PROLOGUE

Roberta dabbed a little more foundation over the purplish bruise covering her left eye. She patted the area with powder, then turned her head slowly left and right as she gazed in the mirror above the dresser, satisfied that the black eye was mostly concealed. She expertly applied shadow and mascara, then stood back and examined the overall appearance of her face.

The swelling from last night’s beating had gone down considerably. Her makeup was overdone, but she didn’t care. There was no way she would enter the airport looking as beaten and bedraggled as she felt.

Her eyes temporarily filled with tears as she recalled the way her husband of one year had thrown her about the room, angry because she had been unable to quiet the baby. He didn’t understand that you couldn’t reason with a colicky infant, but he had never been one for patience. She’d known that when she married him.

And why on earth had she done a fool thing like that? As soon as they had consummated their whirlwind courtship, Andrei had begun abusing her on a regular basis. He was insecure, jealous, and possessive. Roberta should never have married him, but his handsome face and his foreign accent had enchanted her. And he had taken such good care of her. Other men she’d been with had used her. Andrei had actually given more than he had received.

Sighing, Roberta packed away her makeup and moved her bags into the hallway downstairs. She glanced anxiously at the tall grandfather clock. Andrei was out drinking with his former comrades, who were in town for a visit. He would not come in until very late and by that time she and the baby would be gone.

She went back upstairs to the bedroom and tiptoed to the bed. Looking down at her sleeping child, she reached out a finger and gently caressed the petal-soft cheek. Barely a month old, she was the image of her father. Roberta didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse. She would be proud to have such a beautiful daughter, but the reminder of her husband would haunt her.

Resigned, she carefully wrapped the baby in a downy, pink blanket. Cooing softly, she feathered a kiss on the tiny forehead. She waited near the front door of her suburban home until she heard the honk of the taxi’s horn. The driver stored her luggage in the trunk and helped her and the baby into the car’s back seat.

Roberta turned and looked at the house one last time as the taxi moved down the street.

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

"So which one is hotter, Chernek or Vacek?"

Operations pondered Madeline’s question for a moment. "Actually, they’re running neck and neck. Both finance anti-western terrorism on a global scale, but Chernek’s more ruthless than Vacek. Both very insular men."

"Yes." Madeline agreed. "There are differences in some ways. Chernek’s had to scratch and claw for his millions, Vacek benefited from inheritance. Vacek left his family to protect them, while Chernek’s wife left him because of an abusive relationship."

"And Chernek’s hands are dirty with a lot of other things as well. Drugs, biological warfare. Vacek’s ruthless, Chernek’s sadistic and ruthless."

"So which one do you want Michael on?"

"Chernek. We need someone brilliant there."

"And the scenario would be for Michael to seduce his daughter? Intel shows Chernek has tried to contact her several times in the past five years, but the last time was a year and a half ago. He may not do so again for a while." Madeline advised.

"She’s our only hope." Operations paced the length of his loft. "We haven’t been able to locate anything on him in nearly fifteen years."

"Then we may need Michael in extended contact with her. If he is simply intimate with her, that may not guarantee a long-term relationship. If he was married to her…"

"A blood cover? We haven’t had to resort to one of those in years."

Madeline crossed her arms over her chest. "In this case, I think it’s necessary. A boyfriend would raise more suspicion than a husband."

Operations contemplated her words as he lit a cigar.

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Madeline continued. "Vacek’s been underground longer. He seemed to genuinely care for his family. He’ll probably make contact with his daughter sooner than Chernek will with his." She walked to the other side of the office to avoid the plume of cigar smoke. "Elena Vacek is well-educated, well-bred, cultured, genteel. I think Michael would be better matched with her."

"What about Chernek’s daughter?"

"Nikita Wirth. She’s a little rough around the edges. She was a runaway in her teens, lived on the street for a while. She’s been in an out of juvenile centers. After her mother left Chernek, she battled alcoholism, and for awhile she fell back into abusive relationships with various men before finally getting herself together. They are close, but have a strained relationship."

"She sounds like she might be a handful. Chernek’s done a lot more damage than Vacek. Right now, he’s more important, at least to George anyway, and I want our best there. Put Victor on Vacek’s daughter.

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

Michael strolled through the main area of Section One and headed for Operation’s loft. He had been taken off the Chandler mission and summoned for a special briefing. Slightly annoyed at the sudden change, he wondered what had gone so hot as to require his immediate presence. While he was mentally shifting through the current missions on the pad, he saw his material rushing towards him, a concerned look on her face.

"Hey, Michael." She fell into step with him. "I heard Chuck’s leading the Chandler mission instead of you."

"Yes." Michael stopped and looked down at her.

Antonia paused a second, an expectant look on her face, then expelled an exasperated breath. "Well, what gives? Why the switch?"

"I’m needed elsewhere."

She propped her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. "Where elsewhere?"

Michael looked over her head, then back down at her. "I can’t tell you that. Get with Chuck. The original profile has been altered." He moved past her and towards Operation’s office, oblivious of the appreciative stares he received.

Antonia threw an index finger at her mentor’s back and moved toward Walter’s station. He was the unofficial eyes and ears of the Section gossip mill. Maybe he could tell her what was going on.

She had barely passed the probationary period two months ago and Antonia still had no concept of how things worked in this clandestine organization. To be allowed in the information loop once she had reached full operative status had been a little too much to hope for. Madeline and Michael were still cryptic icebergs and Operations was still a volatile enigma she avoided as much as possible. Her best bet was to sweet talk Birkoff into revealing whatever he knew, or when that failed, flirt outrageously with Walter.

As she made her way to the weapons area, she caught sight of a dark-haired muscled operative and her eyes widened. He in turn took in her small, curvaceous figure, the midnight, short-cropped curls and the large, brown eyes and smiled with masculine appreciation.

"Delicious man." She thought, wondering what level operative he was.

One of the things Michael had constantly berated Antonia about was her voracious appetite for men. After realizing he couldn’t alter that habit, he had let her alone, with a warning that most of the men she was ogling were hardened criminals. She couldn’t help it. She had always been very confident in herself and extremely comfortable with her sexuality. It was rare for a woman of her young age to be so sure of herself, but those traits had been pounded into her by her single mother, God rest her soul.

Antonia had decided when she had first come here that if she had to live in Section with the threat of death looming over her head, she would damn well enjoy whatever time she had left. And when a good-looking man wandered through Section, if Antonia wanted him, she went after him.

"Hey, Walter." She sauntered up to the weapons guru. "Who’s the new operative?"

Walter shook his head, an incredulous grin on his weathered face and a twinkle in his eye. He followed her gaze for a moment, then continued tinkering with one of his prized experiments. "That’s Keith. From one of our substations."

"Nice, very nice," she drawled then turned towards Walter. She took in his bemused look, then grinned. "What?"

"Never knew a woman as horny as you, Toni."

"I’m not horny." She protested. "I just have a very real appreciation for the male species."

"Why don’t you appreciate this way a little?"

Antonia laughed out loud. "I respect you too much to love and leave you, Walter."

He snorted and Antonia remembered the real reason she had come to him. "So, what’s going on with Michael? They pulled him off Chandler."

Shrugging, Walter struggled with a piece of copper wire. "Don’t know. And if the briefing is private, then you don’t need to know either."

"Well, is it done often?"

"Why? Who’s over the mission now?"

"Chuck."

Walter nodded. "Chuck’s cool. You’ll be fine."

"I’m not worried about Chuck. I’m just used to working with Michael." Antonia looked toward the loft, the windows now dark. "What’s so secretive?"

"Look, honey. Don’t get on Ops bad side by questioning his motives. Just follow orders and keep a low profile. You’ll live longer."

Knowing when to quit, Antonia thanked Walter for his help and went in search of Chuck.

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

"Nikita! If you don’t hurry, you’ll be late for your class!"

Tossing down the last of her orange juice, Nikita jogged from the tiny kitchenette to the living room. She tugged her old coat around her slim frame and jerked her book bag from the sofa.

Roberta Wirth moved towards her daughter, a scarf in her hand. "Baby, it’s freezing outside." She wrapped the knit material snugly around Nikita’s neck, tucking the ends inside the front of the coat. "There, all warm."

Nikita smirked as she bent to loudly smack her mother’s cheek. "Thanks, Mom. Aren’t you going to the nursing home today?"

Roberta shook her head, patting the loose ponytail she’d pulled her dark brown hair into. "I took the day off. I have to take care of a little business, go to the doctor. Hey, remember we have a counseling session this evening."

"Oh, Mom, I can’t." Nikita moved to the door and picked up the keys to the battered Corvette she had inherited from her late aunt. "I’m working at the diner tonight."

"Baby, you’ll have to call in. It’s important that we keep going."

Nikita ran a hand through her pale blond hair. They had been going to the counseling sessions for a year and they still had not brought them any solutions to their problems. As long as Roberta stayed sober and quit bossing her around, they got along fine. Nikita really hated putting their personal problems on display, but the sessions seemed to make her mother feel better and she worked so hard to pay for them. Nikita didn’t have the heart to tell her how she really felt.

"They don’t pay me when I miss days, Mom, and I need the money. Tuition is coming due soon."

"But, Nikita ---"

"Mom, really, I have to go or I’ll be late. Just reschedule the session for next week, okay? I’ll see you later."

Nikita slipped out before Roberta could respond, not wanting to participate in another argument today. She loved her mother, despite all the hell she had put her through when she was a teen, but Roberta could be domineering and overprotective when it came to her only child.

Nikita had thought about moving out on more than one occasion. Her friends Julie and Jamie had been looking for a third roommate and she longed to be on her own. But she was afraid if she did so, her mother would fall off the wagon again, and Nikita wanted to be there for her if it happened. Roberta was a disaster when she was drinking.

Her philosophy class was nearly deserted, possibly because of the cold, wet weather. Nikita never missed a class. She was determined to not simply pass her classes, but excel at them and get her degree by next spring. Her goal was to be a teacher and if she was going to be responsible for shaping young minds, she wanted to make sure she knew what she was talking about.

She listened attentively to the instructor and took extensive notes, participating every now and then in the discussion. When class was over, she searched for Julie in the student union center where they usually met between classes.

The little redhead was lounging on a sofa in the middle of the room, nursing a soda and studying a psyche text.

"Hey, you." Nikita plopped down next to her. "You never called me back last night."

Julie beamed a greeting. "Sorry, I fell asleep. I’ve been cramming for this psyche test. You wanna go to the movies tonight?"

"Can’t. I’m working tonight, a double shift. My mom had a cow when I told her. We’re supposed to go to counseling this evening."

"You two have been going an awfully long time. How long does it take to figure out your mom hates men and you’re rebellious?"

"I’m not rebellious." Nikita protested. "At least not anymore. We’re fine as long as she doesn’t drink."

"And stops babying you." Julie added. "Nikita, you’re nearly twenty-two. When are you going to stop living for your mom?"

"I’m not. She wanted me to be a nurse."

"But you’re still letting her make decisions for you." Julie pointed out. "Look at what happened with Kurt. A good-looking, nice, fun-loving guy and you chased him away because your mom gave you the old men-are-no-good speech."

Nikita couldn’t argue with that. Every time a guy called her or came by to pick her up for a date, her mother critiqued everything about him and plagued her with tales about what a good-for-nothing asshole her father was. She was glad her mother had left him to move with her sister. The tales her Aunt Renita had told her about the abuse Roberta had suffered made Nikita feel a little more inclined to forgive her mother for the things she had put her through in the past. But all men were not like her father, something her mother refused to believe.

Julie gave Nikita a sympathetic hug. "You’re not the one who needs counseling, your mother does. If you still want to move out, Jamie and I can put off looking for another roommate until you make up your mind."

"Nah." Nikita shouldered her book bag. "I can’t leave her until I’m sure she’ll be alright."

Shrugging, Julie began gathering her things together. "It’s your life. I don’t have any classes tomorrow, so call me. We’ll go out and do something fun."

As they walked towards their next classes, Nikita asked, "Jamie too?"

Julie shook her head. "He’s supposed to have a date, but he’ll break it for you. I’ve been trying to tell you he’s half in love with you."

"Please, we’ve been friends since grade school." Nikita grimaced.

"He had a crush on you then, too." Julie teased. "God help the man who wins your heart. Jamie’ll kill him."

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

Michael sipped his coffee and pretended to read the newspaper as he covertly perused his new mission. Nikita Wirth was exquisite, but she was either unconscious of that fact or deliberately ignored it. She wore no makeup, but with her startling azure eyes and high cheekbones, she really didn’t need any. Her shiny golden hair was piled on top of her head in a messy, haphazard knot and she wore a peach-colored waitress uniform that failed to hide her willowy curves and impossibly long, shapely legs.

She looked decidedly younger than her twenty-one years and she seemed to be a bit shy, if the way she’d waited on him was any indication. Michael had tried to make eye contact with her and deliberately thickened his French accent, but she had kept her eyes glued to her order pad. When she had brought his coffee and pie, she’d placed it quickly before him and had focused on a point behind his head when she’d asked if he needed anything else. Maybe she was shy or maybe she just didn’t want to be bothered.

