Tracy clapped her hands over her daughter's ears. "A couple of times a month," she whispered over Kara's head. "That's what happens when you hit middle age and get comfortable with each other."

Kara fought her mother's hands away. "Mom! I'm old enough to hear!"

Tracy smiled and shook her head. "No, you're not!"

Four grinning faces turned to Nikita, still scrunched down in her chair. "Your turn," Lydia sang out.

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

Michael sighed deeply as he stepped out of the car, slowly pulling his briefcase and suitcase from the passenger side. He knew without looking that Nikita wasn't home. The house always vibrated with her lively presence when she was inside. Michael unlocked the front door and entered the darkened house. His keys clanked on the counter as he walked into the kitchen. Loosening his tie, Michael spotted Nikita's note on the refrigerator.

"At Tracy's. Love, N."

Michael pulled his tie from his collar with a soft whisper of silk and tossed it on the counter next to his keys. A faint smile curved his lips and he walked to the back door, unbuttoning his dress shirt with one hand. She had been thinking of him. The cool air caressed his tired skin as he stepped outside, closing the door softly behind him.

The grass swished under Michael's feet as he crossed the yard, skirting the low hedge. He kept out of sight of the sliding glass door, ears tuned to the sounds of laughter. Using his Section training, Michael peered inside the glass door, unseen; his eyes caught and held the svelte line of Nikita's back. He didn't want to break up their party, but Michael's desire to be near Nikita drove him to slide the door open.

"At least twice a night," she was saying reluctantly. Instantly, her back straightened and she turned around in her chair, eyes crawling up his body.

All conversation stopped as the women at the table followed her gaze, then everyone but Nikita burst into giggles.

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

Michael smoothly stepped inside the door, his eyes locked with Nikita's as he advanced to the kitchen table. His warm palm slid onto her shoulder and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her upturned lips.

"Ni-ki-ta," he breathed in greeting, accent thick from weariness. Michael's hand slid to cup her neck, her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers. He raised his head and gave the assembled women a slight smile. "Bon soir," Michael said, raising his voice to address them over the Sarah McLachlan CD playing in the background. They avoided his gaze, smothering their laughter with their hands. Michael's eyes took in the scene; the alcohol, the magazine, the red faces. His fingers idly combed through Nikita's hair as he turned back to her and smiled into her eyes. "Speak of the devil?"

His words sparked another round of smothered laughter and flushed faces. His accent had turned the innocuous phrase into a sultry, spine-tingling caress.

"Nikita, how do you deal with having such an observant husband?" Tracy demanded after a moment, smiling up at Michael.

Nikita dragged her eyes from his silver-green eyes, his slightly disheveled cinnamon hair. She wanted to take his face between her palms and soothe away the tired lines, to show him how much joy she felt at the return of his quietly strong presence. "How do I deal with Michael?" she repeated, arching an eyebrow at Tracy. Inadvertently, her gaze swung back up Michael's form-fitting white shirt as she said, "Very carefully."

Nikita stood up and began to hunt for her jacket in living room, leaving Michael alone with her friends. Michael stepped closer to the table and leaned across its littered expanse to murmur in Tracy's ear.

"You were lying when you said only twice a month."

Tracy jerked her eyes up and stared at Michael, her lips parting in surprise. His lips twitched, indicating that he had unintentionally eavesdropped on an embarrassing conversation.

"How-how--" Tracy stuttered, at a loss for words. Michael held her gaze for another moment, flashing her a wink as Nikita re-entered the room. Tracy grinned up at Nikita's husband and squeezed his shoulder, leaning forward to whisper through his curly hair. "You're right, Michael. We're practically rabbits."

Nikita came up behind Michael and arched an eyebrow as he pulled back. She tugged him closer by his belt buckle. "Flirting with my friends?"

Michael didn't answer. He simply raised his hand and ran his callused thumb along the length of her eyebrow. As soon as the pad of his thumb left her skin, Nikita spun him around by the shoulders and began pushing him to the sliding glass doors.

"If you'll all excuse us," Nikita said over her shoulder.

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

They didn't speak as they crossed the lawn, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. They seemed to communicate with each other, through layers of clothing and skin, a feeling of satisfaction. Every step brought Michael and Nikita closer to home.

