Part 19

When Nikita exited the bedroom, she found Michael standing at the sink, washing vegetables and making a tossed salad. She moved up and encircled his waist from behind as she rested her chin on his shoulder. "Need help?" she asked.

"No, I've got it," he answered quietly.

She smiled and moved over to the fridge, opening it and looking inside for dressing and whatever else might be edible. "I've worked up some ideas for your gallery," she stated, and turned to place a bottle of bacon bits, and salad dressing on the counter. "I think it would be best if we focused mainly on targeting a specific clientele through private mail. We could look at what price range you want to work with, target the clients that fall into that bracket, and gear the bulk of the campaign toward them. What do you think?"

"It sounds fine," he responded flatly.

Nikita leaned back and folded her arms across her chest as she tilted her head to one side and regarded him with a slightly odd look. Michael glanced up and met her gaze briefly, then returned to his task. Nikita bit her lower lip, an unconscious habit she had when she was troubled. Shaking her head, she turned and walked toward the living room. "So what did you buy?" she asked.

"Nothing much," Michael responded. He tried hard to disguise the confusion and hurt he was feeling, but he was finding it difficult. The joy he had felt earlier, as he had picked out her gifts and anticipated seeing her reaction, had vanished. All that remained were nagging thoughts centered around the diamond and sapphire ring.

It was beautiful. The perfect match to her blue eyes -- especially when they darkened in passion. He was sure that whoever bought it had thought the same thing. The muscles around Michael's lips twitched as his brows furrowed. He didn't like knowing that someone else may have experienced the joy of watching her eyes darken to that exact shade of blue. Ridiculous, of course, but still, that's how he felt. In the background, he heard Nikita's indrawn breath and the rustling of boxes.

"My god, Michael," she exclaimed in shock as she looked at the emblems on the boxes. "These are from Vera Wang!" She looked up at Michael, but saw by his expression that he wasn't really paying attention. He was lost in his own little world. She placed the boxes back down and made her way slowly back to him.

As she approached, he glanced up to meet her eyes and then lowered them again. "Salad's ready," he stated.

"I don't care about the salad," Nikita replied in a low tone. She pushed the bowl away from his hands and raised her fingers to tilt his face toward her. Searching his eyes, she asked, "What's wrong?"

He stared at her for several seconds and she was surprised to see what looked like pain flash through his green eyes. "Michael?" she asked softly.

God, how he loved her, he thought, as the pain of knowing there was possibly someone else in her life tore at him. He lifted one hand and touched her cheek. "Have I been too presumptuous?" he asked quietly, his gaze searching hers.

Nikita frowned. "In what? The clothes?" she asked, trying to understand this sudden shift in Michael's behavior. He turned away and walked toward the living room, sitting down on the couch and stared ahead. After a moment, she followed him, sitting next to him.

She stared at his profile, trying to read the cause of his behavior. He turned his face to look at her and stated quietly, "The last thing I want to do, Nikita, is force myself upon you . . . ."

"Force?!" She laughed nervously. "Michael, whatever gave you the idea that you were forcing yourself on me?"

"I know this has all happened so fast," he continued, and fear began to fill her heart. What was he trying to say?

"Do you think it's been too fast?" she asked, almost incredulously. Her eyes searched his, wondering why she felt like her world was about to collapse.

"Nikita, please," he stated.

"Please what, Michael?" she asked, frustration beginning to show. She stood and began to pace the floor in front of him, her hand running through her long hair.

After a minute, she sat back down next to him. Reaching for his hand, she stared into his eyes and took a deep breath. "Let's start over again, shall we?" she asked. "Tell me. What happened to bring all this about?"

Michael stared at her for several seconds then asked quietly, "Is there someone else in your life, Nikita?"

She stared at him, shocked at his question. Then, suddenly, it hit her. The ring. Suddenly everything fell into place: his silence, the pained look, the withdrawal.

Michael continued to stare at her, watching the emotions playing across her expressive face. Instead of an explanation, though, Nikita's lips curved into a wide smile, her eyes lighting up brightly as she began to laugh. "Oh, Michael," she sighed and laughed at the same time, and then leaned in and began to kiss him.

Part 20

Michael stared at Nikita as she alternated between kissing him and laughing. He wasn't quite sure if he should be happy, or offended. But when she opened her lashes to reveal sparkling blue eyes, he knew that there was no way he could be angry with her, and he began to respond to her kisses. Finally Nikita pulled away and caressed his cheek. "Wait here," she whispered, then stood and hurried toward the bedroom.

A few minutes later she returned and settled down next to Michael again. In her hands she had her wallet and the ring box. Placing the box in his hand, she instructed him to, "Hold that." She opened her wallet and flipped through various IDs until she found what she was looking for and then held it out in front of him.

"Meet Stephen Percy," she stated.

Michael looked at the photo of the serious looking man in the photo. Inscribed on the photo were the words, "To Nikita, . . . love, Stephen." Michael raised his eyes to meet Nikita's. "Who is he?" he asked in a monotone.

Nikita smiled. "The man you're jealous of?" she asked with raised brows.

"I wasn't jealous, Nikita," he stated, then took the photo away from her and held it closer for his scrutiny. "He looks like your brother," he stated dryly.

"I know," Nikita sighed. "Same cuteness." Michael gave her a threatening stare to which Nikita batted her eyelashes innocently.

"And this?" Michael asked quietly as he held up the ring box.

Nikita took the box from him and opened it. The laughter died from her eyes as she stared at the beautiful ring. She stared at it for several seconds in silence, then closed the box and sought out Michael's hand.

Michael waited as she sat next to him, her head leaning against his upper arm. When she spoke, it was in a reflective, contemplative tone. "Stephen and I met almost two years ago," she explained. "Section did some work for the company he was with at that time. After a while, we started dating."

She paused, sat up straight and stared down at their entwined fingers. "Truthfully, we weren't very compatible . . . but then that was nothing new for me." Michael watched the frown that formed on Nikita's face, felt her thumb stroking his hand, and he responded in like manner.

"Go on, Nikita," he stated softly.

Blue eyes lifted to meet his. "I've never loved anyone before, Michael. I've been attracted to a few guys, had relationships with a few, but nothing ever lasted more than a few weeks or a month." She paused again as she tried to find the right words to explain. "I guess, with Stephen, I was beginning to hope that I could force myself to love him."

The frown on her face deepened. "He's a very nice man. Intelligent and, in his own way, I know he loves and cares for me."

Michael saw a look of sadness fill her eyes and he reached out and laid his palm against her cheek, silently encouraging her to go on. Nikita closed her eyes and leaned her cheek into his hand as a tear rolled slowly down her face. She bit her lower lip, then went on quietly. "I wanted someone to love me, Michael."

She gave a little laugh as another tear rolled down her face. "Don't get me wrong," she explained, "I love my life. I've got a family that loves me, a career I'm happy with, money . . . But there was something . . . missing, you know?" She turned tear-filled eyes to gaze at him.

Michael felt his heart overflowing as he stared into her eyes. He understood perfectly what she was saying. He had felt the same way. Sort of just existing with no real meaning. "Yes," he whispered, "I do know."

One corner of her mouth curved up into a small smile. "My relationship with Stephen was over a long time ago, but we both just didn't want to face it. He asked me to marry him the very day that I met you. I tried to tell him that night that it wouldn't work, but he wanted me to at least think about it." She looked up at Michael. "He's expecting my answer tomorrow night at Birkoff's party."

Michael stared at her, his fingers gently caressing hers. "What will you tell him?"

Nikita looked at him and smiled as she squeezed his hand. "The truth."