Michael noticed she made small talk and laughed with her other customers, but they seemed to be regulars. Her husky laugh and Australian-tinted voice gave him pause. She really was a desirable woman, but he wondered if he could fake a long-term personal relationship with her. He’d never taken part in a seduction scenario that lasted more than a few days. The fact that the young woman darting about the diner would quite possibly become his wife for an unknown period of time unnerved him.

That is, if she allowed him to get close enough to her for him to even move in that direction. He drank down his coffee, then signaled to her as she came flying out of the kitchen, three plates balanced on her arms. She nodded to him, deposited the plates with a table of elderly patrons, then made her way towards him with a steaming pot of coffee.

"Can I get you something else?" She asked, concentrating on refilling his cup.

Nikita didn’t know why her equilibrium had suddenly become suspect ever since this man had walked into the diner. Maybe it was because he was so obviously foreign and beautifully handsome. Maybe it was those green eyes of his that kept following her every move. Or that sensual French accent. Or the hair. Nikita loved longhaired men, and his was chestnut brown and slightly curly. He had it tucked neatly behind his ears and she could see herself teasing it into disarray.

She had been trying hard to ignore her instant reaction to him, but it was difficult when the other waitresses kept fawning and giggling over his impressive attributes in the kitchen.

"Your name." Michael replied in answer to her question.

Nikita nearly dropped the pot of coffee. She stood upright and looked him directly in the eyes for the first time since he’d arrived. "Excuse me?"

Michael inclined his head, his eyes fastening on her chest for a brief second. "You’re not wearing a name tag."

"Oh…uh, I lost it somewhere." Nikita bit her lip and looked down at the table. He had barely touched his food. "You don’t like the pie?"

Michael smirked. "I asked you your name."

"Oh, sorry. Nikita." She glanced around the diner self-consciously.

"Ni-ki-ta." Her name glided off his tongue like silk. "A beautiful name.

I’m Michael."

Nikita looked at the hand he extended to her and tentatively reached out to take it. This first contact caused a sensation Nikita could only describe as a jolt of electricity. She noticed the brief flash of reaction in Michael’s intense eyes, and wondered if he had felt it too.

He continued to hold her hand gently within his. "Do you have a moment?"

"For what?" Nikita asked, her eyes narrowing warily.

Very skittish, Michael thought. He had studied her background and knew she had endured abuse from her mother’s steady stream of boyfriends. He wasn’t sure what she had been through while on the streets, but he knew he would have to go very slow with this one. Madeline would understand. Operations would not.

"Just to talk." He answered her. "I’d like to get to know you better."

The more she talked with him, the more intrigued Nikita became with Michael. In the back of her mind, she remembered the words her mother had ingrained within her subconscious when she had reached puberty. Men were not to be trusted, especially if they were handsome and spoke with foreign accents. Nikita suspected Roberta had been referring more to her father than anyone else.

"I’m working." Nikita snatched her hand away and held it behind her back.

"Maybe after your shift?" Michael asked, sounding hopeful. He was rather surprised this woman wasn’t falling for his attempt to get acquainted. Not that he was conceited, but he knew he’d never had a problem seducing a woman before. Nikita was going to take a little more effort.

"Uh, actually, I’m working a double shift, so I won’t be getting off until very late."

Michael nodded and stood, mere inches from her. Curious glances were thrown their way, but Michael ignored them as he lowered his voice. "I’m not trying to pick you up. I think you are a very lovely woman and I’d like to spend some time with you."

Nikita smiled slightly and watched as he dropped some bills on the table and reached for his leather coat. He was maybe in his thirties and was far more mature and worldly than the guys who normally hit on her. He looked fairly wealthy as well, indicated by the expensive, yet casual clothing that hugged his nicely muscled body.

His green eyes were warm as he gave her a devastating, sexy smile. "I’m in town on business for a couple of days. Maybe I’ll see you again."

"Maybe." She acknowledged, surprised that she actually hoped she hadn’t completely alienated him.

Michael took her hand, raised it to her lips, and pressed a soft, brief kiss to the back of it. A hot flush worked its way from Nikita’s toes all the way to the roots of her hair.

"Until then, Ni-ki-ta." He murmured, then turned and sauntered out of the diner. She couldn’t help but look after him, admiring the unhurried, sexy way he moved. She barely noticed when Emily, an older woman, came up next to her.

"Honey, I believe that’s too much man for you to handle. Why don’t you let me take him off your hands?"

Nikita laughed as she made to go check on the other diners. "He’s not mine to give, Em, and I doubt I’ll see him again."

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

Two days later, Nikita was floored when she received a large bouquet of orchids at the diner. The accompanying card had only a simple message; 'Soon, Michael.' Emily and the others had teased her mercilessly until Brent, the diner's owner, had threatened them all with termination if they didn't return to work.

Julie had stopped by for a visit and practically gushed when she saw the flowers. "Oh, orchids mean 'beauty'! I've just got to meet this man."

No one had ever given her flowers before and though curious as to his motives, Nikita was touched by the stranger's gesture. She had taken the bouquet home and tenderly arranged them in a vase, then sat them on the nightstand next to her bed. Of course, Roberta had been suspicious upon seeing them and had bombarded Nikita with questions about Michael, questions that she couldn't answer. The fact that her daughter knew nothing about this man save his name put Roberta on instant alert. All Nikita could gather from their brief encounter was that he was French and good-looking.

And persistent, as Nikita discovered the next evening. She was leaving the diner after a grueling shift when she spied her Frenchman leaning against a dark sedan parked across the street. His arms were folded across his chest and the glow from the street lamp he was under made him look otherworldly; from which world, she hadn't decided.

Upon seeing her, he straightened, waited for a car to pass, then crossed the street. Nikita stood still as a statue. Though she knew she might be seeing him again because of the flowers, she was still shocked to see him so soon. She didn't know whether to be flattered or frightened by his attention. She did know that he looked amazing in jeans and a brown leather jacket.

"Hello." He smiled as he stopped in front of her.

"Hello yourself." Nikita returned with a bemused look. "I see you're steady on the job. Thank you for the flowers."

Michael's smile widened. "You're welcome. Did I score any points?"

"Oh, a few." Nikita shoved her hands in her coat pockets. "So what brings you this way? Here on business again?"

Michael noticed once more that her expression was cautious. "What answer would make you feel more comfortable?"

"I'm not sure. If you told me you came all the way from - I'm guessing France - to see me, I'd be flattered."

"I came all the way from France to see you." Michael told her with a disarming grin.

"On the other hand," Nikita countered, "if you told me that I'd be a little afraid that you were stalking me."

"I came all the way from France on business and I just happened to be standing across the street?"

Nikita chuckled and shook her head. "Hmm, now I'm intrigued. What, there aren't any available women in France?"

Michael gave her a meaningful look. "None of them are you."

"Ooh, good answer, Michael." Nikita drawled.

"All I'm asking for is dinner." Michael raised his gloved hands in defense.

"Something tells me you want more than dinner."

"Just dinner…for now. I'm patient."

"And arrogant."

"Just hopeful."

"Uh huh."

He took a step towards her and touched her arm. Nikita tamped down the urge to move away. Michael softened his voice and lowered his lashes. "S'il vous plait, Ni-ki-ta."

Now he was playing dirty. He had to be aware of the effect any romantic, foreign language had on the general female population. She was no exception. And those eyes. Mon dieu. Nikita only knew a few French words, but she guessed he had just reiterated his request with a seductive 'please'.

"Alright then. Just dinner." She relented.

"Merci." Michael lightly squeezed her arm. "How about tomorrow night? There's a restaurant on Cadogan."

"I know it." Nikita answered, though she had never been inside the place. "I'll meet you there."

Ever the careful one, Michael thought. Right now he figured infiltrating Red Cell was easier than winning this woman's affections. "Can I at least call you?"

Nikita swiftly rattled off her number and Michael almost laughed out loud. Any other woman would have carefully written her number down and placed it safely in his jacket pocket. He wondered if she was half hoping he'd forget it. Pity for her. He knew all the Section security codes, upcoming missions and parameters, and operative names and their statuses by heart. The simple digits she'd flung at him were already filed away in his mind for future reference.

"I'll call you tomorrow." He followed her as she moved towards her car and held the door open for her as she slid behind the wheel.

"Goodnight, Michael." She started the engine, then watched with amusement as he plucked her hand from the steering wheel and kissed it.

"Bonne nuit, Nikita." He closed the door gently.

As he watched her drive off, Michael returned to his car, mentally rearranging the parameters of this mission and silently cursing Madeline and Operations.

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

Nikita sat in her car across the street from the restaurant, resplendent in a long-sleeved black lace dress and a black velvet coat she'd borrowed from Julie. She tapped her fingers along the steering wheel nervously, something she had been doing for the past ten minutes. Where had all this nervousness come from? She'd been fine when she was blowing her savings on the knockout dress. And when Michael had called her early that morning to confirm their date at nine. She'd been fine while getting dressed. Roberta had been at one of her AA meetings, so she hadn't been there to worry Nikita about strange men with accents who could break your heart. Or maybe Roberta was there in spirit. Because everything she'd been telling her these past years about the evils of men had begun reverberating in her mind as soon as she'd put the car in park. Not that she had ever let this deter her from dating men before. But this was different. Michael was older and more sophisticated than the usual hormonally driven men she went out with. She felt very much out of her league. And the only other information she'd gleaned from his was his last name. Samuelle. Michael Samuelle. Beautiful man, beautiful name. Yes, she was out of her league.

A light tapping on the window made Nikita jump. She turned her head to see Michael standing next to the door and she sheepishly rolled the window down.

"What are you doing?" He leaned down a bit and Nikita thought he looked even more beautiful in black. Black overcoat, black suit, a white shirt underneath. He was devastating.

"Uh, I was parking the car?" Nikita replied.

"You've been parking it for thirty minutes."

"Huh?" "You've been sitting out here for thirty minutes." Michael arched a quizzical brow at her. "I've been watching you from our table."

Nikita ran a nervous hand through her hair and glanced at the restaurant. "I apologize. I was thinking about - a problem I'm having. Are you mad?"

Michael straightened again. "No. But the maitre'd was starting to feel sorry for me."

"Do you have a wife somewhere?" Michael was startled momentarily. The question had come out of nowhere and he wondered what motivated her to broach the subject. He questioned her out loud. "What makes you ask that?"

Nikita shrugged and become suddenly engrossed with the door handle. "I just want to know what a man like you is doing chasing a woman like me? You live a whole other country away and you probably don't have no problem getting women." Nikita paused to look at him and when she remained silent, she plunged ahead. "Are you just looking for a quick lay and do you have a wife back home?"

Michael's eyes fell on the people and traffic that bustled about as he answered. "I had a wife. She died a few years ago." His gaze rested on her again. He swallowed the lump in his throat that usually accompanied thoughts of Simone. "Feel better?"

"I'm sorry." Nikita felt suddenly stupid and contrite. "It's just that I don't know much about you?"

You should be wary. Michael looked down at her again. "Do you still want to have dinner?"

Nikita thought he sounded a bit tired and unsure. "You know, Michael, I'm really not the gourmet restaurant type. Can we go somewhere else?"

Michael cocked his head to one side, his hair gently lifted by the breeze. "Where?"

"Oh, I know this great place. Wanna follow me in your car?"

"I walked. My hotel's not far."

"Okay, get in. Or do you still want to do this?"

The sexy smile finally returned. "Yes, I still want to do this."

He walked around to the passenger side and got in as Nikita started the car and revved the engine. She shifted into first and, with a quick look, shot out into traffic.

After going a few blocks, Michael became convinced that Miss Nikita Wirth had taken driving lessons from Mario Andretti. The phrase 'bat out of hell' had to have been especially created for her. He kept unconsciously pressing his right foot into the floor, as if he could somehow slow the car down himself. His male instincts kicked in also as he listened to the engine.

"You need a tune-up, Nikita."

She groaned. "I know, I know. My aunt is probably rolling over in her grave. This is a classic car, you know, and it was her baby. She always changed the oil and the spark plugs herself." Nikita took a corner and Michael could swear it had been on two wheels. "She showed me how to do it, I just haven't had time."

Michael was grateful when she finally pulled the car to a stop near another restaurant. She smiled over at him and patted his knee. "You look like my mom after a ride with me. She says I drive like I'm in the Indy 500."

Roberta Wirth was a woman of great wisdom.

Michael eased himself out of the car and took Nikita's elbow as she led him towards the restaurant's entrance. Actually, it looked more like a pub. Inside, it was loud and chaotic. An old sixties tune blared from the sound system and people were shouting over the music and other people. It wasn't exactly the setting he would use to romance a woman, but he wanted Nikita to feel at ease, so he remained silent.

She grabbed his hand and led him to the crowded bar. A small redhead was holding a tray of mugs and yelling at the bartender. Nikita touched her shoulder and the redhead turned to her.

