Michael was still reeling from Nikita's kiss... her shy, hurried kiss. He'd wanted it to last longer, needed it to last longer. It was not to be. Quicksilver, she had retreated, leaving him with a taste of her lips, a tiny hint of what could be his, if he dared to take the risk. The risk to them both was great, greater than it had ever been.

It had become nearly impossible to hide his feelings for Nikita. Everyone seemed to take their relationship for granted. It took all his control to keep it from escalating. Operations and Madeline knew there was a bond between them, and never failed to use it to control and manipulate him. "Section's errand boy" Nikita had once called him... right before she administered a tremendous and deserved slap.

Their relationship, though currently in stasis, had the potential to be volatile. It seemed to Michael that at any moment emotions between them could erupt in one hellacious fireball... from repression to combustion in one quantum leap.

Michael watched Nikita through the mini-blinds. He saw her face soften, her lids dropped shyly, then a small near-smile touched her lips. What had she seen in his face? Had his blank stare failed? Had she read his thoughts again with her eerie feminine intuition? Probably.

He was glad he had been able to give Nikita the moment with her mother. It freed the two women to love and understand each other. That Nikita had been able to forgive her mother for a lifetime of neglect and near abuse only emphasized Nikita's compassion. Would that she could forgive him the same way. Maybe. He could never forgive himself.

His compassion was only for her. His light. His Nikita. While he knew he could never truly possess her, to the very depth of his being, she dwelt in his heart. Tragically, he could see hope in her face as she stood there watching him. Heaven help them both, for love was a terrible burden to bear in Section One.

********

The Krakow Mission had been a success. Granted it had been grueling and costly in abeyance operatives, but a success still. Nikita had finished her debrief and was looking forward to a shower and her bed. She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and trudged to the elevator. She had a couple days of downtime coming, and she was going to use it to recover from the physical stress of the mission and the emotional stress of seeing her mother.

Steps, quiet and measured, stopped behind her. Nikita turned. "Michael," she said acknowledging his presence. They'd had their usual method of intuitive communication during the mission. They'd been there to support one another, to watch the each others back.

"Nikita. Are you leaving now?' he asked softly, in the way he had of turning every syllable into a caress.

"Yeah," Nikita nodded. She'd been crazy to kiss him in his office, but it had been calculated to unsettle him, as well as show her appreciation. She had not mistaken the intense look of longing on his face. He'd wanted more. That was good.

"You're down for the next two days," he offered.

"Yeah." She wondered, would he ask to spend the day with her again, after her rejection before. Was he a glutton for punishment? At least he wouldn't take her by surprise this time. Nikita looked into his crystal green eyes. The question was there. Would he ask her? Oh, hell. She guessed she'd have to help him.

"What about you? Are you down, too?" Hey fella, I'm trying to help you here. Don't drop the ball.

"Yes." Michael hit the button that would take them to the surface, to the real world, where real people lived and loved, and ghosts like the two of them attempted a pale imitation of it. Together they stepped into the elevator, and it began its long journey upward.

Nikita paused before blurting, "Want to spend some time together, Michael? Either you do or you don't. Spit it out!"

"Yes." The corner of his mouth twitched, and she knew he'd manipulated her into asking him, but that was okay. By nature, she knew she was impulsive and impatient. He knew it, too, and counted on it.

"Tomorrow? Say ten at the coffee shop?" she asked.

"That will be fine."

"Yes, it will be." Nikita gave him her wide smile and brazenly invaded his personal space. She reached and tucked a waving strand of hair behind his ear and felt him shudder in response. He blinked, then gave a tiny shake of his head.

"You don't play fair," he said, seemingly powerless to take his eyes from hers.

"I had a good teacher," Nikita replied archly, as the elevator door opened. They were at the surface. "See you tomorrow," she said glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Tomorrow," Michael agreed with a half smile.

********

Michael's smile broadened as he watched Nikita stride to her little black Porsche. Her loose, loping, sometimes graceful, walk always brought a flicker of warmth to his being. He'd seen the exhaustion written in her face. The Krakow mission had been grueling, and he was exhausted as well. But he was better at hiding it than the blonde who took a piece of his heart with her, wherever she went.

Michael sat in his car, reliving the bloodier aspects of the mission, something he never used to do. He found it difficult to banish the scenes that rampaged through his head. Four abeyance operatives had been lost, as coldly planned in the mission profile. The use of human beings as cannon fodder was nothing new. Armies had sent enlisted men to battle for thousands of years. Section's perverse twist on that ancient scenario was to plan beforehand to eliminate those who were not measuring up to Section standards. It was necessary, but cold-blooded..

It was better to think about abeyance operatives lost, than to think about ... Adam or Elena. He thought less about Elena, although her suffering was probably greater than Adam's, and would last longer. Children healed and ... forgot. Didn't they?

Adam would be better off when he forgot his father. There was an unwavering pain that made his heart clench in his chest. Michael knew he would never forget Adam.

Spending downtime with Nikita was not an attempt to forget Adam. It was... hell, he didn't know. It was something he had to do. Section One, without Nikita and without Adam, would have no hold on him, but Nikita had her own hold.

He'd tried to eradicate Nikita from his psyche and soul, but never, never had he been able to accomplish it. She remained a flicker, sometimes a flame of desire that burned within him always. It was possible he was obsessed with her, had been, since the first moment he'd seen her. Protecting her, covering her ass with Operations had been nearly a full time occupation in the Section half of his life. Now, the Section was all he had... and Nikita. Again, he was prepared to split his life into halves in order to have a life at all. He feared the cost to them both, but Nikita's brief kiss had put the wheels into motion, and life at any cost could not be denied.

**********

Tomorrow would be a first, Nikita thought. Spending the day with Michael would be a milestone--if the cell phone didn't ring. Nikita smiled ruefully as she drove swiftly toward her apartment. Section One did have a way of interrupting her life.

What would they talk about? Was Michael capable of having an conversation or even small talk? Small talk.... that's what he practiced every minute of his life. Michael was a master at monosyllabic communication. Nikita smiled as she thought of the scene in the elevator. He had been in rare form. His beautiful eyes asking and wanting to say so much. The stern mouth, parted, wanting to be kissed. The rigid stance that only proved how exhausted he was to her practiced eye.

What would he have done if she had jumped him in the elevator?

She would have to watch impulses like that. Tomorrow, she would not push him... well, not very much, anyway. He needed tiny nudges to do what he really wanted to do, and if she were careful, that's all he would need. In truth, she didn't want to overwhelm him and be rejected outright. Michael was still fragile over losing Adam. Since then, the relationship between the two of them had been in a dynamic state of flux. Sometimes closer, on the verge of understanding, sometimes farther apart. Their closeness had been exploited more than once since the deep cover Vacek mission had ended. Sometimes, Nikita felt as if she were one of Pavlov's dogs, trained to respond at the sound of a bell.

Enough of this shit, she thought. Shower, bed, and tomorrow... a day with Michael.

********

Tomorrow became today, and it dawned clear and crisp. A rime of frost covered the window panes and the balcony beyond. Nikita exhaled on the window and watched as the warmth of her breath revealed the bright sun and azure sky. Omens, good ones, for the day ahead. She smiled. It was time.

She'd slept soundly without dreaming, for exhaustion was a wonderful sedative.

This momentous morning, she felt refreshed and hopeful. She tried not to feel that way. Heaven knew the two of them had maintained a torturous relationship, never being quite able to reveal their deepest feelings. Well, one night they had.... Their one night away from Section One's intrusive presence, and Michael had lost control. She had been the recipient of his need and desire and passion. He had taken her anger and fear upon himself and left her with an incomparable longing to never join with anyone but him. He'd awakened desires she'd never known before.