Part 21

Nikita did a slow pirouette in front of the mirror, checking her reflection from different angles. The dress was magnificent. It had a high rhinestone studded collar that glistened and sparkled as it caught the light. It effectively hid Michael's mark of love on her, while calling attention to the long, slender curve of her neck. The black velvet dress then flowed down in a tight halter-style bodice before flowing softly down in a long straight cut. The dress conformed to her figure, showing the curve of her breast and leaving the smooth, satiny skin of her back completely exposed. A slit in the back gave the viewer a teasing look of long, silky legs with each step she took. Black, three-inch sandals completed her outfit.

Michael's eyes roamed over her in appreciation -- and longing. He stepped up to her from behind, his hands going automatically to her hips as he met her gaze in the mirror. "You look beautiful, my Nikita," he whispered. She closed her eyes, her hands covering his and pulled them so that they encircled her waist.

"Thank you," she murmured. Her eyes opened to meet his. "I wish you were going with me."

He turned to kiss her carefully on the cheek, not wanting to mess up her makeup or her hair that was swept up into an elegant twist, soft wisps of golden curls trailing temptingly down toward her neck. "I do, too," he whispered, "but it would make things awkward for you. You need to speak with Stephen alone. He deserves that."

She nodded, knowing that he was right. Still, she wanted him by her side. "Will you wait for me here?" she asked. His thumb absently caressed her belly button through the material of her dress.

"If you want me to."

She turned then in his arms, her hands coming up to hold his face as his moved to her bare back. "I do, Michael," she whispered and leaned in for a long, slow kiss.

He pulled away, his breathing slightly heavy. "You'd better finish dressing," he smiled, "otherwise Birkoff may wonder why his sister came late to his party."

She grinned, "All right." As he turned to move away though, she caught his hand and pulled him back. "Thank you again for the dress," she murmured, her eyes softening as they glided over his face.

His choices had been exquisite and she had felt like a child on Christmas morning as she had opened her gifts from him. Each package had revealed outfits that were magnificent, elegant, and very feminine. Michael had laughed quietly at her delight, ecstatic that she approved. Afterward they had spent the night wrapped in each other's arms, making love, sleeping, and making love again. There was no doubt in his mind of his love for her -- or of her love for him.

"You're welcome, my Nikita," he murmured, his eyes shining with his love for her, their fingers gently caressing, before he turned and moved to the living room. While she went to the party, he would stay and look over the proposals that she had for promoting his gallery opening. He also had some phone calls to make that would help occupy his time till she returned to him.

Two hours later, Birkoff's party was in full swing. Paul and Madeline Wolfe's home had been transformed from the quiet, stately manor that it was to a magical Christmas fantasyland, ablaze with lights, evergreens, poinsettias, and fresh flowers. A band that was set up in the ballroom played an assortment of blues, pop, Christmas carols, and waltzes to the delight of the crowd as laughter filled the air. Food was in abundance and champagne flowed freely.

Nikita stood next to her brother, laughing at his quiet scowl at being the focus of attention. She slipped her hand through his arm as he escorted her through the crowd. In spite of his irritation, he had to admit, he was grateful to his sister. He tended to be quiet and introverted. It was difficult for him to be open and to meet people. He was aware that he was the plain one in a glamorous family -- not like Nikita -- she practically radiated beauty and elegance. Even tonight, she was stunning. He was aware of all the admiring looks she received. Saw how she drew people to her without even trying. A natural magnet. But she never made him feel inferior. She pulled him into her crowd of friends, extended her love to him openly and helped to draw him out from his shyness. He glanced sideways at her and saw her laughing and waving at someone she knew. His mouth curved into a smile.

Just then the band struck up a lively rendition of Chuck Berry's "Twist". He saw Nikita freeze and his heart dropped as he began to pull away -- but it was too late. She gripped him by the hand and gave him her best little girl pleading look. "Pleeease, Birky," she begged.

"NO! Absolutely . . ."

It was no use. She had dragged him out to the middle of the dance floor which had quickly filled up, and turned to face him. She was laughing at his look of horror as she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Come on, Bro," she shouted, "let's show these people how to really get down." She then proceeded to pull her dress up several inches, bent at the knees as she held her hands above her head and began to twist her hips in time with the music. Birkoff rolled his eyes as if silently asking the gods above, "Why me?" Then, resigned to his fate, he bent low at the knees, bent his arms at his side, and began to do a very mean twist.

"Wooohooo!!!" Nikita laughed, "Way to go, Birky!!!"

Part 22

The music ended and Nikita collapsed into Birkoff's arms, laughing so hard her cheeks hurt. Birkoff's eyes glimmered, his own mouth split into a wide grin as all around them the crowd cheered and applauded. Nikita bowed as Birkoff blushed. Hooking her hand through her brother's, they walked off the dance floor.

"Oh god, that was fun!" she exclaimed.

Birkoff straightened his tuxedo jacket and tried to muster a look of dignity as he turned to her. "Just don't make it a habit," he stated, to which Nikita began laughing again. A waltz started up and someone tapped the tall blonde on the shoulder. Nikita turned to see Gail, her secretary, standing there. She was dressed in a lovely dark green sheath that brought out the highlights of her red hair. She cast a shy look at Birkoff before turning to Nikita.

"Do you mind if I ask the birthday boy for a dance?" she asked.

Nikita's mouth curved into a wide smile. "Not at all!" she stated and stepped away from a very nervous looking Birkoff. Nikita stood behind Gail, catching Birkoff's panicked look, and gave him a sly wink before abandoning him. She turned then and saw her father walking toward her.

"Daddy!" she smiled and leaned in to give him a kiss.

"Would you like to dance?" Paul Wolfe asked his daughter.

Nikita smiled, "I'd love to." She stepped into her father's arms and sighed as she rested her chin on his shoulder and swayed gently in his arms.

"We haven't had a chance to speak in a while," he stated.

"Mmm, I know," she murmured. "My schedule's been really bad lately." They danced a while longer in comfortable silence.

"I haven't seen Stephen," Paul stated.

"He'll be here," Nikita replied. "He called to say that he's delayed at work. He should be here soon."

Paul turned his head to look at his daughter. "Your mother tells me that Stephen's proposed marriage." He saw the look of regret that crossed his daughter's face.

"Yes," she replied simply.

"And?"

Nikita turned to meet her father's gaze. She gave him a small smile. "My answer is no," she murmured, then laid her head upon his shoulder. They continued to dance for several more seconds in silence.

"Is it Michael?" he asked.

Nikita's head bolted up as she looked into her father's eyes, her feet forgetting to move. She saw her father's eyes searching hers and she sighed. He knew her too well. Stepping back into his arms, she nodded. "Yes."

Paul reached a hand under her chin and turned her to look at him, "Let's go somewhere quieter." She nodded, and he tucked her arm through his and guided her from the room, through the crowd, and to his study.

Closing the door behind them, Paul motioned his daughter over to a small couch at the side of the room. He followed her and sat down. Turning his head, he saw her staring back at him. Taking her hand in his, he squeezed her fingers as he asked, "What's going on in your life, Nikita?"

She smiled tenderly at her father. "Nothing much, really. Stephen proposed and I'm going to say no."

"And Michael Samuelle?" her father asked. "How does he fit into all of this?"

Her eyes met her father's gaze for several seconds, then stated quietly. "I'm in love with Michael, Daddy. But he's not the reason I'm turning Stephen's proposal down."

"He's not?"

She leaned against her father's shoulder and smiled. "No," she stated, then proceeded to explain.

"Stephen's a nice guy, Daddy, but I don't love him," Nikita said quietly. "I tried to love him . . . but it didn't work. It won't work." She pulled back and looked her father in the eye. "I know you like him and that you think he'd make a good husband for me. But I want someone that will love me like how you love Mom, and whom I can love back in the same way," she explained. "No matter how hard we tried, Stephen and I just don't . . . fit together like that."

Paul stared at his daughter with thoughtful eyes. "And Michael?" he asked quietly. He saw his daughter's eyes light up at the mention of the Frenchman's name. She squeezed his hand and smiled.