"Hey, Nik! What're you doing here?" She exclaimed and embraced the tall blond. Her eyes lit on Michael and widened. "Well, hello. You must be Michael. I'm Julie, a friend of Nikita's."

Michael took her proffered hand and squeezed it lightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Mmm, love the accent." Julie eyed him approvingly from top to bottom.

"Julie," Nikita shot her friend a warning look. "We decided to go somewhere else. Can you get us a booth?"

"Sure thing." Julie placed her burden on the bar and they followed her up a flight of stairs to another area, where it was infinitely less overrun. Michael noticed as they walked that the pub was filled with people of all ages and nationalities. Some cast curious glances their way as they passed.

Julie led them to a booth just being cleared in the back. "I'll be right back." She batted her eyelashes at Michael and gave Nikita a thumbs-up gesture as she glided away.

"God, she's so obvious." Nikita shook her head as Michael helped her slip out of her coat.

She was a lovely woman in a plain waitress uniform, but she was utterly breathtaking in the little black dress she wore. The deep 'v' bodice emphasized her small but perfectly shaped breasts and the hem that reached mid-thigh to reveal those enticing legs he couldn't help admiring. Neither could the nearby males who watched her slip into the booth as Michael removed his overcoat and sat next to her.

She touched his arm and he turned to look at her. "You sure you don't mind being here?"

Nikita seemed far more relaxed than she had been when Michael had found her hiding in her car. "Not if it makes you feel better."

She flashed him a beatific grin. "Did you take lessons on how to charm women?"

Michael inwardly grimaced. If only she knew the half of it. Strangely, though, he found himself sometimes forgetting he was supposed to be purposefully seducing this woman. Maybe it was because Nikita was so different from the women he usually encountered in his line of work, or may it was because he had been feeling guilty about the deception he knew was going to hurt her in the end.

Julie returned with a mug of cold beer for Nikita. "I know what Kita likes. What do you want, Michael?"

"The same." Michael returned the probing look Julie was giving him.

Nikita cleared her throat and raised her voice above the din. "Julie, can you bring me one of those huge hamburgers and a whole bunch of fries?"

Julie scribbled on a pad. "And you, Michael?"

"The same."

"You're easy to please." She teased him.

Michael's eyes locked with Nikita's and his hand covered hers on the table. "Where Nikita's concerned, I am."

Julie's hand fluttered to her throat. "Oh, my. I'll give you two some privacy."

Nikita gave Michael a playful look. "Was that for her benefit or mine?"

"Both."

She flipped her long hair behind her shoulder and sipped her beer. Her dress rode up a little as she crossed her legs under the table and Michael forced himself to drag his glance back up to her face.

"What do you do, Michael? Tell me about yourself so my mom will feel better that I know something about you."

"You told your mother about me?"

"Of course I did. She saw the flowers."

So it begins. Michael prepared himself to begin the string of lies that he would tell her until Section got to her father. The guilt began to creep up on him again, but he gave her his best adorable rogue smile and began to weave his tale.

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

Nikita dipped her French fry into a mound of ketchup, swirled it around, and plopped it into her mouth. Michael watched in fascination. He had never seen a woman eat with so much relish. She had downed her hamburger, half of his, and all his fries. Now she was working on the remains of her dinner and nursing a second beer.

Between her eating and Julie’s brief but frequent appearances, Michael wasn’t able to make much progress in the woo-and-conquer department. He should have never let her talk him into coming here. It was far too noisy and crowded to conduct a full-blown Valentine mission. He was a level five operative and he was allowing a young woman barely in her twenties to completely unravel the careful seduction he had planned for her. If Madeline could see him now, she would probably be mildly amused by his bumbling efforts.

He did manage to bring the conversation around to her father. Michael was well aware of her family history, but he made a small reference to non-existent distant cousins in order to lead them in that direction. He new that she and her mother had moved to Australia with her aunt when Nikita was an infant, then had followed her here ten years later upon the death of her uncle. She spoke of the close relationship she and her aunt had enjoyed with a trace of sadness in her voice. It served to remind Michael that the events her life was much more than the simple Intel he had treated them as.

Nikita did not like her father. She could barely talk about him without a frown marring her striking features. He had tried to contact her over a year ago. In the end, they had both pulled back from an arranged meeting. Apparently, Chernek and his ex-wife couldn’t stand each other, despite the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in over twenty years.

According to Nikita, neither one of them had anything good to say about the other. And because of her father’s abuse of her mother, Nikita wasn’t really interested in starting a relationship. As her lover and husband, Michael was supposed to encourage reconciliation. The information she had given him didn’t bode well for that particular mission parameter.

All in all, the evening was not going as planned. Michael should have been focusing on getting her to fall for him. Instead, he found himself really enjoying her company and becoming increasingly distracted by little things. Her hair smelled like peaches. Her dress rode up when she shifted her body, revealing more of her comely thighs. She was licking specks of salt from her fingers with her little pink tongue. Her laugh was low and husky.

And she kept touching him. Not that he minded, but he was supposed to be doing the seducing here. While she talked she touched his hand, his arm, his thigh. Nikita had innocently aroused him and affected all of his senses save one – taste. Hopefully, as the evening progressed, she would allow him to experience that sensation as well.

Michael wondered if she were deliberately trying to entice him. Especially when she leaned closer to him, a soft smile on her face, and begin playing with his hair.

Nikita was more than a little mellow. She liked beer, but it always seemed to go straight to her head. She still had her bearings, but the alcohol made her a little more bold. And her newfound boldness was making her flirt with Michael.

"There’s a French girl in my Child Development class." Nikita wound a lock of his hair around her finger and tugged it gently.

"Mmm," Michael’s hand rested lightly on her hip.

"She’s a real witch."

"Mmm," Michael’s other hand skimmed her lower back.

"I would really love to curse her out in French. Make her feel at home."

"I can’t imagine profanity coming out of your mouth."

"What do you imagine coming out of my mouth?" Nikita ran the tip of her tongue enticingly over her top lip. She saw desire flare in his green eyes. "How do you say ‘I’m going to kick your ass’?"

"Je vais lécher votre âne."

"Bite me?"

"Venillez me mordre."

She moved to re-cross her legs and the dress rode up again. This time Michael caught a glimpse of black stockings and garters. "Umm, you have fat thighs?"

Michael’s hands traveled to the thighs he’d been admiring all evening and he squeezed them lightly. "Je veux embrasser vos cuisses."

Nikita’s eyes narrowed. "That sounds too pretty. Are you translating my exact words?"

"Non." Michael’s eyes fastened on her mouth.

Her heart rate increased. Her breathing was shallow. "Do I want to know what you just said?"

"Not yet. Maybe."

Her hand clutched his lapel as she whispered. "Michael…"

Michael’s lips hovered near hers. "Ni-ki-ta…"

"You two doing okay?"

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

Nikita giggled as Michael’s expression changed from one of passion to on of tightly controlled anger. Julie was suppressing a giggle of her own until Michael turned to her and she saw his face.

He regretfully removed his hands from Nikita’s thighs. "Bring the check, please."

"You guys are leaving?" Julie made the mistake of asking. "It’s only been an hour or so since you got here."

"Bring. The. Check. Please."

Nikita bent her head to stifle a loud guffaw. The stunned look on Julie’s face at Michael’s gruff tone was priceless. She took a deep, calming breath and straightened. "Julie, I think Michael’s had enough of this place. Will you bring our check please?"

Julie nodded and slipped away with a backward glance.

"I feel really bad about this." Nikita’s baby blues danced with merriment.

"Really?" Michael was sitting forward, his back ramrod straight, as if he was ready to bolt at any minute. He tried to ignore the tightness of his crotch and the way Nikita’s blond hair rested against the swell of her breasts.

"Really. We can do the gourmet restaurant thing another time, okay? Or I can take you to the museum. You seem to like that sort of thing."

Nikita tried to soothe his obvious upset by pressing her body against him and looping her arms through his. She didn’t know why she had suddenly becoming so comfortable with him, but it wasn’t the beer. She’d sobered up the minute his long fingers had touched her so intimately.

"You forgive me?" She propped her chin on his broad shoulder.

Michael let his forehead rest against hers and he closed his eyes. Things were going terribly wrong. Everything was off kilter, including him. Nikita was quickly wrapping him around her little finger and he was mentally wrapping his body around hers. His control was slipping and instead of beating a hasty retreat to lick his wounds, he was recklessly looking for more.

They were so absorbed in each other’s presence, Michael barely registered his cell phone ringing. With an exasperated sigh and a guttural ‘merde’, he sat up and yanked it from his pocket.

"Yes?"

Nikita watched the one-sided conversation with interest. Michael had only uttered a greeting and now sat listening intently to whoever was on the other line. A moment later, he flipped the phone closed and eased it back into his pocket.

"I apologize. We’ll have to do the museum another time. There’s a problem back at my home office."

Julie arrived and eased the check in front of him with a wary look, then darted off again.

"You going back to Paris?"

Michael nodded as he shoved the check and some bills between the salt and peppershakers. He felt a little guilty about the way he’d spoken to her earlier, so he left an overly generous tip for Julie.

"I need to be on the next flight out." He reached out and ran his finger along her jaw. "I might not be back for a while."

Nikita tried to shrug, but she was inwardly disappointed. "No problem. I’ll drive you to your hotel."

Nikita made sure she drove at a slower, safer speed on the way to the hotel. Michael was mostly quiet during the drive, acknowledging her small talk with distracted, murmured responses. Nikita wasn’t offended. She figured he was preoccupied with his business dilemma. She pulled into the circular drive of the hotel and edged the car to a stop next to a curve.

Michael took her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips, then leaned towards her and pressed his lips to her cheek. Nikita was slightly disappointed when he moved back, but sensed he was still distracted. His whole demeanor had changed once he’d received that phone call.

He slipped a small, white card into her hand. "Here are my business and home numbers, just in case. I’ll try to call you in a couple of days, but I’ll be traveling a lot."

"You’re going to be gone for days and you’re leaving me with that pitiful peck on the cheek?"

The words were barely out of her mouth when she felt herself roughly pulled into his arms again. His mouth claimed hers in a delicious, sensual kiss that left her momentarily silly. One hand was tangled in her hair, the other glided up her waist to rest just below her breast. His tongue was plunging, tasting, claiming, and by the time she realized she could be caressing his marvelous pectorals, he released her.

Michael was smug as he took in her mussed hair and befuddled countenance. He bid her goodnight as he stepped from the car and watched her as she fumbled to shift into gear and drove away, still looking slightly dazed.

That round goes to me.

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

Antonia paced in front of Walter’s station as she watched Michael debrief in Operation’s loft.

"This is bullshit!" Antonia blurted out. "He just lost his wife again and they’re briefing him?"

Walter shrugged, but cast worried eyes to the loft as well. "The job comes first, honey. Michael understands that."

"But, Walter…"

"Look, kid, even Michael has to put Section first. Personal considerations are not relevant in this place."

Antonia watched as Michael, his face void of emotion, stiffly walked from the loft and crossed the main area. Curious eyes cast pitying glances after him as he went into his office and shut the door, then closed the blinds.

"Operations is a prick." Antonia mumbled to herself.

She was beginning to understand the perverse way operatives that were used at Section One. She remembered her own beating a few weeks ago, ordered by a guilt-ridden Chuck in order to achieve closer on the Helen Wicke mission. Surely someone of Michael’s caliber deserved better treatment.

Or maybe he had already received too much. To discover that her mentor had been married to another Section operative had been both shocking and confusing. Personal relationships between agents were supposed to be forbidden. Of course, that rule was broken on a regular basis, especially by her, but married operatives? Maybe Michael had gone a little too far and his wife’s ‘death’ had been his punishment.

"I should go check on him." Antonia told Walter.

Michael could be an asshole sometimes, but he was her mentor and he had watched out for her in an aloof but big-brotherly sort of way since her induction into Section. And he had looked horrible after seeing Simone blow herself to hell. Antonia felt sorry for her, but how selfish of her to let her own husband watch her commit suicide.

Antonia really didn’t find Michael attractive, though he was obviously an exceptional male specimen. He was a little too pretty for her, she liked her men more ruggedly handsome. But there was no way she would leave a man who had obviously loved his wife as much as Michael had loved Simone.

"You go do that, kid." Walter urged. "He really took it hard last time. I don’t know how he’ll survive it again."

She was a bit leery as she moved towards Michael’s office and hesitated outside his door. Even though she had witnessed him treat Simone with heartbreaking tenderness, he was an extremely standoffish man when it came to giving and receiving affection. He could react any number of ways to an overture of sympathy and concern from her. But she just had to make sure he was okay before she left for home.

Antonia knocked, but no answer was forthcoming. She called his name and tried the door handle, but it was locked. She knocked again, but still received no answer and finally gave up. Looking up, she noticed Walter, Chuck and Birkoff idling around Birkoff’s station, a question in their eyes. With a shake of her head, she moved towards them.

