Michael sipped his cup of coffee as he leisurely scanned the sports section of his newspaper. Ahh, he thought to himself. Everything is as it should be. It was a beautiful afternoon. Dark and gloomy, not too much sun. A perfect day to show off his new black sweater. Michael glanced across the table at the young blonde who sat reading a novel. An intense expression of concentration painted her lovely face, and Michael watched as her full, pink lips silently mouthed the lines of her book.

"Is it hard for you?" he asked politely.

Nikita looked up, puzzled. "The mission?"

"No, the book."

The blonde's baby blue eyes widened slightly.

"Nikita?" Michael prompted. Damn, another failed attempt at a conversation.

Michael watched in fascination as her pouty lips parted, and the pulse on her slender, white neck began accelerating.

"What is it?" Michael asked, wondering if it was his new cologne.

When she didn't respond, he followed her gaze until he saw him. Michael's eyes narrowed. The man looked strangely familiar.

"That's him," she murmured.

"Pardon me?" Michael inquired testily.

"He's a model for Calvin Klein underwear," she replied, as if it were common knowledge.

"Nikita," he snapped. "You're drooling."

He reached across the table to grab hold of her chin. He forced her face to turn toward his.

"Focus on the mission," he hissed.

"Mission?" Nikita echoed, her eyes straying toward HIM again.

"Michael," she whispered excitedly. "He's coming this way!"

Michael released her and turned in his chair. Sure enough, this, this MODEL was gliding toward them. The man's hips swayed seductively, and Michael watched with disgust as the model ran a hand through his golden locks.

"Hi there," the model drawled, as he came to a stop right next to Nikita's chair. "I hope you don't mind," he said to her, blatantly ignoring Michael, "but I just have to tell you, that this jacket you have on is absolutely stunning. Is it Calvin Klein?"

"No, it's Versace" Nikita responded brightly, but when she saw his frown she quickly added. "But I adore Calvin Klein. I'm wearing a Calvin Klein skirt."

"Really?" the model's devastating gray eyes traveled down her body, lingering on the blonde's long, bare legs.

Michael stood, fighting the urge to smash the pretty boy's face with his fist.

"Darling, I think it's time we left," he said, shouldering the model aside.

When she didn't move, he grasped her elbow and pulled the blonde to her stiletto-encased feet.

"Nice meeting you," the model called after her, as Michael quickly ushered Nikita away with his hand at the small of her back.

"Good-bye!" she called over her shoulder, flashing him a charming smile. Two cars collided as the drivers leaned out to catch a glimpse of her stunning beauty.

"Nikita," Michael scolded. "Now look what you've done."

"Huh?"

"You promised me you would save that smile for the bedroom," he reminded her. But her head was miles away.

Michael sighed and grunted into his comlink.

"Report."

"Target secured," was the reply. "Moving to secondary pick-up."

Michael turned back to his blonde.

"It's over," he informed her.

"Nikita?"

"Huh?"

Michael gritted his teeth. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then he made a decision.

Lowering his voice by an octave, he deliberately roughened his French accent.

"Ni-ki-ta," he commanded.

Slowly, the clouds lifted from her sky blue eyes.

"Michael," she murmured dreamily, laying her head on his shoulder.

Michael smiled to himself, and wrapped his arm around her. Her soft curves pressed against him as she cuddled.

Yes, thought Michael. Everything is as it should be.

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