"Michael . . ." she paused, "Michael makes me feel complete. Loved. Beautiful." She turned her eyes to face him as she placed her hand over her heart. "He speaks to me here," she whispered, as her eyes implored him to understand.

"Does he feel the same way?"

She nodded, "Yes, he does."

"Has he proposed marriage?"

"Daddy! We've only just met."

"But you said that he loves you."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean we're going to run off and get married. There's still a lot that we have to learn and discover about each other." She smiled at her father and added quietly. "If he were to ask me to marry him, I would accept in a heartbeat. That's how sure I am of my feelings for him, but I'm not pushing or expecting him to marry me. If it ever comes to that, it has to be his decision."

Paul reached out and touched his daughter's face gently as he felt a tug at his heartstrings. His little girl was growing up. He smiled at her and then pulled her into an embrace. "All right, Nikita," he consented as he kissed her forehead. "Do what you think is best. You know your mother and I will stand behind you all the way."

Nikita felt the sting of tears as she wrapped her arms tightly about her father. "Thank you," she whispered.

Part 23

The apartment was dark when Nikita entered. She closed the door behind her and locked it, removed her shoes, then headed toward the bedroom.

The reading lamp on the night stand cast a soft glow upon the bed. Michael was sleeping. Nikita saw that he had removed his clothes, had folded and placed them neatly on the chair next to the night stand. She smiled and began to undress.

He lay on his side, facing away from her. Carefully, she climbed up on the bed and looked down upon him. Her expression softened tenderly as she feasted upon the celestial vision before her. Adonis himself could not have been more handsome than the man that lay sleeping in her bed, she thought. Silky auburn curls fell in sweet disarray about his princely features. His long dark lashes fanned softly against his cheeks. Sensuous lips parted temptingly in sleep. The blanket had slipped low, revealing his broad shoulders and muscular back. Nikita bent and pressed her lips to his shoulder. He was warm, soft to her touch. She kissed him again, and he stirred.

"N'kita . . .?"

His voice was thick and husky. Though he stirred, he was still mostly asleep. Nikita smiled and placed her hand gently on his side. So smooth, she thought. She wanted to let him sleep but a deeper desire called to her and so she slid her hand slowly across his stomach. She felt the rise and fall of his stomach, felt his navel, the rough hair that directed her hand lower.

Michael frowned slightly. His sleep interrupted by a familiar, pleasurable sensation. He searched through the fog of his dreams trying to identify it and find its source. Suddenly, he felt warm fingers encircle his manhood. Enlightenment flooded him and he moaned as his own hand reached down to cover the one stroking him to life.

He struggled quickly through the haze of sleep, forcing his eyes open, needing to confirm that it was his angel who sought to bring him back from the realm of the unconscious with such erotic pleasure. His gaze met dark blue eyes, and he relaxed, satisfied. He closed his eyes again and allowed her to waken him fully. Her fingers were so soft against him. He moaned deeply, his hand caressing hers as she caressed him.

Nikita smiled as she watched the frown that formed on Michael's face when she first touched him, turn into a look of peace after he had opened his eyes and seen her. He was almost fully aroused. She released him, grabbed the blanket that covered him and pulled it completely off. Her eyes roamed over him as he turned to lay on his back, his own eyes opening to look at her.

She slipped her hand between his hardening member and his stomach, letting him lay against the palm of her hand. He was throbbing, pulsating quickly to life. With her other hand she gingerly touched one finger to the very tip of him, circling him in feather-light strokes, using her fingernail to gently scratch at his sensitive tip.

Michael gasped and moaned. His hips jerked subtly as his muscles tensed and tightened.

Nikita glanced at him, watched the torment build slowly in his eyes as her finger trailed a delicate path down his length. His cock jumped as he looked at her pleadingly. His muscles became tenser and his hips began to writhe.

"Shhh, Michael . . ." she whispered, her voice calming him to maintain control. As he relaxed a little, Nikita bent her head toward him and gently licked his tip.

"Oh god, Ni-ki-ta!" he moaned as his passion escalated to the breaking point once more. His breathing was ragged and his eyes were shut tightly. Nikita opened her mouth and took his tip into her warmth.

Michael arched upward as his hands grasped about for, then reached for the posts of the headboard. He gripped tightly as his hips thrust gently against her mouth. Nikita opened wider and took as much of him in as she could, swirling her tongue around him, oblivious to his loud moaning. He was fully aroused now.

She pulled back from him then and placed a soft kiss on the side of his shaft before shifting her body to straddle him. Michael was able to open his eyes and to watch as she reached for him, positioning him beneath her opening, and then lowered herself onto him.

Temporary relief filled him as he felt himself slide into Nikita and he moaned softly. He released his hold on the posts and reached down to place his hands on her knees, gliding them up her thighs. She smiled tenderly down at him. "Better?" she asked quietly.

Michael smiled, his eyes answering her. They remained quietly joined for several seconds. No movement except those of their hands which were entwined. They gazed upon each other in love, their eyes communicating silently their desire and adoration for each other.

After a while, Michael spoke. "How was it?" he asked quietly.

Nikita sighed, then ever so gently squeezed his cock with her muscles as she thrust her hips subtly against him. Her eyes met his. "It was good," she replied softly.

Michael disentangled his hands from hers and moved to stroke her thighs. "Did you see Stephen?" he asked.

Nikita leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his stomach, then ran her hands down his chest as she sat back up. "Yes," she replied. She squeezed him again and thrust.

Michael moaned, his eyes closing momentarily. He looked back at her, his hands reaching for hers. "Are you okay?" His fingers held hers, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand.

Nikita smiled. "Yes." She pulled her hands away and placed them at his elbows. "Come to me," she ordered then helped to pull him up. She shifted her legs so that she was able to wrap them around him. She wiggled her hips then so that she could get more of him in. Satisfied, she sighed and hugged her arms around his shoulders as Michael encircled her waist with his.

They embraced each other, their hands stroking each other. Then Nikita pulled his head back and sought his mouth for a much needed kiss. For long seconds they kissed, their tongues exploring, reacquainting themselves with their other half.

"Give me your hands," Nikita requested as she broke the kiss. Michael gazed into her eyes as he placed his palms in hers. "Hold on, my love," she whispered then, using his hands for leverage, she bent all the way back so that her head now lay between his spread feet. Her movement caused Michael's shaft to shift, stretching him as he lay deeply imbedded in her. He moaned at the sensation. Nikita smiled seductively up at him, tightening her leg lock around him as she scooted in.

Michael stared down at her, his eyes darkening. Leaning forward he caressed her breasts, his fingers rubbing their hardened peaks, then glided them down her smooth stomach and finally down to where her golden curls meshed with dark ones. His finger touched her clit and she jerked, moaning her pleasure. Smiling, he stroked her again and watched as her back began to arch. God, she was beautiful, he thought. He could never get tired of watching her.

Nikita grabbed onto Michael's thighs and pushed herself against his hips as he continued to stroke her. Her need for fulfillment was rapidly rising. She ran her hands up and down his thighs, moaning loudly as his fingers continued their sweet torment. Suddenly, he stopped, and she opened her eyes to look into his hungry eyes.

"Nikita . . ." he called. His eyes held a silent request.

"What is it, Michael?" she asked. She wouldn't deny him anything right now. Her hands stroked his muscular legs.

He gazed at her with longing as he whispered huskily, "I want to kiss you -- here." Nikita moaned as he touched his finger to her sensitive clit. His request nearly drove her wild, her breathing becoming erratic. She unlocked her legs from behind him and bent her knees, allowing him to slide out of her. Michael quickly shifted his body and knelt between her upraised knees, then, spreading her further open, he bent and partook of her.

