Part 1

The silver Jaguar pulled smoothly into the parking stall marked "Reserved" in the underground parking of one of the world's most prestigious and successful advertising agencies -- Section 1. A few moments later a tall, slender woman dressed in a thick white sweater, faded jeans, and dark brown boots emerged from within. Long blonde hair was swept back and fastened with a plain clasp leaving the exquisite beauty of her delicate features open to view.

The parking lot was sheltered from the bitterly cold wind, but it did nothing to stop the icy winter chill from seeping in. The woman shivered as she reached back into the car for her dark brown wool coat and slipped into it. From the pocket, she withdrew leather gloves and put them on. Finally, grabbing her briefcase in her right hand, she turned, locked the door, and closed it firmly behind her.

As she walked briskly toward the VIP elevator, she glanced at her watch and grimaced. The morning flight from Chicago to New York City had been delayed due to bad weather. She should have arrived back nearly an hour ago which would have given her plenty of time to prepare for her morning appointment.

"Good morning, Nikita!"

She looked up as Charlie, the morning security officer, called out cheerfully to her, his hand lifting in a friendly wave. A fond smile flashed across the young woman's face as she returned his wave.

"Sorry, Charlie," she apologized as her the warmth of her breath mingled with the cold air and turned into a mist of smoke. She usually spent a minute or so chatting with the elderly guard, but there was no time today. "Gotta rush," she explained with an apologetic expression.

Charlie smiled and raised his cap to her. "Quite all right. Glad to see you back safe from your trip!"

"Thank you!" she called and pressed her gloved fingers to her lips before waving goodbye and rushing the last few yards to the elevator. Even with the coat, the cold was getting to her.

Charlie had been with the company for years. She remembered as a child sneaking down during visits to her father's office and spending hours sitting with him watching excitedly as cars moved in and out of the parking lot. He was going to retire in two months’ time and Nikita knew that she would miss him terribly. Still, she thought, he deserved a break. He deserved time to relax with his wife, Dorothea. They were planning on moving to Florida and buying a home there.

Reaching the elevators, she paused to enter her code and then reached into her pocket for her cellular. Time to check in with Rose, she thought. Hitting the speed dial, she connected with her assistant's com unit and heard the familiar, firm voice on the other end.

"Nikita! Where are you?" Without waiting for a reply, the older woman began to bring her employer up to speed on the day's events. "You have exactly fifteen minutes before your first appointment. Reminder, at 11:00 you have a video-conference with Section 3. They've already faxed over their quarterly reports and I've placed them in your file. You're scheduled to look over the final layouts for the Revlon account at 12:30. Peter called to remind you that the color schemes for the VF spread need to be finalized. Stephen called -- wants to know if you're free for dinner. You have a late luncheon scheduled with your mother, and your father has left three messages for you already this morning."

A tender smile curved Nikita's lips as she listened to Rose. In many ways, her assistant reminded her of a cross between a mother hen and a miniature hurricane, bustling from one department to another, co-ordinating the day's activities and collecting the morning reports for her boss. Thank god for the com units that Birkoff had designed. It was so much easier and less time consuming now to just connect with Rose through the com unit rather than try to track her through the maze of offices. Speaking of Birkoff, Nikita remembered that her brother's birthday was coming up. Friday to be exact. They were holding a surprise party for him that weekend out at the family estate. She made a mental note to call and check on the special gift she had ordered for him.

The elevator doors opened and Nikita stepped into the oak-paneled car and pressed the button that would take her up to the executive suites. "I'm on my way up right now," she replied to Rose. "Is my 9 o'clock here yet?"

"Not yet," she answered.

"Good. Call my mother and see if she's available to meet them. My flight was delayed and I'm going to need a few minutes to get dressed. Ask her to stall for a little while and I'll meet them in her office as soon as I can."

"Anything else?"

The elevator doors opened and Nikita stepped out into the brightly lit, airy atmosphere of the executive floor. Turning right, she headed to her office in the far corner. "No, everything sounds fine. Contact Peter, though, and set an appointment for this afternoon around 2:00."

"And Stephen?"

Nikita sighed as she entered into her spacious office. "If he calls back, tell him I'll get back to him. Otherwise, just let it go."

"Will do," Rose replied. She smiled as she heard the transmission end. It looked like Stephen would be dining alone tonight. She almost felt pity for the young man. He had been dating Nikita for almost a year now. It was obvious that the handsome stockbroker was madly in love with her young boss. Unfortunately for him, Nikita didn't return his feelings with the same intensity. I doubt that girl will ever marry, she thought. She was just too independent. It was going to have to be someone pretty special to make her give up the freedom she loved so much.

As the eldest child and only daughter of Paul and Madeline Wolfe, the founders and owners of Section, Nikita stood to inherit millions. It was also understood in the business that she would take over the helm when her father stepped down. Birkoff, Paul and Madeline's other child and heir, had never taken an interest in the business as Nikita had.

The two siblings were quite opposite in appearance and personality. Nikita was strikingly beautiful and had inherited her father's dynamic personality. She had the ability to win clients, both male and female, with her charm and warmth. At the age of twenty-six, she had already proven her capability to run the multi-million dollar company and she had earned the respect and loyalty of their employees.

Birkoff, on the other hand, though equally friendly, was shy around strangers. He hated the limelight, preferring instead to spend his time down in the research department. The kid was a virtual genius when it came to computers. Despite their differences though, it was obvious to all who knew them that never were two siblings closer than Nikita and Birkoff. She absolutely adored him and was fiercely protective of him. "Too protective," Birkoff often liked to complain with a smile.

Nikita crossed over to the far side of her office and opened a door that led into a smaller room that contained a couch, end table, small closet in which hung two changes of clothing, and a connecting bathroom with a shower. She used the room to sleep in when she was working late at the office, which was quite often. Closing the door behind her, she quickly stripped and reached for the navy colored skirt and crisp white blouse that went with it. Dressing as quickly as she could, she twisted her hair up into a French knot and secured it with pins. Grabbing her make-up bag, she searched for and found her mascara and applied a thin coating to her lashes before touching up her lipstick. Hurrying back into the other room she slipped on a pair of matching navy heels and took a quick appraising look at her reflection in the mirror. Perfect.

Opening the door, she moved toward her desk and picked up the file that Rose had left there for her morning appointment. She had been at Section 2, their Chicago branch, over the past three weeks. Nikita had been tempted to take some down time after returning, but her mother had called and asked that she handle this case personally. Glancing at her watch she saw that it was 9:05 and sighed. She was late. Not a very good impression, especially as this was her first meeting with them. Flipping the folder open, she scanned the fact sheet as she exited her office and headed down toward the opposite end of the hallway where the offices of her mother and father were.