That one night, she had been his, and he had been hers to command.

It seemed so long ago. In truth, it had been over a year, but she could still elicit the rough-textured feel of his hands as they performed their magic on her body and summoned the wildness from within that she'd never experienced. The honeyed taste of his lips, lips she'd nibbled and bit, she could taste them still. His body, muscular and demanding, claimed hers for all time.

"Damn! If I keep this train of thought going, I'll attack him the minute I see him."

Nikita tossed back her head and laughed. She could envision the faces of the coffee shop devotees as she cleared a table and had her way with Michael. Geez, she could see Michael's face too. Oh, well, it's only a thought.

Forty-five minutes later, Nikita stood in front of the coffee shop. It was five minutes after ten. She was late. She looked through the window but Michael was not there. She began to feel uneasy. Was he going to stand her up? She looked up and down the street and saw only a man in a tan leather jacket and jeans. Oh my god, it is Michael. He isn't wearing black. She wasn't sure why the idea of Michael in something besides black delighted her so. She'd seen him in civvies before, but he'd never worn them for her. His manipulation of her to stay in Section didn't count either, and his stylish black suits were as much a uniform to her eye as mission wear.

Nikita began to walk toward him, mesmerized by his unexpected appearance. A gust of wind lifted a short lock of his chestnut hair, thus adding to his look of studied casual elegance. No matter what he wore, Michael was elegant. No movement was wasted. Yet for all his grace, Michael was not effeminate. Male was written all over him, that and power and maybe danger.

"Good morning," she said, her voice huskier than usual. She was surprised she could speak at all.

"Good morning," he replied, his emerald eyes never leaving her aquamarine ones.

He placed a possessive arm around her waist, as she looked at him, first in surprise, then with a mystifying feminine wisdom, as she lowered her gaze assured in her knowledge. The man wanted her. Her breath caught in her throat. It was becoming difficult to breathe under his intense scrutiny.

Michael smiled. "It's cold. Don't you want to go inside and get warm?"

Nikita managed to nod in the affirmative. Inside... warm... Yes! Nikita allowed

Michael to lead her inside the coffee shop. It was late morning, and there were only a few customers, who barely acknowledged their entrance. Nikita was trying to regain control of her breathing. The hell with her heartbeat. It had escalated to an anaerobic range at the first sight of Michael. If she could only manage not to fall on her face in front of the stranger by her side, she would have accomplished something. Some mysterious genie had turned her knees into twin bowls of jello, not exactly what she had planned. Nikita sat gratefully in the rear booth where Michael had guided her. He slid into the booth beside her. He covered her right hand with his left and stroked the top of it with his thumb. Shoulder to shoulder, they sat looking for all the world like a young couple in love.

*******

"Y'all want some coffee, or are y'all gonna sit there all day makin' goo goo eyes at each other?" The soft foreign accent shocked them from their reverie. It was English, but an often unheard southern dialect. Its owner was short, plump and wore an already tired pink uniform, in addition to the teasing smile on her face.

Michael, no surprise, reacted first. "Yes, two coffees please, croissant?" he asked with perfect pronunciation, looking at Nikita. She nodded. Her faculty of speech had yet to resurface.

"Okey, dokey. That's two coffees and two crawsants. Be rite back, now." Edie walked away from the two lovers, but not before favoring them with one of her genuine smiles.

Nikita began to giggle.

"Why are you laughing?" Michael asked, knowing he could never quite understand Nikita's gift for appreciating the ridiculous.

"Her southern accent is thicker than my down under one. She was so cute. I loved the way she mangled croissant." Nikita shook her head. She was glad she could speak again, but if the owner of those emerald eyes didn't stop looking like he was having her for breakfast, she might lose it again.

"What accent, Nikita. You don't have an accent," Michael said with a tiny frown.

"Like you don't have one either?" It was then that Nikita noticed that the emerald eyes were twinkling, and the corner of his luscious mouth was twitching. "No, of course, you don't Michael. After all, they do speak your language here, not mine. I wonder how she knew," Nikita mused.

"You don't look French, Nikita."

"I don't? How do I look, Michael?

Apparently, this question gave Michael pause. He'd never been one to hand out facile compliments, not in real life, and certainly not to her.

"Heaven," Michael said hoarsely and so softly that Nikita could barely hear him.

"Wh--, what?"

Michael smiled again, his hand continuing to stroke the back of hers. "Heaven. When I was a child, I used to dream about angels. You look exactly the way I imagined an angel would look." Michael broke his intense gaze, looked at the cup of coffee that had appeared from somewhere and took a sip of its steaming dark contents.

Nikita could not stop the tears that formed and threatened to spill down her cheeks. Her aquamarine eyes glistened as she stuttered, "An angel? I still look like an angel to you, after all the people I've killed." She shook her head, unwilling to believe he thought of her in this way.

Michael turned and looked at her with eyes that flashed. His voice came soft, but intense. "You are my angel."

********

You are ‘my' angel. Nikita gulped, unable to believe her ears. Four precious words. Music to her ears. How could four words mean so much? To one who had hungered for love all her short life. The simple heartfelt statement fed her hunger. It was only lately that she had learned that her mother had loved her, and now, Michael thought of her as his angel. The tears that had threatened to spill down her face only minutes before, now trickled down her cheeks unabashed.

Michael's eyes grew shiny as he reached to wipe hers away. "Don't cry," he said softly, as all the old guilt began to consume him. The beauty before him did not deserve the pain he'd caused her in the last four years. He did not deserve her love, much less her compassion. Yet here she sat with him, ready to risk more.

Nikita sensed the change in him. A minuscule drooping of his broad shoulders, the blank look trying to reassert itself.... something told her that he was again assuming all the blame for the life she'd had to lead in Section One. "Then you'd better stop being so damn wonderful," she added with a smile that took all her courage to give.

"Drink your coffee," he said gruffly, taking another sip of his.

"Yes, sir," she managed as a small degree of her naturally saucy manner returned. She reached for a croissant, tore off a piece of the flaky pastry, dipped it in jam and popped it into her mouth before taking a sip of coffee. Strawberry jam started to drip from the corner of her mouth. Nikita flicked her tongue to catch to the errant red ooze. She was rewarded by a sigh from Michael, who could not seem to take his eyes from her. Nikita cast her eyes down shyly and suggested, "You should try some."

"I plan to," he said playfully, his mouth quirking on one side, always the left. He took another sip of coffee, but his eyes never left her face.

Nikita felt her heart begin another marathoner's raging rhythm, and the tell-tale flush spread from her neck to her face. She had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't referring to the croissant with jam.

"Y'all need more coffee or just a room?" Edie stood, smiling at them, her head tilted to the side, one hand on her hip and a coffee pot in the other.

"Coffee will be fine," Nikita had the presence of mind to say. Michael was clearly unable to respond in a manner he thought appropriate. His handsome face had flushed at the waitress's brazen remark.

"Ah, don't mind me. Ah'm a nosy old broad from Tennessee, but Ah know what Ah see." She poured their refills and shuffled away, leaving them alone.

Nikita started to giggle. She saw Michael's mouth twitch. "I think she's one of those hopeless romantics, Michael. She sees lovers wherever she goes."

Michael reached for her hand again. "She might have a point. Let's go." He rose from the booth, pulling her along with him.

"Now?"

"Now."

***********

"Where? What do you mean 'now'?" Surely, he wasn't going to look for a room, not really, not like that. Michael was never that impulsive.

"You'll see. Be patient," he teased, escorting her from the coffee shop with a firm arm around her waist.