Nikita moaned and cried loudly, "Oh god! Michael! Michael! Michael!" Her hips thrust against him as her hands flew to his hair, holding him to her, stroking him, tangling in his locks, tugging at him. His tongue drove her crazy as he lapped at her, stroked her, plunged into her.

"Oh . . . arghh . . . Mi-chael . . . Mi-chael . . . PLEASE!!"

She couldn't hold out any longer. As much as she wanted to allow him his pleasure, she needed him desperately. Roughly she pulled his head away from her and pleaded with him for release. Her fingers caressed his face as she implored him, "Please . . ."

He acquiesced immediately, moving up her body as she reached for him and positioned him. With a quick thrust, Michael entered her as she cried out. He gave her a moment to adjust, then began to move inside of her -- stroking her with long deep strokes.

"Arghhh . . . yes . . . yes . . ." she panted as her hands held onto his back. Michael pounded into her as the heat between them escalated. Their bodies glistened with their exertion, yet still they pressed on. Their minds focused on their erotic pleasure as they sought the shattering fulfillment that would unite them completely in their need and desire for each other.

Michael's breathing was becoming labored as he strained to please his love. Harder, faster, he plunged, becoming excited by her incessant moaning and whimpering. When he felt her tighten around him and saw her tension-filled arch signal her coming, he mustered all the strength he had in him and quickened his pace even further, stroking her with all the love he had.

Nikita cried out as she shut her eyes tightly and turned to the side, her whole body suspended in intense momentary pain -- and then bliss.

Nikita collapsed back against the bed, her inner muscles convulsing around Michael.

Michael released his last exertion then, pounding into her with abandon until he felt his body tense at the brink of his climax. He held his position over her, relishing the sweet torture before he thrust mightily into her one last time and released his seed into her.

Part 24

While Nikita cooked breakfast, Michael set about straightening the bedroom. He had stripped the sheets off the bed and threw them into the dirty linen hamper. Now he set about putting on the clean sheets that Nikita had given him.

Black satin.

He smiled as he tried to picture what Nikita would look like laying next to these sheets, her white skin and golden hair spread out against its dark colors . . . .

"Michael?" Nikita called to him from the kitchen.

"Yes?" He shook the images from his mind as he secured the mattress cover and grabbed the top sheets.

"Are you almost done?" Nikita called. "Breakfast is ready."

"Almost," he responded. He turned and looked for the comforter. Finding it, he threw it on the bed and searched for the ends. He grabbed hold of them and gave it a strong flick, watching as the comforter billowed out and settled on the bed. He finished adjusting it and then turned to get the pillows. Plumping them, he turned and placed them in a neat row beneath the headboard. Afterward, he stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed his work. He gave a satisfied smile and turned to find Nikita leaning against the doorway with her arms folded. An amused smile played about her lips.

"I'm finished," Michael smiled.

She straightened and sauntered over to him. Her arms went about him as she glanced at the bed. "Michael," she breathed, "the pillows go under the comforter."

Michael looked back at the bed with a puzzled look. "My mother always put them on top," he said matter-of-factly.

Nikita grinned. "But this isn't your mother's bed."

Michael's lips broke out into a wide smile, the corner of his eyes crinkling with laughter. "No, this definitely isn't," he said and pinched Nikita's butt.

Nikita yelped and laughed as she hugged him. Finding his mouth, she kissed him deeply. "Thank you," she whispered several seconds later when she pulled away. Michael gave her a smile and took her hand in his.

"Let's go eat," he said and pulled her out of the room.

Nikita had already set the table with their plates and as he sat down, she went to the kitchen and poured him coffee. She was dressed casually in jeans and a thick red sweater. She had called Rose to cancel her appointments and to let her know that she wasn't coming in. They had her pager and cell phone numbers if any emergency came up that would need her immediate attention. Today, though, she was spending the day with Michael. They were going to go Christmas shopping, then drive out to her parents to wrap gifts and decorate. A warm glow settled about Nikita at the prospect of spending the whole day with him. She wished she could spend every day of this holiday season with him, but knew that was impossible.

"Are you with him?" Rose had asked. Nikita could hear Rose's lips forming into a wide smile.

"I refuse to answer that," she stated to which Rose began laughing.

"Have a wonderful day," she said and Nikita had thanked her.

She returned now to the table and set Michael's coffee down as he poured her orange juice.

"So what did you think about the plans for the gallery?" she asked as he handed her the juice. "Thank you," she murmured.

"I like it," he stated quietly, "I just have one request." He broke off a piece of croissant and bit into it.

"Sure. What is it?" she asked as she folded her arms on the edge of the table and watched him eat -- a happy smile on her face.

"The photographer," Michael explained. He lifted his napkin and dabbed at his mouth. A serious look entering his eyes, he asked, "Would you mind if we brought in our own person?"

Nikita shrugged, "That shouldn't be any problem. Do you have someone in mind?"

Michael nodded and took a bite of his eggs. "His name is Walter Francks. Old guy. American actually. But he usually does all the photos for our exhibits." He looked at Nikita. "I'd kind of like to use him for this, too."

She smiled. "All right. Just give me his card, or how I can get a hold of him, and I'll work it from there. I'll contact our Paris office and have them arrange the details. Probably have someone come out to meet him and go over what we need. After he does the shoot, you can view the photos and choose the ones you'd like to use for the layout before they send it to us."

Michael looked up at her. "Aren't you going to come out there?" he asked.

She reached out and took his hand. "I'd like to, but I don't know. I'm scheduled to be out on the west coast the first week of January. I'm still trying to catch up from the time I was in Chicago." She gave him a look of regret, "We'll have to wait and see."

His fingers caressed hers. "I'd love for you to come . . . if you can," he murmured. She squeezed his fingers.

"We'll see, my love."

They finished their breakfast and began to clear away the breakfast dishes. Nikita cleared as Michael washed. She came up behind him and encircled his waist with her arms as she leaned her head against his back. "I'm going to miss you when you leave," she whispered.

Michael continued to wash the dishes silently. He had been thinking the same thing also. Wondering how he would be able to adjust to waking up without Nikita in his arms. Life would seem so very empty after spending these wonderful days with her.

Her hands caressed his stomach one last time before she sighed and left him to go get her coat. When she returned, he was waiting for her by the entryway. Grabbing her purse and her keys, she headed toward him. Before she could open the door and step outside though, Michael reached out and took hold of her hand, pulling her back to him. Nikita gazed up at him with a puzzled look.

"I'm going to miss you, too, Nikita" he said quietly, and then bent to kiss her.

Part 25

The mall was still fairly empty when Michael and Nikita arrived. Hand in hand they strolled through the main floor, their gazes captured by all the bright twinkling lights and festive holiday displays. The sweet tempting aroma of freshly baked cookies and cinnamon wafted through the air, causing Nikita's stomach to rumble softly. All around them shoppers dashed about in a semi-controlled flurry. Parents chased after their little ones, as others headed for Santa's photo booth. Men and women in business suits, dually-armed with briefcases and newspapers, strode quickly by, intent on squeezing in a little shopping before their next meeting. Teenage boys and girls giggled and smiled as they moved through the mall in groups . . . And above it all, subtly disguised amongst all the bustling, joyous sounds of shoppers spending their hard-earned money, drifted the melodious strains of Christmas carols.

Nikita snuggled up next to Michael and leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked and she began to sing softly for him . . . .

"Sleigh bells ring are you listening?
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland"

She turned sparkling blue eyes to meet his and felt him squeeze her hand. She smiled up at him and leaned her head back on his shoulder.

"Gone away is the blue bird
Here to stay is a new bird
He sings a love song, as we go along
Walking in a winter wonderland"

"Oh look!" Nikita stopped singing, excitement filling her countenance as she began to pull Michael toward one of the display windows. They came to a stop in front of a pet store. In the window, showcased in large wicker baskets with bright red Christmas bows, was a little Chihuahua. The tiny little furball stared back at them with huge luminous dark eyes that caused Nikita's heart to melt. "Oh, Michael," she moaned, "he's so cute."

