.

Anything but Section? “I know the perfect place to start…,” Nikita beamed, “…earliest childhood memory.”

Michael’s dumbfounded gaze was priceless. He sat back in his seat, mouth slightly open, nostrils flaring, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Earliest childhood memory?” he repeated faintly. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected… A debate on middle eastern policy? More questions about his relationship with Simone? But not something so… so… benign. Or fun… But then, that was Nikita. Always doing or saying the unexpected, and somehow making him smile in the process.

Nikita laughed at the expression on Michael’s face. He’d erased the look of bewilderment and replaced it with one of mild consideration. “You heard me… Earliest childhood memory. Let’s hear it.”

“A jar,” he said slowly, wonderingly. “I remember a glass jar.”

“A jar?”

Michael looked down at his glass and began to idly toy with its beveled bottom. His finger absently tracing its edge. Then he looked up and met Nikita’s smiling blue eyes. “Yes, I was trying to capture lightening bugs. I guess I was about three… My father helped me, of course, as I was too young to do it myself…” He trailed off for a moment, his eyes wandering once again to contemplate his glass, his mind lost in the memory of a time when he was happy. He’d learned over the years to forget his family because the knowledge of his former life only made his present one that much more intolerable. But here, now… He found himself smiling at the memory of that day. Perhaps even finding strength from it… His voice was almost shy as he continued, “In my haste to run into the house and show Maman my new pets I tripped and fell… The jar broke, and I landed on it…”

He removed his right hand from his glass and turned it over so that his palm was facing upward. With his left hand he pointed to a faint white scar at the base of his smallest finger. “Three stitches…” he murmured. He could see the worried expressions on his father’s face, then his mother’s. He vaguely remembered sleeping in their bed that night, cleanly bandaged, feeling warm and safe. Protected.

Nikita leaned forward, avidly peering at Michael’s hand. “I see,” she replied softly, her heart contracting as she traced her forefinger lightly across the tiny mark. She wished that his memory had been a happier one, full of love rather than pain.

Michael closed his hand over hers, and held it. Their eyes met. “I had forgotten that day,” Michael said tenderly, his fingers stroking Nikita’s hand. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“But you got hurt.” Nikita countered.

Michael paused, then replied. “But I was loved.”

“Yes,” Nikita clarified, her hand squeezing his for emphasis. “You are.”

Suddenly uncomfortable with the intimacy of the conversation, Michael shifted gears. “Your turn,” he informed Nikita. He found himself waiting with anticipation to hear what she would say.

“My turn?” she echoed. When she’d asked Michael what his earliest childhood memory was she hadn’t been thinking of herself. She’d just been curious to hear about him. Her earliest childhood memory? She rapidly scanned through a serious of fights, echoes of angry adults screaming, a deep male bass voice that seemed to reverberate within her very bones. Her father? Sadly, she didn’t know… He’d departed long before she was capable of memory. Or so she’d thought. Certainly, her earliest memory did not involve the type of unconditional love that a parent usually bestows upon a child. Unable to meet Michael’s curious gaze, she looked away.

There, on the far side of the bar, still staring, was the man who had been watching her so intently earlier that evening. Her eyes widened in recognition, and her mouth gaped open in astonishment. The hair, the conservative suit, the tortoiseshell glasses…

It was Alan Harwell.

************

Nikita’s first thought at seeing the target they were trying to protect was one of complete shock. Alan Harwell? At Volaré’s? Didn’t his kind tend to gravitate toward more exclusive establishments?

Her second thought was one of complete annoyance. Couldn’t she and Michael escape Section for just one night? Was it too much to ask? Just ONE night? Here they’d been sitting, having what could be considered a breakthrough conversation, and now the moment was lost. Lost!

Her third thought was one of complete cunning. Was this a situation she could use to her advantage?

Without even realizing it, her anger subsided and she found herself slipping effortlessly from woman to agent, from Nikita to Josephine. Operations had said that their mission was to protect Harwell, but she had found his motivations somewhat suspect. By all accounts, the true end game was the acquisition of the Karmis information network. If push came to shove she was sure that the assassination attempt against Harwell would be sanctioned if Section could find a way to justify it. As she had reasoned earlier, a successful assassination would provide far greater leverage with Nicholas Karmis than a mere attempt… And she had been in Section long enough to know that a profile could be designed to fail and then regretfully reported to Oversight as an ‘unfortunate mistake.’ An agent was usually expected to take the fall in such a situation, and she’d lay odds that Operations had already selected an appropriate candidate from the abeyance pool.

Harwell was an innocent. To Nikita the thought that a man of his caliber, of his public standing, could be sacrificed for a bottom-feeder like Karmis was anathema. If there was a way she could stop it before it even started she vowed to find it.

Nikita processed this train of thought in mere seconds... Just enough time to blink, register Harwell’s presence and snap her gaping jaw shut. Giving Harwell a demure look that acknowledged her awareness of his interest, she slowly dropped her eyes and contemplated her wine glass.

As she slowly ran her free hand up and down the stem of the glass she could feel Harwell’s eyes boring into her from across the room, evaluating her, assessing her, contemplating her…

And yes, desiring her…

Could she intervene? Should she intervene? What was the likelihood that he would be killed if she did not?

Her internal debate was interrupted by Michael’s lilting voice. “I’m waiting,” he said softly, his hand tightly gripping hers as if to inform her that there was no way she was going to weasel her way out of telling her own childhood story.

Nikita heard him but kept her head bowed, her mind racing, trying to find a solution to her dilemma.

Michael watched the play of emotion across her face… When he’d first asked her to share her own memories, she had clearly balked. She’d practically flinched, in fact, as she’d withdrawn into herself and unearthed memories which were obviously not as innocent or nourishing as his. How ironic that she, who had clearly never had what could be considered a healthy family life, had matured into such a loving and caring person. Despite her upbringing, despite Section’s repeated attempts to obliterate her compassion, she had remained true to her fundamental nature… She continued to fight tenaciously for what she felt was right. For those who were innocent. Perhaps because no one had been there to fight for her?

Michael watched with concern as Nikita kept her head down, apparently finding the stem of her wine glass more interesting than him. What was she thinking? Could her memory have been that bad? “Nikita?” he questioned softly, his fingers still entwined with hers.

The plaintive sound of Michael’s voice calling her name finally caught Nikita’s full attention. She raised her head and blinked, then stared at him with wide blue eyes. He looked so open, so trusting. It was as if in resurrecting his earliest childhood memory he had allowed a part of the child he had once been to surface. There was an air about him that was almost innocent. Guileless, even… It was a side of Michael that she had never seen, and wanted desperately to get to know. And yet, how could she let herself take the time when she was presented with the opportunity to maneuver herself into a position to protect an innocent? There would be other times with Michael…

Provided, of course, that he would understand what she was about to do.

She feigned a look of righteous indignation and snapped her hand out of his grasp. Placing her palms face down on the table, she leaned forward and hissed, “Code green… Scenario four.”

The tender, open expression on Michael’s face faded instantly. Nikita registered a momentary flash of confusion in his eyes before his features assumed their standard expressionless configuration. “I beg your pardon?” he asked calmly, reaching forward to reclaim her hand in a vise-like grip. The neutral cadence of his voice completely contradicted the agitated nature of his body language.

“You heard me,” Nikita muttered, still looking angry. Her eyes met his as she squeezed his hand, conveying a silent plea for him to run the scenario without asking undue questions.