"I think I've heard that line before, and I think I've been more than patient." Her smile challenged him.

"Really?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Really, Michael." Nikita inhaled the still crisp morning air. The ambient temperature was in the low twenties, and as she exhaled, the vapor from her warm breath floated in the air.

"Definitions differ," Michael said, returning her challenge, but caressing her arm with his hand as he did.

"Yeah." She and Michael had never been together like this. They might have imitated it on missions, but this feeling of closeness was vastly different. There were no targets to identify, no bullets to dodge, and no one to listen from comm. She accepted his proprietary arm about her waist, his caress on her arm. She luxuriated in the way his touch made her feel... precious... protected... warm. It seemed trite to even think it, but it was a dream come true. Their day together really was off to a good start, so far.

Nikita had no difficulty matching Michael's increased pace and long strides. For the moment, she was willing to allow him the lead. Michael's playful air intrigued her. It was a side to him that she'd not seen before, at least not with her. She'd seen him play and tease with Adam, of course. Nikita decided she liked it. Aquamarine eyes locked with emerald ones as they walked briskly down the street.

*********

Michael felt complete with Nikita sheltered at his side, as if she were a vital part of him. He was unsure if he could have lasted in Section One as long as he had, if Nikita hadn't been recruited. The emptiness he had felt after Simone's death had gradually been filled with the warmth of the woman at his side. She was his opposite in everything, open where he was closed, warm where he was cold, and compassionate where he was inured to the constant requirements that he kill to survive. He was in reality an animal, but Nikita had somehow with the magic of her smile and the goodness of her heart made him human again, if only for brief moments. She was strong where he was weak. It was no wonder he needed her beyond reason and loved her belief.

"Where Michael?" came Nikita's plaintive question. "Where are we going?"

Michael stopped. They stood in front of Michael's nondescript blue Mercedes. He smiled at her, unable to keep from teasing her a bit more. "You'll see. Get in." He gallantly opened the door for her, but refused to say more.

Nikita rolled her eyes in mock pique. "All right. All right. I suppose I should let you have your fun."

Michael smiled again... fun. What a novel concept. He hadn't had much ... fun lately. He walked around the car and entered the driver's side. "Want a clue?" he asked, trying not to touch her, but failing. His right hand was already cupped around the back of her neck, and the urge to kiss her was overwhelming. He resisted.

"Yeah, I want a clue," she said. Her husky voice dropping an octave as she turned to him.

Her azure eyes locked with his. Her breath was warm as she reached to kiss him.

He didn't resist. In fact, he deepened the kiss, his tongue battling with hers. Then he broke the kiss. "It will be warm, and we're late," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

Nikita's eyes opened wider. "Warm? Late? Come on, Michael. Tell me."

"You'll see." Reluctantly he turned from her, turned the key in the ignition and revved the car's powerful engine. Expertly, he maneuvered the car into the late morning traffic, and they were moving.

Michael could tell the Nikita's curiosity was about to get the better of her. He started to smile as her hand began stroking his thigh.

"Tell me, Michael," Nikita cajoled in her most seductive tone, as her hand continued stroking him higher along his thigh.

Michael smiled and shook his head. "No. You'll see soon enough."

*********

"Ni-ki-ta, that's enough," Michael protested. His hands gripped the steering wheel, as he attempted to concentrate on his driving. Thankfully, the traffic was clearing as they continued on their way.

"I don't think so," Nikita responded with a throaty chuckle. She could see the increasing tightness in his jeans. "I'm not stopping until you tell me where we're going."

"M....." Michael mumbled incoherently.

"What was that, Michael? I don't think I could quite make that out. Was that a destination or a just a general comment?" Nikita could not resist teasing him, with words or actions, now that she had him captive, so to speak.

Michael cut his eyes toward her. The blank stare was attempted, but failed as her hand continued to fondle his thigh and threatened to slide higher, he shuddered.

"Like that, Michael?" she teased. "I guess you did," she said softly to herself.

"Yes. Just not now. We're late," he added cryptically.

"Late?" she exclaimed. "Late for what?" Nikita was perplexed. It was too early for lunch... unless he were the snack.

"You'll see soon enough, Ni-ki-ta," he teased, drawing out the syllables of her name.

Nikita snatched her hand away from his thigh and folded her arms in an attitude of pique. "I will punish you for this. I will make you pay, see if I don't."

Michael turned his head toward her and smiled.

It was a dazzling sight, one she'd seen too few times. She'd never seen it in Section One. He would've had to beat off the female operatives with a stick, if he'd ever used it there. As it was, the female ops tended to stay away from him, but their respect for Michael's position did not stop the incessant discussions about him and his reputed prowess as a Valentine Op. Only one green operative named Sally had had the nerve to ask Nikita how good he really was. Luckily, it had been one of Nikita's good days, and Sally had only received a very stern look and no other response.

Nikita was aware that rogue copies of the Armel tapes had circulated rapidly around Section, increasing Michael's reputation and allure. She, too, had been the recipient of many speculative glances from both male and female ops, as well.

"Have you decided to behave?" he asked, his voice as soft as a caress.

Nikita's radiant smile spread across her face as she looked away from him and smugly pretended to study the scenery. "I guess I'll have to. I was afraid you were going to wreck the car."

Their teasing interplay had distracted her from their location. Now that she had a chance to re-orient to her surroundings, she could see that they were on the edge of the city. Semi-industrial sites were everywhere, and Nikita gasped as Michael executed a left turn into a private airport. "Michael?"

"Soon." Michael drove expertly toward a glistening white hangar. Avion Aire was emblazoned on the side of a small Lear Jet that sat waiting on the tarmac, engines revving.

******

The crisp blue of the azure sky was reflected perfectly in Nikita's eyes, as Michael led her up the short flight of steps to the private jet. She was truly surprised, and she showed it with widened eyes and lips that parted with expectation as he seated her in the cabin.

Nikita strained to hear as he spoke with the pilot. Not a word. Damn the man!

Soft-spoken by habit, Michael had never needed to raise his voice in order to command the respect of fellow operatives. Well, he'd had to raise his voice with her, but that was more to get her attention than anything. Now intentionally, Michael's conversation with the pilot was impossible to hear. How much longer was he going to keep her in suspense?

Michael returned to sit beside her. "Ready?" he asked with a teasing grin that made the angular planes of his face less severe.

"No, not until you tell me where, Michael," she replied jutting her chin at him in feigned defiance. Then she turned to him and began to undress him with her eyes.

Michael smiled. "A room ... somewhere warm," he said cryptically, taking her hand in his. "That's the only clue I'll give you." Michael's crystal green eyes watched her expressive face as disbelief vied with excitement in rapid succession.

"But I don't have anything to wear."

Michael rolled his eyes in mock dismay. "I knew you'd say that."

Nikita began to sputter. "Well, I'm glad I'm so predictable, but it doesn't change the fact that I didn't bring any clothes at all, much less suited for uh, did you say a warm climate?" Men simply had no comprehension of the proprieties, and apparently, Michael was no different in that regard. Another thought, a naughty one, occurred to her. "Unless you don't mean for me to be dressed at all?" she asked with a rising inflection and a seductive smile.

Michael took Nikita's hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. "Clothes have been arranged, but you don't have to wear them, if you don't want to."

His breath was warm against her hand, and it sent delicious sensations up her arm and traveled simultaneously to the pit of her lower abdomen where desired flamed with an ever increasing intensity.

"What do you say?" he asked.

Nikita's arms went around his neck. "What do I say? I say, Mile High Club." She fastened her lips on his and gave him a searing kiss, allowing one hand to slip to his waist band and start fumbling with his belt.