"God, you don’t think he’d do anything stupid?" Antonia asked, her heart racing. Michael could already be dead inside his office.

Birkoff inclined his head toward his terminal. "He cut the feed to his office. I’ll keep an eye on him. I think he can only block it for a few minutes."

"Hey, don’t worry." Chuck told the small group. "Michael won’t kill himself. He’s not that weak."

Antonia said a silent prayer. "I hope not."

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

"So you had a date a last week."

Nikita rolled her eyes and mentally skewered Julie. Jamie was such a good friend. He had saved her from many a schoolyard beating, but a friend was all she saw in him. He had hinted on several occasions over the years that he wanted more. The last time had been a few days before she had met Michael.

She had been avoiding Jamie. It was just too awkward to be around someone who harbored unrequited love for you. But he had managed to track her down at work and cajoled her into taking a break with him and now he was grilling her like a jealous husband.

Jamie looked at her pointedly when Nikita remained silent. "Well?"

"Well what, Jamie? I don’t have to discuss my personal life with you."

Nikita drummed her fingers on the table in agitation.

"Julie says you hardly know anything about this man. You gotta be careful around strange, foreign men."

"You been taking lessons from my mother?"

"Okay, what do you know about him? What does he do?" Jamie countered. "And where the hell is he? You gonna carry on a long distance relationship with a man you know nothing about?"

Nikita leaned forward and whispered angrily. "He’s a consultant for a security firm. I don’t know where he is. And what I’m going to do with him on a personal level is none of your business."

Actually, Nikita was a little angry. She’d called and left a message at Michael’s home and hadn’t received a call back. He hadn’t tried to contact her either. She knew he was probably busy traveling, but she the kiss he had left her with had left her aching to see him again. She didn’t want to seem too eager, but oh my, that kiss….

"You serious about him?" Jamie intruded on her thoughts.

"Please, Jamie, I’ve only known him a couple of weeks. You and mother are blowing everything out of proportion."

"I’ve known you for years and you won’t even go on a date with me."

Nikita really wanted to slug him right now, but she didn’t want to break his heart anymore than she already had. She braced herself for the gentle letdown she was about to deliver yet again.

"Jamie, you’re a good friend and I really care a lot about you..."

"Save it, Nikita." Jamie raised his hands and stood. "I don’t want to hear it. I wish you would give me a chance to show you how good we could be together."

Sighing, Nikita stood with him and patted his shoulder. "I can’t talk about this now. I’ve gone over my break."

Jamie grabbed her hand when she made to move away. "I’m not giving up on you."

With an exasperated look, Nikita returned to work. Emily ogled Jamie’s backside as he left the diner and sidled up to Nikita. "Another looker, huh? Where do you find the time, hon?"

"Shut up, Emily." Nikita muttered.

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

"I heard you and Keith had something going on."

Antonia dropped her head in her lap in frustration. All she wanted was a little sexual release to ease the tension she’d been feeling for the last couple of days. Fretting over Michael’s state of mind was taking a toll on her. He didn’t seem suicidal, but he was more closed off than ever since Simone’s death two weeks ago. He still went about his work, executing missions flawlessly and keeping her out of trouble, but he refused to let her help him grieve. She didn’t know where he went or what he did when he left Section, but she knew it was unhealthy to keep those emotions so bottled up.

Now she needed a break from the stress of missions and her concern for Michael, but her boyfriend of a record six weeks, Eric, was putting her off with irrational fears of other men. True, Antonia may have flirted with Keith once or twice, but she always remained faithful to whatever man she happened to be romancing during the course of their relationship.

Eric was getting too attached and stupidly trying to get her to escape Section with her. It was probably time to break it off. Nothing good could come of this. Section was just too damn cunning and she wasn’t getting killed for Eric, no matter how much she cared for him.

"There is nothing going on between us," Antonia said, her head still on her knees.

"Mentz says he saw you two kissing on level four." Eric accused.

"Mentz is an asshole."

"He’s an asshole because he caught you."

"He’s an asshole because he made a pass at me and I decked him." Antonia stood and replenished the glass of wine she’d been drinking. "Can we not discuss this?"

"Are you lying to me, Toni? ‘Cause if you are, I swear…"

"Come on, baby." Toni cooed as she stroked his chest. It was a last ditch effort to divert his jealous thoughts, but he wouldn’t be swayed. Like a pouting child, he pushed her hand away and crossed his arms over his chest.

Yeah, it’s definitely time to end this.

A knock at her door saved her from the thick tension that filled the room and she walked to her viewer to peak at her visitor. She was surprised to see Michael standing on the other side of her door and immediately pulled it open.

"Hey, Michael." She greeted him warmly, snagging his arm and pulling him inside.

For a moment, she accessed his appearance. He looked a little pale and dark circles smudged his eyes, but he was otherwise his perfectly groomed and composed self. He glanced around as he removed his gloves, eyes lighting on Eric standing next to the sofa.

"Eric." He acknowledged the younger man, then addressed Antonia. "I’m sorry, you have company." Michael murmured softly as he turned to leave.

"No, no, you come back here!" Antonia grabbed a handful of coat and jerked him back. "Eric was just leaving."

"I was not." Eric protested, suspicious of Michael’s sudden appearance.

"Yes you were." Antonia hissed, retrieving his jacket and thrusting it at him. As she pushed a stumbling Eric to the door, Michael stepped aside.

"I will talk to you later." She opened the door and pushed him out, ignoring his stuttered protests.

"Antonia -- "

"Call me later, Eric." She slammed the door in his face and turned to Michael with an overly bright smile. "So, hey! What’s up with you?"

Despite his despondent mood, Michael’s lips quirked in a half-smile. He could warn her about the drawbacks of personal relationships inside Section until he was blue in the face, and she still would defy him. He knew firsthand how badly such an attachment could end. Still, Toni was fickle, flitting restlessly from one man to the next. At least she didn’t allow herself to get too involved. Or maybe that was changing. Eric had survived the hurricane that was Antonia longer than the others. Which gave him cause to worry, given what he knew.

"I wanted to see how you were doing?" He answered her.

"I should be asking you that." Antonia walked to the tiny kitchen. "You want a glass of wine?"

"No, thank you. I have a flight to catch, but I wanted to make sure you were alright." Michael said again and gave her a meaningful look.

Antonia was confused, but ignored his last few words. "Where are you going?"

Michael remained silent and Antonia nodded. "I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have asked."

He walked slowly across the room and stopped in front of her. His hands grasped her shoulders. "I know I haven’t been around much lately to help you. But if you should have a problem, go to Chuck. He’ll assist you with whatever you need."

When her embraced her, Antonia thought the world was coming to an end. Michael? Being affectionate? Her stupefaction was quickly replaced by realization when she felt him slip a piece of paper in the waistband of her jeans.

Michael stepped away and went to the door. "Behave yourself."

"Yes, sir." Antonia saluted.

When he was gone, she fluttered about her apartment, pretending to straighten it. She gathered her garbage together, then went downstairs and outside to empty it. Cautiously, she scanned the dim alley, then removed the note from her jeans and read it.

Section knows about Eric. If you run with him, you’ll die. They’re watching you.

Antonia sighed as she ripped Michael’s note into little pieces and pushed it in her pocket. She looked around again before returning back inside.

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

Nikita counted her tips and decided she had done pretty well today. She was thankful that the shift was over so she could go home and nurse the head cold she had gotten. She would stuff herself with vitamin ‘c’ tablets and whatever Roberta had cooked for dinner then burrow in her bed to study.

She sneezed loudly and wiped her nose as Emily sidled up to her. "Honey, isn’t that your Frenchman out there?"

"Where?" Nikita’s head jerked up as she looked outside.

"Across the street, in that little park." Emily pointed. "He’s sitting on a bench. See over there, by that big tree?"

Even though his back was to her, Nikita recognized Michael. She wondered how long he had been sitting there and why he just hadn’t come inside the diner. Nikita put her coat on, wrapped her mother’s scarf around her neck and went outside.

It was rather weird, the way Michael kept popping up when she least expected it. She was still annoyed that he hadn’t contacted her at all during his absence, but they’d only been out once, so she really shouldn’t expect that kind of commitment from him.

When she reached the bench, she walked around to stand in front of him. He didn’t seem to acknowledge her at all at first. In fact, he looked to be staring right through her. She also noticed that his expression was profoundly sad and his eyes looked slightly glassy, as if he had been crying or was about to cry.

Alarmed, Nikita sat down next to him and shook his shoulder. "Michael? What’s wrong?"

His lids closed momentarily, then flew back open. Michael turned his head and looked at her, but still said nothing.

"Hey. Why didn’t you come inside? It’s cold out here." Nikita rubbed his arm and searched his forlorn face.

Michael blinked again and then straightened. "I didn’t want to bother you while you were working."

"You could have called and let me know you were in town. How long have you been out here?"

"I’m not sure." Michael turned his head and closed his eyes. He wasn’t ready to face Nikita yet, certain that he wouldn’t be able to hide his sadness over Simone from her.

When Madeline had demanded for a progress report on Nikita, she had insisted he return to her upon learning he hadn’t been intimate with her. He had tried to explain Nikita’s overly cautious nature to Madeline, but she didn’t want to hear it. Apparently Operations was pushing her and she in turn was pushing Michael.

Nikita had called him once but he had been too distraught to call her back. He also felt guilty that he would have to go back to romancing her so soon after Simone had died. It was too much for him. He had been holding back his grief all the way from Paris, in fact, for the last few weeks, and he was going to lose himself to it eventually. He didn’t want to break down in front of Nikita.

"What happened?" Nikita asked again, her brow furrowed in concern. "You look so unhappy."

Michael heaved a deep sigh. He would have to tell her something or she would fret about his emotional state. Deciding a variation of the truth would appease her, Michael opened his eyes and focused on a group of teens playing football at the far end of the park.

"I…lost someone. A family member…." His voice trailed off as a lump formed in his throat and his eyes misted again. He blinked them back rapidly, ashamed that Nikita was seeing him in such a vulnerable state.

"I’m so sorry, Michael." Nikita murmured, her heart agonizing for him. We’re you very close?"

Michael’s chin dropped to his chest. "Yes…. we were."

Nikita stifled a sneeze and ignored the painful throbbing of her headache. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Michael remained silent and Nikita bit her lip, unsure of how to proceed. She thought back to the death of her aunt and remembered how good it had felt to have Julie and Jamie there for her, not to empathize, because in the end that had not really made her feel any better. What they did do was provide her with love and affection, something her then alcoholic mother had been unable to do. A whole lot of hugs and impromptu outings to the movies or out to eat had gone a long way in making her grief easier to bear.

Deciding that a comforting presence was probably what he needed most, Nikita sat back and scooted closer to him, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. She slipped her hand in his and her fingers entwined with his leather-covered ones. He didn’t acknowledge her actions, but continued to stare straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the game, not really seeing it. Nikita did the same, quietly enjoying his warmth pressed against hers and satisfied that she was maybe offering some sort of solace for him.

With her free hand, she wound the scarf around her head to cover her ears, aware that she probably looked like an old beggar woman next to Michael’s sophisticated appearance. She sniffed slightly and chanced a glance at his profile. He was still lost in his thoughts and Nikita remained patiently still, watching the game and sniffling on the sly. She wondered if he were even aware of her sitting so snugly against him, but every now and then he would gently squeeze her hand and she knew he hadn’t completely forgotten about her in his despair.

They stayed on the bench until the early evening light begin to dim and the teens eventually wandered away. Traffic had picked up and people were leaving the park to go home for supper. It was getting colder and Nikita’s headache was getting worse. She quickly pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and sneezed loudly into it.

Michael’s head swiveled in her direction and for the first time he took in her watery eyes and red nose. "You’re ill."

Nikita nodded. "It’s not that bad."

"And I’ve kept you out in the cold. I’m sorry."

"It’s alright. You needed a little time to collect yourself." Nikita released his hand and stood, pulling the coat tighter around her chest.

Michael stood with her and reached out to finger her coat sleeve. "This is too thin. You need something warmer."

"I know. I haven’t had time to go shopping." Nikita paused a moment to wipe her nose again. "God, I must look horrible. Listen, you want to come to my place for dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"Yeah, my mom’s a great cook. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind having you." Nikita inched closer and took his hand again. His features looked weary and drawn.

She really didn’t want him to meet her mother just yet – not until Roberta was satisfied that he wasn’t a serial killer. But she didn’t want him to be isolated in his despondent mood, especially in a strange, lonely hotel room. She could take him out to eat, but she was too sick to sit in a restaurant.

"I wouldn’t want to impose on you." Michael said seriously. He really wanted to be with her, even if he had to endure Roberta Wirth’s inevitable wariness of him. Despite his turmoil, he had felt immense peacefulness at Nikita’s proximity, and was loath to be away from her right now.

"The food probably won’t be a culinary masterpiece and my mom will probably do the twenty questions thing, but I don’t want you to be alone." Nikita told him forcefully, not allowing any room for protest.