Michael responded immediately, his entire demeanor instantly transformed from attentive lover to repentant rake. His face took on a plaintive cast, his sensual mouth practically pouted. He didn’t allow himself time to dwell on the thought that Nikita had just issued a mission command in the middle of their dinner date. He just reacted…

“How could you!” Nikita yelled dramatically, bucking for an acting award as she snatched Michael’s drink in a sweeping gesture and deposited its contents smack dab in the middle of his face. He stood up in a flash, grabbing a napkin in a lame attempt to dry himself off. She could tell the alcohol stung his eyes, but Michael persevered. “Nikita, please…” he begged, not willing to be outdone by her attention grabbing antics. “Just let me explain…”

“Explain?” She repeated loudly, exhaling in a loud huff. “There’s nothing you can say to fix this…” Assuming a despondent pose, Nikita flopped back into her seat and waved him off with her hand. “Leave,” she urged him sadly. “Please, just leave…”

When Michael moved away from his side of the table he made an attempt to approach her, but her eyes warned him off. Ignoring her challenge, and suddenly tiring of their little game, he grabbed her wrist in a bruising twist. “What do you think you are doing?” he growled into her ear.

“Dumping you, you arrogant ass,” she replied. Her eyes conveyed cold fury, but deep in their depths Michael could see a request for patience.

Genuinely angry at this point and well past the point of having to act, Michael fixed Nikita with a stare that could cut diamonds. “We’ll discuss this later,” he spat. Then he threw down the napkin he’d picked up to wipe the drink off his face and stormed out of the restaurant.

Nikita watched him leave, momentarily panicked at the fury she had just unleashed. She knew his anger was justified, but it was a bit more extreme than what she had anticipated, especially when compared to how docile he had been just minutes before. She was confident, however, that once he knew what she was doing he would understand. After all, Michael was an expert when it came to sacrificing personal pleasure in favor of enforcing Section policy.

Closing her eyes, Nikita took a deep breath a willed herself to regroup. Once she was centered, she allowed her eyes to drift open and she assumed her most dejected look. Based on what she had read about Harwell when Birkoff called up his file earlier that day, she knew that he was a chronic do-gooder with a penchant for pretty damsels in distress.

Ratcheting her performance up a few notches, Nikita allowed a few strategic tears to fall as she raised her glass to her lips and took a long, fortifying swallow of wine. Then, she waited.

The trap was set, the question was whether or not Harwell would take the bait.

**************

Alan Harwell had been having a bad day. A land deal he had been trying to coordinate had just fallen through under what appeared to be suspicious circumstances, one of his partners was leaving his company, and rumor had it the Karmis brothers were gunning for him for real.

Come to think of it, he decided, it had been a very bad day.

On the spur of the moment he had stopped off at a trendy restaurant on the way home to have a drink and perhaps even eat dinner. The thought of going home to an empty house had been too unappealing. Not bothering to sit at a table, he took an empty stool at the end of the bar, ordered a gin and tonic, and proceeded to observe the room. Over the years he had come to use watching other people as a means to forget the stresses of his own life and find a few moments of peace.

At precisely eight o’clock the most beautiful woman he had ever seen strode into the restaurant and caused whatever state of serenity that he had managed to achieve to fly out the window. She wasn’t a woman who suggested peace… No, she conveyed excitement, spirit and continuous laughter. He was drawn to her. Immediately. Irrevocably.

It was more than just her physical appearance. It was as if she had an inner radiance, an aura, that matched his own. It called to him. He stepped off his stool to approach her, but then thought better. He had to know if she felt it, too. If she sensed their connection. And so he watched. And waited. She ordered a glass of red wine from the bartender and began to slip it slowly, licking the outer rim of the glass in a way that managed to be both innocent and seductive at the same time. He doubted she even realized that she did it.

He thought at one point that she noticed him, but her head never turned in his direction. She merely sipped her wine and returned the glass slowly to the bar. After a moment she went to raise the glass for another taste, but froze. He thought that at last she had seen him, but instead her head turned and her eyes riveted onto a man who had just entered the room.

Where the woman was light personified the man was the embodiment of darkness. There was no more appropriate way to describe him. Black clothes, black demeanor. A predatory, panther-like grace… An overwhelming sense of control. Alan was at a loss to think what such a creature of sunlight and warmth could have in common with such a morose individual. And yet, when the man looked at the woman, there was a perceptible softening to his features, a flicker of warmth in his previously impenetrable expression. The connection between them crackled across the room as the man reached where she was sitting and they drank in each other’s appearance. The woman’s eyes glowed with complete love.

Alan decided it had been a very, very bad day.

He should have left as soon as he saw that she was taken, but he still felt compelled to stay. He enjoyed watching her… It gave him pleasure to see her smile, even if that smile was not meant for him. The more time the man spent with her the more he opened up. After a while, he didn’t seem morose at all. He was open, attentive and tender. Alan envied him his dinner companion and found himself wondering at their relationship. How long had they been together? They didn’t wear rings so he assumed they were not married. Were they in the first stage of their relationship? Discovering each other? Or had they been together for years and still retained that initial spark?

His musings stopped when she turned her head and her surprised blue eyes met his. There was a shock of recognition there, a momentary glimpse into her mind before she smiled demurely and dipped her head. Had she felt it, too? The connection? Alan hoped that she had. Why else that look of confused assimilation?

He was stunned, his senses scrambling. Should he brave a confrontation with her date and try to approach her anyway? Was he willing to let her get away without at least learning her name?

Then, as if the Heavens had answered his plea, a fight erupted between them. The passion which he had sensed in the woman flared as she indignantly tossed a drink into her companion’s face. The man was momentarily stunned, then sprang forth and grabbed her arm. Alan stepped off his stool to intervene, fearing that the man was going to cause the woman physical harm, but before he could take but a step the man released her wrist and walked quickly out of the restaurant. Alan sank back onto his stool and caught his breath, surprised at how quickly he had leapt to the woman’s defense. How fearful he was for her safety. He watched as she shrank into her booth, obviously embarrassed at what had just transpired, and took a long drink of wine.

His heart ached for her as he watched a tear slowly course down her cheek, pausing at the edge of her chin and then falling gently onto the fabric of her dress. She made a halfhearted attempt to swipe it away, but in her despondent and distracted state she missed it entirely. It was an oddly endearing gesture. Childlike yet entrancing.

Alan couldn’t stay away. He found himself believing in fate as he ordered a refill for both of them from the bartender and purposefully crossed the room to rescue an angel with fair hair and cerulean eyes.

*****

Nikita felt a gamut of emotions course through her system the moment she caught Harwell approaching her table out of the corner of her eye. Elation, definitely. But also a sense of surprise, of shock… She’d sensed Harwell’s attraction to her from across the room, she’d capitalized on it and she’d lured him over.

She’d actually pulled it off!

Even as she’d initiated the scenario with Michael there had been a part of her that had assumed that the trap would be unsuccessful. Despite years of training she still lacked a certain amount of self confidence in her skills as a femme fatale. She had no qualms about playing the seductress with Michael, but she was still a bit wary when told to act out that role with other men. Certainly she’d never initiated such a role on her own without Section supervision. The fact that she had was rather unnerving…

Careful to make sure that none of these inner thoughts were outwardly visible, Nikita continued to play the part of the dejected female. She allowed another lone tear to escape her eye, brushing it away just as Harwell reached her table. Keeping her head down, Nikita pretended to be oblivious to his presence.

“May I join you?” a cultured voice inquired.

Nikita looked up at him, appearing to be surprised at the interruption. She glanced around the area, ostensibly to see if Harwell was alone, then let her eyes slowly travel up to his face. She encountered a pair of rich, brown eyes that were full of warmth and genuine concern. “Okay,” she responded in a somewhat confused whisper, “I guess.”

She watched with curious eyes as Harwell seated himself across from her and set two glasses of wine on the table. He picked up one glass with his left hand and slid the other toward Nikita with his right. She accepted the glass, letting her fingers graze across his as she took possession of the stem and pulled it toward her. Their eyes met, then their mouths curved into a pair of half smiles, a tentative gesture of greeting on Harwell’s part and a tentative gesture of thanks on Nikita’s.

“I’m Alan Harwell,” he offered, attempting to put Nikita at ease. “And you are…?”

Nikita demurred, then gave her full name.

“Ni-ki-ta,” he repeated back, savoring each syllable, “That’s a beautiful name.” Somehow, he managed to deliver that tired, cheesy, overused line with such sincerity that Nikita decided he was serious.