"Ni-ki-ta, the plane is taking off. You have to fasten your seat belt." He began, attempting to regain control of the situation, or at least himself.

"Now, ordinarily I would concur, but Nikita, the pilot is right there," Michael protested vainly, motioning toward the front of the plane.

Nikita began to giggle. "He has on earphones, and he has to fly the plane. I think he's going to be too busy to pay attention to us." Nikita continued to attack Michael's belt. She could feel his determination weaken in inverse proportion to the strengthening of his arousal.

"I'm glad I wore a skirt," she managed to say between kissing and nibbling.

Nikita could feel Michael begin to shudder. His eyes glittered like green jade polished to a high sheen. She would have him.

"I am, too," he managed to say as strategic articles of clothing began to be re-arranged by an insistent blonde.

******

Need had overcome caution. Passion had suffused both their bodies with the warmth they'd both desired. The twenty degree temperatures of fifteen minutes before were long forgotten. Breathless, the two lovers clung together, arm in arm, Nikita partially-astride Michael, trying not to disturb the pilot, who more than likely had enough common sense not to turn his head in an attempt to pass the time of day with his passengers.

"Oh, Michael. Oh god." Nikita whispered, her body growing rigid as she was wracked by waves of pleasure. Climaxing discreetly was a difficult feat, to say the least.

Michael attempted to solve the problem by covering her mouth with his, but his own burgeoning climax was already in progress.

Nikita, barely aware of her surroundings, heard him give a nearly inaudible gasp, as he held her more tightly than before. Perspiration beaded his forehead, and he trembled with the exertion it took not to cry aloud. Nikita, easing down from her heights, kissed Michael's forehead and tasted the salty tang of his skin. Tears came to her eyes as she looked into his and saw the love and raw emotion that he could never truly hide from her. She ran her fingers through his wavy hair, luxuriating in the feel and texture of it.

"You need a comb, " she said tenderly as she continued to kiss his eyelids, then his high cheekbones and lastly his love swollen lips. She nibbled at his lower lip. "Are you all right?" she asked, pulling away.

In response, Michael, unable to speak, cradled her face between his hands and pulled her lips to his again and kissed her deeply, his tongue searching for hers, demanding more of her. Michael's free hand caressed her breast beneath her sweater, causing her to gasp with renewed desire. Nikita felt as if he were searing her very soul with his passion, and she could only respond in kind.

An hour later, the two lovers presented a more sedate picture. Clothing had been buttoned and zipped. It was then that Michael remembered the wine that he had ordered to be chilled, along with the strawberries and fudge sauce. It was no wonder that he had forgotten. Nikita's aggressive side never failed to excite him to the point where everything else was immaterial.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked softly. His own mouth was dry as a dessert, but his hunger was only for her.

"Does Sahara mean anything to you?" she asked saucily, looking around.

Michael gave a start. Nikita had read his thoughts exactly, and not for the first time either. He smiled. "Yes." Michael walked to the small refrigerator and removed the chilling wine and strawberries. "I'm afraid the sauce is not sauce anymore. It's fudge."

Michael took two champagne flutes and poured two glasses of the bubbling, sparkling white wine.

Eagerly, Nikita accepted the glass of wine that Michael offered and took a long swallow.

"Careful, Nikita. You know how wine affects you," Michael warned with a grin.

"It doesn't affect me half as much as you do, Michael." Nikita's voice grew husky with emotion, and her eyes again shimmered with tears. She reached toward him, as if to stroke his face, then grinned and made a dive for a fat juicy strawberry, which she promptly popped into her mouth.

"Mmm. Almost as much as this does. Michael, these strawberries are fabulous.

Here have one." Michael's mouth opened in surprise. Nikita took advantage and fed him one of the luscious fruits from her teeth. Their lips met once again as they ‘battled' over the strawberry. It would be difficult to say which of them won or lost that battle.

********

"M'sieur Therrien, we are on approach. Please fasten your seat belts."

"Merci," Michael responded as he began to disentangle himself from his sleeping partner. "Nikita," he said softly, kissing her awake. "We're about to land."

Suddenly alert, Nikita stretched her neck to look out the window. "We are? Where are we, Michael? Did I fall as asleep?" She asked with a wide yawn as she tried to stretch the kinks from her body.

"For a few minutes," he replied, stroking the hair from her face. He could not keep his hands from touching her. All the times he'd stood with hands folded, all the times he'd given her no response but a blank stare had been torture for him. He could not see her without wanting to touch her, kiss her ripe luscious mouth, or wipe the angry tears from her eyes.... tears that had been put there because of something he'd done or not done, more likely. Nikita was his drug. He could not have too much of her, but he was unable to visualize ever having and sharing a life with her. Indeed, it was beyond his ability to imagine that they would have the opportunity to enjoy long, rich lives, not as Section operatives. He'd lost so much already.

Nikita saw the look of sadness and pain cross his face. "Michael, what's wrong?" she asked, gazing into his jade green eyes.

"Nothing, I'm sorry." Michael shook his head and attempted a half smile.

"No, you've nothing to be sorry for. Talk to me, Michael. Don't shut me out. I know you have to shut me out sometimes.... in Section, but not here, not now."

Nikita's acceptance of his role in manipulating her for missions cut him like a knife and hurt him more than any exhibition of anger could have. Her purity, her compassion-- she had them in abundance, but he refused to accept the absolution she offered so willingly. He shut his eyes, trying to think what he could say to defuse her concern. Surprised, he felt her lips on his, pliant and giving. He surrendered to her loving kiss, returning it in full measure.

The plane jarred as it landed. Nikita sighed and pulled away. "It's all right, Michael. I understand. So much has happened. The future is uncertain, I know," she said, nodding her head.

Michael took Nikita's hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. Nikita was such an enigma. Aggressive, sensual, tender... and she could literally read his mind and emotions, when she chose, but there had been other times when she'd been seemingly clueless as to how he felt about her. That was his fault, of course. He could not blame her for the cruel attempts to crush her humanity, and he could not crush her compassion without destroying himself. It was that simple and that complicated.

The plane taxied to a stop.

"Let's go," he said, pulling her to her feet and toward pilot standing at the open door.

"I hope you enjoyed your flight, M'sieur, Madame," the pilot said with a very straight face.

Giggles erupted from Nikita's throat. "Very much, thank you!" Nikita saw her new surroundings for the first time. "Where are we?" she asked, looking in amazement at the bright warm sunshine and palm trees at the far edge of the airport.

"Monaco, Madame. Bôn chance at the gaming tables," the pilot offered with a smile. Michael nodded and shook the pilot's hand, giving him a large tip as he did.

Nikita and Michael descended to the tarmac. Nikita took a deep breath, whirled and hugged him. "Monaco, the Riviera. God, Michael, it's so beautiful!"

Nikita's childlike abandon, gladdened Michael's heart and lifted, if only for a time, some of its burdens. "You're all I can see, Nikita, and you are beautiful," he said in a voice roughened with emotion as they walked arm in arm to the waiting limo.

******

NOTE TO SAVVY WORLD TRAVELERS: After doing a little research, I find that Monaco has no airport, and the closest one is in Nice, but since I've already had them land in ‘Monaco,' I will continue with that inaccuracy. Sorry, no time for ‘luv' in the limousine like there would have been had I done my research first.

"Don't we have to go through customs, Michael?" Nikita asked as the limousine left airport. "I mean this isn't a mission. We're just tourists, right?"

Michael grinned, "It's been taken care of, and no, it's not a mission."

Nikita draped her arms around Michael's neck and said, "Well, then I'd say we should settle down to enjoying this limousine ride." She began placing little kisses about his cheeks.