Michael managed a weak smile. "I don’t want to be alone either."

"Good." Nikita and pulled him along behind her. She looked over her shoulder at him with an impish grin. "I’d pay you back for that kiss you left me with, but I don’t want to give you my cooties."

Michael’s smile grew wider. "Are you sure your mother will be okay with this?"

"Oh, sure. But just in case -- brace yourself."

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

Her mother had always told Roberta that she was a sucker for strays and a sob story. When she was a little girl, she’d always felt sorry for the kids who were picked on or who didn’t have any lunch money. A lot of days she would come home hungry because she had given her own lunch away. Or she’d have a kitten or a puppy stuck under her arm. Usually her wiry bottom would be tender that evening. Her Daddy tried to make her understand that they were as poor as the kids she was trying to help.

So when Nikita had called her to tell her she was bringing her Frenchman home for dinner, Roberta had been fully prepared to give him her best intimidating mother act. But when she learned the man had just lost a close member of his family, Roberta’s old instincts began to kick in.

Not that she would allow him to win her over as he apparently had done her daughter. She still believed that men were inherently devious and untrustworthy, save for her Daddy of course. Roberta could tell her daughter cared for this Michael Samuelle, so she would treat him with polite but distant kindness. No need getting his hopes up. If she had her way, he wouldn’t be around for long. This tentative reconciliation with Nikita was too hard won for her to risk some outsider coming in and ruining it.

When they arrived, Roberta was surprised at Michael’s appearance. He was indeed a very handsome man, as Julie had told her the last time she had visited. She hadn’t been exaggerating. Pretty eyes. Roberta used to be weak for men with pretty eyes. Like mother, like daughter.

Michael Samuelle gifted her with a gorgeous smile. Despite the openness of it, he seemed very powerful and mysterious. Something else about him put her on guard. He exuded danger. It wasn’t overt, but quietly and momentarily contained. He reminded her a lot of Andrei, the son-of-a-bitch, and that was not a good omen.

Michael took her hand and kissed it when Nikita introduced them. "Enchanté, Ms. Wirth."

Smooth, very smooth. "Oh, call me Roberta, honey. I’m so sorry to hear about your loss."

"Thank you." Michael’s face remained passive.

"And look at you!" Roberta turned to Nikita and began peeling the scarf and coat from her. "Your cold has gotten worse. I told you to stay home."

"It’s nothing, Mom. Fix me one of your old-fashion cures and I’ll be as good as new." Nikita cleared her throat.

Roberta hung their coats on a rack next to the door. "Well, Michael, I’d offer you a drink but I’m a recovering alcoholic." She glanced at Michael to gauge his reaction to that bit of information, but he didn’t seem to be put off by her statement. "I don’t keep any booze in the house."

"I’m fine. And congratulations. You should be very proud." Michael told her sincerely.

Damn. He handled that well.

"Thanks. Uh, baby, you wanna help me in the kitchen?"

Nikita squeezed Michael’s shoulder as she followed her mother through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. He released a sigh, knowing he hadn’t really experienced the full impact of Roberta Wirth’s hidden dislike. He was sure the private call Nikita had placed on his cell phone had been a warning to her mother. She was on her best behavior for now, but he knew she would make her feelings known before the evening was over.

Physically, Roberta was short and a little on the thin side, probably a side affect of her alcoholism. Her dark hair and eyes had hinted at prettiness in her youth. The lines and hardness that were there now were probably a testament to her life. She really wasn’t all that much older than he was. Michael had already made up his mind not to try and get in her good graces. Nikita was his primary concern and he suspected that Roberta really didn’t have all that much influence on her daughter.

He looked around the little apartment. Strange that they should live like this when Andrei Chernek was worth millions. Not that their home was dilapidated. It wasn’t decorated with sophistication in mind, but it was comfortable. Most everything was brown and beige, a little gold mixed in here and there. The furnishings were old, but homey. And everything was as neat as a pin.

Michael went over to the small fireplace and stoked the fire Roberta had started. His eyes lit on a worn photo album propped on an end table and he returned to the sofa with it in tow. He chuckled softly as he took in the various photos. Nikita as a toddler in a highchair, blue eyes large, something green and mushy smeared around her mouth. Nikita with a tight ponytail and missing front teeth. A teenage Nikita and Julie leaning against the Corvette she was now driving. There were a few pictures of her with a woman resembling Roberta and a burly blond man, most likely her aunt and uncle.

Some shots of Roberta caught his eye and Michael had been right – she had been very pretty in her younger years. Most of the pictures were cut in half but he could make out a disembodied arm around her neck or waist. Probably Chernek. The last picture made him chuckle out loud. Tucked in the back of the album was an old photograph of Chernek, a noose drawn around his neck and a dagger drawn in his heart. Obviously Roberta still held a little resentment towards her ex-husband.

The delicious aromas of bread and coffee were wafting out of the kitchen. They had been in there a long time and Michael figured it was because he was the topic of their conversation.

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

"You’d better not say anything nasty to him, mom!" Nikita warned, downing a couple of aspirin with a glass of orange juice.

Roberta rolled her eyes. "I never thought you’d be taken in by a nice ass and a pretty face."

Nikita’s eyes were round. "You were looking at his ass?"

"Baby, I’ve still got eyes." Roberta stirred in a large stockpot. "He’s exactly the kind of man your father was. Gorgeous on the outside. Full of shit on the inside."

"Mom…"

"Nikita." Roberta waggled a large spoon at her. " You listen to me. I’ve been around. I know about men."

"The only men you know about are the men you picked up from those hole-in-the-wall bars you used to live in." Nikita tossed a salad angrily, bits of lettuce flying out of the bowl. "I wished you’d stop lumping everyone I date in with those losers you brought home."

It took a few minutes of silence for Nikita to regret her words. She had broken the cardinal rule of their new relationship. There was to be no mention of past indiscretions. Their counselor said it would only hinder their progress and keep them at odds.

Nikita sighed as she looked over at Roberta. She was still tasting and adding seasoning to the stew she had made, but her shoulders were slightly slumped and her movements were stilted.

Moving behind her mother, Nikita wrapped her arms around her thin shoulders and rested her chin on top of her head. "I’m sorry, mom."

Roberta leaned back into her daughter, then reached around and swatted Nikita’s behind. "No harm done."

"Yes there was. I broke the rules. I promise not to do it again."

Wriggling out of Nikita’s embrace, Roberta kissed her cheek. "Let’s forget it, okay? Mom won’t embarrass you in front of your young man."

Nikita hugged her again. "You’re so good to me."

"You remember that. I still don’t trust him…"

"Mom…"

"But he is a babe."

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

"Ever play spades, Michael?"

Dinner was finished and Michael was helping Roberta clean up the kitchen. Nikita was on the living room sofa, tucked under a blanket with a poultice on her chest and a cup of lemon tea.

"Spades?"

"It’s a card game." Roberta stacked the last plate in the dishwasher and nudged the door closed with her hip.

"I’ve never played." Michael sat a lidded plastic bowl in the refrigerator.

"Well, fix us a cup of coffee and bring it in the living room." There was a wicked gleam in her eyes as she glided out of the kitchen. "I’m going to teach you how to play and then whip your ass."

Michael couldn’t hide his amusement at her bossy tone as he made a fresh pot of coffee. During dinner Roberta had fed him and interrogated him at the same time. He had made sure to stick to Madeline’s carefully scripted life history of him, but couldn’t help but add in a few truths about his parents and sister and his growing up in France. He had avoided mentioning Simone and Nikita hadn’t either. Roberta still seemed to harbor suspicion, but she had bought his story.

Roberta had also cast narrowed eyes at him and Nikita whenever she thought Michael wasn’t looking. Their mutual attraction was evident by the little looks and smiles they exchanged. Without realizing it, he found himself automatically reaching for her hand when he spoke to her and rubbing her back when she had experienced a particularly nasty coughing spell. He wished for a moment alone with her, but he thought it best to appease Roberta by keeping his distance for now.

He carried their cups to the living room. Roberta was sitting on a cushion on the floor next to the sofa. She expertly shuffled a deck of cards as Nikita massaged her neck and shoulders with one hand.

"Here you are." Michael handed Roberta a steaming cup.

"Thank you, honey." Roberta patted a cushion on the floor opposite her. "Settle down and relax."

"Mom, I can’t believe you’ve got him cleaning up and waiting on you." Nikita gave Michael an apologetic look. "He’s supposed to be a guest."

"He ate my food. He’s smooching and making goo-goo eyes with my daughter. Hell, he should feel at home by now."

"MOM!" Nikita sat up at her mother’s words, but turned her head when she heard Michael laughing.

"I don’t mind waiting on your mother, Ni-ki-ta." Michael grinned as he made him self comfortable on the floor, his back resting against the sofa.

"Uh huh," Roberta pulled out a pencil and a notepad. "Now he’s kissing my ass. Or yours. But keep it up -- I like that."

Nikita groaned out loud and buried her stuffy nose back in her psychology text. Michael listened attentively as Roberta explained the rules of spades to him as if he were a child. The parameters of the game were simple enough, but he had a feeling Roberta was hell-bent on winning the game and would best him -- this time. He was very competitive by nature, and he sensed she was as well. To her, the prize in their game of wills would be Nikita.

"We’ll play to a score of five hundred. Cool?" Roberta pressed her lips together as she wrote their names on the pad of paper. She wrote ‘Frenchy’ in his column instead of ‘Michael’.

"My mother cheats, Michael." Nikita warned him.

"Only for money, baby. Only for money."

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

"Ni-ki-ta. Ni-ki-ta."

Michael gently shook her shoulder and Nikita awoke groggily, her head pounding. She squinted at the blank blue screen of the television. Roberta was curled up in the armchair, snoring softly. After beating Michael at spades twice, she had insisted on watching an old Gregory Peck video. Her mother swooned for Gregory Peck.

"What time is it?" Nikita stretched and pushed the blanket away from her.

"Nearly midnight." Michael whispered. He had donned his leather jacket again and was squatted next to her.

"God, we’re rude, aren’t we? Mom treats you like the help and we both fall asleep on you."

"I fell asleep too." Michael held the back of his hand against her forehead. "You have a fever."

"I’ll take some more aspirin." Nikita sat up and swung her feet to the floor. "Let me walk you to the door."

When they were at the entrance, Michael made sure Roberta was still sleeping before he pulled Nikita into his arms and cradled her to him. "Merci. You and your mother made me feel much better."

"You’re welcome," Nikita rubbed his back, her eyes droopy-lidded as she smiled up at him. He lowered his head to kiss her and she swiftly turned away. "Michael, you’ll catch my cold."

He grasped her chin with his fingers and turned her face towards him. He pressed her lips softly to hers for a brief second and pulled back. She tasted like cough drops and smelled like menthol, but she was beautiful, even with pillow creases decorating half her face.

"You should stay in bed tomorrow. I’ll call you around noon."

Nikita nodded sleepily as he kissed her hot forehead. She quietly closed the door behind him, a sappy, tired grin on her face and went to put her Roberta to bed.

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

Michael was so exhausted from the constant air travel and mission rotations that he slept past eight, something unusual for him. He showered and ordered up room service, then sat on the bed and logged onto his laptop. As he waited for the connection to Section One, Michael’s mind wandered back to the previous evening.

His dinner with Nikita and her mother had been so enjoyable and normal. He hadn’t spent an evening like that in years, not since he was a young student at university. Even the time he’d spent with Simone had not been as domestic. Most of their married life within Section had been spent making love, catching up on much needed sleep, and going out on missions.

His sorrow over Simone’s second death had not been as devastating. Really he had done most of his grieving for her the first time he had thought her dead. Now all he felt was a profound sadness that she hadn’t wanted to live. Not even for him, though that thought seemed a little selfish. Nikita’s comfort and the delightful evening he’d shared with she and her mother had filled him with a sense of peace and longing.

Michael would love to spend more moments like that with Nikita. He realized that during the short time he’d known her, he’d ceased treating her like a mission and more like a woman with which he could really have a relationship. He also realized that his growing feelings for her and hers for him could bring a lot of emotional pain for them both when Chernek was finally apprehended. Though a little rough around the edges, Nikita was still an innocent and tenderhearted person. When he was forced to leave her, she would be hurt and so would he.

So Michael vowed to sit down and find some alternate way to apprehend Chernek as soon as he returned to Section. It would be easier to end their budding relationship now then when they were both emotionally vested in the other.

Shortly, Madeline’s face appeared on the laptop’s screen. Michael made sure his expression was as blank as hers. He never let her unnerving manner bother him, but he’d begun to feel irritated of her probing of his relationship with Nikita.

"Good morning, Michael." She greeted with that tiny enigmatic smile of hers. "You’re reporting in a little late this morning."

"Couldn’t be helped." Michael replied, refusing to elaborate.

"What progress have you made with Nikita Wirth?"

"I had dinner with her and her mother last night."