They lapsed into silence as they considered each other and took a sip from their respective glasses of wine.

Nikita wasn’t quite sure what she had expected, but Harwell wasn’t it. He seemed so… nice. There was an air of kindness about him that reminded her vaguely of Gray Wellman. Up until now her experience with high ranking members of government had been somewhat jaded. Mijovich came to mind, but she squelched that line of thought immediately. She loathed herself whenever she recalled her last encounter with that… man… so she preferred to banish the memory completely.

Birkoff had said that Harwell was independently wealthy and could afford his morals, but somehow Nikita imagined that even if Harwell didn’t have money to back himself up he would still fight for what he felt was right. Nikita found that an admirable trait, well aware of how easy it was to let one’s moral compass become skewed when surrounded by others who did not share one’s beliefs. She supposed they were very similar in that regard. Their arenas of operation might be different, but their missions were remarkably close. It was strange, but she felt almost connected to him… Not the type of bond she shared with Michael, which was a case of opposites attracting and completing each other, but rather a case of twin souls, comrades… In another life they would have been friends.

Accepting him, she let her smile widen as she set her wine back down on the table and leaned back in her chair. “Thank you for joining me,” she said gracefully, her voice gaining strength from the gravelly whisper which had greeted Harwell when he first approached her.

“I couldn’t help but notice…” he began tentatively, trying to tactfully explain what had brought him over to her table in the first place.

“Yeah, you and the rest of the room,” she interrupted, trying to make light of the situation.

Harwell smiled, not bothering to refute a true statement, then shrugged his shoulders. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Nikita considered him for a moment, knowing better than to agree too readily, then finally replied, “Yes, I think I would…”

*****

Michael checked his watch for the tenth time in ten minutes. He’d been sitting in his car for over an hour waiting for Nikita to emerge from the restaurant, growing angrier and angrier as she did not appear. He was not a man who was prone to anger. He kept his emotions safely bottled inside because he realized how dangerous they were in his line of work. Where Nikita was concerned, however, he’d lost his ability to be objective. Once he had admitted his love for her, he found himself susceptible to all sorts of other emotions as well. Fear, worry and exasperation… Yet also contentment, fulfillment and even happiness.

It was a spiritual roller coaster that he was completely unaccustomed to riding, and there were times he resented the fact that the declaration of his feelings for Nikita had been his price for admission.

Deep beneath the anger that Michael was feeling was a pronounced sense of hurt. He had opened himself up to Nikita tonight in a way that was completely new, and rather than reciprocating she had thrown a mission command at him and ordered him to leave. The operative in him knew better than to question her motives, because to do so could put them both in jeopardy, but the man was grievously wounded. He loved her. He trusted her. But he was confused by her actions…

And yes, he was worried. She was alone in the restaurant without back-up. Glancing back down at his watch, Michael decided to give her another ten minutes and then he was going back in… Whatever scenario she was running could just suffer the consequences.

His heart rate increased as one minute went by, then two, then five…

With just two minutes to spare he became aware of the ringing sound of her laughter. Although it was usually a sound that gave him pleasure, at the moment it was an extreme irritant. Here he was, sitting, obsessing, and she was laughing… His annoyance blossomed when he saw that she was with a man. A tall, handsome man who was laughing as hard as she was…

Michael swiftly reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a pair of small binoculars. After a quick adjustment he brought Nikita into view, then her companion. His hands clenched around the device as he realized with whom she was speaking. Alan Harwell?

The agent in Michael recognized her actions as a positive development for the Section, but the inner man was furious. Absolutely furious. On one hand he was thinking of all the ways he could use a relationship between them as a catalyst for his mission, yet on the other hand he was consumed by the desire to prevent her from having to participate in any scenario that had valentine potential.

Didn’t she understand the dilemma she was creating for him?

Fury rushed through his veins as he watched Harwell walk Nikita around her Porsche to where the valet had parked it in front of the restaurant. When Nikita went to slide into the driver’s seat Harwell stopped her, took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. Michael’s hands clenched around the binoculars even more tightly when he saw Nikita reward Harwell’s attentions with tender smile. She let the moment linger, then she gently removed her hand from his grasp and slipped into her car. Harwell closed the door, patted the roof in what Michael felt was an overly proprietary gesture, then watched Nikita drive away down the darkened street.

From Michael’s perspective Harwell looked positively smitten as he stared intently into the darkness where Nikita’s car had been only moments before. When Harwell finally turned and moved toward the curb Michael gunned his engine and sped off in search of Nikita.

There were a few things he intended to say to her and they were not going to wait until morning.

*****

Michael prepared himself for numerous scenarios as he navigated his car swiftly through the city along the route to Nikita’s apartment. He knew that she would have explanations, excuses and rationales for her behavior. He intended to negate them all. She would try to bring him around to her way of thinking, but in the end he would win.

He had to.

There was no way he was going to let her continue whatever little scenario she had begun earlier that evening. Section was completely unaware that contact had even taken place and he intended to keep it that way. Nikita would listen, and she would obey. Alan Harwell would fade gently into the background where he belonged, an unfortunate pawn in a much larger game. Then he and Nikita would go on… together… as usual.

Michael reached his destination, parked his car and strode purposefully through the courtyard of Nikita’s building. The slight chill in the autumn air went unnoticed, as did the speculative stares of a few inquisitive neighbors. Intent on his goal he reached Nikita’s landing in record speed and knocked quickly, impatiently, on her door.

No response.

He knocked again to no avail, his knuckles rapping authoritatively against the oak door. In all his musings, in all his preparation, it never occurred to Michael that Nikita would not be there. That was the one possibility he had not anticipated. Had she scheduled a rendezvous with Harwell?

Michael’s mouth formed a grim line as he pulled out his master key and entered Nikita’s apartment. The inky blackness near the door faded when he walked across the room, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkened interior. A faint beam of ambient light penetrated the gauze curtains covering Nikita’s patio door, creating a ghostly white trail across the wooden floor.

Michael crossed through the light, then beyond, positioning himself in the far corner of the room. The darkest corner of the room. His eyes were glued to the door as he lowered himself into one of Nikita’s art deco chairs and waited.

And waited…

Hours passed, without her return. It seemed to Michael that he had sat there for only a few minutes, but his watch told another story. His eyes felt like sandpaper, his lids were rough and gravely. Had he forgotten to blink? Possibly. One thing was for certain, if Nikita was coming home she would have been there by now. Perhaps she had scheduled a rendezvous with Harwell after all…

It was with a heavy soul that Michael stood up, scanned the apartment one last time and left. He walked slowly to his car, hoping that he would cross paths with Nikita in the process, but she never appeared. Her car was nowhere in sight. The street was empty, the sidewalk devoid of late night pedestrians.

The urgency with which Michael had driven to Nikita’s apartment was totally lacking as he drove away from it. He meandered home, taking his time, lowering the car window to let the cool air brush his face. The breeze numbed him, chilling his whole body. He focused on that feeling entirely, letting it envelop him. Letting it erase the pain that had been slowly building since Nikita had asked him to leave the restaurant. Since she had chosen Alan Harwell over him. Since she hadn’t come home…

He had forgotten how painful it could be to care for someone. To love someone. To willingly give someone the power to inflict emotional pain.

He methodically parked his car and walked up the flight of stairs leading to his loft. Once inside, he lapsed into his usual routine, mechanically taking off his coat and hanging it in his hall closet. He removed his loafers next, placing them by the door in the Japanese fashion that had become ingrained during his marriage to Simone. He secured the perimeter of his home, checking doors and windows for security breaches, and then he climbed the staircase to his room to prepare for bed.

At the moment he welcomed the escape of sleep and prayed that it would be dreamless. Tonight, he just wanted to forget. To rest. To lose himself in oblivion. Alone.