They flowed inside the back door, remaining connected at the hips. Nikita kicked the door closed with her heel with a loud bang, followed by another loud noise as Michael roughly backed her into the door. His hot mouth descended upon hers, his tongue slipping between her parted lips. Michael's length pressed against her held her upright as Nikita's knees liquefied. The slick, velvet interior of his mouth pounded her pulse; the erotic tang of his lips and musky scent of his skin drove her to slip her hands up his sides and around the strong column of his neck. Nikita moaned into his mouth as Michael deepened the kiss, gently rocking her hips forward so that their bodies melded together into a seamless whole.

A heavy, aching wetness spread to her groin and tingled her nerve ends under the clothes she wore. Nikita arched against Michael mindlessly, consumed by his presence, his muscled body, his scent she remembered so well...

And then, it happened.

Madeline's voice rang through her brain like a pistol fired too close to her ear. "Are you and Michael practicing safe sex?"

Conscience, I hate you! Nikita groaned to herself.

Her passion for Michael beat out a desperate rhythm, but Nikita forced herself to confront the issue that had occupied a dominant space in her mind for the past few days. Immediately sensing the shift in her mood, Michael stopped his devastating assault on her neck and lifted his head.

"Nikita?"

His changeable green eyes were staring directly into her face, examining her features in minute detail while his aroused body was still pressed to hers. Nikita blinked and shifted her gaze, belatedly realizing she was employing one of Michael's own tactics that so irritated her. Reluctantly, Nikita lifted her gaze back to his face and let him disentangle their still tingling limbs. Avoiding his lush, coral-colored mouth, Nikita tried to focus on Michael's high cheekbone as she gathered her thoughts.

"We need to talk," she said finally, wincing when she realized what a hated expression had escaped her lips.

We need to talk, she repeated to herself silently. It sounds like I'm about to start the, "I just want to be friends" speech.

"I had a chat with Madeline while you were gone," she added, slumping against the door as Michael completely disengaged himself from her and ever-so-slightly cocked his head.

"What did Madeline say to you?" he asked quietly, backing up another step to give Nikita space to breathe.

Nikita gulped. "Can we sit?" Without waiting for his answer, Nikita slid down the door and sat on the kitchen floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. Michael loomed above her for a fraction of a second, then lowered himself to his haunches. When Nikita didn't speak right away, Michael propped his elbows on his knees and crossed his powerful forearms.

"During our meeting, Madeline asked me if you and I were using protection when we-"

At Nikita's waffling, Michael quietly said, "Make love?"

Her pupils dilated and a light flush rose along her cheekbones. His voice was doing unspeakable things to her still-aroused senses. She clamped down on her rampant urge to forget she ever talked with Madeline and just pull Michael up to their bedroom. Instead, Nikita swallowed visibly and nodded.

"Yes, when we make love. When I told her that we hadn't been, she was pleased. Why?"

Michael sighed and rocked back on his heels, eyes turning inward in thought. "Married couples who have no obvious reason for not wanting children should not use protection," he said evenly. He reached out his left hand and brushed his thumb over her eyebrow. "What's wrong, Nikita?"

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

"Should we be using condoms, Michael?" Nikita blurted finally, opening her eyes again. Her eyelids had fluttered shut of their own volition when Michael's callused thumb had landed on her skin. "I mean, when you think about both of our sexual histories--"

"Nikita," he interrupted softly.

"What?"

He stared at her a moment, eyes searching her face. "Nikita, I don't think we're in any real danger." He paused a moment, blinking, before he continued. "Valentine missions aren't as dangerous as you're led to believe. The targets are carefully screened." Michael dropped his hand and gave an imperceptible sigh as he struggled to communicate to her. "Valentine Operatives are...difficult to train. They aren't as...replaceable as Cold Operatives."

"I'm not just talking about you, Michael. I haven't exactly been a saint, either," Nikita said, hugging her knees closer to her chest.

Something flared in his eyes briefly, before Michael clamped down on whatever emotion it had been. His muscles rippled into a cold mask. "Were you planning on longevity, Nikita?"