"Good. If she’s taken you to meet her mother than she must be developing feelings for you." Madeline surmised. "Have you had sex with her?"

Michael inwardly flinched but hid his dislike of her question. "No."

She paused a moment. "I’m surprised, Michael. It usually takes you less time to sleep with a mark. If your grief over Simone is keeping you from having sex with Nikita, you must find some way to get over it."

"Nikita is a special case." Michael told her. "She may have invited me to meet her mother, but she doesn’t trust easily. Neither does her mother. I need to take my time on this."

Madeline was thoughtful before answering. "Very well. Proceed as you think best. You’ll probably be called in by the end of the week. You have four days to spend with her. Report back to me on Thursday. In the meantime, I’ve had several hot issues routed to you. I’d like preliminary profiles sent to me by tomorrow morning."

Michael nodded and ended the connection. He ate his breakfast, then begin working up profiles. He became so engrossed in fine tuning the tactical scenarios that he didn’t notice several hours had past. It was almost noon when he stretched and shut down the laptop. He wondered how Nikita was faring and if she’d stayed home today.

He wandered to the large window and glanced outside. The day was overcast, dreary, and cold. Nikita was stubborn about her classes, as he’d found out the previous evening. But surely she wouldn’t be fool enough to go out in this weather, in her condition. Michael picked up his cell phone and dialed her number.

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

Groaning in agony, Nikita retched violently into the open toilet. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead as she coughed and gagged. Eventually, her stomach granted her a short reprieve and she kneeled back a little, heaving and waiting tensely for the next attack. When she felt safe that none was forthcoming, she flushed the toilet, then sat back on her heels to collect herself.

When Roberta had woke her this morning before going to work, Nikita’s cold had worsened. Her mother had plied her with cold medicine and juice, but she had thrown it up a few minutes later. Now she was throwing up the crackers she’d tried to down to settle her roiling stomach.

Weakly, she leaned over the sink and washed her mouth out, then splashed water on her face. As she slowly patted a towel over her heated skin, she heard the phone ringing. Returning to her room, she fell heavily on the bed as she grabbed up the receiver.

"’Lo?" Nikita mumbled into the phone, her voice raspy and thick.

"Nikita?" She recognized Michael’s voice. "You sound horrible."

"I feel horrible." She rolled over and clutched a pillow to her stomach. "Think my cold’s turned into the flu."

"You should see a doctor." Michael told her anxiously. "It could be pneumonia."

"I have an appointment in a couple of hours."

"Is your mother there?"

"No."

"Stay in bed." Michael commanded. "I’ll be there in a few minutes."

Nikita started to protest, but he’d already hung up. Sighing, she turned on her stomach and squeezed her eyes shut. Her head was pounding and her ears were ringing. Her whole body ached and she felt hot again. A few minutes ago she had been cold. She shifted positions again, figuring raising her head slightly would help her breath better. She remained in that position, chest rattling and breath wheezing, until she finally heard Michael ringing the doorbell.

It wasn’t an easy task making it to the front door. Rising from the bed had made her dizzy and she teetered gingerly across the living room, black shadows clouding her vision, to let him in.

Upon seeing Nikita’s frail state once she let him in, Michael immediately scooped her up in his arms, kicking the door closed and depositing her gently on the sofa.

"You’re burning up." His eyes examined her flushed skin as his fingers caressed the heated skin of her cheek.

Nikita managed a wan smile. "I finally get you to sweep me off my feet and I’m too sick to do anything about it."

Michael returned her smile and kissed her forehead. "Later." He promised against her skin.

He ignored and cursed his body’s response to her slender curves clad only in a T-shirt and panties. Forcing himself to detach himself, he retrieved a cold, wet cloth and gently bathed her face and neck. Following her directions, he found clothes for her and helped her into them. Nikita demanded that he phone Roberta at work and let her know where she would be. Her mother had sounded grateful albeit a bit annoyed that Michael was there to help.

At the doctor’s office, Nikita and Michael sat in the crowded waiting room for what seemed to Michael like forever. His arm was wrapped around her waist and Nikita’s head rested on his chest. He asked her quietly if they should go to an emergency room instead, but Nikita insisted on staying. Dr. Quitman had been her family doctor for ten years and she refused to be examined by anyone else.

When the nurse finally called her, Michael insisted on going to the exam room with her. The doctor, an elderly man with a jovial nature and bushy white hair, examined her and confirmed Nikita’s flu. He prescribed antibiotics for her and sent her home with a fatherly pat on the head and a warm hello for Roberta.

Michael stopped to fill her prescription, then drove them back to her apartment. He cast concerned looks at her slumped figure in the passenger seat, trying hard to corner his suspicious thoughts. He wouldn’t put it past Section One to concoct an illness that might bring her father running, but it was only the flu. There was nothing life threatening about that, but the rapid onset of it had worried him. He assured himself that it was too early for Section to intervene. But if he didn’t speed things along, they surely would.

Back at the apartment, he coaxed her to eat a little broth and toast, then gave her a dose of the medicine. He tucked her into a quilt on the sofa and soon she was fast asleep.

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

A few hours later Roberta let herself into her apartment and she found Michael in the chair reading one of her old science fiction paperbacks. Nikita was knocked out on the sofa and Roberta could hear her labored breathing.

"Well, hi there." She greeted Michael in a low voice, tossing her things on the dining room table and making a beeline for Nikita.

"Hello, Roberta." Michael put down the novel and straightened from his lounging position.

"How’s my baby doing?" Roberta asked, feeling Nikita’s forehead with the back of her hand.

Michael stood and stretched. "Dr. Quitman says she has the flu. He prescribed antibiotics and bed rest. Her fever has dipped somewhat."

Nodding, she straightened and forced a smile. "Thanks for looking after her. She’s really bad about taking care of herself. Actually, we both are."

"I like taking care of your daughter."

Roberta’s eyes narrowed at this statement. I’ll just bet you do. She perused his blank expression for a moment, then cocked a finger at him. "You come with me."

"Merde. Now I’m in trouble." He thought. As he followed Roberta to the kitchen, he wondered how she would go about warning him off her daughter, and he had no doubt that that was exactly what the possessive parent had in mind.

"Have a seat." Roberta pulled out a chair at the two-seater table as she passed the tiny breakfast nook area. Michael sat and watched as she put on a pot of coffee. Her slight figure flit about the kitchen, pulling things out of the refrigerator and cupboards, then tossing them on the kitchen counter.

"I think you’re an okay guy, Michael." Roberta told him as she placed a large pot on the burner.

"Thank you." Michael eyed her warily.

"And, you know, your mother probably raised you to respect women."

Michael said a silent prayer for his mother and nodded. "Yes."

"But I can spot guys like you a mile away." Roberta poured him a cup of coffee and placed it before him. She gave him a dazzling smile as her eyes twinkled with evil. At least that’s how it looked to Michael.

"I don’t understand." Playing dumb was his best defense until Roberta stated exactly what was on her mind.

She gripped a sharp knife as she propped a hand on her hip. "You know what I mean." Roberta aimed her best intimidating look at him and waved the knife. "Nikita is gorgeous. Men see those innocent baby blues and blond hair and think she’s an easy target."

Michael cringed at her choice of words. "I never thought that about Nikita."

"Uh huh." Roberta arranged a bell pepper on a carving board and began to neatly chop it. "I don’t want my baby hurt."

"I don’t intend to hurt her." Michael lowered his head and stared into his coffee. Liar.

"What exactly do you have to offer her?" Roberta went on. "I mean, you travel a lot. Are you looking for a steady screw every time you’re in town?"

Michael sighed. Her line of questioning was beginning to irritate him. He never thought he would have this much trouble with the assignment when he’d taken it. An interfering mother-in-law was the least of his worries at the time. He wondered vaguely how Victor was faring.

"I don’t mean to trash men." Roberta viciously chopped an onion. "But you’re all led around by your penises. All you think about is sex, money and war. The world would be a lot better off if women were running it."

Michael shook his head and wondered why fate had cursed him this way. Did he have to listen to a diatribe on how men were ruining the world now? Most mothers went into romantic spasms when a son-in-law prospect was in the immediate vicinity. Instead of happily scanning wedding magazines, Roberta was plotting ways to keep Nikita unmarried and attached to her hip.

"Michael? Are you listening to me?"

Michael sat up abruptly and took a sip of the cold coffee. He grimaced and turned his attention to her. "Yes. No, not really."

"Figures." Roberta gave him her back and began to whack at the onion again.

Michael rose and came up beside her. "Can I help?"

"Can you cook?"

"A little."

"Well, forgive me, honey, but I’d rather eat my own cooking. You can make a salad, that’s simple enough."

Roberta stomped to the fridge, gathered the ingredients, and pushed them at Michael. They stood side by side, working in silence as Roberta humming to the radio on the windowsill. Though her biased opinion of him had annoyed him, Michael found her really liked Roberta. He wanted to appease her fear of him and he figured empty words wouldn’t do just now. He would have to show her that her genuinely cared for Nikita.

He cast a sideways glance at Roberta, his thoughts in turmoil. One moment he thought of Nikita as his mark and how he would best meet each mission parameter in order to snare her permanently. The next moment, he was seriously trying to win her heart for purely selfish reasons and he was doing a pitiful job of it.

"Roberta." He stopped chopping carrots and turned to face her.

"What?" She barked.

"I care for Nikita." He placed a hand on her bony shoulder.

"Whatever."

Michael was thoughtful before speaking again. "If you want me to leave her alone, I will."

That got her attention. She looked up, her eyes searching his for some sort of trick. Wrong move, Roberta. His eyes were large and sincere. For a moment, she could understand why Nikita was so captivated with him.

"Are you for real?"

"Yes. If you don’t think Nikita would be hurt by me dumping her because her mother was nosy, interfering, and insecure, I’ll stop seeing her."

Roberta’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. She would’ve exploded had she not thought about what her chasing away Michael would do to Nikita. She’d blown it off the last few times Roberta’s overprotective instincts had alienated her dates. Getting rid of Michael would probably cause another rift between them, one that would make Nikita take that threatened step and move out.

Deciding backing off a bit to see how things progressed would be a better tactic, Roberta good-naturedly punched Michael’s arm. "Asshole."

Michael grinned and continued preparing the salad. "So I have you permission to date your daughter?"

"For now." Roberta conceded. "I say you last another month."

"I’m betting years." Michael replied smugly.

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

"You look better." Michael’s talented hands massaged the Nikita’s sore legs under the blanket.

He sat on the sofa with her, Nikita’s legs in his lap as she sat propped against some pillows. She still had a fever, though it was low-grade, according to Roberta, and she couldn’t speak without stopping to catch her breath. Both Michael and Roberta were encouraged that her appetite had returned and she was actually able to hold down her chicken soup.

"Mom combed my hair." Nikita wheezed. She paused to rest before continuing. "Chest still hurts."

"You’ll be bedridden for a few days."

"Gonna miss class." Nikita looked worried. "Not gonna be able…to catch up."

Michael’s fingers applied light pressure to her calf before slowly kneading the muscles again. "Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be fine."

Nikita coughed and blew her nose, then lay back and closed her eyes. "Damn flu." Her eyes flew open again. "You and mom gonna catch it."

Michael shook his head as his fingers danced across her knee. "I had a flu shot."

"Ugh." Nikita grimaced. "Health nut."

"I can’t afford to be sick in my line of work." Michael told her honestly as his fingers feathered over the soft skin behind her knee. His eyes were focused on a war documentary on the television, but his body was keenly aware of Nikita’s. As his fingers skimmed her thigh, he turned to watch her, noting the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"Maybe we should call the doctor again. The congestion has you breathing irregularly." He suggested.

Nikita’s coughed again and made a strangling noise. "It’s…not the…damn congestion."

"What?"

"Stop it!" Nikita gasped and jerked her leg away. "Have mercy on…a sick woman. Wait ‘til…well enough to…enjoy it."

Michael chuckled and straightened the blanket over her legs again, making sure her feet were tucked in. He leaned toward her and cupped her face. "I’m sorry. Kiss."

"You’re gross." Nikita turned her head.

"Why?"

"Wouldn’t…kiss…you…with nasty yuck in your nose…and antibiotic on…your breath. Stop! I’m weak."

Michael chuckled again. "I like kissing weak, nasty women."

"Freak."

Laughing, he satisfied himself with a peck on her chin, then straightened. Nikita shot him a dirty look as she lay back and snuggled further under the blanket. Roberta came out of the bathroom just then wrapped in a robe and toweling her damp hair.

"You still here, Frenchy?"

"Only nine, Mom." Nikita moaned. "And his…name is Michael."

Michael regretfully moved from under Nikita’s legs. "Roberta’s right. I should go and let you rest."

"You’re a good man, Frenchie." Roberta grinned.

"Merci, mademoiselle." Michael kissed Roberta’s hand, then leaned over to kiss Nikita’s forehead. Her sickly gaze held his for a moment and she conveyed her thanks with a weak smile. "I’ll come by tomorrow."