Michael encircled his love's waist with his arms and held her to him. He could never get over how easily touched she was -- how so very compassionate she was. Love flowed out of her freely to encompass all that she came into contact with. He did so want her to come to France, if only so that Monique could meet her. He knew his sister would love her instantly. And Nikita would love Michel. The image of Nikita playing with his nephew suddenly filled Michael with an unfamiliar pang. That of seeing Nikita with a child -- their child.

She sighed and raised her hands to cover his as she leaned her head back, snuggling it under his chin, and sighed. "I hope he finds a happy home," she murmured.

Michael remained silent as his hands moved over Nikita's stomach, his fingers spreading possessively over her as his heart pounded against his chest at the thought of Nikita bearing his child.

"Michael?" She turned to look up at him, wondering at his silence, and saw his green eyes darkened with an expression that almost looked pained. She quickly raised a hand and placed it against his cheek. "Are you okay?" Worry and concern filled her voice as she stepped closer to him.

In answer, Michael gathered her into a hug, his cheek resting against hers. "I'm fine," he whispered, and felt another powerful tug on his heart when she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. His gaze fell upon the little Chihuahua in the window who stood regarding them, his head tilted slightly to one side, with wide eyes. Michael smiled and gave him a conspiratorial wink before turning and guiding Nikita away.

The next few hours were spent with Nikita dragging Michael from store to store as they purchased gifts for family members and friends. "What about your family?" Nikita asked at one point. "Shouldn't we get them something for you to take back?"

Michael laughed and gave her a quick kiss. "It's already been taken care of," he replied. "What else do we have to get?"

Nikita looked at her list of things to buy. "Uhmm, just one more thing," she murmured as she gazed about the mall, a look of concentration settling upon her face. "Holiday mittens . . ."

"Holiday mittens?"

"Yeah . . ." she gazed from one end of the mall to the other, trying to decide which store would carry them. "Some of the ladies at work are making some crafts and need them."

"What kind of crafts?" Michael asked. He'd never heard of crafts made from mittens.

"I'm not quite sure," Nikita said as a frown furrowed her brows. "Norma, she's one of the execs in the creative department, she said something about taking the mittens apart and sewing them together again to form some sort of asbestos . . . asbestos . . . something." Nikita shrugged, "I can't remember what exactly they're called, but they're supposed to be real good in resisting heat."

Michael gazed at her with a puzzled look. "Strange sounding craft . . ." he murmured.

"I know," Nikita replied, "but Rose said it's all the rage and the girls at the office are all out hunting for them." Suddenly her face lit up. "There! I think that store should have them," she stated excitedly, grabbing Michael's hand and pulling him after her.

Part 26

"Nikita, wait." Michael grasped her by the elbow as she started to rush off. "There are a few things I saw in another store that I wanted to look at. What if we meet back here in . . . say, one hour?"

"All right," she responded, her mind racing ahead. With Michael gone, she could shop for a present for him, too. "I'll meet you back here then," she agreed as she gave him a parting smile. Michael watched as she turned and disappeared in the crowd. When she was out of sight, he turned and headed back the way that they had come.

Nikita glanced at her watch to make sure that she didn't get carried away with her shopping and miss her rendezvous with Michael. "One hour," she reminded herself, and then began her hunt. She found the holiday mittens in the kitchenware section of one of the larger department stores. Nikita smiled as she looked over the assortment of mittens on display and decided to get a variety of them. She tried to recall how many women there were that Rose had mentioned -- wanting to make sure that she got enough for all of them. Hmm, she thought to herself, let's see, there's Norma, 'chelle, and the two Trudy's from the creative department. And Dawn, Caro, and Cygnet in production. Catsma in accounting, Celia in traffic, Sanlin in art . . . "Oh geezes," she muttered, "I should just get a whole dozen. That ought to take care of it."

The cashier, a thin woman in her fifties with short curly blonde hair, gave a surprised, "Oh my!" look as Nikita half-stumbled up to the register, her arms loaded with holiday mittens. She raised her red cat-eye framed prescription glasses above her brows, leaned toward Nikita and whispered loudly, "I see you're making asbestos panties, too!"

Nikita raised one brow. "Excuse me?" she asked.

The woman laughed and lowered her glasses as she tapped her hand knowingly on the pile of holiday mittens. "You should have seen this other woman who came in yesterday," she stated. "She practically bought out the store. Our boys had to stay back late last night restocking the shelves." She leaned forward and whispered, "Good thing, too, seeing as how you would have been out of luck, dear."

"Asbestos . . . p-panties?" Nikita repeated.

"Oh yeah!" the woman exclaimed, then whispered loudly again. "Real popular gift item this holiday season. I'm going to make a pair for my daughter-in-law."

Nikita stood, her mouth gaping open. Asbestos panties? That's what the women were making? She shook her head. Thank goodness Michael wasn't around to hear this. She looked back at the woman who was busy ringing up her purchases. My god, what must she think? Nikita thought as she looked at the pile of holiday mittens. After she paid for her goods, Nikita smiled at the woman. "Thank you . . ." she looked at the name tag she wore, "Esther. Merry Christmas."

"Oh and Merry Christmas to you too, hon. Good luck with the you-know-what!" she whispered.

Nikita nodded. "You, too. Hope your daughter-in-law likes your present to her."

Glancing at her watch she saw that she had only thirty minutes to find Michael's gift. Donning a look of determination, she gathered all her packages securely about her and set off once more.

Part 27

"Pass the tape, hon."

Michael looked about him and found the Scotch tape hidden underneath a shiny roll of Christmas wrapping paper. He handed it over to Nikita and watched as she struggled to fold the ends of the wrap neatly. The more she tried though, the more wrinkled the paper became. "Give it to me, Nikita," he ordered quietly.

She raised blue eyes to meet his and gave him a resigned look. She never was any good at wrapping gifts. She surrendered the package over to Michael and watched as his long tapered fingers carefully folded the ends and secured it with the Scotch tape.

He held his hand out to her, "Bow . . ."

Nikita grinned as she reached for the package of brightly colored bows and handed him one. Michael looked at the bow and gave it back to her. "Bring the green one," he ordered in the same quiet voice.

"What's wrong with that one?" Nikita asked as she took the silver bow back.

"It's the wrong color scheme," Michael explained. "You need something that will bring out the subtle details. See?" He held the green bow next to the wrapping paper.

"Oh," Nikita stated as she took note of what he said. "You've got a good eye for colors."

Michael smiled. "I'm an artist, Nikita. We tend to notice things like that."

"An artist? You never told me that." Nikita's eyes lit up at finding out something new about Michael.

He turned green eyes to meet hers. "You never asked," he replied softly. She turned her body to face him as she drew her knees up and hugged them.

"What else don't I know about you?" she asked with interest.

He gave her another smile. "There's a lot that you don't know, Nikita. Just like there's a lot that I don't know about you." He watched as she looked down at her toes. Michael reached a hand out and lifted her chin to gaze into her eyes. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly. "You know all the important things though," he whispered.

Her expression softened. "I want to know more."

He stared at her for several seconds then, sighing, he cleared away the wrapping paper, ribbons and bows from the area in front of him. He stretched his legs out in front of him, spreading them wide, and patted the floor. "Come here, my love," he called to her. Nikita crawled over and settled between his legs, settling back against him and smiling as she felt his arms wrap around her. After the morning's shopping expedition they had driven out to her parents' manor. Nikita had prepared them lunch and now they were in the family room wrapping presents. They had the house to themselves for another couple of hours and she knew they could afford to take a little break and still finish the wrapping in time.

"What do you want to know?" he whispered into her ear.