She quickly read over the information as a refresher. The clients owned art galleries throughout Europe and now wanted to expand into the United States. They were in search of an advertising agency that would handle the promotion of their newest gallery being opened in six months time right here in New York City. Deep blue eyes moved to the financial part of the report. Very impressive, she thought, and reached up with her hand to rap twice on her mother's door, then turned the knob and entered.

Madeline glanced up to see Nikita enter and a warm smile appeared on her face as she addressed the gentleman sitting in front of her, with his back to Nikita.

"Ah, here she is," Madeline stated as she pointed toward the approaching Nikita. "Mr. Samuelle, I'd like for you to meet my daughter, Nikita."

Part 2

From the very first moment she laid eyes upon him, Nikita felt a strange, unfamiliar twinge in her chest, and her footsteps nearly faltered. Recovering quickly, she brightened her smile and strolled forward, extending her hand in greeting.

"Good morning, Mr. Samuelle. I hope you'll forgive my being late. The weather caused my flight to be delayed, otherwise I would have been here to greet you myself," she explained.

Soulful green eyes met hers and widened imperceptibly before thick lashes lowered and he reached for her proffered hand. Soft. Smooth. Silky. Strong. Slowly he raised it and brushed his lips gently across the back of her fingers.

"Please," his gaze once again returning to hers, "call me, Michael."

Her expression softened as she relaxed and withdrew her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Michael. I'm Nikita. Please, have a seat." She motioned to the comfortable black leather chair he had been sitting in when she entered, as she made her way around to the other side of the desk. Bending she placed a kiss upon her mother's cheek. "Hello, Mother," she greeted her warmly and placed her hand affectionately upon the older woman's shoulder. They were a striking contrast in coloring, but equal in beauty. Madeline gazed up at her daughter as she placed her fingers gently over her hand and gave them a squeeze. "Welcome home, darling. How was your trip?"

Nikita made her way back around to the front of the desk and gracefully lowered herself into the chair next to Michael as she responded. "The business end was good, but the weather was awful." She turned her attention to the man sitting next to her and felt another tightening in her chest and wondered briefly if she were coming down with something.

"Is something wrong, mademoiselle?" he asked softly. A look of worry entered his dark green eyes.

God, but he's gorgeous, she thought and her eyes roamed over his shoulder length auburn hair, strong bone structure, sensuous mouth. And that voice ... She shook her head, slightly embarrassed. "No, it's nothing," she assured him and tore her gaze away from the hypnotic effect of the Frenchman's eyes, focusing on the file in her hands momentarily.

"Please, tell me about your business, Michael," she urged. Perhaps if she got him talking she could ignore the odd sensations running through her. "Is this your first venture into the American market?" Nikita asked.

"Yes, it is. My family chose to have the business centered in Europe. It is more, eh . . ." he paused as he raised long elegant fingers before his chest in typical French fashion, waving them gracefully through the air as he searched for the elusive word that would complete his thoughts. "More . . . in the mainstream?" He raised a questioning brow at Nikita and then Madeline.

"Yes," Madeline agreed. "Europe is much more in the mainstream of art and fashion than the United States."

"However, we are rapidly catching up!" Nikita interjected with a smile.

"Oui, mademoiselle," Michael smiled. "That is why we have decided to open a branch here. I am hoping that Section 1 will be able to help us in our promotional campaign."

"We would be honored to," Nikita responded. "Are there any preferences that you have concerning the promotionals? The clientele you want to target? Are you looking at television, print, both?" She paused to allow him to respond.

Michael clasped his fingers loosely in his lap and glanced from one woman to the other. "I'm not entirely sure what I want," he confessed. "Or what would work best for us here in the American market."

Nikita found her gaze lingering once again on his lips and she quickly lowered her lashes and stood. Michael immediately followed suit. "I'll tell you what," Nikita explained as she gave him a reassuring look. "Why don't I take you on a tour of our departments and you can look at some of the samples of the types of services we can offer you. Then we can go to my office and discuss the approach that would be most beneficial to you. Is that all right?"

"Yes," Michael answered. "I would like that very much."

Nikita resisted the urge to laugh. He was a very charming man. His appearance, the black fitted suit, Gaultier or Armani she guessed, and gold watch suggested of his wealth and sophistication. The type of man whose social circles would include the beautiful, wealthy and elite of society. The very type of crowd that Nikita, herself, avoided. Yet, there was an unpretentious air about him that Nikita found infinitely appealing. He seemed . . . almost shy.

She turned her attention back to the other woman. "Mother, would you care to join us?"

Madeline smiled affectionately at her daughter as she rose and came around to the other side of the desk. "I'd love to, but I have a previous engagement in just a few minutes," she explained as she extended her hand to Michael. "How long will you be in town?"

"I'm scheduled to leave on January 3rd," he answered.

"January 3rd?" Madeline repeated in a shocked voice. "You won't be going home for the holidays?"

Michael smiled. "No, madam. I need to meet with our contractors and the architect and attend to a few other details while I am here. These next three weeks are the only time I have open for several months, so I will try and finish everything while I am here."

"But that's awful," Madeline replied as she linked her arm through Michael's. "No one should be away from family during the holidays. I'll tell you what -- you are coming to our home for the holidays. I insist!"

"Merci, madam," Michael replied quietly. "But I would not want to burden your family. I will be fine on my own."

"Nonsense!" Madeline argued. "You will not be a burden, Michael. We have lots of room and we would love to have you join us."

"She's right, Michael."

His eyes flicked over to meet Nikita's, their gazes locking.

"We would love to have you join us," Nikita stated warmly.

A tender expression appeared in his eyes and his lips curved into a small, beautiful smile that caused Nikita's heart to skip a beat. Turning to Madeline, Michael raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "Thank you, madam," he replied and turned his gaze once more to look briefly at Nikita. "I shall be honored to spend the holidays with your family."

Part 3

The intercom buzzed and Nikita reached over and pressed the button impatiently, her eyes still glued to the computer screen as she scanned the latest layout copies of another major account.

"Yes?"

"Nikita, your father's on line two. Did you forget you're supposed to meet them for dinner?"

Nikita shut her eyes and swore silently as she pressed the palm of her left hand against her forehead. "Thank you, Rose," she stated. "I'll take it from here." Reaching over to the phone she pressed the blinking light.

"Father?"

"Gee, I don't know," came a dry response over the phone line. "I know I'm supposed to be a father, but I can't seem to find my daughter."