Michael emitted a small laugh, (yes, he did!) "Nikita, there isn't time for ‘that.' Monaco is a very small principality. We will be at our hotel in five minutes."

"Five minutes?"

Michael looked into Nikita's dazzling aquamarine eyes. "Oui. The Hotel de Paris is located on Place du Casino, in the heart of Monte Carlo. We're almost there. Look," he pointed out the window. "There is the Rock, Old Monaco. That's where Prince Rainier lives."

Nikita giggled, "You sound like a tour guide Michael. I can't believe we're here together, alone and away from Section One, and you're wasting time trying to educate me. I don't care if we don't see anything out side our room. I want to...."

Michael quieted her with a kiss. "I know what you want, Nikita. There will be time for ‘everything.'" Nikita, in her present state of mind, affected Michael like the finest champagne full of sparkling bubbles that rushed to his head leaving him more than a little breathless. "We'll go to the beach, gamble, dine, gamble, drink, uh--am I omitting something?" He grinned at the look of dismay that crossed Nikita's face.

"I'll say you're forgetting something," Nikita said, assuming an attitude of pretended indignation.

"Alone in a room with you... never." Michael said. "There will only be one thing on my mind... you." It was nearly impossible to keep her from his mind when they were at Section One. He was always aware of her presence, as if they were psychically linked. He supposed it had something to do with pheromones, but he always seemed to know when she was or was not in Section.

"Show me, Michael." Nikita closed her eyes as she nestled in his arms.

Michael moaned. Nikita's throaty, sensual voice had the power to excite him. He had to face it. Everything about Nikita had the power to excite him in the right circumstances. The heaviness in his groin was evidence that her magic was still at work. Michael kissed her fingertips, then slowly moved her hand down his chest to the area below his belt. "There, evidence enough?" he asked her hoarsely.

"Mmm. I guess." Nikita giggled, as she gave him a sensual caress. "Oh, my. Look it's huge!"

"Nikita!"

"The statue, Michael. Look at the statue."

The limo had stopped in front of the Hotel de Paris. "Oh, you mean the equestrian statue of Louis XIV. It's very famous," Michael said, slipping into tour guide mode.

Nikita arched an eyebrow. "What did you think I meant, Michael?" she asked, caressing him again.

Michael pushed Nikita's hand away. "You have to stop that... for now, anyway."

"For now," she grinned.

********

Registration had gone smoothly, and Nikita looked about with awe at the immense Belle-Epoch style hotel. The massive marble columns, lush greenery, and extremely well-heeled patrons that floated throughout the hotel made her feel like she was in a fairy tale. Oh, she'd been in a palace or two, but missions didn't count. She was here in a beautiful, romantic hotel... with Michael, and that was all that counted.

Michael's hand was placed protectively in the small of her back. They were led to the ornate, old-fashioned elevators by the bell hop who had procured their luggage from the back of the limousine. Nikita wondered what was in the luggage. As far as she knew, she had the clothes on her back. Curiosity was beginning to gnaw at her. How had Michael arranged all this in such a short time?

The bellhop unlocked the door to their.... suite. It was a suite, not merely a room with a bed, although that would have been fine. Furnished in a soft pastel monochromatic color scheme of aqua, the room's appointments were elegant. The room was paneled in white with ornate gilded moldings. French doors opened on a small balcony, overlooking the Mediterranean. Yes, she was Cinderella. She turned to her handsome prince, who was in the process of closing the door to their suite. "Michael, it's beautiful. This is heaven." She spun around in joyous abandon.

"Then this is where you belong, ma ange blanche," Michael replied, dropping into his native tongue, as he gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

The bed was covered in a down-filled comforter, which was stripped away in one swift motion. Michael lay beside her, "Ma coeur. Tu es tres belle," he murmured in her ear, leaving a trail of maddening kisses down her neck and shoulder. Nikita had a vague idea of his meaning, more than vague. They were words of love, even if her French was inadequate for an exact translation.

"Too many clothes," she managed to say, ripping at his shirt. Buttons began to fly about the room to be lost forever.

"Nikita, we have time. Be patient." Slowly and methodically, he unbuttoned her silk blouse revealing a lacy confection that was almost a bra. He buried his face between her breasts, then moved to tease the straps off her shoulders with his teeth. A quick movement in back, and Nikita's beauty was revealed. Modest in size, but perfect in symmetry and style. The rose-tipped nipples had already tightened into tiny nubs. He divested her of her jeans in a similar exquisite maneuver, using his teeth to ease down the zipper.

Nikita's heart hammered in a staccato beat. The more he touched her, the more pronounced the rhythm. Then his mouth was on hers, his hands cupped her breasts, stroked her abdomen. He caused havoc with her nervous system. Something still was not right, but for the life of her, she could not think what it was. His mouth was devouring hers, his tongue swept and battled with hers, for her soul or so it seemed.

"Michael, now," she urged, grasping his... jeans. He was still wearing his jeans!

She began tugging desperately at his belt. She wanted to feel all of him next to her. He never stopped kissing her as he stripped from his jeans. His manhood sprang free, and she heard him moan as its warm length nestled against her flat abdomen. Finally, no more barriers, they were skin to skin... and heart to heart.

Michael parted her thighs with his knee, and felt to see if she were ready for him.

"Yes, now," she urged, guiding him to her feminine core. Every sensation in her body was centered in that core. Every nerve ending cried for his touch.

Finesse and skill were mere tools for the expression of their passion. It was a torturous and wondrous blending of male and female, yin and yang, night and day. From the most primal expression of animality to the most spiritual of pleasures, they experienced them as they wrestled, thrust and loved. Sensation banished their cares and memories until there was only one exultant cry from both. First they were two, then they were one.

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

Michael awakened to find Nikita unpacking-- in the nude. She made an entrancing sight. He watched her hold a long white beaded gown against her body, as she checked the effect in the mirror. He had requested several selections from a certain French boutique, so that she might have a choice. He continued to watch her through half-closed eyelids, not wanting to interrupt her fashion parade. She was so lovely, it hurt. He wished he had a lifetime with which to shower her with presents and love, instead of a mere forty-eight hours.

Nikita caught a movement in the mirror and realized he was awake. She whirled, "Ah ha! Caught you watching me, didn't I?" she said in a voice made seductive by the aftermath of passion.

"Guilty," he said, unable to keep his eyes from her long legs and beautiful rose-tipped breasts as she sashayed about the room.

Nikita carefully laid a midnight blue gown across a chair, then flung herself onto the bed. "When did you find time to do all this? How did you know my size?"

"Computers, and I have certain resources," he replied, and money, he added to himself. All it took was money and a little time to think about what she would enjoy doing, besides the obvious.

Michael leaned on his elbow and asked, "What do you want to do now? Would you like go to the beach and get some sun? I've rented a cabana for us."

"And just what does one do in a cabana, Michael?" she teased.

"One changes, one has sun screen applied. There are all sorts of things one can do in a cabana, Nikita." Michael arched an eyebrow, drinking her beauty with his eyes.

Nikita rolled from the bed, wrapping a sheet around her, and wandered onto the balcony. She looked at the beach scene below and exclaimed, "Michael, it's a topless beach!"

"Of course," Michael said with a grin before adding, "there's plenty of sun screen....SPF 45."

"You expect me to take my top off, Michael?" she asked, pretending to be astonished.

Michael joined her on the balcony. He took her hand and pulled her back into their suite. "You don't have to, Nikita," he said softly.

"You want me to, though, don't you. Come on, admit it," she teased, as she allowed him to take control.