Nikita entwined her fingers with his and lifted his hands up to her mouth for a quick kiss. "Tell me about your life, Michael. I want to know everything. Where were you born? Where did you go to school? What was your home life like? How did you become interested in art? What are your hobbies? What do you like? Don't like . . . Everything!"

Michael laughed and hugged her tightly as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He bit her softly and then kissed her as she sighed with contentment. "All right, my love." He settled back then and began to share with Nikita his life story as she listened quietly. He told her of his family, how his mother had been an artist and had passed the love of art onto him. Told her of his father and how he used to take them out to the ocean on special holiday. He told her of his sister and her family . . . of little Michel, who was only eight months old. Told her of his love for the simple life. And finally told her of the accident three years ago that took the lives of his parents.

"Oh, Michael," Nikita sighed. She turned in his arms and hugged him. "I'm so sorry, darling. I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

Michael held her tightly and kissed her temple. "It's all right Nikita," he whispered. "I want you to know." He held her face between his hands as he gazed into her eyes. "I love you, my Nikita. I have nothing to hide from you."

She felt tears sting her eyes as she listened to his quietly spoken words. Nikita slipped down into his arms and held him. "I love you, Michael," she whispered and closed her eyes. They stayed thus embraced for a long time. Finally Michael stirred. He turned Nikita's face to look at him. "It's your turn, Nikita."

She smiled and moved away from him. "I'll be right back," she stated and then walked from the room. She returned a few minutes later carrying a thick photo album and several other books. Nikita resumed her place between Michael's legs and placed all of the books on the side except for the photo album. Over the next hour she pored over family pictures with Michael, showing him photos of her life.

Michael was enthralled. Nikita watched his face as his eyes lit up, a sweet smile on his lips, as he listened to her description of the various events surrounding each photo. She watched as his hand reached out and tenderly touched her baby photo before he turned his gaze to meet hers, his eyes roaming over her face as if trying to reconcile the tiny baby in the photo with the beautiful woman in his arms. His eyes moved to her mouth and he whispered her name with longing before pressing his own mouth against hers.

After the photo album, Nikita brought out the other books she had brought and showed it to him. "What's this?" he asked.

"Yearbooks," she replied as she flipped through her high school picture annuals. "I wanted you to see some of the things I was involved in," she explained. Finding the picture she wanted, she pointed to it and challenged him, "Find me."

Michael gazed down at the black and white photo of kids in uniform. "You were in the band?" he asked.

"Yes," she smiled. "It's where I got my love for music. Now, find me."

Michael pored carefully over the photo, searching for any girl that resembled his Nikita. After several seconds he pointed to one fair-haired girl standing in the trumpet section. "There!"

Nikita looked and laughed as she playfully punched him. "NO! Michael, that's Lisa Chance! Oh, god . . . she was the snobbiest girl in school. That's not me!"

Michael laughed and bent once more over the book. "Well, she is kind of cute," he murmured and was immediately pummeled by Nikita. Throwing the book aside he pushed a laughing Nikita down on the ground and quickly covered her with his body as he began to kiss her. The laughter died on Nikita's lips as his kiss deepened, his arms roaming up and down her body. Nikita moaned as she tightened her arms around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor. Finally Michael broke away, his breathing heavy as he gazed down at the woman beneath him. Tenderly he bent back down and kissed her as he whispered against her lips, "I found her . . . ."

Part 28

Her eyes sparkled as her lips parted beneath Michael's. She felt a burst of sensation rock through her as her love for Michael blossomed even stronger. She moaned as he kissed her deeply, his hands slipping beneath her sweater to her warm skin.

"Ahh, yes . . ." she moaned sweetly as his fingers glided up to her breasts. She didn't care what he did to her -- she belonged to him and no one else. Nikita gazed up into his eyes, so utterly in love with his touch, his gaze, his lips, his soul. She moaned again as Michael lifted her sweater and swooped down to take one hardened peak into his mouth, his tongue lapping and swirling about it.

"Michael . . ." she whimpered and pulled him away. "Not now," she whispered, and leaned up to kiss him. Michael groaned as he reined in his desire for her, knowing that she was right. He gave her one final soul-searing kiss before he began to move off of her. Nikita caught him by the shoulders though and looked up into his eyes.

"Michael?" Her eyes held a pleading look that halted him.

"Yes?"

She reached up and embraced his face between her hands. "Sing for me," she whispered. Michael's brows arched up in surprise.

"Sing?"

"Please, Michael," she whispered as her hands gently caressed his cheeks. Michael swallowed and stared back at her.

"I don't know how to sing," he began, but she interrupted him.

"Please . . ." Her voice was the softest of whispers and Michael felt his love for her stir. He couldn't deny her request.

"What would you like me to sing?" he asked huskily.

Nikita's smile broadened as she leaned up and gave him a quick kiss. "Come on, we can use my dad's karaoke," she stated as she pushed him up and off of her. Standing she dragged him over to the other side of the room. She handed him a couple of discs to choose from as she prepared the karaoke machine. The 60" screen to which the disc player was connected turned into a bright blue blank.

Michael was already beginning to regret his giving in to Nikita's request, but she was so excited as she moved about, he grinned and sighed -- such was the price for being in love.

Nikita glanced back at him. "Did you choose a song?" Michael shook his head. She walked over and pointed out the various selections. "You choose one and then you put that disc in here," she explained, "and press in the number that you want. The words will show up here on the screen. Okay?"

"Nikita, maybe this isn't such a good idea."

"Michael," she implored, "just this once . . . I promise I won't ask you to sing again unless you want to." She wrapped her arms around him and looked up at him with twinkling eyes. "I've always wanted to know what it felt like to have a man sing to me," she whispered.

Michael sighed in surrender. "All right . . ." She burst into a radiant smile then and ran back to the couch to await Michael's selection. After a few minutes of surveying the discs, he looked up at her and grinned, then walked over to the disc player and put his choice of music in.

Nikita pulled her feet close to her body, hugging them tightly as she waited with great anticipation. Michael stood before the machine, angled so that he could see the screen and Nikita at the same time. He spread his legs in an Elvis Presley-like stance, pulled the collar of his black shirt up around his neck, and shook his auburn curls loose. Nikita's eyes danced with excitement and when the music started up and she heard that Michael had chosen to sing to "Achy Breaky Heart" to her, she laughed and squealed in excitement.

Michael pointed a hand to her as he began to swivel his hips seductively in time to the music.

"You can tell the world, you never was my girl
You can burn my clothes when I'm gone
Or you can tell your friends, just what a fool I've been
And laugh and joke about me on the phone"

Nikita rolled over laughing and squealing as she clapped her hands and let out a loud cat-whistle. "Oooh baby!!!" she screamed as Michael began to prance around. She jumped up on the floor, lifted her arms up in the air and swung them from side to side, as she bent at the knees and swayed her hips . . . .

"You can tell my arms, go back unto the farm
You can tell my feet to hit the floor
Or you can tell my lips, to tell my fingertips
They won't be reaching out for you no more"

Nikita skipped in time to the music to move in front of Michael and began to dance in front of him as he sang. Michael laughed and swivelled his hips in an exaggerated manner as he moved lower and lower in front of Nikita.

"But don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart
I just don't think he'd understand
And if you tell my heart, my achy breaky heart
He might blow up and kill this man"

By now, Nikita was rolling on the floor holding her sides as a fit of laughter shook her whole body. Michael put the microphone down and quickly moved to stand above Nikita -- hips swaying as his head swung back and forth . . . .

"You can tell your Ma, I moved to Arkansas
Or you can tell your dog to bite my leg
Or tell your brother Cliff, whose fist can tell my lips
He never really liked me anyway"

Nikita felt as if her sides were about to burst. Her face ached from laughing so hard and tears streamed from her eyes. "ENOUGH! ENOUGH!!" she begged.