A small laugh escaped Nikita's lips as she leaned back and swivelled her chair to look out her window at the darkening sky. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she apologized. "I guess I lost track of time."

"Which wouldn't be the first time," her father responded. "Honey, I know you love your work, but you do have to rest some time."

"I know, I know," she answered then paused. "Can I take a raincheck with you and Mom? I really need to finish looking over these . . . ."

"Absolutely not, Nikita." She could hear the firmness in his voice that told her he was not going to take no for an answer. "Those layouts will still be there tomorrow morning. Right now I'm ordering you as your boss to leave those and go to dinner with your parents."

A slow smile spread across Nikita's face. "All right, you win . . . but only one hour."

"That's my girl," Paul responded. "Your mother and I will meet you out in front in twenty minutes."

"Do I need to change?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"You know how your mother is, Nikita," he responded and she smiled again. "Twenty minutes."

Hanging up, she stood and then on second thought reached over toward the intercom. Before she could press it though, the door to her office opened and Rose walked in carrying Nikita's cream-colored, short-sleeved cocktail dress and mink coat, with a smug smile on her face.

"I see I'm getting to be too predictable," she commented as Rose headed toward the small dressing room.

"At least I didn't forget your dinner appointment," Rose called back over her shoulder. "I took the liberty of having these delivered here this afternoon."

Nikita logged off of the computer and shut it down before following Rose into the adjoining room. "What would I do without you, Rose?" she asked.

"What indeed?" her assistant responded and both women laughed. As Rose laid out the dress, Nikita headed into the bathroom and prepared for a quick shower. Fifteen minutes later, Rose was pulling the zipper of her dress up as Nikita finished brushing her hair out. There wasn't enough time to do anything with it so she would just have to leave it down for tonight.

Rose stepped back and scrutinized her appearance as Nikita held her hands out to the side. "Well, do I pass?" she asked.

"Well you're not as striking as that wonderful assistant of yours, but you'll do," Rose dead panned.

Nikita laughed and leaned forward to brush her lips against Rose's cheek. "Thanks, Rose. I owe you one!"

"Yeah? Well, set me up with that handsome Frenchman that was here this morning and we'll call it even!"

Nikita paused and turned to face the other woman, a twinkle shining in her eyes. "Did you see him, Rose? God, wasn't he just gorgeous?"

"Yes, he is," her friend replied, amusement shining in her eyes as she saw Nikita's reaction to Michael Samuelle. In the five years she had worked with the beautiful blonde, she had never seen her have this sort of reaction to any man. Silently she wondered if Nikita had finally met her match in the quiet Frenchman who had visited the office earlier.

"Oh, look at the time!" Nikita declared as she snapped out of her reverie. "I've gotta go!" And with that she was out the door as she pulled on her fur coat and headed toward the elevator.

Five minutes later she was down on the ground floor of Section 1 and striding confidently across the elegant lobby area. Through the large glass doors she could see her father's limousine waiting. The glass doors slid open automatically and Nikita hugged her coat around her tightly as she made a bee-line for the waiting car.

"Evening, Josh," she greeted the chauffeur as he held the door open and helped her inside. Her eyes alighted at once on her father as he patted the seat next to him. Nikita climbed the rest of the way in and leaned over to give her father a large kiss on his cheek and then reached up to wipe at the traces of lipstick. "Hello, Father," she greeted him as she laced her fingers through his and settled back into her seat.

Paul Wolfe smiled approvingly at his daughter. His gray eyes swept over her and smiled. "You look beautiful, Nikita. Don't you agree, Stephen?"

Nikita's heart stopped as her head spun to look at the seat opposite them. Seated next to her mother and smiling at her was indeed Stephen Percy, the man she had been trying to avoid over the past several weeks.

"Hello, Nikita," he greeted her and then turned his gaze to her father. "Yes, Paul," he agreed. "Your daughter is very beautiful, not to mention quite elusive."

Nikita forced herself to smile, but inside the excitement she had felt at the prospect of spending time with her parents melted away. "Hello, Stephen," she greeted him in a somewhat subdued manner and then gazed momentarily at her mother before turning her attention to the view outside. If her father and Stephen noticed a change in her attitude, they didn't let on as they discussed business and politics.

Madeline, however, did notice the gloom that settled over her daughter and wondered at its cause. Both she and Paul had hoped that inviting Stephen along would please Nikita. After all, they had been dating for quite a while now. Truthfully, he was the only beau of Nikita's to last so long. Usually she dumped them after a month, if not sooner. They had begun to hope and believe that perhaps Stephen was the young man that would one day become their son-in-law. Paul liked the young man immensely. He was bright, ambitious, and earned a respectable income. It was nothing compared to the wealth that Nikita would inherit, but Paul was convinced that Stephen would make the perfect husband and business partner for their daughter. Though watching Nikita now, Madeline wasn't too sure their willful daughter would agree.

The evening passed too slowly for Nikita. At the restaurant she sat quietly, a smile pasted upon her face as she pretended to listen to the conversation about her. She barely touched her food. Instead she used her fork to strategically push and rearrange the morsels, giving the appearance of eating without really doing so. Every once in a while her gaze would wander discreetly to her slim gold watch and note the time. After an hour and fifteen minutes, she decided to make her move.

Placing her napkin on the table she began to thank her parents for the enjoyable evening. "I really have to get back to the office though," she explained.

Her father began to argue with her, but Nikita reached over and squeezed his hand as she stood. "Yes, I do have to go, Father. You folks stay and enjoy the evening. I'll take a cab."

"I'll go with you," Stephen offered. He was standing next to her, his eyes silently communicating with Paul.

"Thank you, Stephen," Paul answered and Nikita realized that she had worked herself into a trap. Her father stood and leaned over, kissing her briefly on the cheek and Nikita smiled gently back at him and then at her mother, who sat regarding her carefully.

Nikita felt Stephen's hand upon her arm and she felt an intense desire to pull free. Instead she smiled stiffly and allowed him to lead her out.

A few minutes later they were seated side by side in the back of a cab and headed back to Section. Nikita sat quietly, her arms folded in front of her as she stared out the window, when she felt Stephen's hand cup her chin and turn her face toward him.

"What's wrong, Nikita?" he asked in a low voice.

She stared back at him, grateful for the darkness about them. She could imagine his dark gray eyes searching hers and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She shouldn't have let it go this far. She should have known better than to try and fool herself into thinking that she could be happy with Stephen just because her father felt he was the right man for her. Maybe there was no right man for her, she thought. Maybe she was destined to walk through life alone, never to fall in love.