Nikita's spine stiffened in anger at his sharp tone, his blank stare.

I thought we were past this, she thought to herself. Why is he reminding me of what it's like to live in Section, wondering if each day will be my last?

Nikita stared back at Michael mulishly until what he had said finally sank into her brain. "Longevity?" Nikita shook her head and gave him a half-smile. "You know, I asked Madeline once what happened to Operatives when they got old. You know, a condo in Miami or a bullet to the head..." Nikita trailed off and propped her head against the door. "I don't think even Madeline knows what happens, but I'm damn sure there isn't a 401K plan for me."

Michael sighed and bowed his head. Nikita could tell his wordless answer to her question was that he didn't know what happened to Operatives who lived long enough to worry about retirement. In his fifteen-odd years with Section, Nikita was willing to bet the situation had never arisen. No one escaped Section One, and only a handful lasted long enough to have that so reinforced as Michael. When he raised his head, Michael's eyes were a curious shade of green, with murky depths hinting at his thoughts.

"What do you want to do, Nikita?" he asked, leaving control of the situation up to her.

Nikita opened her mouth and closed it again when she realized she didn't have a clue. Haltingly, she said, "I suppose the damage has already been done, Michael. Every time we've...made love, we haven't used condoms. Why start now?"

Michael raised his thumb to the soft skin of her cheek, eyes again turned inwards. "It would be safer for you if we did."

"For us," Nikita corrected brusquely. "And you're right. It would look suspicious if we suddenly started using protection now, and Madeline assured me we both have a clean bill of health."

"Yes."

"You checked?" Nikita blurted, covering his hand at her cheek with her own.

Michael lips quirked humorlessly. "Of course."

Overwhelmed by the need to touch Michael, her protector, her temporary husband and forever soul-mate, Nikita reached out and rested her hand on his bicep. When Michael flinched back, Nikita felt something inside her shrivel and curl up. She snatched her hand back as if burned, clutching at her collar, her earring, anything...

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

Nikita felt like Michael had reached inside and shredded her very last thread of sanity when he pulled away from her touch. She wanted to scream, sob, slap his beautiful face to make him explain. Nikita wanted him to apologize, to kiss her senseless, to go, to stay...to say something...

And then she realized what she had felt under the rough cotton of his shirt was too bulky to be just skin. Nikita extended her shaky fingers again and lightly brushed his bicep. Michael shifted away once more, staring at her silently. Nikita's eyes flared back to life as she tentatively explored his arm.

"Michael," she said, her tone chiding and shaded with anger.

Michael sighed slightly and moved again, lowering himself down from his crouch to sit on the kitchen floor in front of her. His inner thighs pressed against her outer calves, feet framing her hips. All Nikita had to do was scoot forward a few inches, lift her legs from between Michael's thighs and around his hips, and she would be flush against his heat.

So you think you're going to distract me? Nikita thought. Not this time, Michael.

"Take your shirt off," Nikita ordered. "I want to see."

Michael didn't move. "Nikita," he said, ducking his head to give her his placating look.

"Take it off, or I'm going to do it for you," Nikita replied. She reached out and began unfastening the line of buttons that extended down his chest and disappeared into the waist of his pants. Michael kept his elbows on his knees, allowing her to tug the tails of his shirt from his waist band once the front gapped open. Her fingers moved to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. That accomplished, Nikita leaned forward and eased his shirt from his shoulders. Her gaze fastened on the white bandage on his right bicep, valiantly ignoring his tank-top covered chest.

"Oh, Michael," she said, unwrapping the bandages that were beginning to be soaked through with blood. "Is that a bullet wound?" she gasped when she removed the last of the bandages. The long, jagged lips of the wound were red and oozing a worrisome amount of blood.

Michael tilted his head and regarded his wound impassively. "Yes."

"Shouldn't you have stitches?" Nikita demanded, jutting out her chin.

"I'll be fine, Nikita."

She bit her lip and gave him an evaluating stare. "Will you at least let me play doctor for a little while?"

Michael's lips twitched. "If you don't sedate me."

Nikita fluttered her eyelashes at Michael teasingly as she stood up and began to step around him. "What, are you afraid I'll take shameless advantage of you while you're out cold?"