"That’s great, honey." Roberta slapped his back and led him to the door. "I’ll be off tomorrow and I could use a hand fixing some things around here. Maintenance is piss poor."

Michael donned his jacket and glanced over his shoulder at Nikita. "I’d be glad to help you. Thank you for dinner."

"You’re welcome, honey." Roberta grinned, pushing him gently out the door and locking it.

"You like him, Mom?" Nikita asked from the sofa. "He’s…not like…him."

Roberta knelt before Nikita and pushed blond strands from her forehead. She laid her cheek against her damp forehead and sighed. She was wary of Michael, but she sensed an innate kindness and nobleness in his quiet, mysterious manner. It really wasn’t fair of her to compare him with her ex-husband. She herself could be lumped among the numerous numbers of neglectful mothers, but a weakness had turned her from the basically good person she’d been raised to be. Maybe she should trust Nikita’s instincts, which were always sound, and give Michael a real chance to make her daughter happy.

"He’s not like my father." Nikita repeated tiredly.

Sighing, Roberta closed her eyes as she recalled Andrea’s painful beatings. "I know, baby. I know."

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

"Poor dirty man." Nikita soothed as she stroked Michael’s damp forehead. She giggled when he cracked open a tired eye to glare at her, then flung his arm over his face again with a dramatic groan.

Nikita admired his prone form on the floor next to the sofa. He wore jeans and a now grimy sweatshirt. The jeans clung nicely to his thighs and his…uh. Dirty, dirty Nikita, she thought. A grease spot covered his left jaw and his forcefully tamed hair was all over his head in messy curls. It looked as if he’d been tugging and running his hands through it in agitation. Had to be Roberta. Nikita wondered if Michael knew he was being tested.

She rather liked this Michael, rumpled and grungy -- and he was still sexy. Not that she didn’t love his more immaculate, sophisticated appearance, but he looked so normal now, like he really belonged in their blue-collar world. Ever since he’d arrived this morning, her mother had been heaping tons of ‘man’s work’ on him. He had repaired the broken down washing machine, changed the oil in both their cars, and hauled four boxes of old clothes down to Roberta’s car for donation to charity. He’d fixed the dial on the stove and the showerhead in the bathroom.

Now he lay exhausted on the floor and it was barely noon. Roberta had allowed him a little respite as she prepared lunch for them, but Nikita knew it was only a short reprieve. Her mother had mentioned something about rearranging her bedroom furniture and re-tiling the pantry.

"Why don’t you use some of that French charm on her?" Nikita wrapped her quilt closer around her and lay her head on the edge of the sofa to watch him.

Michael groaned again and stretched his arms above his head. The hem of his sweatshirt revealed a sliver of his toned midriff and Nikita wished for the umpteenth time that she wasn’t still sick and that they were alone.

"I don’t think it would work on your mother." Michael grumbled, then rolled over on his side and slipped his hand underneath the quilt. Nikita shuddered when he began to stroke her knee. "Besides. I’m saving my French charm for you."

"Huh." She said stupidly as she gazed down at him. Her skin began to tingle at the contact and then she heard the bang of a pot in the kitchen. Instantly she came back to her senses. "Michael, my mother’s in the next room."

"So?" His fingers drew lazy circles on her leg.

"So, you can’t seduce me with her in the other room."

"Nikita, when I seduce you, you will be completely healthy, and I won’t feel so worn out." Michael removed his hand and drew it over his face.

"You know she’s trying to break you?" Nikita whispered in warning.

"She’s succeeding." Michael replied dryly.

"I’m sorry." Nikita smiled in sympathy. "She’s taken a particular interest in bringing you down."

"Does she treat all the men you date this way?"

"Actually, you’ve gotten a lot farther than most of them."

"Is that because of her or you?" Michael wanted to know. He hadn’t deluded himself into thinking Nikita was a quivering virgin waiting to be deflowered, but he hoped he was the first man she truly cared enough for to allow this kind of domestic closeness.

"Me." She answered simply, blushing a little at the admission. Nikita closed her eyes quickly, slightly flustered at the heated look he was giving her. When she heard him move and felt his breath on her cheek, she opened them again.

He was kneeling and leaning over her, his face close to hers. His hands slipped under the quilt again to caress her through her cotton pajamas. "I haven’t kissed you properly." He softly bit her cheek and Nikita felt her heart give a little thud.

"Michael." She pressed her hands against his chest in half-hearted protest, but found her arms snaking around his neck instead. "You’re not playing fair. I’m still sickly."

"You can pay me back." Michael bit her lower lip, then ran his tongue across it. "Later, when we’re alone."

"No tongue. I can barely breathe as it is." She parted her lips under his mouth as it slanted over hers. He kissed her for only a few seconds, then pulled back slightly so she could catch her breath.

"Again." She exhaled and closed her eyes as his mouth came down on hers once more. Michael’s mouth brushed back and forth over hers then suckled her lower lip for a brief, tortuous moment. He drew back and Nikita exhaled.

"Again." She pressed her hand against the back of her neck and pulled him down to her forcefully.

Sickly my ass, Michael thought as his mouth closed over hers once more, his heart doing a little thudding of its own. He tasted the peppermint tea she’d been drinking earlier and he deepened the kiss, breaking her no tongue rule as his snaked inside her mouth. Just for a minute. He pulled back and nuzzled her menthol scented neck. Mixed with her own womanly scent, it smelled like perfume to him.

"Michael." She whispered. Her fingers curled tightly in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Nikita." He licked the underside of her jaw. His mouth trailed kisses from ear to cheek, then covered hers again.

"Michael."

This time the voice wasn’t Nikita’s. He released a French expletive only she could hear as he disentangled himself from her arms. Nikita’s warm body was shaking with silent laughter as she caught Roberta’s stern look over Michael’s shoulder.

"Can you pull your tongue out of Nikita’s throat long enough to let her eat?" Roberta quipped.

Michael jerked a hand through his curls. "Yes, ma’am."

"Move your ass, then. And go eat. Your lunch is on the kitchen table." Roberta shooed Michael away as she placed a tray over Nikita’s lap. "Soup and sandwiches, baby. Finish all of it."

"Can’t I eat out here with Nikita?" Michael dared to ask as he stood up.

"No." Roberta pointed towards the kitchen. "You two are acting like horny teenagers. Give her some breathing room, damn it."

"Yes, ma’am." Michael saluted and cast a mournful look at Nikita as he moved towards the kitchen. Halfway there, the doorbell rang and he switched directions. "I’ll get it." He called over his shoulder, praying fervently that it was the errant maintenance man.

When her opened the door however, Julie stood on the other side with a wide grin on her perky face. A tall young man with brown hair and a hard expression was behind her.

Jamie looked Michael up and down with a dismissive glance and brushed past both he and Julie without a word. Michael half listened to him greeting Nikita and Roberta as he stepped back to allow Julie inside.

"It’s nice to see you again." Michael helped her out of her coat, watching out of the corner of his eye as Jamie leaned over to kiss Nikita’s cheek. Michael hoped he’d left a bite mark.

"You too, Michael. Nikita didn’t tell me you were still in town." Julie’s eyes twinkled merrily. "You must have passed Roberta’s initial intimidate-the-boyfriend test. You’re really hot for Nikita, huh?"

"Something like that." Michael’s eyes roamed back to Nikita as she laughed easily with Jamie. "And who is your friend?"

"Oh, that’s Jamie. I apologize for his rudeness, but there are too many roosters in the hen house, if you know what I mean." Julie bounced off towards the living room.

He knew exactly what she meant, but if this boy Jamie thought a withering look would scare Michael off, he was sadly mistaken. If he could survive Hurricane Roberta, he could go head to head with a barely-out-of-his-teens rival for Nikita’s affections. Michael slowly stalked toward the little group, his male instinct kicking into high gear, quietly intent on marking his territory.

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

"So, Michael." Jamie eyed the older man as he reentered the living room and made his way to Nikita’s side. "How long is your business here? I suspect soon you’ll be going back to Paris -- permanently."

Michael stared blankly at Jamie as he perched on the arm of the sofa next to Nikita, who was now sitting up, and ran his hand down the crown of her bright head. The action didn’t go unnoticed by Jamie, Julie, or an amused Roberta.

"Actually, my business is such that I will be returning here a lot." Michael pressed his thigh against Nikita’s body and possessively massaged her neck.

"Well, that’s great, Michael!" Julie chimed in, then lowered her head meekly at Jamie’s glower.

"That is great, Frenchy." Roberta rose. "Then you can help me paint the kitchen."

"You need help around here, Ms. Wirth?" Jamie asked gallantly. "You should have asked me. I’m sure Michael has more important things to do."

Nikita frowned at Jamie. When had he ever volunteered to help anyone do anything? He was lazy. Always had been. She suspected his sudden enthusiasm for hard labor was because of Michael’s presence.

"Oh, that’s alright. Michael’s been more than helpful, and you know, you’re busy working and going to school." Roberta stood. "Hey, I made soup and sandwiches. You guys want some?"

"Thanks, I’m starving." Julie stood with her.

"Baby, you’re not eating." Roberta scolded Nikita. "You can’t fight the flu on an empty stomach."

"Your mother’s right, Ni-ki-ta." Michael let her name roll off her tongue like a caress. He picked up the tray from the end table and resettled it over her lap.

"I’m really not that hungry." Nikita sighed, feeling slightly weary and anxious at the wee bit of tension between Michael and Jamie.

"Just a little bit." Michael coaxed as he swirled the spoon in the soup and brought it to her mouth. Nikita noted the gleam of mischief in his eye and bit back a laugh as she opened her mouth demurely to be fed.

Michael set the spoon back in the bowl and slowly wiped a drop of soup from her lower lip with his thumb. He brought it to his mouth and sucked it languidly, using his valentine training to make the action look sensually unintentional. "It’s delicious, Roberta." He turned from Nikita to see Julie and Roberta gaping at him with slightly opened mouths and Jamie glaring at him with clenched fists.

"Well, shit, you sure made it look delicious." Roberta smirked. "Follow me, kids."

They followed her into the kitchen, Jamie throwing the couple a jealous glimpse over his shoulder. Nikita slapped Michael’s thigh and gave him a look.

"What?" Michael asked innocently as he brought another spoonful of soup to her mouth.

"You know what." Nikita took the bite and swallowed. "You did that for Jamie’s benefit."

Michael shrugged. "Just reminding him that you’re with me."

"Are you going to start beating your chest and shouting? Michael, we’ve only know each other a few weeks."

"Sometimes that’s all it takes."

"For what?"

"For…whatever." He leaned down and licked another trace of soup from her lip.

"What are you doing to me?" Nikita’s breathing was shallow as her heart hammered in her chest.

"Trying to give you an incentive to hurry and get better." Michael told her huskily.

Nikita’s eyes lit on his lips, her mind filled with thoughts of her healthy body enjoying his. "Then you’d better eat too. I think we’re both going to need our strength."

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

Michael sat in his office as he reread the Chernek file for the fifth time. He meticulously studied every terrorist incident that intel suggested was funded by Chernek’s money. He worked up a tentative profile from the limited data, then deleted it in disgust when he realized how weak it was. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Lowering his head and closing his eyes, he faced the glaring truth of the situation.

Operations and Madeline had been right. Andrei Chernek was far too insular a target to apprehend using conventional methods. Every small source they had on him had to be exploited. Unfortunately one of those sources was Nikita. There was no way around it. Michael would have to keep deceiving her to get to her father.

It wasn’t that he wanted to end things with her. He was in a state of happy consternation because he realized he was falling in love with his mark. It was a mystery to him why he had fallen so hard and so fast for her, but if he was forced to continue this charade, he was determined to spend every precious moment he could with her. He had been very reluctant to leave her. She had begun to feel better the last time he’d gone to see her, but he hadn’t been able to get her alone.

The afternoon Jamie and Julie had come over was spent slaving for Roberta. Afterwards, she had invited Nikita’s friends to stay for dinner, so he had been thwarted again. Jamie had only added to the futility of the situation, falling all over himself to wait on Nikita and pointedly distracting her with talk of helping her make up her missed work at school. Michael had simply sat back and watched the young man make a fool of himself, content in the knowledge that Nikita was interested in him, not Jamie.

His last day there, Roberta had been off from work again and never allowed them to be alone for too long. He was glad to see Nikita as frustrated over their lack of time to themselves as he was. They had to satisfy themselves with stolen kisses and clandestine touches. Michael promised her that when he returned, they would spend more time together with no interfering mother and nosy friends about.

Nikita had called him that morning on her way to school, and Michael had been buoyed upon hearing her voice. She teased him about his run-in with her mother and he warned her that he would make up for lost time when her returned to her next week. He missed her, but he didn’t tell her so. That was too much of an admission for him right now. Michael promised to call her as soon as he checked into his hotel and they reluctantly ended the call.

Michael had two missions to lead before he could return to her, however, so he brought up the file on the Eastern Europe one going out tomorrow. He was intently sharpening up the tactical maneuvers when he heard a sharp rap on his door. He looked up as it opened slightly and Victor poked his head inside.