At that thought, a pair of warm green eyes appeared in her mind, and Nikita forced her gaze away from Stephen's as a warm flush filled her face. "It's nothing," she lied. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

The rest of the trip back to the office was made in silence. Stephen didn't attempt to speak to her, or touch her, until they entered her office. Once there, his hand reached out and held her arm, turning her to face him. "I have something to ask you, Nikita," he stated.

"Yes?" she asked as she tried to discreetly remove her arm from his hand. Stephen noticed, though, and he sighed inwardly. He was losing her. He could feel it. She was getting ready to bolt. If he was going to hold onto her, he had to act now.

Reaching into his pocket he withdrew a small, black velvet ring box as his other hand reached out for her hand and raised it. Gently he placed the box in her palm.

Nikita stared at the box, her face draining of color as her throat turned dry and her ears suddenly felt cold. "W-what is this?" she asked. Her chest felt as if it were closing in on her and she struggled to breathe.

"Open it," Stephen urged her softly. His eyes continued to search hers and he tried to maintain a look of hope, even as he saw the panic rise in her beautiful blue eyes.

She stood for almost a minute holding the box, her eyes staring at it as if it were a gun pointed at her heart. "I can't . . ." she murmured and her eyes looked up at Stephen in desperation. God, what is wrong with me? she wondered. Stephen was a decent guy, handsome, he adored her, and her parents liked him. What’s wrong? she asked herself.

As she stood, Stephen reached up and opened the box for her. Inside was a beautiful diamond ring surrounded by sapphires.

Nikita swallowed the lump she felt in her throat and tried to tune out the ringing sound that filled her ears. Numbed, she was barely aware of Stephen removing the ring from the box and slipping it on her finger and vaguely heard him utter the three words she dreaded hearing the most, "Marry me, Nikita."

Part 4

Long after Stephen had left, Nikita sat at her desk, her arms folded across her chest, staring at the diamond and sapphire ring which she had replaced in its velvet box. Marriage? To Stephen? She closed her eyes and conjured up his image in her mind. He was as tall as she was, a bit on the thin side, but well-toned. His brown hair was closely cropped, almost in the same manner that Birkoff liked to wear his hair. In fact, he was a lot like Birkoff in appearance. Same height, same hair, same build, same intellectual seriousness . . . . My god, she thought, he practically is Birkoff. Geezes, no wonder I'm having such a hard time with this.

Nikita grinned and leaned back in her chair, swiveling to face the windows behind her. Kicking off her shoes, she raised her feet and rested them on the ledge as she slipped lower in her seat and stared out into the night. It was snowing. She could see the tiny flakes driven about madly in the wind. Perfect weather to be at home snuggling with a loved one. "Unless, of course, you don't have a loved one," she stated with a touch of sarcasm and stood, crossed over to the bar and poured herself a drink.

What would life be like if she were married to Stephen, she wondered. She had no doubt that professionally he would be a great asset to Section -- that is, if he came to work for Section. Her father already took it for granted that he would. His knowledge of the financial world, along with his dedication and work ethic, would help to ensure that Section remained at the top of the business.

But, on a personal level . . . that was a whole different story. Stephen was kind and attentive, but there was something missing in their relationship. There was no spark, no magic. There were times when she couldn't help but feel that Stephen viewed her as a trophy. Something to be won and cherished -- and placed on a shelf. At other times she felt as if she were a goal on a neat little list of his things to accomplish in life. The problem was, she didn't want to be someone's trophy or goal. She wanted someone who would challenge her, master her, adore her, love her -- and who would allow her to do the same for him.

Her mind drifted to the few times that she and Stephen had spent the night together. He was actually the type of lover who got straight to business and when it was over, well, he almost seemed relieved. In fact, in her opinion, they had never really ever made love. They had had sex, but never made love. And even then, the sex was rarely ever satisfying.

A smile broke out again on Nikita's face as she remembered Stephen's shock and embarrassment at her forwardness during their early encounters. Their mating often reminded her of a lion and a kitten -- and she was the lion.

He didn't even like to snuggle, for crying out loud. She had learned that the first time she had been with him. After sex, she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder and her arms about him. But during the night, he shifted away, rolling off to the far side of the bed where he would sleep with his back to her. This happened every time they were together. After a while, Nikita had found it easier to just cut out the whole sexual part of their relationship.

So why did she stay with him? Because she knew that in his own way, he did love her. Because her parents, especially her father, liked him. Because . . . he was reliable. Reliable. God, I sound more like I'm shopping for a car, she thought. She sauntered slowly back to her desk, her drink in her hand, and settled down once more. The problem, she knew, was that she didn't love Stephen and the thought of being caught in a loveless marriage didn't appeal to her in the slightest.

A knock at the door caused Nikita to glance up and she saw her mother standing at the door.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you and Dad would have gone home by now."

Madeline smiled as she glided gracefully into the room. "Your father's gone home, but I wanted to come in and check on the progress of some of our new accounts. With Birkoff's party and the holidays coming up, I want to make sure that we're up to date on everything."

Nikita nodded as she watched her mother settle into the chair across from her. "Would you like a drink?" she asked.

"No, darling. I'm fine." She paused, her gaze focusing on the small velvet box on Nikita's desk. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked as she looked up at Nikita.

"Yes," Nikita replied with a heavy sigh. "My death warrant . . . ." She gave a brief laugh and then placed her head down on the desktop. "Mom, what do I do?"

Madeline stared at her daughter for a long minute in silence. "Why are you asking me, Nikita?" she queried in a quiet tone.

Nikita raised her head to look at her. "Because you're my mother? Because I don't know what to do?" And then with a moan she leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. "Because I'm absolutely miserable . . . ."

Madeline smiled and stood, walked around to stand behind her daughter's chair and began to gently massage her tense shoulders. "Darling, I can't tell you what to do, especially in this case."

"Great," Nikita mumbled and Madeline laughed as she bent and placed a gentle kiss on top of her daughter's head.

"Listen to your heart, darling. You can't go wrong if you do." As Nikita pondered upon her advice, Madeline pulled up a chair next to Nikita's as she prepared to change the subject.

"What have you got so far on the Samuelle account?"

The mention of the handsome Frenchman that had visited the office earlier instantly cheered Nikita and her lips curved into a soft smile. "I took him down to visit the art department. Introduced him to some of our copywriters and artists. Showed him some of our other promotional work that's in progress. I'm going to suggest that we go with a private mail campaign and a few well chosen mags."

"What about photos?" Madeline asked.

"I was thinking of bringing Ken in. We'll have to fly him out to Paris for the shoots."

"Or we could use someone from #5," Madeline suggested, referring to their Paris based office, Section 5.