Michael gave a tiny shake of his head and turned to watch her walk towards the stairs for their medical kit. "No...I'm afraid you wouldn't."

Nikita snorted as she climbed the stairs.

Oh, come on, Michael! she thought. A saint couldn't resist you... helpless from drugs, spread out like a buffet on a bed, the lean lines of your body exposed--

Nikita splashed cold water on her face before retrieving the kit and unsteadily making her way back down the stairs.

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

Upon walking back into the kitchen, Nikita discovered that Michael hadn't moved from the floor. The muscled expanse of his back was to her. His tank top left a small section of his smooth skin exposed along his spine, under his cinnamon hair curling down his neck. Again, Nikita was reminded of a buffet as she set the kit down on the counter. The length of his spine, the dip under his chin, the juncture of his shoulder and neck...he had so many places she wanted to touch, to taste...

"What happened, Michael?" Nikita asked, crossing the floor to crouch down next to him with her supplies. She caught him staring pointedly at the hypodermic she was filling. "Antibiotics. Nothing else, I promise." Nikita bit her lower lip as she tapped the needle for air bubbles, swabbed his arm, and jabbed it through his skin.

"It was a high priority retrieval mission. The intel was faulty," Michael said as Nikita depressed the plunger and emptied the contents of the hypodermic.

Nikita dabbed at the bead of blood that welled from the tiny puncture. "Was there closure?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then this is the only boo-boo. I'll kiss it and make it better," she insisted, grinning mischievously. She leaned forward and feathered her lips on his skin, careful to avoid the swollen tissues of his wound. "Mmm...I'll try that again," Nikita murmured, angling her head to lightly nip his muscled arm and shoulder with her lips. With a resigned sigh, she gave his musky skin a farewell flick of her tongue and sat back.

"Nikita," Michael said. He reached out with his left arm and snagged her hand, bringing it up to rest over his heart on his hard chest. His heart was pounding wildly under the thin fabric of his tank-top. "Bandage me before I bleed to death," he rumbled, an eyebrow cocked in self-deprecation. If Nikita had been pleasantly aroused by his presence before that statement, her blood thundered in her veins and collected in her groin. Her nipples contracted, her eyes dilated, and she was surprised her hand resting on Michael's pectoral muscle hadn't caught fire.

Nikita glanced down as his wound, a trickle of blood still running down his arm and dripping off his elbow into a tiny pool on the kitchen floor. She wanted to growl at it; his wound was pushing back her achievement of pleasure.

To distract her body from his nearness, Nikita began chattering about the last few days while she flushed his wound. She told him about what she had done to Amy Muldoon while she dabbed at the jagged lips of the bullet hole with a clean cloth quickly and efficiently. Nikita didn't waver in her commentary as she squirmed around and lifted the bandages from their well-stocked, Section supplied first-aid kit. She gently lifted his arm and rested his elbow on her knee. Nikita continued babbling while she pressed a gauze pad to the hole in his arm and began winding the bandage.

"When you came in, Michael," she said, tying off the bandage with a neat flourish, "I was --"

"Nikita," he interrupted, his accented voice soft and compelling. Nikita glanced up from her intense focus on his bicep, fingers stilling. Her lips parted slightly at the expression in his very green eyes. "Hush."

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

His sculpted lips feathered across hers. "Has anyone told you that you talk too much?" he murmured, his eyelids lowered to fix his gaze on her mouth.

"Shut up and kiss me," Nikita breathed, slipping her fingers around the nape of his neck and pulling him forward. He hovered above her mouth for a moment more, his warm breath tickling her skin. Nikita's heart jolted as his lips finally contacted with hers, their mouths open and mating a second later.

Too long, she thought. Four days is much too long to go without my Michael fix.

Michael's teeth and tongue teased her senses, his heated mouth slanting across her slick lips. Nikita's hand reached up and pressed itself over his heart again, her palm kneading at the taut muscle. Deepening the kiss, Michael covered her hand with his own and began sliding it down his chest. Nikita shifted restlessly and strained closer to his hip as Michael forced her hand inexorably downward over the warm metal of his belt buckle.