But he wasn’t alone… A thief was in his bed. A beautiful, willful thief who had broken into his home, stolen one of his silk shirts and fallen asleep in the warm feather cocoon provided by his duvet. Her arms hugged his pillow, crushing it against her chest. Her long, blonde hair cascaded out behind her.

“Nikita,” he breathed as he crouched down by the side of the bed. She had come to him… Just as he had gone to her… She hadn’t left him, or forsaken him, she had headed straight to him. He felt guilty for having doubted her. Humbled, he reached out and reverently stroked her hair. His palm cupped her cheek.

Nikita startled awake at the contact, dimly aware that an ice cube had somehow made its way into the pleasantly erotic dream she had been having about Michael. Her eyes flew open and connected with his… She sat straight up… It occurred to her that the ice cube was real, and it was attached to Michael’s hand. No… it was Michael’s hand… She reached forward and cupped his face. It was colder than his hand. “You’re freezing!” she exclaimed, momentarily forgetting that there were much more important things that they probably should have been discussing.

He remained silent, his eyes tracking the movement of his fingers across her cheek. He seemed oblivious to his own discomfort.

“Michael?” she inquired softly, peering intently into his face. “Aren’t you cold?”

His eyes returned to hers, blazing with heat. “Not any more,” he murmured, leaning forward to capture her lips in a soft kiss. Explanations, rationales and verbal demands flew out of the window as their bodies came into contact.

His face was so cold, Nikita thought absently, but his mouth… wasn’t. The tongue that darted between her lips was so delicious, so warm… She let herself fall back onto the bed, dragging him with her, on top of her. She loved to have him over her, to feel the solid length of him against her. She never felt trapped, she felt secure. Protected.

They continued to kiss lightly, teasingly. She pushed his sweater up and over his head, then skated her fingers across his chest, rubbing his cool skin in an attempt to warm it. Michael sighed against her lips, then reached down to unbutton her shirt… His shirt, he reminded himself… and pulled it open. His lips broke away from hers to fasten on the tip of one breast. Nikita sucked in her breath as his cool lips came into contact with her warm skin. Her nipple sprang erect at his first touch. Then his warm tongue encircled her, enveloped her. She grasped his hair, pulling him closer as she arched up against him. He feasted relentlessly, yet tenderly, first on one breast and then the other. His hand skimmed her right side, massaging her hip, her thigh. Then it traced the outline of her underwear… delicately… before removing the garment altogether.

Gentle fingers, now warm, fluttered over her core as he continued to suckle. Knuckles teased, taunted. She moaned, sighed, begged. He acquiesced.

He parted her, slowly… So slowly… Penetrating her with one long finger. Then two. He began to stroke her rhythmically. At the same time his thumb found her nub and began pressing it, toying with it, stimulating it…

Nikita felt worshipped, adored… She couldn’t ever remember Michael being so tender with her. So careful… The passion which erupted between them was often so extreme that it left no time for caution, no time to savor the moment. That came later when they were completely spent. But not now… She wondered if something had changed, then rational thought fled as his mouth and his talented tongue moved… lower.

*****

Nikita lay on top of Michael, her head on his chest, her arm wrapped around his waist. The hair on his leg tickled her inner thigh as her leg tangled with his. His arms held her in a loose but secure embrace, his fingers tracing small patterns across her soft skin. Nikita stared into the darkness on the far side of the room. Michael stared unseeing at the ceiling.

Her actions earlier that evening hovered oppressively between them like stagnant summer air. Despite being physically sated they were both restless. Uneasy.

It was Michael who finally broke the silence by simply murmuring, “Why?”. His arm banded tightly around Nikita as he asked the question, unconsciously pressing her firmly against him as if he could squeeze the information from her.

Nikita shifted against his torso, then began her explanation. How she had seen Harwell, how she had sensed his attraction, how she had capitalized on it. She hadn’t wanted to end the date with Michael, but she had felt compelled to do so. She elaborated on her worries about Operations’ true motives and how she feared that without direct intervention on her part… on their part… that Harwell was likely to find himself labeled as acceptable collateral.

To stress her point, Nikita levered herself up off Michael’s chest until she could make eye contact with him. “He’s a good man, Michael. An innocent man. Knowing that, how could I walk away?”

Her eyes implored Michael not just to understand, but to agree. And in that moment Michael realized the battle to dissuade her was lost before it had even begun. How could she, indeed. Asking Nikita to walk away now would be like asking her to walk away from her soul. Her fierce protection of innocents was one of her most infuriating qualities, because it often put her in danger, but it was also one of her most endearing. It was what made her unique in Section. It was her defining characteristic. Michael met her eyes and sighed, his hands giving her a gentle squeeze of support. He then broke eye contact and let his gaze travel back up towards the ceiling. How, indeed…

“Will you help me?” she asked softly. Her tone was hopeful, not plaintive.

When his eyes met hers again Nikita was relieved to see a look of tenderness. He raised his hand to gently trace her lower lip, then he leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips. When he was done he relaxed back against his pillow, looked her straight in the eye and said, “Yes.”

Nikita smiled her gratitude, delivered a return kiss, then placed her head back against Michael’s chest and allowed herself to fall asleep. Michael hugged her tightly as he stared intently into the darkness, knowing that sleep for him would now prove impossible. Best and worst case scenarios were designed and discarded as the night evaporated and the room became bathed in the light of early morning. By the time Nikita stirred awake he had a plan.

He wasn’t particularly pleased with it, but out of respect for Nikita he would help her to implement it.

*****

Madeline was intrigued.

She sat at her computer monitor thoughtfully scrolling through Michael’s tactical for the Karmis mission and couldn’t help but find his proposal somewhat of a surprise. When had he ever willingly used Nikita as bait? Never. He was usually wildly creative with his scenario designs simply so Nikita would not have to be subjected to the prying eyes and pawing hands of other men. It was only when there were no other alternatives, or available female operatives, that Michael would authorize Nikita to perform a light seduction. Even then he would have so many contingency plans in place that the missions never amounted to much of anything. Courtesy of Michael, Nikita had never had sex with a mark in the two years that she had been an active field operative. In fact, she held the Section record for mission chastity.

Since the pair had started unofficially dating he had managed to keep Nikita completely away from any mission that had even remote valentine potential. And yet, here he was taking a standard bodyguard scenario and turning it into a valentine operation. On purpose.

Yes, Madeline was most definitely intrigued. She read through the plan a second and even a third time in an attempt to gain some insight into Michael’s thoughts, but his own personal agenda remained elusive. Finding that situation unacceptable she buzzed his office and requested that he stop by for a moment.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked as he entered her office a short while later and positioned himself to stand in front of her desk.

Madeline craned her neck up at him, annoyed but not surprised that his emotions were concealed behind a mask of careful indifference. “I was just reviewing your plan for the Karmis mission next week.”

“And?” Michael seated himself in the chair across from her desk.

“You plan to use Nikita as the primary bodyguard for Harwell?”

Michael folded his hands gently in his lap and replied, “Yes,” in a low monotone. He did not elaborate further.

“I confess I’m a bit surprised. You’ve been reluctant to use her as bait since you two starting having sex on a regular basis. Is there a problem with your relationship?”

Another man would have choked at her question, but Michael didn’t even blink. He knew she was being purposefully crude to elicit a response from him. His stare was level as he replied, “No,” in a voice that was so bland it practically disintegrated.

“I see,” Madeline said, leaning back in her chair and contemplating Michael. The truth of the matter was that she didn’t see at all. And Michael wasn’t going to give her any information, either. If he hadn’t responded when she’d insinuated that his relationship with Nikita was just sex, he wasn’t going to react to any other insults that she threw out afterwards. Their eyes locked for a moment, then she nodded and said, “That will be all.”

After watching Michael gracefully stand up and exit her office she picked up her phone and called in Nikita. Michael would have never developed such a plan without Nikita’s consent, so it was a fair assumption that Nikita was well aware of the motivations behind it. And, she was a much easier nut to crack. Madeline returned to her contemplation of the file while she waited for Nikita to appear.