"Yes," Nikita nodded, "I considered that, too, but I think Ken would be more suitable. I like the work he did on the Triton account. I'm thinking we can go with a similar setup."

Madeline rose to her feet and prepared to leave. "All right, I'll leave it in your hands. But there is one more thing," she added.

Nikita looked at her mother, "Yes?"

"Pay special attention to this account, Nikita. Michael Samuelle can give us valuable contacts with other potential clients in Europe. When will you meet with him again?"

"Day after tomorrow."

Madeline stood still and thought a moment. "He's here all alone, Nikita. It's the holiday season. He doesn't strike me as the fast lane type and most likely he's working out of his hotel room. Give him a call tomorrow and invite him out to the house for drinks and dinner."

"Anything else?" Nikita asked with an amused look. Although she was sure her mother was genuinely concerned that Michael Samuelle was spending the holidays alone, she was also looking out for Section's interests.

"Yes," Madeline answered as she glided toward the door, "don't let him say no."

Part 5

"No, you better make that for three o'clock. And make sure that Production gets the new deadline."

Nikita stepped off of the elevator and crossed into the reception area of her office, her cell phone in one hand and attache in the other.

"The Macy's spread has to be finalized today. Not later. Get your people on that."

She ended the transmission and immediately began dialing the next number. As the holidays drew near, it was vital that all accounts were on track before the agency closed for the long weekend. The Christmas and New Year's ads had all been sent out several weeks ago. The focus was now on finalizing the accounts for January and February.

"Good morning, Nikita."

She looked up from her dialing and smiled a greeting at Gail, her secretary, before lifting the phone to her ear again.

"Hi, Tony. This is Nikita." Pause. "Great, and you? That's terrific! Listen, I'm calling to find out if you had a chance to look over those layouts that I gave you?"

Leaning toward Gail, she pointed to her watch then held up nine fingers. Gail nodded in understanding, picked up her phone and began to call the members of Nikita's team together. Their briefing, which was scheduled for 9:30, would be moved up to 9:00. The fact that Nikita was moving the briefing up by half an hour could only mean that this was going to be a very busy day.

"You did? Great. Any comments?" Another pause.

Rose entered the room and Nikita waved at her as she turned to the desk behind her and grabbed a piece of paper and pen and scribbled the name "Michael Samuelle" on it and held it out to her assistant.

"Sure. I can see you today. How about one o'clock? Yes, I'll hold . . . ."

She covered the mouthpiece and directed her attention to Rose, who had read the note and was now staring with raised brows at Nikita. "Find his number and contact him for me!" she whispered.

"Yes, I'm here."

She waved at Rose and made her way into the office to complete her call. Ten minutes later, she came striding back out, her eyes searching for, and finding, her assistant. "Any luck?" she asked.

"Yes," Rose replied, "but his line is busy."

Nikita frowned and paced a little. "Keep trying will you? If you can get through before I leave for my briefing, patch him through," she ordered and then returned to her office.

Across town, Michael hung up the phone and ran a hand through his shoulder length auburn hair. He had been up since 3 a.m. and on the phone all morning with his gallery back home. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was a quarter till 9:00. He had an appointment at 11:00 to meet with the architect who was designing the building for the gallery and then he would be free for the rest of the day.

As he stood and stared out his suite window to the city below, his mind drifted toward the blonde woman he had met yesterday at Section 1. Nikita. She was captivating, he thought. He had met lots of beautiful women before, many who were more striking than Nikita, but something about this one warmed him. She had an easy laughter about her that was infectious and a twinkle in her eyes that told him of her love of life.

He had witnessed himself the open love that was shared between her and her mother, and he was sure that the same was probably true of her relationship with her father. She seemed the sort of woman to whom people were naturally drawn. Her team members that they had spoken with yesterday had certainly demonstrated a comradeship and loyalty toward her. Michael wondered if she were seeing anyone, then smiled. A woman like that? he thought, of course she had to be seeing someone. He had already found out that she wasn't married.

He was startled from his thoughts when the phone rang. Gliding smoothly across the room, he picked up the phone. "Yes?"

"Michael?" He felt his heartbeat quicken at the sound of the familiar husky female voice. "This is Nikita."

"Good morning, Ni-ki-ta," he greeted her.

On her end, Nikita smiled as she heard his pronunciation of her name . . . Ni-ki-ta. No one else ever pronounced it in that manner and for some reason, it sent a tremor through her to hear him do so. She glanced up to see Rose standing in her doorway with a wide grin on her face. HOLD ALL MY CALLS! she mouthed toward the older woman. Rose lifted her brows and made a smirking expression at Nikita before she exited and closed the door.

"Good morning," Nikita replied on the phone, her voice automatically becoming hushed and softer. "I'm not disturbing you, I hope?" she queried.

"No. Not at all," Michael paused, his lips curved into a sweet smile as he leaned back against the table and folded one arm across his chest. "How may I help you?" he asked.

"For starters, you can agree to have dinner with me," Nikita suggested as she sat down in her chair, crossed her long legs and relaxed.

"When?"

"Tonight."

Michael paused and his smile grew wider as his lashes lowered over his lovely green eyes. "I'd love to join you for dinner," he agreed, his voice very soft.

Nikita felt her heart skip a beat. God, this guy was sexy. "Great!" she replied, then remembering where they were to have dinner, she added on quickly, "Oh! Wait. I should tell you that we'll be having dinner with my family. Is that okay?"

"Your family?" Michael hoped she didn't hear the disappointment in his voice.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I should have mentioned that first. My mother would like for you to come out and spend the evening with us. Is it okay?"

"Ah . . ." Michael sighed. "And here I thought you wanted to have dinner with me."

Was that disappointment in his tone? Nikita wondered.

"That can be arranged, too," she said, and held her breath.

"Have two dinners?" he asked. You could hear the surprise in his voice and Nikita laughed.

"No. I mean . . . we could always go to dinner tomorrow night. You and me . . . if you're not busy, that is."

Again she held her breath, her eyes twinkling. She knew he was a client and that their conversation was bordering on a flirtation, but, at this point, she didn't care. Besides, she reasoned, they could use the opportunity to talk about the gallery.

Michael envisioned her on the other side of the phone. Her lips close to the phone. He opened his eyes and shook his head. Merde! he thought. What's gotten into me?

"I would love to have dinner with you and your family tonight, Ni-ki-ta," he answered. "But only if you allow me to take you out tomorrow night."

Nikita bit her lower lip and smiled. "It's a deal then. What time shall I pick you up?"

Part 6

Nikita sat back in her chair, a smile brightening her expression as she pondered her phone conversation with Michael.