Panting, Nikita broke the kiss to groan as he pressed her hand on his arousal. She could feel his hard heat through the fabric of his pants, and she wanted more.

"You should come with a warning label, Michael," she murmured, rubbing her palm over his warmth. His answering groan thrilled through her nerves. Possible warnings flitted through her mind: high heat; contents under pressure; contains volatile chemicals; do not use near open flame. Better yet, open carefully...

Reluctantly, Nikita withdrew her hand and grabbed the medical scissors from the kit. "Hold still," she instructed. Nikita tugged Michael's tank top from the waist of his pants and began snipping the fabric up the center of his chest. When she cut through the top, the ribbed fabric shrank back and exposed the silken skin of his chest. Nikita purred low in the back of her throat and perched on her knees. She lowered her head and flicked her tongue against his chest, leaving a glistening trail as she worked her way down to his exposed navel. Nikita raised her hands again and snipped away the rest of his tank-top, turning to toss the scissors back into the kit.

"Do you like that shirt?" Michael said suddenly.

"My shirt?" Nikita answered, turning back with a confused set to her passion-fogged eyes.

Michael shifted his position on the floor, spreading his legs and hauling her between them. "Do...you...like...that...shirt?" he asked again, nipping at her lips, jaw and neck in between words.

Nikita plucked languorously at the hem. "It's just a T-shirt."

Michael's eyes flashed dangerously. "Good." He plucked the scissors from her lax fingers and snipped the same pattern up her shirt. Nikita gasped as he protected her skin by sliding the back of his hand up her abdomen and between the valley formed by her breasts. Michael's hands parted her shirt, thumbs stroking over her breasts and tantalizing her aroused nipples. He dipped his head with a satisfied murmur, after unclasping her bra; his lips danced teasingly over her tender skin, puffing bursts of warm air sideways over her taut nipples. Nikita writhed restlessly and Michael's lips finally closed over her breast, lightly flicking with the tip of his tongue. He gently caught her nipple between his teeth and pulled away, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin as it slid from his mouth. Nikita whimpered, and he turned his attention to her other breast as she wound her fingers through his curly hair.

"Michael," she panted, bucking restlessly against his hips.

"Lie back," he murmured, supporting her with a hand between her shoulder blades. Nikita complied, her back coming to rest on the cool kitchen floor. Nikita briefly tried to recall the last time she had bothered to clean it, but Michael quickly wiped that thought out of her mind. He was straddling her hips on his knees and pulled her ruined T-shirt up to tangle at her wrists. Nikita arched towards him as he worked her jeans down her hips, pulling them off along with her sandals.

She watched avidly as Michael rose, her lips parted as his beautiful hands swiftly unclasped his belt; Nikita writhed when he stepped from the confines of his pants and again turned his heated gaze upon her. He prowled down on all fours like a sleek panther, his body gliding over hers and hovering so close that Nikita could feel the tiny hairs on her body stand up in response to his crackling electricity. She arched upwards in frustration and rubbed her body on his smooth, hot skin.

"Miss me?" he whispered in her ear, scraping his stubble along her jaw. Nikita growled and Michael finally lowered his body onto hers. Nikita reacted instantly, wrapping her legs around his waist and trapping him with her heels pressed to the backs of his thighs.

"Shut up and take me, Michael," she ordered.

In response, Michael kissed her roughly, his lips slanting over mouth, tongue demanding. She gasped as his lips released her, moaning when he slowly began penetrating her depths with his pulsing arousal. Nikita could feel herself stretch to accommodate his huge length. Her fingers flexed spasmodically where they were tangled in her shirt above her head.

"Stop and you die," Nikita threatened. Michael pushed himself completely inside at her statement. Her head fell back and Nikita's eyes closed in a shivering pleasure.

"I believe you," he whispered into her parted lips. And then he began to move.

Michael's thrusts were slow and powerful, rocking in and out of her in sensual torture; Nikita knew the pulsing ache would burn her up from the inside out if she didn't force him to move faster. She flung off the shirt from her hands and her fingers trailed down his shoulders, clutching at his lower back when he thrust into her again. Michael's answering groan was not one of pleasure.