When her office door opened and the young blonde entered Madeline was struck by how well she looked. She practically glowed, in fact, and Madeline was certain of the reason. Michael. Nikita was blossoming under his attention. Which brought Madeline right back to the point that had caused her to request Nikita’s presence in the first place. If things were going so well, why develop a valentine operation? It wasn’t that Madeline objected to the plan, it was just that it was out of character for Michael to suggest it. And if it was out of character then there was an anomaly.

Madeline didn’t like anomalies.

Before Nikita had even crossed the room, Madeline began her inquisition. “I understand from Michael that you have insinuated yourself into the good graces of Alan Harwell?” The question was designed to attack on two levels. One, to put Nikita on the defensive. And two, to imply that Michael had been discussing Nikita behind Nikita’s back, something Madeline knew Nikita found both irritating and invasive.

Nikita stared back at Madeline with an expression that revealed nothing. Not a flicker of emotion, not a hint of surprise. Her voice was completely calm as she sat down and responded to Madeline’s question. “Yes, Michael and I were having dinner last night and Mr. Harwell was on the premises. We decided to capitalize on the situation and initiated contact.”

“You made this decision together?”

“Yes.” Nikita smiled innocently.

“You are aware that the profile calls for you to date Alan Harwell? Considering the amount of time you will be spending with the man over the next week and a half he will expect you to sleep with him. Are you prepared for that?” Madeline gave Nikita a penetrating stare, genuinely curious to see how the young woman would field the question.

Nikita looked her straight in the eye and said, “Yes.” Her voice was strong and decisive.

“Is Michael prepared for that?”

Nikita’s expression did not waver. “Yes.”

Madeline held Nikita’s gaze, searching her features for a sign of weakness or fear. Finding none, she nodded her head. “Good.”

“Is that all?” Nikita asked, itching to leave.

“Yes.” It wasn’t all, but Madeline resigned herself to the fact that neither Michael nor Nikita intended to reveal what was really driving the mission profile. She gave the plan her blessing, making a mental note to watch it closely as it progressed. In time, she was certain that the anomaly would be defined.

*****

Nikita escaped Madeline’s office and then headed to her quarters to think. The meeting with Madeline had shaken her, but for different reasons than she would have expected.

She had sat in Madeline’s office, staring at her superior, amazed at the differences between them. She knew that Madeline was confused by the profile… She and Michael had even discussed the fact that the plan was likely to come under scrutiny simply because of its nature… But what was so amazing to Nikita was the fact that Madeline had been unable to comprehend the motivations behind it. The truth was right there in front of her but she was incapable of seeing it.

To Madeline’s way of thinking, the Karmis network was the end game, not the safety of Alan Harwell. Catching the assassin in the act was the goal. Whether the act was successful or unsuccessful was irrelevant.

Nikita could have sat in front of Madeline for an hour and the woman still would not have understood. Her brain wasn’t wired to comprehend the fact that someone could value Alan Harwell’s life enough to build a valentine mission around it. It would never occur to her that it was the safety of an innocent that was driving the profile. For that, Nikita was sad. There was a part of her that genuinely liked Madeline. She remembered times when the older woman had tried to ease Nikita’s transition into Section, when she had tried to be as much of a mother figure as she could.

Nikita wondered if Madeline had ever been capable of understanding the motivations which drove her to protect Alan Harwell. It was obvious she didn’t now, but if Nikita had sat across from her desk five or ten years ago would she have related then? Had she always been so indifferent or had Section leeched her compassion from her?

Sighing, Nikita sat on her cot and leaned her head back against the wall.

Madeline assumed that Nikita would have sex with Alan Harwell. Nikita assumed no such thing. Contrary to the world view of Section, most people didn’t immediately fall into bed with perfect strangers. Most people were tentative in their approach to new relationships, and she would use that to her advantage. Alan already believed her to be coming off of a broken alliance with Michael so it was unlikely that he would expect much of anything from her in the next week. After all, as she had noticed within seconds of meeting him, he was a gentleman.

The fact that he was such an upstanding citizen was the only reason Michael had agreed to the scenario in the first place. Of that, Nikita was sure.

Would she still complete the mission if she thought she would have to have sex with Alan in order to do so? She honestly didn’t know. How far would she go? Thus far Michael had protected her from ever having to make such a decision. For that, she was grateful.

She only wished that she had the power to provide him with the same protection.

*****

Alan Harwell was a man who lived life on simple terms. Sometimes life was good, sometimes life was bad. He accepted its ups and downs with complete tolerance, fervent in his belief that everything ultimately worked out for the best. Thus far, his philosophy had withstood the test of time. The proof of that statement was sitting in the passenger seat of his car. One moment he’d been having the proverbial day from Hell, the next moment he’d connected with a woman so beautiful she erased any doubt in his mind that a place such as Heaven existed.

Nikita.

He’d spent the past five days getting to know her… Wining her, dining her. Slowly, tentatively breaking through the shell of pain and betrayal that lingered from her previous relationship. Tonight he had treated her to dinner and a show, taking time to play amateur psychiatrist in an attempt to heal her bruised heart. She was reluctant to talk extensively about the scene he’d witnessed at Volaré’s. When pressed, she’d admitted that her boyfriend Michael had confessed that he had cheated on her. Then, he’d had the gall to expect Nikita’s forgiveness simply because he had been honest enough to admit his transgression to her before she had figured it out for herself.

Nikita had a moral streak as wide as his own, Alan mused, and she’d immediately failed to see the logic in her boyfriend’s position. She’d tossed a drink in his face, then told him to get out of her life. As far as Alan knew she hadn’t returned a single one of Michael’s pleading phone calls. She’d vowed to make a clean break, a decision which Alan supported wholeheartedly. She was too good for a man like that.

She was too good… period.

The more he got to know her, the more perfect she was. It was only a matter of time before he fell head over heels in love with her. Smiling inwardly, Alan admitted to himself that he was already half way there. Did she feel the same? He intended to do everything in his power to see that she did. If that meant waiting he would wait. If it meant giving her space he would steer clear. He would do anything, sacrifice everything, to have her look at him the way she had looked at Michael when she saw him walk through the entrance of Volaré’s. Alan would never forget the look that had passed between them… It had awed him, stunned him. It had made him envious, too. He wanted to be the man who put that look in her eye. Why couldn’t he? He could treat her so much better than Michael… He would love her, he would cherish her, he would make her laugh.

Alan reigned in his rambling romantic thoughts as he pulled up before the entrance to Nikita’s building. Turning to study her profile, he found her staring out the window. Her eyes seemed open but unseeing. “Nikita?” he questioned, bringing her back to reality. “We’re here.”

She blinked, then faced him with a half smile. “I’m sorry, my mind wandered.”

“Thinking about Michael?” Alan asked. He could tell when she was thinking about him. There was a certain look she would get, an almost bittersweet cast to her features, that signaled an unhappy trip down memory lane.

“No, I… Yes.” She looked bashful and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s the one who should be sorry, Nikita. Not you. There was no excuse for what he did. You’re lucky to be rid of him.”

Rather than replying Nikita reached down into her purse, pulled out her gloves and put them on. When that task was complete she stared out of the window for a moment and then turned her attention back to Alan. “Thank you for listening. You’re a good friend.”

Alan replied without thinking. “I’d like to be more.”

She sighed and lifted her hand to brush against his cheek, gazing at him with profound sadness as she let her fingers trace his jawline. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”

“I know,” he replied. “But I wanted you to know.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” She let her hand linger against his face, then pulled it away. When she went to open her car door Alan put a restraining hand against her arm, swiftly opened his own door and walked around the car to open hers for her. It was a gallant gesture that did not go unnoticed. “Thank you,” she said simply, but the appreciative gleam in her eyes spoke volumes.

Alan gave an exaggerated bow. “May I escort you upstairs?”

“Thanks,” Nikita laughed, “But I think I can do it myself.”