"AHEM . . ."

She glanced up toward the door to find Rose standing there, arms folded and staring at her with a bemused look.

"So are we going to sit around daydreaming all day or are we going to the briefing?" she asked.

"The briefing! Oh damn!" Nikita jumped up and began gathering her notes as she glanced quickly at her watch. Five minutes.

Rose tried to stifle the laugh that threatened to bubble over from within. Boy, she had it bad for the Frenchman. "So how's Mr. Samuelle?" she asked as Nikita slipped on her jacket and walked past her.

The blonde woman cast her a nonchalant, sidelong look. "He's fine."

Rose snorted. "You can say that again. That man's one of the finest men I've ever seen. And believe me, honey," she added with a mischievous grin, "I've seen plenty of men!"

Nikita burst out laughing. "Anyone ever tell you you've got a wicked mind, Rose?"

"Me?" Rose pretended to be shocked. "Why I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about!" she added in a falsetto voice and both women laughed as they headed toward the elevator.

The briefing . . . indeed the whole day . . . seemed to drag by for Nikita despite the fact that she didn't get one moment's rest. As an Account Supervisor she took on several roles, including that of liaison between clients and the agency, drafting creative briefs for all new accounts, and acting as a mentor to the Account Executives. Her team consisted of members from various departments within the agency, including creative, media, and production.

After a morning of meetings with agency people, she spent the afternoon meeting with various clients to discuss the progress of their accounts. She presented completed layouts and listened to their concerns and input for revisions, taking notes to be given back to her team. It was past 4:00 when she decided to call it a day. Usually she stayed later, but tonight she had other plans.

"What time are you meeting him?" Rose asked.

"Seven."

"Well you better get a move on then, girl! Don't want to keep a man like that waiting!" she winked.

Following Rose's advice, Nikita headed out the door and made her way home. Despite being busy, she had already thought out what she was going to wear. She had a dress at home that was perfect for the occasion. A little black dress with a scoop neck, short sleeves, and showed miles of legs. Nikita smiled impishly. Mr. Samuelle won't know what hit him, she thought. The dress was modest enough, ending at mid thigh. However, the bottom three inches of the dress were made of black lace, allowing an interested party a very tempting view. She had bought the dress when she was dating Stephen. Had even worn it once, but when he came to pick her up, he had blushed such a deep red, Nikita had decided she had better change. She was interested in seeing what Michael's reaction to the dress would be.

The limo pulled up outside of his hotel at 6:57 p.m. A few minutes later, Michael exited. Nikita's eyes roved over him as she gazed out through the window. Once again, she was struck by how devastatingly handsome he was. He wore a long black coat which hung open in the front allowing her to see a black dinner jacket, silk shirt and pants.

Nikita felt a thrill of excitement rush through her as Josh held the car door open and Michael stepped in. Immediately she sensed the pure masculinity of him. Inhaled the slightest hint of musk.

"Good evening," she smiled as he settled in.

Soulful green eyes turned to meet hers. "Good evening," he smiled.

His gaze roamed over her features, lingering on her lips. Then his gaze slipped lower and took in the view of her dress through the opening of her coat, pausing at the lace border, before gliding down the long expanse of long silky legs, before returning to meet her twinkling eyes.

In a hushed, awed tone, he murmured, "You look beautiful, Ni-ki-ta."

Nikita's gaze locked upon Michael's, her breath catching at the furor of sensation that coursed through her. Before she realized what she was doing, her hand had strayed up and gently touched his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Michael held absolutely still, deeply aware of a longing to have this woman as his own. There was a vitality about her, passion and pure femininity that reached out and enveloped him, stirring in him an overwhelming desire to love her and protect her. The emotions both shocked and confused him. He had never had this powerful of a response to any other woman before -- especially one he had known for such a short period of time.

Coming to her senses, Nikita, gave a small nervous laugh and lowered her hand. "I'm sorry," she stated and was surprised when Michael raised his hand and tenderly cupped her face in his palm. Their gazes locked again, probing, seeking to understand this . . . connection . . . they felt with each other.

Reluctantly Nikita drew back as she recalled that Michael was a client. Michael lowered his hand, but his gaze did not leave her face. He could see by the expression in her eyes that she was just as disconcerted as he was by this bond between them. Hoping to put her at ease, he changed the subject.

"So where are we meeting your family?" he asked.

Nikita flashed him a grateful smile. "Over at our family home just a few miles outside of the city."

"Do you live there also?" he asked, happy to see her at ease again.

"No. I go there when I can. Some weekends and holidays, but otherwise, I stay in the city. What about you?" she asked. "Do you live in Paris?"

"No," he answered, "I have a little farm out in the country. There are a lot of trees and open space. Very beautiful . . . ."

He had a far away look in his eyes and Nikita felt a longing to reach out and gather him into her arms. Instead, she laced her fingers together and placed them carefully on her lap.

"You miss home, don't you?" she asked. The thought saddened her for she knew in that moment that she would miss him when he returned to his home.

"Yes," he murmured, then raised his gaze to meet hers, "but New York City has its beauty, too."

Her eyes darkened and her voice became husky. "Really? What do you mean?" she asked. The slightest of smiles played at her sensuous lips.

Michael's gaze lowered, becoming fascinated with her mouth. Then he took a deep breath and shook his head as he laughed gently and turned away.

"What?" Nikita asked, her own lips curved now into a genuine smile.

Michael looked down at his hands a moment before raising his eyes to meet hers as his expression grew serious.

"I've a feeling I will miss New York City very much when I leave."

He reached for her hand then and raised it to his lips, kissing her fingers gently . . . hesitantly. When he lowered her hand, Nikita didn't bother to withdraw it from his, choosing instead to entwine her fingers with his as their hands rested on the seat between them.

Part 7

There's a feeling of contentment that comes from knowing when something is as it should be, and Michael felt that way now as he looked at the woman sitting next to him. He smiled and then lowered his gaze to their entwined fingers. This was right, he thought. He rotated his thumb around hers, gently stroking her hand as he marveled at the pleasure he received from that simple act. Her hand, soft and silky, responded to his caresses, her own thumb cuddling against and circling his. Soft as a feather they stroked each other, finger to finger, palm to palm, slowly dipping and turning, back to palm . . . with their hands they conveyed the desire blossoming deep within them. A slow, sensual dance of bare skin rubbing against bare skin.

Nikita was stirred by the tenderness of Michael's touch. Moved by the precision in which his fingers slowly sought out every inch of her hand, and gently stroked it. He would be like that as a lover too, she thought. Searching out all of her pleasure points. Kissing and worshiping every inch of her. She trembled at the thought . . . aroused at the idea of his lips on her skin.