"Hey, Michael. You got a minute?"

"Yes." He nodded as he saved the profile, then gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk. He studied the other Level Five operative as he closed the door and took a seat. Michael noted the edginess in his movements and his troubled countenance. He and Victor had entered Section at the same time and had both been trained by Jurgen. They had never developed anything other than a mutually respectful working relationship. Michael sensed, therefore, that Victor was there to talk about the similar blood cover missions they were assigned.

Michael reached for the keypad imbedded in his desk drawer and cut surveillance to the office. "What can I do for you?"

"Well." Victor began with a shaky laugh and ran a hand over the top of his Caesar haircut. "I was hoping you could give me a little advice."

"Advice?"

"Yeah. I know you’re on the Chernek cover." Victor rubbed his hands together nervously. "You’re so good at keeping your emotions separate from the job. I was just wondering if you could tell me how you do it."

Michael was silent. He wasn’t sure where Victor was headed with this, so he waited for clarification.

"I’m having trouble…you know…staying objective." Victor fumbled for words to describe his problem. "I mean, if Elena was a bitch, it would be easy to use her, you know? But she’s real young, man, and innocent, and sweet."

Michael glanced out his window as Toni and Madeline glided by. He knew exactly what Victor was going through, and because he did he was unable to counsel his colleague. Victor was falling for his mark, just as he was falling for Nikita. Michael returned his attention to Victor, who was looking at him expectantly.

"How do you stay objective?" Victor asked again.

"I’m sorry." Michael replied softly. "I don’t have any advice to give you."

"Okay, fuck the code of secrecy. Surely you can give me a few pointers. You’re the best at these Valentine scenarios."

He used to be the best. But a cute blond with a beautiful smile and sweet disposition had bested Michael. "I can’t offer you any advice."

Frustrated, Victor scratched his head. "You can’t or you won’t?"

Michael gave him a meaningful look. "I can’t."

Victor stared back at him in a moment of confusion, then comprehension slowly began to dawn. "Oh." He murmured, then sat back and eyed Michael with awe. "Shit."

Michael said nothing as he studied the wall behind Victor. He hadn’t really confided to the other man that he was in love with his mission parameter, but he had hinted at it and Victor had come to the correct conclusion on his own. Why Michael chose to let him in on something so personal was beyond him. He didn’t usual bare his soul to others, but he felt a strange kinship with Victor because of their mutual problem and Michael secretly wished he felt comfortable enough to vent his frustrations with someone.

"Man, this is rich." Victor was saying. "I never thought this would happen to you of all people. But, hey, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me."

They were both silent this time, each man lost in his own thoughts. It wasn’t an awkward silence, though, and Michael found it strangely comforting.

Victor heaved a sigh and slumped in his chair. "I don’t know how they expect us to do this and just walk away when it’s over. I…"

Both jumped as they heard the commotion going on outside Michael’s office. They simultaneously bolted for the door and hurried over to a yelling Birkoff.

"Our systems are being breached!"

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

Slamming the phone down with an angry curse, Michael adjusted his sling and lay back on his bed. He’d been calling and leaving messages for Nikita the past two weeks and she had yet to respond. She had to be avoiding him, and he didn’t blame her. He’d been unable to go to her and had stood her up because Section had taken precedent again.

First Hardin had stolen the damn directory, and then Michael had gotten himself shot blowing up the chemical plant in Eastern Europe. He could go to her now, but how the hell would he explain the bullet wounds in his arm and back? A mugging maybe? Would she believe him?

If he waited another week, the bullet wounds would heal enough for Section’s plastic surgeon to use a laser technique on the injuries. The skin would be smooth and faintly marred. Maybe she would notice, if they ever got the chance to be intimate, but the scars could be explained away as some childhood accident.

But would Nikita wait for him another week and would Jamie worm his way into her heart before Michael could get back? Rising from the bed, he cursed again as he paced. He had to talk to Operations. There was no way he could be with Nikita and remain on active status. Even if he couldn’t be completely taken off mission rotations, he could at least be given a huge block of down time to spend with her.

As it turned out, convincing Operations was easier than he thought. All Michael had to do was hint that Nikita was pulling back because of his long absences and Operations saw failure, a failure that wouldn’t be looked upon favorably back at Oversight. He didn’t want to lose an operative of Michael’s caliber at this point, especially when there were several important missions about to go hot. And Michael was his number three. Operations didn’t really trust anyone else to be in charge of Section if he or Madeline were incapable of doing so. Still, Chernek was too important to Oversight, so he granted Michael a month of downtime to begin after his surgery was complete.

Armed with this good news, Michael once again tried to reach Nikita, but she was not at home. Roberta actually seemed glad to hear from him, and from her chattering, she confirmed that Nikita was indeed furious because of his absence. She had been keeping busy with school, work, and she went out a lot with Julie and Jamie. Michael suspected that Roberta had thrown that last part in to unnerve him. She’d noticed the silent competition between the two men and had found it amusing.

The day after his surgery, Michael tied up loose ends and checked on Toni’s progress. She had been temporarily assigned to Chuck because of the demands on Michael’s time and he had been relieved. That was one less thing for him to worry about. Michael had gone to visit her, and though she still seemed a little sad about Eric’s cancellation, her usual acerbic wit assured him that she would be fine.

By the time he was on the plane, he was anxious to see Nikita and angry that she had stubbornly refused to return his calls. Michael tried to see things from her point of view. Their relationship, if you could even call it that yet, hadn’t started off very well. They hadn’t been able to spend any quality ‘alone’ time with each other. Outside interruptions had plagued them as repeatedly -- Roberta, her friends, Section, the damn flu.

Michael glanced at his watch. By the time he arrived at his hotel, it would be around nine in the evening. He wondered if Nikita would be out with her friends. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see her, he had to assure himself with her presence tonight.

The trip in the cab to his hotel seemed to take forever. Michael was impatient as the driver chattered incessantly in his cockney accent and drove slowly in an effort to run up the fare. Finally, upon reaching his hotel room and shooing the annoying bellhop away with a generous tip, Michael phoned Nikita again. She picked up on the fifth ring.

"Hello." Her softy, raspy voice sounded in his ears. He was pleased to hear it after all these weeks and his mouth split into a rare, wide grin.

"Hello, Ni-ki-ta."

There was a moment’s pause on the other line before she spoke again. "Who is this?"

Michael frowned. She knew good and damn well who it was! She was deliberately trying to annoy him and it was working. "It’s Michael." He said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Hmmm, Michael. Michael." Nikita murmured. "Do I know anyone by that name?"

"Ni-ki-ta?" Michael growled in warning.

"What do you want?" She growled back.

Michael sighed. The last few weeks had been draining and he had been looking forward to seeing Nikita. He was enthused at finally having some time to enjoy her company and forget about the horrible realities of the world he really lived in for one long, wonderful month. "I wanted to see you."

"I’m studying."

"It’s Saturday evening. Can’t you put your studies aside for a while?"

Nikita was quiet.

"Would you like to go out for a late dinner?"

"I’ve already eaten."

"Maybe for a drink? Or coffee?"

"I have coffee here."

Michael brightened. "Does that mean we can have coffee there?"

"No." Nikita drawled. "It means I can have coffee here."

"Ni-ki-ta, I’m sorry." Michael expelled a frustrated breath. "My company needed me, I couldn’t just leave. But I took some time off and I have a whole month to spend with you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"What if you get called away?" Nikita challenged him.

"I won’t. I asked my --. Kita, I want to see you so we can talk in person. Can we go somewhere?"

She made him wait another agonizing minute before answering. "I don’t want to go out. Mom went for dinner and a movie with some of her AA friends. Why don’t you come here instead?"

"She could come home at any minute. I’d prefer it if we were alone."

"I’m still pissed at you, Michael. It’s that or nothing."

Michael quietly muttered a string of French expletives as he covered the phone with his hand and rolled his eyes heavenward. He took a deep breath to calm himself and returned the phone to his ear as Nikita was calling his name.

"Alright, Ni-ki-ta. I’m on my way."

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

Michael stood on the threshold to Nikita’s apartment, a dozen roses in his hand and a hopeful expression on his face. He knocked lightly and waited, believing she had forgiven him since their conversation and fully expecting her to greet him with a contrite hug and a kiss.

When the door was finally thrown open, Nikita glared at him instead, then the roses in his hand and turned on her heel. "Hey." She called back to him as an afterthought and retreated into the kitchen. Michael looked ruefully at the flowers he held and entered the apartment, locking the door behind him.

The room was dark, save for the flickering blue light of the television. He dropped his jacket and flowers on the dining table and stepped into the brightly-lit kitchen. Nikita stood at the counter, an open carton of vanilla ice cream in front of her. She held a metal scoop in her hand and was pounding the ice cream in an effort to soften it.

She wore a long, pale blue nightshirt that reached her knees and her pale blond hair was brushed smooth and hung past her shoulders. The sight of it lured him and he moved behind her to rub a lock of it between his fingers. He buried his face in it and breathed in the freshly washed scent.

"I missed you, Ni-ki-ta." He breathed as his arm circled her waist. He kissed her ear, but she ignored him as she continued to beat the ice cream. He watched her plop a huge lump of it into her bowl, then dip the scoop into the carton again.

"Did you miss me?" He asked, his hand caressing her waist.

Nikita took his wrist between forefinger and thumb, as if it were something nasty and disgusting, and pulled it away from her. She refused to answer him, but Michael would not be deterred.

He bent his head to kiss her shoulder and was glad to see her movements cease at the contact.

"Could you stop that, please?" She asked coldly.

"You don’t want me to touch you?"

"I thought you wanted to talk." Nikita reached back and pushed him away slightly.

"I want to talk about touching you." Michael’s hands gripped her waist again.

"Go fix the coffee, Michael."

"Kiss me hello first."

Nikita remained silent and kept her back to him. Michael sighed and dropped his hands, moving to the coffeemaker on the other side of the kitchen. "How long are you going to stay mad at me?"

Silence.

"We can spend the day together tomorrow. We’ll do whatever you want." Michael offered.

Still silence.

He sighed again and measured out the coffee as he pondered the mysterious female mind. Michael knew he was being punished, but surely even in anger she wouldn’t be so cruel as to delay their budding relationship because she wanted to prove her point. There was too much genuine affection and sexual tension between them to be wasted on meaningless arguments.

Nikita didn’t know why she couldn’t let go of her anger. Maybe because some of what her mother had warned her about had seemed to come true with Michael’s absence. Or maybe because she cared for him more than she realized and couldn’t get past his standing her up and not contacting her for weeks afterward. Whatever it was, it didn’t excuse the unbelievably immature action she resorted too. One minute the scoop was in her hand, poised over her bowl, ready to drop in another ball of ice cream. The next minute, she turned, aimed and fired. The soft mass flew across the kitchen and landed with a smack in the back of Michael’s head.

His hand stilled on the coffee maker’s switch. Michael was stunned for a moment.

No. She wouldn’t.

But she had. He reached back and grabbed a handful of the gushy ice and looked at his hand. He looked over at her incredulously, but Nikita’s back was to him and she was now viciously pounding the ice cream.

"Ni-ki-ta." He murmured his voice annoyed and angry. When she didn’t answer him, Michael ignored her and turned to hit the brew switch. He grabbed a towel and was wiping the back of his head when he felt another cold mass land with a thuck on his neck. He stood unmoving and enraged for a moment before throwing down the towel and turning angrily.

Nikita was facing him now, a fistful of dripping vanilla ice cream in her hand and a furious look on her face.

"You’re being childish, Nikita!" He hissed as he took a step towards her. To his horror, she raised her fist and another ice cream missile came flying at him. It hit him on the side of the face as he turned too late to avoid it.

"Damn it, Nikita, stop it!"

"No, you stop it!" Nikita yelled back, unleashing weeks of pent-up fury at him. "How dare you come back here after standing me up and not calling for weeks expecting me to fall all over you!"

"I said I was sorry!" Michael swiped the melting vanilla from his face and shook it from his hand to the floor. "I begged for a month off so I could be with you! What else do you want from me?"

"I want to kick your sorry French ass!" Nikita felt around behind her for something, anything to throw. "My mother was right about you!" Nikita’s fingers closed around an open plastic jar of chocolate topping and she raised it menacingly.

Michael stepped backward. "Nikita, damn it, calm down!"

She flung the jar at him and he moved his head as it whizzed by and bounced off the fridge. Rivulets of chocolate hit him as the jar landed on the floor and rolled, leaving more chocolate in its wake.

"That’s enough!" Michael started towards her and Nikita picked up the carton of ice cream. He got to her just as she raised it and they jerked on it simultaneously. It popped out of their grasps and hit the floor with a loud thud.

Michael grabbed Nikita’s shirttail as she made to run. She gave a little shriek as he tugged backward. "Let me go, Michael!"

"Not until you calm down." He strained his head backward in an effort to avoid her flailing fists.