His face fell for a moment, but he recovered from her rebuff immediately. “We’re on for the fundraiser tomorrow night, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against Alan’s cheek. He allowed the caress, then turned his head slightly so that their faces were practically touching. Their eyes met, their lips touched briefly. Then, their lips met again in a kiss that was not brief at all.

The moment was over quickly as Nikita stepped back, closed her mouth and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. Before Alan could even say goodnight she had turned and started walking up the path that led to her apartment.

Alan watched her go. He should have been upset that she hadn’t at least invited him up for a drink, but he was too pleased with her goodnight kiss to feel anything other than elation. Time was on his side, he told himself. He would be gentle, he would be careful. If he played his cards right she wouldn’t even remember Michael’s name within a month.

*****

Nikita entered her apartment, shut the door and leaned back against its solid frame.

She’d kissed Alan. She’d actually seriously kissed him. It was something she had told herself she would not, could not, do. And yet, she had done it willingly. What was so terrible was that she had done it not because she was attracted to Alan, or even because she got caught up in the scenario she was playing… No, she did it because she felt bad about rebuffing him and wanted to throw him a bone. He had looked so forlorn when he’d said that he wanted to be more than friends that she had felt like she owed him one. So she’d kissed him to assuage her own guilt. What did that make her?

Disgusted with herself, she let out a long sigh and rotated the palms of her hands roughly against her temples in an attempt to soothe the sharp pain that was lancing through her head.

It wasn’t enough that she was leading Alan on, Nikita berated herself, she had to do so while suffering from a series of debilitating guilt-induced headaches. What was so frustrating was the fact that she knew the migraines were psychosomatic and she still found herself unable to prevent them.

Nikita could envision how the mission was going to end and the closer she got to that moment of betrayal the worse she felt. Not even the fact that what she was doing was being done for Alan’s long term good could make the time she spent with him any easier. It just made it that much more stressful. Tonight, in addition to the ever-present pounding pain in her head she had started to develop a stomach ache. She’d barely touched her dinner. Thankfully, Alan had attributed her ill humor to her recent ‘break up’ with Michael.

Michael… The thought of his name conjured up a vision of his face the last time she had seen him. It had been earlier that day at Section and they had both been so busy they’d barely spoken. Still, he’d managed to give her a look that had reassured her that everything was going according to schedule and she would be free in just a few days… Just a few days… And then they could resume their outside life together.

She missed him. She’d come to rely on his strength, his silent support. His love that came thinly packaged in a guise of protection…

Shaking her head, reminding herself that she was solo on this mission, she kicked off her shoes and headed for her medicine cabinet. She was craving escape and she figured that the sooner she got some pain meds the sooner she could fall asleep and blot out her wretched day.

She’d only taken a few steps when she noticed the figure dressed entirely in black sitting on her couch.

“Michael!” Considering the fact that they had agreed to forgo their usual midnight rendezvous until the mission was over she did not bother to conceal her surprise at his appearance. “What if I’d invited Alan up for a drink?” Her tone wasn’t angry, just curious. How had he known that she didn’t have Alan in tow? Had he been outside watching? Had he seen them together?

Michael ignored her question and stood up. He walked toward her slowly, his eyes glinting with purpose. “How did it go?” he asked softly. His gaze looked dangerous, suggesting that perhaps he had been outside spying, but then the emotion was swiftly suppressed and replaced with a patented blank stare. Unable to decipher his expression Nikita just assumed that she was paranoid and imagining things. She found that thought much more palatable than its alternative: that Michael had in fact seen her with Alan.

“Fine, I guess.” Nikita unconsciously lifted her hands to her head and began massaging her temples again. “He’s too busy trying to heal my broken heart to suspect me of anything.”

Michael walked closer, his gaze now filled with concern at her condition, and replaced her hands with his own. She closed her eyes and sighed as his strong fingers traced soothing patterns against her aching head. “Do you want me here?” he asked after a few minutes had passed, thinking that perhaps she would rather be alone.

Nikita smiled her first genuine smile of the evening. “Michael...,” she began, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him and lean her head against his shoulder. “You know I always do.” She then took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, and smiled contentedly against his neck. Thoughts of Alan faded, the nagging pain in her head receded…

There was only now, this man, this moment.

He hugged her tightly, sensing that she needed comforting. He knew how much the mission was bothering her despite the fact that she didn’t discuss it. He could see the stress in her features, feel the tension in her body. Just because she wasn’t having sex with Alan didn’t mean she wasn’t tainted by the experience.

After a while Nikita lifted her head from his shoulder and raised her lips to meet his in a slow, soft request for solace. Michael met her kiss expertly, matching her in speed and intensity. He was determined to let her set the pace… Fast, slow… He only wanted to be with her. To support her through the feelings of self-hatred that were part and parcel of a valentine operation.

Nikita lost herself in the feel of his kiss. When Alan had touched her she had felt… nothing. A void. She had been clinically conscious of every second, every touch, simply because she was biding her time until it was over. His embrace had seemed to last forever.

But with Michael each second was somehow both ephemeral and eternal. Her sense of time eluded her completely. She was conscious only of feeling, emotion. The texture of his lips, the way his softest touch could cause her pulse to skyrocket. The warmth of his breath against hers. The lyrical sound of his sigh.

When his tongue accidentally brushed hers a shock wave of pure lust shot through her system, demanding immediate satisfaction. Suddenly, she wanted him. All of him. And not his tender side, either. She wanted his other, darker, side. The one that was unrestrained, unrelenting, desperate… The one that could make her forget…

Moaning, she arched against him. Reached up and locked her hands around his head, pulling his face closer. Deepening the kiss… Michael responding to her passion, meeting it, fisting his hands through her hair…

She broke away for a moment, gasping for breath, her wide blue eyes meeting his. “I need you,” she gasped, “Now…”

She was incoherent with desire as she tugged at his clothing, tearing it off so that she could feast on his bare body. She suckled him, bit him, and savored the salty, male taste of his skin.

Michael reached forward and grabbed the fabric of her dress, yanking her against his chest. His open mouth sought hers while his hands deftly unzipped her garment and let it pool at her feet. His free hand slipped inside her panties and tugged them off.

She backed him up against the couch and pushed him down. Once he was seated she straddled his nude form and arched her pelvis against his. A moan of pleasure erupted from her mouth as she felt her sex rub up against his. She was ready for him. So ready.

Michael’s hands reached around and grabbed her waist, pulling her closer against him as he pressed his hips against hers to increase her pleasure. She felt his c--- thicken and gasped at the spark of undiluted energy that radiated through her from the friction Michael was generating.

“Yes…” she cried, “Yes….”

She arched up on her knees, crying louder as Michael leaned forward to suckle her breast while his fingers adroitly slipped inside her and stroked her the way he knew she liked. “More,” she begged, urging him along. He stroked her quickly, ruthlessly, his mouth tugging firmly against a taut nipple. Her hips bucked against his hand… She was close, so close… She needed him inside her, but she wanted him as ready as she was.

She reached down and grabbed his wrist, stilling him, then pulled his hand away from her. Michael’s eyes darkened as he felt her take his wet fingers and guide them up and down his tumescent shaft, bathing it with her essence, lubricating it… Nikita leaned down and gave him a deep, hot kiss as she replaced his hand with her own. She fisted her fingers around his velvet shaft and began sliding them up and down, slowly at first and then with great urgency. When he was on the brink she pulled away and positioned herself over his engorged tip, quivering with passion as she stroked its soft skin across her opening. Coating it with her arousal, using it to tease her eager, swollen flesh.

She slowly impaled herself on him, bowing her back, easing herself down to accommodate his thickness. His hands came around to her bottom, gripping it tightly, kneading it. When she had absorbed all of him she raised herself back up and slowly descended once again.

Michael reached around and slipped his finger between them, stimulating her, and watched as her mouth opened and a keening cry erupted forth. She began to move faster, the cords of her thigh muscles standing out as she pumped over him. Her nails dug into his shoulders for support, for leverage. She rode him harder and harder, faster and faster, her breathing becoming shallow, tears of pain and ecstasy streaming down her face.