Michael felt her tremor and raised darkened eyes to gaze into hers. He watched as her lips parted ever so slightly and felt his own respond in like fashion. What would her lips feel like beneath his? he wondered. Taste like? Would the kisses she offered be soft and gentle? Or ravenous, untamed, and devouring? Michael swallowed as his breathing quickened slightly.

His gaze slipped lower and was captured by the palpitating pulse at the base of her long slender neck. Skin so smooth . . . silky . . . satiny. It called to him, tempting him to partake of her. To sink his teeth into her and mark her with a lover's bite. To hear her cry out. And then, with long lapping licks, soothe her pain with his tongue. Would she moan in pleasure? Cry out his name? Plead for more? Her vein continued to throb wildly and Michael felt an answering vibration in his blood.

Nikita watched his lashes lower as he inhaled deeply. When he looked at her again, it was with the eyes of a man so deeply in need, she couldn't resist reaching out to him. Sliding over, she covered the distance between them -- her gaze never leaving his.

Removing her hand from his, she lifted her fingers up and placed them on either side of his handsome face. With the most delicate of touches, she slid her fingers down, memorizing the feel of him. Closing her eyes, she leaned in and replaced her right hand with her cheek, caressing the slightly rough texture with her own satiny skin. He smelled heavenly -- so strong and masculine.

Her fingers then slid down to his chest and slipped inside his jacket, gliding down over his stomach and around to his back. She could feel his muscles bunching beneath her touch and it pleased her immensely. She could just imagine what his body would feel like, rigid and tense, against her yielding softness.

Nikita leaned her head back and moaned as Michael pulled her up on his lap. With her knees straddling him, he pushed her coat aside and reached for her thighs. Spreading his fingers wide, he guided them up her silky legs. He longed to reach beneath her dress and explore the treasure there, but he didn't. He understood, as she did, the rules of this seduction they were engaged in. No intimate contact -- not yet. So instead his hands glided up, over her dress, and around to her lower back and then down again to cup the firm curves of her buttocks. He watched with a lazy smile, as her brows furrowed and felt her thighs tighten, as she concentrated on maintaining control.

Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his. Her chest heaved as she panted slightly against him. Her fingers worked their way back up to his face and caressed his jaw . . . then his lips. She was filled with an aching desire for him. Opening her eyes she looked and saw the answering need in his.

"Michael . . ." she whimpered and arched her hips against the evidence of his arousal.

"I know, Nikita," he answered softly, "I know."

They were rapidly losing control of their desire. Both knew that if they didn't stop now, Nikita's parents would be in for a surprise when the limo arrived at the house. With a mutual sigh then, they parted and set about regaining their composure. They rode the rest of the way in silence. Each lost in their own thoughts. When the limo turned off of the main highway and entered a private road, Nikita glanced over at Michael and smiled tenderly. "We're here," she stated.

*****

Before she actually saw him, she sensed him. The skin on her back prickled, tingling with awareness as she felt him draw near. Turning her head slightly, she saw that he had indeed moved and was now standing right behind her. He was so close that every breath he exhaled brushed against her ear and neck in a private caress, meant only for her enjoyment and knowledge.

M i c h a e l. She closed her eyes briefly and swayed gently toward him, then smiled as she felt him purposely rub the back of her leg with his. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

Yes, Michael, her gaze relayed to him quietly, I can feel you . . .

They were in the family room, standing in the back, behind the couch as they watched what, Michael had found out, was a post-dinner family tradition -- Paul Wolfe singing. At least, he was attempting to sing.

Madeline sat in one of two leather winged arm chairs, watching her husband with patient adoration as he sat at the piano. He was actually quite a good pianist, it was just his singing that was horrendously awful. But he enjoyed himself so much that none of his family had the heart to ask him to stop. Birkoff sat on the couch, a polite smile pasted on his face as he watched his father. God, I hope I don't end up like him, he thought.

When dinner finished, Paul had insisted that they close the evening with drinks and a little music. Michael had no idea that this was what he had meant. He had watched in amusement as Nikita moved to stand behind the couch, out of the line of sight of the others. He stood opposite her, also out of the family's immediate line of sight. She looked over at him as Paul began singing, her lips curving into an apologetic smile.

He, though, was thankful as Paul began to sing. With Madeline and Birkoff's attention focused on the older man, Michael did what he had longed to all night -- move closer to Nikita. With his drink in hand, he drifted toward her until he stood directly behind her, his face right over her shoulder.

"Ni-ki-ta . . ." he whispered.

She turned her head, gazing into his eyes, and ever so slightly swayed toward him.

"Yes, Michael?" she murmured. His lips were mere centimeters from hers and she stared in fascination at the delicate curve of his mouth.

An inch. Just an inch, she thought.

That was all that separated her from him. From slipping her tongue between those delicate curves and mating with his. Her lashes fluttered closed as she swallowed and counted to ten.

He watched her and instinctively knew her thoughts, for they were his thoughts also. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. The fire that had been smoldering in him for her all evening threatened to flare into life.

He saw her eyes flutter closed. Saw her swallow. Watched as her teeth sank into her lower lip. How he wanted to reach over and run his tongue over those lips. To feel her mouth part beneath his . . . to taste her sweetness. He raised his gaze and stared intensely into eyes that were the exact hue of the deep ocean on a June day. And the seconds ticked away.

"Does your father always sing after dinner?" Michael whispered, his voice seductively low and husky.

Her lips curved into the sultriest of smiles as her eyes twinkled with suppressed laughter. "Always," she breathed, and her eyes caressed him. "Always . . ."

He was enchanted. Enthralled that, with just a smile, she could cause his groin to stir. He didn't ever want her to share the look that she gave him now with any other man. He wanted that smile to be his . . . and only his.

He lowered his eyes as he raised his glass to his lips and sipped.

"Are you tired?" she asked him. "We can make our exit now . . . if you'd like."

Lowering his glass he looked at her then glanced at her father who was still singing. "I'd like that very much," he responded, "but perhaps we'd better wait till the music is over."

She smiled tenderly at him, glad that he was sensitive enough to humor her father. "Thank you," she murmured.

They stood then, relaxed, as they waited for Paul to finish. As soon as he completed his song, and before he could launch into the next, Nikita moved forward purposefully.

"Daddy, you're getting better every time!" she exclaimed.

"Better?" Paul asked. "Are you throwing your father a hint?"

"Yes, I am," she agreed with a laugh. Bending she kissed him on both cheeks. "We're going to leave now. It's getting late and I've got to get an early start tomorrow morning. Thank you for dinner."