"Well, when in Rome... or Monaco..." he replied with a grin. Michael thought

Nikita would shuck her top at the first opportunity, or at least she would once she was on the beach and grew accustomed to the idea. Europeans did not place much importance on keeping the female breast covered, but he would never force her to do anything that made her uncomfortable... away from Section One, that is.

Nikita came to stand with her body close to his. Her roseate nipples puckered as they brushed his chest, and she slipped her arms around his neck. She rubbed her naked body against his. He could feel her pelvic bones as they jutted from her taut abdomen, and he could feel her nest of blonde curls brush against his arousal. She was intoxicating, vibrant and totally female. She made his head whirl, his heart race, and his lungs burn with the need to breathe. He cupped her buttocks with shaking hands and pulled her closer still.

"Don't you want to get some sun," he asked, his voice so soft it became a whisper. She was driving him wild, with her need for him. He felt he might burst from the mere excitation of being near her. His desire for her was so intense, he could not restrain his body from shivering.

"Come here, cabana boy," Nikita said softly, pulling him toward the bed. "I need some sun screen applied." Nikita lay upon the wide bed and unabashedly opened herself to him. He felt as if his heart would stop.

"Ahh," Michael uttered incoherently as he sank into her warmth and took her... took them both... to ecstasy. It was a union, sublime and mystical, as only two who are meant for each other can experience.

********

A sweet and untroubled sleep overtook them. Exhausted from their efforts of trying to compress a lifetime of loving and longing into forty-eight hours. Arms, legs entwined. It was impossible to tell where one of them began and the other ended. Physically, they breathed as one. Emotionally, bonded as never before.

When Michael awoke, he listened to the soft music of Nikita's breathing at his side, in his arms. Her body was warm, pliant, yet toned and a perfect match to his own. He took in her scent, always fresh and clean with a hint of something he could only name as essence of Nikita.

If only... there were so many if onlies that it hurt Michael to put them into thought. Starting with if only they were free to spend their lives together, ending with if only he'd not been forced to ruin two innocent lives with his deceptions. He didn't want to think of Adam and Elena now, not here, with Nikita lying in his arms, but he could not escape the fact that the one love precluded the expression of the other. Adam and Elena were lost to him forever, but Nikita was not.

Michael was not settling for love with Nikita because he could no longer be Elena's husband. It was more the other way around. Elena had been his refuge from Section One. He had come to love her for her sweetness and gentle nature, and in turn she had worshipped the man she thought he was.

Initially, Nikita had kept him sane in Section One, while conversely driving him crazy at the same time. Stubborn, temperamental, scared, she was unaware of the beauty and goodness that she generously shared with everyone she met. Section One no longer clicked along at the same frenetic, uncaring pace. Nikita's interjection into the Section equation had left it off kilter, and the equation no longer progressed to its natural solution in the same way it had before. Whether by accident or design, Section One had recruited an innocent instead of a cold-blooded killer in the blonde beauty that lay in his arms. If only she could be free of Section, of the lies and manipulations, of him. He had let her go once, but she had come back because of him. They had not been able to sever the bond, nor had Section. Only death could separate them, and death was always an imminent possibility in their line of work. It was too real a possibility to imagine, his being without her. He'd suffered too many losses in his lifetime. He didn't know if he could survive the loss of his soul mate.

Until now, Adam's loss had been the worst. Worse than losing his parents, his old life, Simone or even a semi-normal life with Elena, for Adam had been his heart and his future. A gift of life and claim on the future.. his love for Adam was immutable and unending.

He had wanted to die those first weeks after the successful end of the Vacek mission had separated him from his only child. He'd been careless, neglectful of his own safety, and distraught. Nikita had saved him in more ways than one. First of all, she had remained his friend. His four years of deception had not crushed her feelings for him.

Once Nikita had realized the depth of Section One's control over his life, it had forged a deeper bond of understanding between them. She finally understood that in spite of his higher rank, he was still as much a pawn for Section's manipulations as she had been. She had guarded him when he would not take the simplest of precautions to protect himself. He wasn't sure when he'd first become aware of her extracurricular sessions outside his loft. It was more that he sensed her being near him.

Nikita's being taken by Mihai Brevich had served as the stimulus to shake him from the depression that had sapped his energy and soul. He wondered if Nikita had been aware of the mission's ultimate profile. Had Operations simply gambled on his response and his arriving in time to save her? Would Nikita have willingly gambled her life to save his? She probably would have, but Michael doubted that Operations had taken that factor into consideration. Once again, Operations would have decided that Nikita didn't ‘need to know' and made a perfect pawn.

Michael watched Nikita sleep. She slept deeply and soundly like a child, molded to his side. He wished he could express the love he felt for her. The words had never been spoken between them. Until lately, he had not been free to say them, and he still felt that she deserved so much more than his love. But love her he did. He knew she would awaken eventually, and he knew he had to banish any trace of his post-coital angst. He wanted nothing to cast a shadow over this time with her. This might be the only time they would have like this. He wanted her to enjoy it, revel in it, and forget Section One, if only for a day or two.

He felt Nikita shift into a lighter stage of sleep. She began to move closer to him, if possible. Her eyelids fluttered. A barely audible sigh escaped her lovely mouth. He stroked her eyelids with a gentle movement of his thumb and traced the angle of her sculptured cheekbones. Her eyelids fluttered open.

"Wha--, M-Michael," she looked about in momentary confusion. "I forgot where I was. Is this for real?"

"Oui. You're here with me, ma chère," he murmured as he began to nibble her delicate ear lobes. "It is very real." Michael only knew one way to banish his pain. Nikita was more than an antidote, she was his heart and soul, and losing himself in her was the sheerest heaven he knew.

*********

Eventually, the need for sustenance of another sort demanded the lovers leave their bed. Nikita had awakened before Michael after their last love fest. Nikita could see that the sun was lower on the horizon, and the shadows were long on the balcony above the sapphire surface of the Mediterranean.

One thirst temporarily sated, Nikita became aware that her throat was parched. Had she been on a desert safari? No, her safari had been to a higher plane, but now the body's more mundane needs asserted themselves. Nikita eased from the bed. She intended to take full advantage of the Jacuzzi to rest and recuperate from the strenuous exertions of the day.

Nikita stood looking at her lover. She had seldom seen him so relaxed, so unaware of anything around him. It had often been an amusing thought of hers that Michael slept with one eye open, always ready to spring into action should Section call. The idea of Michael actually closing both eyes and being lost in the world of slumber was endearing.

Nikita looked about for something to drink. Luckily, she soon found a small refrigerator masquerading as an ornate gilded cabinet. Nikita opened the door and removed one of the small bottles of water. She drank from it, downing the entire cool contents in a series of unladylike guzzles. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she looked to see if she had awakened Michael with her behavior. Apparently not. He hadn't moved. Nikita was tempted to crawl back into bed with him, but the Jacuzzi seemed to be a siren, and it was calling her name loudly.

Reluctantly, Nikita returned to the luxurious bath to perform her ablutions. Once the Jacuzzi had filled to her specifications, Nikita added the scented bath oil. Suddenly, the heavenly scent of frangipani filled the bathroom. Nikita intensified the frangipani scent by lighting the candles so thoughtfully provided by the staff of the Hotel de Paris. Nikita twisted her hair into a informal pony tail and eased her overused body into the fragrant bubbling water. "Ahhh, this is wonderful." Nikita could not keep from sighing as the warmth began to soothe her aching muscles. Nikita rested her head on a bath pillow and allowed the pounding jets of the Jacuzzi to do their work. She was drifting on a pleasant plane of memory, when she felt a hand at her breast. "Michael, you're awake. I didn't disturb you, did I?" she asked with more than a little guilt. This was his vacation, too.