Her first release was like a lightening bolt that fried her system, then retreated, leaving her exhausted and disoriented. Frozen in place, stunned by the ferocity of her actions, she could only sit and stare at Michael through large, dilated eyes while her chest heaved and the walls of her sex pulsed around him.

Michael wanted to give her more… To take her beyond rational thought… To give her the oblivion she so desperately craved… So desperately needed…

Holding his own pleasure in check he managed to shift her up and around, laying her down on the couch while his hard shaft was still buried deep within her. As she rode out the aftershocks of her first orgasm he began to move inside her, taking her pleasure further. She cried out, her body completely sensitized, her nerve endings on fire. She barely had enough energy left in her thigh muscles to wrap them around Michael’s waist and keep them there as he increased his rhythm.

This was the Michael she remembered from Lyons. The passionate, untamed Michael who played the fine line between pleasure and pain like a maestro. His hands were rough against her soft skin… His hard shaft ground against her, rotating inside of her, pleasuring her beyond belief. He moved faster and faster, breaking her down until she was reduced to nothing more than a wanton physical being in pursuit of raw pleasure.

She climaxed a second time, with him, screaming his name as he buried his face against her neck and emptied himself into her.

*****

It seemed as though hours rather than minutes had gone by, Nikita was so exhausted. Michael was a delicious dead weight pressing down on her, his body still joined with hers. She smiled a slow, lazy smile as she felt him nibble on her neck, alternately kissing and licking her sensitive skin. Occasionally he would murmur something unintelligible in French.

Her hands smoothed over the hard planes of his dampened back to rest on his bottom, which she gently cupped and squeezed. Michael responded by placing a hand against her breast, alternatively molding and caressing the soft mound in perfect synchrony with her motions against him.

Nikita felt him begin to harden and gasped as he instinctively thrust himself deeper into her tight passage. “No… I can’t,” she pleaded, still feeling the effects of their first union. But as he slowly began to shift inside of her, she soon found herself crying, “Yes,” instead.

*****

It was a tired, sore Nikita who regained consciousness the following morning to find herself naked and alone in bed. Michael was gone, but she didn’t care. His scent lingered in her sheets, his touch lingered on her skin and the memory of his heated gazed lingered in her mind. They had made such fast, passionate, abandoned love that for a time Nikita had been hard pressed to recall her name, let alone the events that had precipitated her need for such an encounter. Later, when she’d regained the use of her mental faculties, she and Michael had moved to her bedroom where they had fallen into an exhausted sleep only to awaken hours later and make love again. This time, however, their union was unfailingly slow and tender. An affirmation as opposed to an obliteration.

Making love with Michael had been as much of a spiritual as physical release, Nikita realized. Despite her protesting body she awoke buoyant and, to a certain degree, cleansed.

*****

“Hey,” Nikita greeted Birkoff later that morning as she gingerly sat down in the chair across from his terminal. Too energized to stay at home after her night with Michael she had decided to come in to Section. “Any new intel?”

A mumbled, “Yeah,” was Birkoff’s only response.

“Really? Did you confirm the hit?” She certainly hoped he had. Anything to move the mission forward. Anything to return her life to some state of normalcy.

Birkoff gave her a quick look and then returned his attentions to his monitor. He seemed uncomfortable as he replied, “You need to talk to Michael.”

Nikita didn’t like his tone, or the fact that he was avoiding eye contact. “Birkoff?”

“Talk to Michael,” he repeated.

Confused, Nikita slowly stood up and walked over to Michael’s office. She entered with a brief knock and found Michael standing by his desk staring intently out his window. He turned to acknowledge her entrance, then softly asked, “Yes?”

Nikita gulped. Staring at Michael, she saw no hint of the passionate man who had made love to her only hours before. His eyes, usually so appreciative when they were alone, seemed dead. “Birkoff said you have new intel?”

Michael briefly met her eyes and then turned back toward the windows. “Yes,” he stated in a voice that was flat and devoid of emotion.

Nikita stepped further into the room despite the fact that her brain was urging her to run far, far away. “Michael? What is it?”

He continued to stare out the windows. “The parameters have changed.”

“How so?” Nikita tipped her chin up, bracing herself for the worst.

After a full minute of silence Michael turned to regard her. He stared for a moment, eyes scanning her face, traveling leisurely over her features. “The assassin is now targeting you.”

“What?” Nikita’s eyes flew wide. The assassin was targeting her? “Why?”

“The hit against Harwell was ordered because he had no weaknesses that the Karmis brothers could exploit. Since they were unable to control him, they decided to risk eliminating him.” Michael walked over to where Nikita was standing as he spoke, his voice getting softer and softer the closer he came. He reached up and fingered a strand of her hair. “Now, they think they can control him.”

“By threatening me?”

Michael gently tucked the strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes.”

Nikita shook her head. “That won’t work, Michael. Alan doesn’t love me. He won’t abandon his principles because some mobster threatened my life.”

Michael’s voice became even softer. “You have to convince him.”

“Convince him?” she echoed. “How?”

“Make him fall in love with you.”

Michael’s reply hung between them. Neither spoke, they simply stared at each other. Michael’s eyes blank and unresponsive, hiding the pain that was surely underneath. Nikita’s expression one of denial, then horrified understanding. “You want me to sleep with him?” she asked tentatively, hoping that Michael had meant something else entirely but knowing at the same time that he did not. No wonder he was having trouble looking her in the eye.

“You have three days. Karmis is expected to approach Harwell at the Presidential gala on Friday.”

Nikita couldn’t hide the shocked expression on her face. She was reeling, freefalling. The plan to save Alan was spiraling beyond her wildest dreams… and nightmares. “And if I’m successful?”

Michael turned back toward the window. “We’ll work the organization through you.”

“For how long?” Nikita struggled breathe, her heart was hammering.

“As long as it takes.”

Nikita was furious at his show of indifference. He was telling her to sleep with a mark and behaving like it was just another mission. She knew he felt otherwise, he’d indicated that much the previous evening. Couldn’t they share their pain?

She walked over to where he was standing, grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face her. “How long?” she repeated.

Michael face faltered for a moment, giving her a glimpse of intense pain. “As long as it…”

“… Don’t give me that, Michael! How long?”

“Several months.”

Nikita snapped her hand away, then backed up and sat on Michael’s desk. Several months? God, she wanted to scream. She wanted to rant and rave and pummel Michael. But she couldn’t… This scenario had been her idea. It was all her fault. She’d initiated it and then asked for Michael’s help implementing it. He was the one who should be pummeling her…

She looked at him, taking in his stoic stance and impenetrable expression. She knew she had hurt him, but he gave no indication of that fact. He’d been like that from the moment the mission started. Any pain that he was feeling was buried deep beneath the surface. He behaved as if she was trekking off to do surveillance every time she donned a slinky dress to go have dinner with Alan. Then, like last night, he was there to support her when it was all over. Giving of himself, never asking anything of her…

She knew her activities bothered him, but in typical Michael fashion he internalized his emotions rather than burdening her with them. And now… Now he was going to have to endure watching her enter into a full-blown relationship. All because she had wanted to protect an innocent. She didn’t regret her decision to save Alan, but at the same time she felt terrible about its repercussions. For herself, but also for him. For them.

“I’m sorry.” The words seemed inadequate as she uttered them, but she didn’t know what else to say.

Her gentle apology was Michael’s undoing. The mask which he had worked so hard to keep in place disintegrated within seconds. She was sorry? He was telling her to prostitute herself to fulfill a mission directive and she was sorry? “Don’t apologize,” he said in a voice raw with emotion. “Don’t ever apologize.” Then, in direct violation of their agreement not to publicly show affection, he raised his hand and gently cupped her cheek. Quickly checking the area to make sure no one was watching, he leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against her lips.

Nikita closed her eyes, letting his love flow through her. Gathering the strength from his touch to do what she knew had to be done.