Michael also moved forward at this time and expressed his appreciation to Paul and Madeline for their hospitality.

"Remember you're coming out here for the holidays," Madeline reminded him and Michael nodded. A chorus of goodnights ensued as Michael and Nikita gathered their coats, slipped them on and then made their escape out to the waiting limo.

"Am I wrong, or does there seem to be something between those two?" Paul asked his wife as he watched the car pull away from the house.

"What do you mean?"

Paul shook his head, "I'm not sure. It just seems like . . ."

"Like there's an attraction there?" she asked as she turned to gaze into her husband's eyes.

"Yes! Exactly!" he exclaimed.

"Would that be so bad?" she asked.

"Are you saying there is?" he asked.

Madeline sighed and leaned her head on Paul's shoulder. "No, darling," she murmured. "What I'm trying to say is that Nikita's a grown woman and we need to allow her to choose what's best for her."

Paul stared at his wife incredulously. "So there is something between them?"

Madeline smiled as she shook her head. "I don't know, Paul. But I do know that he seems to be a very charming man."

"And what about Stephen?" Paul asked and Madeline laughed.

"Darling," she informed him, "I've a feeling that, as far as our daughter is concerned, Stephen is ancient history."

As the car pulled away from the house, Michael watched Nikita in the darkness as she slipped off her coat and shoes, then stretched her feet out. He saw her turn her head toward him, and though it was now too dark to see her expression, he knew she was smiling.

"Did you enjoy this evening?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he replied. He had enjoyed it. He had loved seeing her with her family. Seeing the love that they shared and the ease with which they talked and laughed. It reminded him of his own family. Both his parents were dead now, but he had a younger sister whom he loved very much. She was married and had a son of her own. Because of the distance between their homes, they rarely saw each other. But on the occasions when they were able to get together, their happiness was as complete as Nikita's had been with her family tonight.

His thoughts returned to the silent, beautiful woman sitting across from him. Though neither spoke, both were keenly aware of the other and the mounting desire that flowed between them. Slowly, Michael raised his hand out to her and waited.

Through the darkness he felt her move. She stretched out one hand and laid it gently in his.

Michael held his breath as he felt himself becoming aroused by her touch. He longed to feel her hands move over him. Longed to know what they would feel like against his bare chest, his stomach . . .

"Ni-ki-ta . . ." he whispered, "come to me."

She obeyed. Sliding over next to him, then she raised his hand towards her mouth. One by one, she kissed his fingers. Soft tender kisses to his fingertips, beginning from his pinky to his thumb. Her lips were so soft.

He gasped when she moved again and then felt her tongue as she licked each of his fingers. When she reached his index finger, he felt her mouth open and she slipped his finger into her mouth and gently sucked on him, her tongue swirling about him in slow circular movements.

Michael moaned softly. God, he wanted her . . .

Removing his finger, she directed it downward, over the curve of her breast, then lower. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she pressed his finger gently against her nipple. Michael groaned. She was tormenting him, showing him how much she wanted him, yet still keeping some distance from him. He couldn't stand the aching desire he had suffered all evening for another second. He wanted more . . . much more.

"Ni-ki-ta, please," he begged, his voice low and harsh. Immediately she acquiesced and climbed on top of him.

Part 8

Straddling him, her fingers flew up to his hair, running through his silky mane as she pushed his head back and leaned her forehead against his. Michael's hands gripped her hips, dragging her in as he arched himself up against her. He was fully aroused, fire pounding through his blood. Every muscle in his body was taut with excruciating desire to be with her -- to be one with her. His fingers slid roughly down to the lacy hem of her dress, his hands clenching tightly around the material as he fought the yearning to tear the dress off of her.

He shut his eyes tightly, the muscles in his neck straining as he battled to rein in his almost feral need to consummate his desire for her. "Ni-ki-ta!" he groaned, his body writhing beneath hers. His lashes flew open and he stared at her, his breathing heavy and labored.

She matched him, breath for agonizing breath. Panting, heaving. Her need for him was so intense it bordered on being painful. Never before had she felt such a wild, savage yearning. It ripped through her, shredding her control as she moaned and tossed her head from side to side.

Nikita couldn't restrain herself anymore. She had to know. Had to know what it felt to be loved by him. She could feel his arousal pressing against her and it drove her wild. With a whimpering moan she pushed her hips closer to him as she arched her back and leaned her head back.

Her action caused her breast to thrust out toward him and with a soft moan of his own, Michael bent and kissed the exposed curves.

"Michael!" she whispered hoarsely. Her eyes closed as a tear rolled down her cheek. It was too much. The ache too extreme. Too excruciating. "Please . . ." she whispered in desperation.

Michael drew in his breath sharply as a pain seared his heart. This wasn't right. Instantly his arms were about her, holding her as he rocked her gently.

"Ni-ki-ta . . . Ni-ki-ta," he crooned softly into her ear. "Please don't cry."

He was overwhelmed by the deluge of emotion that bolted through him. Tenderly he kissed her cheek, drying the trail of her tears with his lips.

"Nikita," he whispered. "My sweet, sweet Nikita. Don't cry."

His eyes shone with his love for her -- and he did love her. There was no doubt in his mind. This was the woman he had been searching for. The one for whom he would give his life. The one who now gave purpose to his life.

She pulled her head back enough so that she could gaze into his eyes, her torment clearly showing in her eyes. "I need you, Michael," she whispered.

His hand reached up and smoothed her hair back as he smiled at her tenderly. Cupping her face in his hands he gazed into her eyes. "No, Nikita."

He felt her tense, saw the look of confusion in her eyes. Quickly he explained. "This is too important to me, Nikita. You're too important."

His eyes pleaded with her for understanding as he reached for her hand and placed it over his heart. "Do you feel that, my love?" he asked quietly. "Do you feel how much I want you? Need you?"

"I want to love you, Nikita," he whispered as his eyes searched hers. "I want to feel you, all of you, in my arms, next to me. Loving me." He paused, his hand once again returning to her face. With great tenderness, he closed his eyes and leaned toward her, brushing his lips against hers. His eyes opened and he stared at her. "I don't want to take you like this. Not like this," he explained as he raised his hands and pointed to their surrounding. "Do you understand?" he asked, then waited, hoping that she would.

She smiled as another tear rolled down her cheek. The ache she felt abated and was now replaced by a resplendent, infinite joy. She reached for him and kissed him tenderly. Her lips parting as she welcomed his tongue into her. Soft and sweet, sensual, satisfying. "Yes, Michael," she breathed against his mouth. "I understand . . . ."