Michael's jade green eyes bore into hers, leaving no room for guilt. Nimbly he stepped into the Jacuzzi and sat behind her. "Did you think you I would be able to stay away from you, ma chère?" he asked, as he began to knead the muscles in her neck and shoulders.

Michael's hands were like magic to Nikita... even better than the jets of the Jacuzzi. They were gentle but strong. He seemed to know exactly which muscle groups needed attention before she knew herself. Nikita relaxed in his arms, her head resting on his chest. He reached forward to caress her breasts, while she teased him by stroking his long, well-developed thigh muscles. There was an immediate response.

Nikita giggled, "Did I do that? I must say, Michael, that I've never known you to be so, so--- what is the word I'm looking for? Oh yes, excitable." Nikita gloried in the effect she had on him. Any woman would.

"Excitable? You think I'm the excitable type, Nikita?" he asked in a soft seductive voice.

Nikita squirmed, then rubbed her bottom against his manhood. "Oh, yes, I do."

Michael's teeth gleamed as he grinned at her. "I suppose you have evidence to support your point of view?" he asked as he spun her to face him.

"The evidence is here for all to see," she replied, casting a knowing glance at the topic of discussion.

"No, not for all to see. Only you." His eyes seemed to want to memorize her face, and his hands were everywhere, stroking her cheek, teasing a nipple, following the slender line of her waist.

"Mmm." she murmured. He pulled her toward him, wrapping her legs about his waist.

"You talk too much, Nikita." Michael whispered, scorching her lips with a searing kiss. Nikita cupped her breasts and offered them to him. First one, then the other rose-tipped breast was kissed, suckled and laved with his tongue.

Nikita's pulse started to soar again. She had never needed anything so much or so often as she needed this one man. Her head went back, exposing the long line of her white throat. "Michael, now, please," she gasped.

Michael made a minuscule adjustment in position, cupped her buttocks and lifted her slightly, allowing her to capture his manhood with her silken prison. Once again, Nikita joined with Michael in delicious abandon. Nikita rocked and Michael thrust, each stroke sweeter and hotter than the one before until they scaled the summit of their desire.

**********

Michael sat in an aqua and ivory brocade Louis XVI-styled Bergère, watching Nikita as she rushed around doing female things like make-up, rearranging her hair at least five times. He'd never seen her like this, so typically female. She was apparently unable to decide between two pairs of earrings, holding one of each pair to her ears, then turning her head from side to side in an attempt to see which effect she liked better. She turned toward him, "Michael?"

Michael shrugged, but he knew an answer would be required. "The sapphire?" he suggested, knowing she would probably choose the opposite.

"Hm? Really? I think I like the opals better," she said as she fastened them to her ears.

Had he not witnessed the same behavior from Elena on one of their rare occasions of going out to dine, he would have been totally mystified by the nearly religious significance of the rites performed by both women, so different in back ground and in personality.

He was completely dressed and had been for over forty-five minutes. He shot his cuffs and flicked a bit of non-existent lint from the sleeve of his tuxedo. The most important and holy of the rituals had yet to begin--that of choosing the perfect gown for the evening. He knew each dress would be perfect for Nikita. He ticked them off in his head--long beaded white, midnight blue slit up the side to show her perfect legs, ballerina-length pale blue lace, a dangerously short gold lamé, and a full-length silver dress that had a strapless bodice and swirling graceful skirt that would shimmer and float about her like a cloud when she walked.

Nikita had finally settled on styling her hair in a soft chignon at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was flawless, accenting her high cheekbones and incandescent blue eyes. The silver-mounted opals dangled at her ears. Michael watched her while she studied the effect of each choice in the ormolu mirror. She seemed to be in a world of her own, occasionally turning to him for his tacit approval. The skimpiest bits of lace covered her breasts and sex. Nikita had no idea how enchanting she appeared to him. Or maybe she did, and that was a part of the dressing ceremony. A tiny and insubstantial lace garter belt and sheer stockings were all she wore, in addition to her bra and panties, if indeed they could be called by their rightful names. They were a scandal was what they were. Nikita had already been to the armoire several times, eyeing the gowns in a casual way, but now she was ready to initiate the rite that would take heaven only knew how long. Michael certainly didn't. Carefully, she lay each one on the wide bed, where only a short time before they had made splendid love. The significance of their love seemed to pale as she began her obeisance to each creation, pausing before it, studying it, before moving to the next. The ritual called for occasional glances in his direction, but his role in the rite was a minor one, mainly relying on his patience.

He couldn't refrain from commenting, although it was not part of the ceremony.... or was it? "The white one is nice."

Nikita stopped and glanced in his direction. "Yes, it is."

She held it against her body, then replaced it and repeated the same procedure with each of the others. She still seemed unable to make a choice, but it was early in the ceremony. Each would have to be tried on before a real decision could be made. Michael began to regret that he had arranged for Nikita to have so many choices, but all he really needed to do was enjoy the fashion ceremony.

Nikita tried on the gold lamé first. She was a vision, if not a saintly one. It was quickly eliminated with a brief sniff. "Really, Michael. We're not on the vice detail." Michael knew the appropriate response. He merely nodded in agreement.

Both blue ones failed Nikita's tests as well. It was down to the beaded white and the swirling silver strapless. She made an elegant statement in either. Now, it was time for him to offer his opinion, but.... not until asked. She looked at him again.

"Both are lovely on you, Nikita. You choose." He was learning.

Nikita beamed her wide smile at him. "The silver, want to know why?" "Yes, why?"

Nikita's opalescent blue eyes looked into his. "Because the dress makes me feel like a princess or movie star, and here in Monaco, that's how being with you makes me feel, Michael. I feel like Grace Kelly must have felt when she first met her Prince."

Nikita's eyes sparkled with tears. "Now see what you've made me do," she said pulling from his arms and rushing to the vanity.

At his puzzled look, she responded, "My mascara, it's about to run."

He sighed. Nikita was magic and mystery and totally woman.

**********

Dazzling lights, beautiful women in splendid gowns and jewels, handsome men in their sedate tuxedos made a perfect backdrop for the most beautiful of them all. The tall blonde beauty accompanied by an equally beautiful green-eyed god was winning at the roulette table. She was hot. Her excited squeals had drawn the attention of many jaded passers-by. The men remained, attracted by her fresh beauty. The women remained attracted by the sensual power of the man who stood smiling beside her. They wondered what he saw in her and assumed it was merely physical.

The croupier spun the roulette wheel. Nikita held her breath. The pile of colorful chips had grown enormously as she continued to win. She'd never gambled before. It was a heady experience to say the least. Michael had explained the significance of the variously colored chips, but his tidy explanation was lost in the fever of the moment. "Un rouge impair manqué," the croupier said. Nikita had won more chips.

She had been playing fairly safely and allowing the chips to grow in steady fashion, but decided to change her method. She placed a square bet. The chips lap on a two lines intersecting four numbers--17,18,21,20. She had no idea how much money she had, but judging from the interest around her, she assumed it was a tidy sum. She looked at Michael, who watched her with amusement, but gave a tiny shake of his head as he glanced toward the black. "Let it ride on the black?" she asked for clarification. A tiny imperceptible nod was his response.

Nikita considered for a moment, shook her head and let her bet stand. The wheel spun. "Trois, rouge, impair, manqué."

A uniform gasp escaped the crowd around her. She had lost all her pretty chips. She looked at Michael, who gave a rueful smile, took her hand and kissed it. The onlookers about them applauded his gallantry in the face of a great loss. Nikita allowed Michael to lead her away from the roulette table before asking. "H--How much did I lose, Michael?"