When he withdrew she slowly opened her eyes and fixed him with a businesslike stare. “I’m attending a fundraiser with Alan tonight. I’ll have him take me to his home.” Nikita had no intention of inviting Alan up to her place. Her home was her sanctuary and she would not allow it to be violated by a mission. Michael was the only man who was allowed to sleep in her bed. Period.

Michael nodded, then responded in an equally businesslike tone. “I’ll inform Madeline.”

Once the mission was set and the parameters were defined there was no reason for Nikita to linger, yet she did. She was afraid to leave the safety of Michael’s office. Standing there, feeling his support, she knew that she could execute the seduction. But what about later when she was alone? Could she do it then?

As if sensing her fear, Michael reached out and took her hand in his. “Do you want me there?”

Nikita shook her head negatively. She couldn’t do it with Michael present. The only way she could get through it would be to forget about him completely. But later, that was a whole different story. Noble intentions at being self-reliant faltered the moment her eyes linked with his and she saw his naked concern. “Will you wait for me? After?”

He squeezed her hand, then softly said, “Yes.”

Nikita nodded, thankful for his support, then released his hand and walked out of his office with her head held high.

*****

*Don’t ever apologize*

Interesting advice from a man who was constantly disregarding it, Madeline mused as she watched the surveillance tapes from Michael’s meeting with Nikita. Michael was unreservedly unrepentant when it came to justifying his actions to both Operations and Oversight, even when his missions encountered problems. But with Nikita he apologized for every little imagined transgression… Every mission that inflicted pain, every order that sacrificed a piece of her soul. Sometimes he actually told her he was sorry, other times he conveyed his regret with protective actions of which Nikita was completely unaware. But always, he apologized. He atoned.

It was strange, Madeline thought, that this time it was Nikita who was apologizing to Michael. When had she ever been the one to say she was sorry? Certainly not while she was under surveillance, that was for sure.

Why now?

Michael was asking Nikita to complete a full seduction, something he had never before asked her to do, and she was apologizing. Madeline would have expected a small tirade. Nikita had never slept with a mark and Madeline believed that she would not do so without a fight. Without a plea for Michael to find an alternative. Despite the fact that Nikita had sat in Madeline’s office just days before and stated that she was aware she would have to sleep with Harwell, Madeline hadn’t believed her. She’d known that on some level Nikita still assumed that Michael would be able to keep her safe. After all, he’d managed to keep her from such a reality for the past two years, so it was reasonable to assume that he would be able to do so again.

Nikita should have put up a fight… Why hadn’t she?

A frown marred Madeline’s delicate porcelain features as she replayed the scene for the third time… Something was definitely off. Not just with the meeting, but with the whole mission plan. Her star operatives were behaving out of character. She had sensed an anomaly in the plan when she had called Michael and Nikita in to her office earlier that week but she had been unable to put her finger on precisely what was wrong…

The apology…

Everything hinged around the apology…

Nikita was apologizing to Michael, not the other way around…

Of course! Madeline leaned back in her chair and allowed a satisfied smile to work its way across her face. The entire mission was a role reversal… Nikita was apologizing because it was her mission plan, not Michael’s. She had developed it, not him… That was why she hadn’t flown off the handle when he had told her point blank to sleep with Harwell. She’d had no ammunition. She’d played Russian roulette with her body and lost…

No wonder Madeline had been unable to uncover Michael’s motives during her meeting with him. She’d been looking in the wrong place… She should have been looking for Nikita’s motives… In retrospect, the entire plan smacked of Nikita. It was designed to protect Harwell, almost as if his safety outweighed the final objective of compromising both the assassin and the Karmis brothers.

Madeline berated herself for not having seen it sooner. She should have sensed it… Should have known it was coming… Nikita’s influence had moved beyond Michael’s personal life and was now bleeding into his professional one. He was allowing her desire to protect innocents to override his own ability to ensure the final objective. Michael on his own would have allowed the hit against Harwell to take place. But Michael and Nikita… That was another story.

She’d been afraid of this… When she and Operations sanctioned Michael’s relationship with Nikita they did so with the stipulation that Michael would never endanger a mission objective to secure Nikita’s safety. But what about skewing a mission plan to incorporate her beliefs? Where did that fall in? He was still working to reach the final objective, but he was interjecting an element of compassion into the scenario that was unacceptable.

Madeline wanted to take him to task for it, but she realized that would be fruitless. The changes that Nikita was creating in Michael were at his most basic level… She couldn’t fight them directly, she could only hope to direct them. Circumvent them.

The trick was to change Nikita…

The smile which had spread across Madeline’s features grew wider as she realized that she wouldn’t have to change Nikita at all… This mission was going to do it for her. Best of all, the mission would do so without creating any residual anger against Section. Nikita had designed the profile herself, therefore she had no one to blame but herself. She would engineer her own metamorphosis.

Once she’d entered Harwell’s world and been forced to rub up against the likes of the Karmis brothers she would think twice before putting herself on the line to save an innocent. She would lose a healthy chunk of the compassion that she carried around like a badge of honor.

By the time Michael entered Madeline’s office to inform her of the latest developments in the mission Madeline was feeling surprisingly generous. She greeted him with a genuine smile and innocently inquired if he had spoken with Nikita.

“Yes,” he replied in a toneless voice. “She will meet with Harwell tonight.”

Madeline scanned his features, searching for a hint of displeasure or a chink in his armor, but there was none. Michael seemed impervious to her penetrating stare. “She understands what must be done?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Madeline smiled, content that for once events were conspiring with her desires, not against them. She tilted her head as a thought occurred to her. “Who will be handling surveillance?”

Michael clasped his hands loosely in front of his waist, then replied softly, “I will.”

“Does Nikita know that?” Madeline knew that Nikita had asked him not to be there, so she was a bit surprised that he intended to go.

“No.” Michael did not elaborate, nor did he intend to. It was bad enough that Nikita had to sleep with Harwell. There was no way that he was going to damage her further by letting a stranger listen in. He felt that he at least owed her that element of privacy even if she didn’t specifically ask for it. They had designed the plan together, and they would endure it together.

Madeline’s features softened as she stared at Michael. This mission was going to take its toll on him in more ways than one. His self-appointed angel was going to become tarnished, both physically and spiritually. And any change that affected Nikita, affected him. She knew it was best for both of them in the long run, but she wouldn’t have been human if she didn’t feel some sadness at what they were going to have to endure in the short term. Contrary to how she often behaved she genuinely cared for them both. “Keep me posted,” she said softly, dismissing him.

When he was gone she turned back to her monitor, lost in thought. A similar situation had broken her relationship with Paul and she wondered if it would have the same effect on Michael and Nikita. She was surprised to realize that she hoped it would not.

*****

It had been less than a week since Nikita had pivoted in front of her mirror, gauging her appearance, primping for her dinner date with Michael. That time she had worn something elegant, something special. She had dressed for fun to please both Michael and herself.

This time she dressed to seduce.

Her floor-length sheath was tight and somewhat clingy, with delicate folds which skimmed gracefully over her trim figure. The glossy silk fabric was soft, tactile and designed to make a man want to touch. To stroke. The color was a subtle shade of claret that captured and refracted light as she moved, making her literally seem alive with energy. A well-placed slit up one leg displayed just enough skin to tease, but not enough to cross the lines of propriety. Unless, of course, she wanted it to…

Her hair was professionally styled in an intricate chignon held together by ruby barrettes. Her makeup was light and natural, applied only to accentuate the beauty that was already there… Blue eyes made larger with just a touch of kohl pencil. Eyelashes made longer, darker, with a dash of mascara. Lips painted in a matte finish which matched her dress. Skin moisturized and silky smooth. Glowing.

Nikita sighed at her appearance in the mirror. She knew Madeline would approve. After all, she looked beautiful and desirable. She was designed to be every man’s ultimate fantasy: the virgin whore. The face of an angel and the body of a siren…

*************