Immediately Michael dropped down to the ground and covered her body once more, his hands reaching to smooth her hair back from her flushed face. He felt such joy at seeing her happy and laughing -- he wanted to remember her always like this. Tenderly he reached down and kissed her as the music continued in the background unheeded.

By the doorway, Madeline and Paul exchanged amused looks. It looked like their daughter had found her soulmate.

Part 29

A feeling of tranquility settled over Nikita as she sat, slightly slouched, next to Madeline on the couch. A small smile adorned her face as she gazed with half-closed lids at the colorfully lit Christmas tree next to the window. "Where'd you get the little angels from?" she asked, her voice soft and relaxed.

Madeline glanced up from the book she was reading and followed Nikita's gaze to the tree. "Tiffany," she replied. Her head tilted to the side and then proceeded to rise. Nikita watched lazily as Madeline placed her book under one arm then reached out to straighten one of the white lace clad miniature angels. She took a step back and gave it another appraising look. "Does that look straight to you?" she asked.

"It looked straight to me even before you moved it. I swear, Mom," Nikita smiled, "you are such a perfectionist." Madeline gave Nikita a stern look before turning back to the tree and adjusting the angel in question again. Satisfied, she turned and returned to her seat.

Nikita grabbed one of the tan and beige striped silk pillows from the corner of the seat and placed it on her mother's lap as she proceeded to lie down.

"Don't put your feet on the chair," Madeline scolded lightly as she lifted her arms to allow Nikita to rest her head comfortably in her lap. Nikita sighed and placed her feet on the ground. They sat there quietly; Nikita with her eyes closed as Madeline gently smoothed her hair back from her face.

Michael and Paul had disappeared into his study after dinner for some brandy and so that Paul could smoke his cigar. It was the only room in the house where Madeline allowed him to do so. She said she couldn't stand how the smell got into the drapes and furniture.

She looked down now at her daughter and she contemplated how the years seemed to have flown by. It seemed only yesterday when Nikita and Birkoff were but little toddlers running about driving her insane. Now they each had their own lives, their own apartments -- Nikita by Central Park and Birkoff close to Columbia University, and soon -- she hoped -- their own families. Madeline gazed down at her daughter's golden hair. She missed having children around.

"Where did you and Michael go shopping -- Herald's?"

Nikita kept her eyes closed as she shook her head. "No. Too crowded in the city," she replied sleepily, "I may take him there though next week -- after Christmas. Tomorrow we're going to try and make it over to the Village and the Soho area."

Madeline smiled at the serenity of Nikita's face. She recognized that look. The look of someone at peace with her world, her life, herself. The look of someone that was happy, content -- in love.

She continued to stroke her hair. "Have you and Michael talked about what'll happen after he returns to France?"

A slight frown marred Nikita's features, as the serenity there a minute ago fled. She opened her eyes to look up at her mother. "No," she said in a quiet voice. She turned then, facing sideways so that she stared back at the Christmas tree. Madeline heard her sigh -- a quiet, forlorn sound. Her hand moved to Nikita's back and she rubbed it gently.

She remembered what it was like to be young and in love. Remembered her own misery when Paul was away for weeks at a time as they struggled to build up Section. But at least she and Paul had had a long courtship. Paul had already started Section One when she met him and together, after they had finally married, they had built their empire so that now they had branches, or sub-sections as Paul liked to refer to them, in Chicago, Los Angeles, London, and Paris. They were looking to open another Section somewhere in Asia.

The early separations had been terrible -- especially for her. After Nikita was born, Paul made it a point to never be away from home for more than three days at a time. Now that Nikita was grown, she took over most of the responsibilities that required traveling from one sub-section to another, especially in the U.S. She didn't usually like going overseas and did so only once a year. How ironic that she was now in love with a man who lived half a world away.

"It's not easy having a long-distance relationship," she stated gently.

Nikita lay quietly, her eyes blinking slowly. "I know." She closed her eyes softly then and Madeline saw the moisture that slowly seeped out onto her long lashes. "What am I going to do, Mother?"

Madeline took a deep breath, her own heart contracting at seeing her child in pain. She stroked her cheek with the back of her fingers. "You do the only thing you can do," she answered lovingly. "You follow your heart."

Nikita opened her eyes, still avoiding her mother's eyes, as more tears fell. "What if, after he leaves, Michael discovers that he doesn't love me?" she asked in a trembling voice. "What if all this is just some . . . holiday fluke?"

"Do you think it's a fluke, Nikita?" she asked.

She remained silent for a long time. "No."

"And why is that?" her mother asked.

Nikita sat up, pushed her hair back as she took a deep breath and stared ahead. "I can't explain it except to say that being with Michael feels right." Turning, she faced Madeline. "It feels right," she said simply.

Madeline raised her hand to gently push a long strand of golden hair back. "Then have faith in those feelings," she smiled. "Have faith in Michael's love for you. I promise you, my darling, things will work out for the best -- one way or another."

Part 30

Michael sat in bed, leaning against the headboard, as he watched Nikita brush out her long hair. He had been with Paul in the older man's study when Madeline had shown up. Taking what was left of her husband's cigar from his hand, she stubbed it out and pulled him to his feet as she looked at Michael and said good night. As they exited, she had turned back and informed him that Nikita was in the library.

Michael had found her there, sitting cross-legged on the floor with the lights off except for those on the Christmas tree. He had stood for several seconds watching her as she sat silently, her eyes staring blankly at the lights. She seemed to be in a different world -- lost in her thoughts.

Taking a few steps into the room, he stood and called her name gently. "Ni-ki-ta?" He could sense a shift in her demeanor. The happiness she exuded during the day and dinner seemed to have vanished and was replaced by a quiet melancholy. Her head turned to look at him, but he was unable to see her expression because of the dimness of the room. Slowly he approached her and held out his hand. She hesitated briefly, then placed her hand in his palm, and rose to her feet. Quietly he had taken her into his arms, sensing her need to be held.

She hadn't spoken much at all since. They were staying in her bedroom, the one she used when visiting her parents. The bed was a large four-poster bed done in white lacy quilts and pillows. Very feminine and befitting her. There was an adjoining bathroom where they had showered earlier as they prepared for dinner. Large, French-style windows with frilly white curtains looked out over the south lawn which was covered with snow. There was something about the room that appealed to Michael. Not so much the style and decor, but the fact that this was where Nikita had spent most of her childhood and earlier years.

He watched now as she continued to brush out her hair. She didn't normally take such care over this task, but Michael sensed that she was using the opportunity to distance herself from him. Something was troubling her and he wanted to find out what it was.

"Ni-ki-ta," he called, his voice soft and accent pronounced. She looked up to meet his gaze in the mirror. "Come to bed."

She stared at him for a few seconds longer, then placed the brush on the dresser and walked over to the light switch and flipped it off. Gracefully, she glided toward the side of the bed. Michael watched as she crossed her hands before her and grasped the silky material of her slip. In one clean movement she lifted it up and over her head. Next she bent and removed her panty. As she straightened, the light from the window bathed her satiny skin in a soft glow. Michael's eyes drank in her naked beauty and felt the familiar ache of wanting her near him. He lifted the blanket which covered his lower body and waited for her to slide in.

She came to him quietly, snuggling up next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder as her arm slid across his chest. She raised her right leg and slid it in between his, brushing its silkiness against his manhood and the rough curls that guarded it. Michael sighed and lowered the blanket about them, tucking it in close to her to keep her warm, as his arms wrapped protectively about her.

"Talk to me, my love," he whispered into her hair. "Tell me what's bothering you."

He felt the gentle flicker of her eyelashes next to his chest and then the moistness of her tears as she tightened her hold on him. But still she was silent. She breathed, her warm breath caressing him as she turned slightly and kissed him several times on his chest. Michael turned, pushing her gently onto her back as he leaned over her. His hand came up to cup her face, then slid down to her breast. He lowered his head to hers and gently kissed her, massaging her lips open with his own. She opened her mouth slowly, her eyes closing languidly as her tongue met his and gently caressed him. Her hand slid down to cover his that rested upon her breast and she pressed against it, urging him to feel her. Michael acquiesced.