A twinkle appeared in his emerald green eyes. "You don't want to know, Nikita."

Nikita inhaled sharply. "That much?"

"Oui." Michael continued to lead her from the main gaming hall.

"Oh, Michael, I'm sorry. I mean it was your money I lost."

"Nikita, it is only money."

"I should have listened to you and let it ride on black," she protested. It must have been an enormous amount of money, but Michael acted as if it were nothing.

"No, no. Red won, you would still have lost. It was only a game for our entertainment. You enjoyed yourself, and I enjoyed watching you."

"It's not like we're going to need it for our retirement, is it."

"Probably not, Nikita. Probably not." In order to evade thoughts of the future,

Michael asked, Are you ready for dinner? I made reservations while you were doing your makeup. There are several restaurants here in the hotel, but the Louis XV is the finest."

"It sounds wonderful, Michael. Now that you mention it, I am a little hungry." Nikita added with a grin.

Together they entered the fine restaurant, Michael's protective hand at her waist.

Two lost souls in paradise, each hungering for what the menu did not offer. Freedom.

***********

Michael had not been able to keep his eyes off Nikita throughout the entire seven course dinner. She was an original, enchanting creature. Her impeccable manners reminded him of their first outing, her graduation exercise. Somehow he had managed to consume a few bites of the delicacies placed before him, but his overwhelming hunger had been for the woman who sat beside him in the banquette.

Nikita had been right to choose the silver gown. Indeed, she did look like a princess, born to royalty, destined to live a life of ease. Her blue eyes sparkled with reflections from the candle light. The silver evening dress shimmered, and the pale opals and sparkling diamonds at her ears were a perfect complement to her ethereal loveliness. Michael studied his cappuccino, while holding and caressing the back of Nikita's hand at his side. He wished this night could last forever. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss in the palm. He felt her tremble in response. The awe he experienced in the knowledge that this incredible woman had chosen to love him left him overwhelmed in gratitude. The providence that had lead Section One to recruit her had saved him... physically....emotionally.... spiritually... more than once.

Nikita deserved to hear the words from him. Just as he needed to hear the words from her. A simple tenderness.... He could see the tears that sparkled in the corners of her eyes as a result. "Nikita...." he paused, gathering his courage. He would say the words. He watched her azure eyes grow wide in anticipation. Then Nikita's head turned in the direction of the casino. They could hear the sounds of breaking glass and.... of screams.

* * *

Nikita watched as Michael pulled a 9mm from his jacket pocket. "You're armed?" she asked needlessly. She could see the gun. "Thank heaven, me too." she added as she opened her jeweled evening bag and removed a small pearl handled revolver. "I guess old habits are hard to break."

"We have to get out of here. Analyze the situation before we undertake any intervention," Michael responded tersely, slipping into mission mode before her eyes.

Silently the lovers, now operatives, moved in unison as they slipped from the banquette. Michael's panther-like grace was never so evident as he moved around the periphery of the room. Nikita followed, as others were now becoming aware of the situation in the casino. Excited female voices rose en mass in alarm.

Michael and Nikita had barely slipped behind a service panel when the Louis XV was invaded by two tuxedoed waiters wearing masks and carrying Uzi machine guns. The taller of the two ordered, in a European accent, "Cash and jewelry on the table, now! Anyone who hesitates will be shot."

"It's only a robbery, Nikita," Michael said in a whisper. "We shouldn't get involved."

"Only a robbery, Michael. How can you say not get involved? We have to do something," she insisted. People's lives were in danger. How could he be so blasé?

"Shh, we can't afford to get involved. It could bring attention to Section One." Michael's voice was intense with the effort it took to control Nikita's compassionate inclinations. He took her arm in an attempt to keep her from rushing headlong into the fray.

Nikita jerked her arm from his grasp. "You can cower back here if you want to, but I'm going to do something."

Michael's steel grip fastened around her wrist. "What are you going to do? You're going to get yourself and some of these people here killed, if you don't listen to me."

********

Madeline into Operations's office aerie with an air of urgency. "There's an unusual situation brewing in the Principality of Monaco. I think we need to send a team."

"Really? I wasn't aware we had any pressing interests in Monaco," Operations responded dryly, as he looked at Madeline with interest. She looked lovely this morning. Her short wavy hair flattered her features, emphasized her fine brown eyes. Her mannish suits did her no credit, but her elegant figure wasn't difficult to see, if one were interested.

"A team of twenty thieves has taken the entire Hotel de Paris hostage."

"You want to send in a team because of a robbery?" Operations asked in disbelief.

"Are they threatening our national interests?"

Madeline paused. She had expected his protests. After all, Section One did not normally become involved unless national interests were involved or unless Section One was threatened. "There are two Section One operatives among the hostages. They need to be extracted from the situation ‘before' the local authorities become aware of their background."

"Or eliminated," Operations said dryly. "Who the hell is in Monte Carlo, Madeline? Do I have to drag every little detail from you?" he asked sitting on the window ledge.

Madeline's look was solemn as she responded, "Michael is one of the operatives."

"Michael? He was just here yesterday," he protested, standing in surprise.

"Yes, and he's down today and tomorrow, and he's in Monte Carlo registered at the Hotel de Paris as Michel Therrien."

"And the other operative? No... don't tell me!" Operations shook his head in dismay.

"Nikita. You must remember I warned you there was nothing to keep them apart now."

Operations began to pace back and forth. "Why wasn't I aware of this sooner? Why did you know this, and not I?. Surely, not some girlish confidence of Nikita's?"

"Hardly. I noted some unusual activity on Michael's computer. Lear Jet rental, a limousine, accessing expensive boutique sites, various cues that he was planning something. With Michael's intelligence and resources, if he ever attempted to skip Section, he might just succeed. I've had Systems place certain flags on his usage. What I discovered was not a flight from Section but instead a ‘little vacation' for him and Nikita. They are both down, and they are apparently taking full advantage of it." Madeline folded her arms as she delivered the news. "I told you this could happen."

"Ugh! I don't want to hear anymore. You should have told me about this ‘vacation' sooner" Operations wanted to gag at the thought of Michael and Nikita ‘together.' Nikita had been a thorn in his side ever since he had allowed Michael to talk him out of canceling her at the end of her training. Nikita was responsible for weakening Michael's devotion to Section One. There were little signs--but nothing concrete that he could have used to punish Michael and made him conform to his will again.

"A couple of days downtime spent together is not an irrevocable bond. As you said before a system of rewards and punishments. You forget that it was Nikita's loss on the Brevich mission that brought Michael back to us. She does have her uses.... And she is an excellent operative, in spite of her propensity for compassion."

"All right! I've heard enough about Nikita's virtues. Organize a team and extract them." Operations waved his lighted cigarette in the air.

"Extract ‘or'" Madeline asked.

"Eliminate them, Madeline. You know the drill. I don't want to lose Michael, but if we have to, then send Housekeeping as well. I want no traces of Section One remaining in this mess."

Madeline nodded, "I'll call a flash mission, and start the profilers working immediately." She turned to leave.

"Fine!" was all Operations could manage to say. Dammit! Why was Nikita always in the middle of any complicated situation, complicating it further, he asked himself for the hundredth time in the last four years.

*********

Blue eyes blazed into green ones. The emerald or jade sparkle that had been so evident during their excursion was noticeably absent. Section One's ultimate operative stood before Nikita, ready to do whatever it took to control her, even if he had to render her unconscious.

"Dammit, Michael, I know you're right. What do you want me to do?" Nikita asked, as she rubbed her wrist.