He made love to her tenderly, worshiping every inch of her body with his hands and his mouth. When she began to writhe beneath him with need, he gently spread her legs and entered her, relishing her soft moans as he brought her to fulfillment. Through it all, Nikita had cried silently.

Michael held her against him, rocking her gently as he whispered sweet endearments to her. He desperately wanted to find a way to get her to open up, to reveal what it was that saddened her. Finally, he pulled himself up in bed and moved Nikita onto his lap, cradling her there. Quietly, he began to talk.

"I've looked for you all my life, Nikita," he whispered into her hair. "After my parents died, my life became almost meaningless. If it wasn't for Monique and her family, I think I would have been lost."

He stroked her hair, almost absently, as he continued. "From the moment I saw you, though, something happened. You brought me back."

Nikita listened to Michael's voice, to his words and she began to feel the pain, that had bothered her ever since her conversation with her mother, begin to melt away.

"Never have I felt this way. Like -- like a child rediscovering the world, and life. Everything seems so much more -- magnifique ... So, intense. Beautiful. I find myself willing to do anything to please you -- even sing."

He felt Nikita's smile and he sighed as he hugged her tighter. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "Lately, I've even found myself thinking what it would be like to have a child with you, Nikita."

She moved her head to gaze up into his eyes. Amazement filling their blue depths. Michael caressed her cheek. "So great is my love for you, mon coeur, my heart. I find myself wanting the ultimate bond with you. That of having you as my wife and the mother of my children."

Her lips parted, but Michael raised a two fingers and gently pressed them against her mouth. "That's my desire, Nikita, but I won't hold you to that kind of commitment until you are absolutely sure." He searched her eyes. "Our love has happened so quickly, I want to make sure that it is truly me you want."

"I do want you, Michael," she whispered.

"Then you will still want me after three months, mon chere."

"Three months?"

"Oui, Ni-ki-ta," he stated quietly. "That's how long I've promised your father to give you to think about us."

Part 31

"Three months?" Nikita stared wide-eyed at Michael. "I don't understand," she whispered as her eyes searched his. The euphoria she felt moments earlier at his confession of wanting to spend his life with her, faded with this new revelation. "Why would my father ask you to do that?" she asked.

He turned, shifting her so that she lay on the bed next to him, and he slid down alongside her. "Turn around, my love," he whispered, and she did so. Michael snuggled up close to her, his arm encircling her waist as his leg slipped between hers.

He let out a comfortable sigh and whispered. "Je t'aime de tout mon coeur." His lips pressed against her shoulder as his hand slid up and cupped one firm rounded breast. "I love you with all my heart, Nikita."

She sighed softly and turned her head back, searching for his lips. Michael leaned forward and kissed her, his leg sliding sensually up and down between hers. Afterward, he snuggled closer.

"Your father wanted to know what my intentions were with regard to you," he answered in reply to her question. "I told him I wanted to marry you."

Nikita turned, rolling on to her back so that she could look up to him. "Michael?" she asked, as she gazed at him in incredulous wonder. He stared down lovingly as his hand drew little patterns on her stomach.

"I want you, Nikita," he whispered. "All of you for always." A slightly tormented look crossed his features as he continued to stare down at her, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek. "I know I should have spoken with you first . . . This . . . this isn't how I wanted to let you know . . ."

Nikita smiled sweetly up to him, tears beginning to form in her eyes. She took his hand and slid it down to rest above her heart, letting him feel its wild pounding. "Michael," she whispered. "I love you so much. I never . . . never thought or expected you would want . . ." she paused, staring at him with awe. "Never expected you to want to marry me," she whispered, and a tear rolled from the corner of her eye.

Michael swooped down and kissed her, his lips parting hers. "Why, Nikita?" he breathed against her mouth. "Do you doubt my love for you?"

She moaned, ecstatic at his words, his mouth, and by his hand that slid down over her breast, across her stomach and then gently parted her legs. "No," she whispered, then moaned loudly. "Oooh, yes, Michael," as his probing fingers stroked her.

"Je t'adore," he whispered, and kissed her deeply. "Ma chere . . . ma coeur."

"Michael," she moaned, "Michael . . ." Her eyes beseeched him. "How can I last three months without you?" She closed her eyes as his fingers deepened their probing. She arched her back and let out a deep moan.

"Without your touch? Your lips?" She turned tortured eyes to him. "I can't," she whimpered.

Michael spread her legs wider as he moved to kneel between them. He grasped her hands and held them to the side with his own as he gazed down at her with a tormented look of his own. "Oui," he confirmed softly, "c'est une 'eternite. Let me love you now, Nikita," he whispered. "Fill me with sweet memories to keep me warm during those long lonely nights . . . please."

She lifted her hips up toward him, her femininity straining towards his throbbing manhood. Her breathing became erratic as she pushed against his hands, struggling to free herself. "Michael!" she cried, the look of desperation that signaled her loss of control entering her eyes. Michael maintained his hold on her hands as he bent and fastened his lips on one taut nipple.

"Ah, exquis!" he moaned, and his tongue lapped at her, sucking her, before moving on to the other.

"Oh god," she cried, as the ache between her legs became erotically painful. She opened her eyes and lifted her head up to watch him.

"Michael," she whimpered, incredibly turned on at the sight of his mouth fastened onto her breast. She spread her knees wide and began to thrust her hips up toward him.

"Please . . ." she whispered as her head fell back against the pillows.

Michael released her hands then and slid down her body. His fingers gently parted her as he bent and licked the length of her opening.

"Argggghhhh!"

Nikita groaned as she grabbed his head with her hands and held him to his caress. Michael continued his torment, swirling his tongue around her sensitive clit. She was close . . . he could sense it.

He withdrew and began kissing his way back up her body. When he was positioned between her legs once more, he reached for her hands and held them above her head, lacing his fingers with hers. Gazing into her passion-filled eyes, he thrust and entered her.

****

Several minutes later, their bodies entwined in sated bliss, Nikita stirred and murmured softly, "I won't let him separate us, Michael."

"Shh . . . Nikita," Michael whispered. "Your father's right."

She pulled her head back to stare at him in shock. "You're agreeing with him?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes."

Nikita sat up and stared at him in silence, disbelief registering in her eyes. A look of hurt and confusion crossed her features. "Why?"

His eyes searched hers. "You would go against your family for me?" he asked quietly.

Her expression softened, "You know I would."

Michael closed his eyes momentarily and sighed. "But I don't want you to, Nikita." He gazed into her eyes as he reached for her hand. "I want nothing more than for us to be together, but your father has a point. He loves you and wants to make sure that you don't rush into something that you might regret later." His gaze roamed adoringly over her face. "If you gave up your family to be with me, you would never be happy."

Tears filled her eyes as she looked at him.

Michael continued, "I've seen how much you love your family. I could never ask you to give that up -- and I don't want you to." His hand reached up and stroked her cheek. "The love that you share with your family is a big part of who you are, Nikita. It's one of the things I love most about you."

He kissed her tenderly. "I want all of you, my love. If I ask you to give up your family, a part of you will be missing and your life with me would not be complete. I couldn't stand to think that I would be the cause of a rift between you and your family."

"But you're not causing it, Michael," she argued, "my father is."

"And he's only trying to protect his daughter -- you, Nikita. Try to see things from his point of view." Michael's hand stroked her cheek once more as he added softly, "I would do the same to protect my daughter . . . our daughter."

She stared at him for a long time and then finally conceded as she laid back down in his arms, "All right, Michael. We'll try it for a little while . . . but I'm not making any promises."