Her gaze flew to his. "Bruise," he gasped, grinding against her to distract them both from the momentary pain. He dipped his head and nibbled at her lips. "Touch me somewhere else, 'Kita."

"Yes," she murmured, moving her hands again to cup his taut buttocks. "Faster," she insisted, pulling him into her with an increasingly wild rhythm. She murmured in pleasure as he complied, pounding into her faster, twisting and grinding harder. Nikita's fingers tightened on the silky skin of his buttocks and gasped as his arousal jumped inside her.

Michael retaliated by stroking even deeper inside, grinding hard against her clit. Once, twice...the third time Nikita's lips parted and she let out a gasping sigh. He thrust into her twice more as Nikita's muscles began spasming. Her senses swam crazily and slowed, every inch of him, everywhere their skin rubbed she felt as if she had been caught in a low power electrical field. Liquid pleasure radiating to her every nerve end. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Nikita could only feel as her orgasm raged through her, as Michael's lean length finally collapsed and pressed his delicious weight onto her humming skin.

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

"'Kita?"

Nikita's eyes tardily flew up to Michael's face. "Mmm?"

"Are you ready?" His voice spilled into her ears and his clothing rustled as he stepped closer, an erotic torment.

Unconsciously, Nikita licked her lips and lowered her eyelids to focus her gaze. She couldn't pull her eyes away from Michael's thighs, clad in leopard-print, skin-tight pants. Her gaze shifted upward, passing over his belt to the black knit see-through T-shirt pulled taut over his chest. The sleeves extended to his elbows, a darker shade that concealed the bandage on his bicep. Nikita stepped closer to Michael and breathed in his scent, running the tip of one finger down the soft fabric covering his hard thigh.

"When did you get these and why haven't you worn them before?" Nikita demanded, running her hand over his hip to cup his muscled rear with her palm.

"You like?" he murmured, slipping his fingers down the neck-line of her leather mini-dress. She wasn't wearing anything underneath it except a garter belt for her stockings. They were supposed to attract attention when they went out tonight to divert suspicion when they began looting homes later on in the evening. And Nikita had further justified her decision to 'go commando' in that any type of underwear would chafe her after the hours-long 'welcome home' session with Michael.

It had started on the kitchen floor and moved to the empty kitchen sink. Nikita's fingers kneaded the taut muscle under her hand and her lips parted as she remembered.

Michael picked her up without a thought for his injured arm, still buried inside her after the convulsive implosion of their lovemaking. Nikita shivered as she felt the cool stainless steel under her skin.

"Michael?" she sighed, her eyes searching for his. Green eyes gleamed back. Michael leaned forward and captured her mouth in a series of wet, nipping kisses. Nikita felt his arm reach around her. His hand closed around the sprayer; the hose made a zipping sound as Michael pulled it out. Nikita repeated his name, voice going tremulous in expectation.

"Get ready," he murmured, reaching his other arm around her back to open the tap. She could hear the water trickling behind her, Michael testing the water temperature with his fingers. He nudged the tap over and Nikita could feel the had water grown warmer when Michael drew a wet line over the curve of her buttock with his fingers. Without further warning, he brought the spigot between their joined bodies and pressed the lever. Hot water dribbled down Nikita's abdomen and into the apex of her thighs, running down her thighs where they were wrapped around Michael's hips to drip from her knees to the kitchen floor.

Nikita's breathing grew erratic as she recalled Michael's reaction when she finally wrested the sprayer from his talented hand, after he'd teased both her breasts into oblivion. Nikita jumped as Michael's fingers touched her skin, feeling a jolt of electricity arc from his fingertips and onto her caressed cheek. A double image wavered before her a moment, of Michael with his head thrown back as she tortured him with the warm spray of water, and now as his green eyes searched her face and focused on her mouth.

Nikita felt her nipples contract as she remembered moving finally from the sink and up against the refrigerator, pulling ice cubes from the freezer. Her chest constricted when she recalled that, after hours, they had finally left the kitchen, but hadn't made it up the stairs. The ache between her thighs began pulsing in time with her heart beat as she remembered straddling Michael, and how his thrusts had ground into her as one leg had been on a higher level than the other...

Nikita growled under her breath as Michael turned away and shrugged on his ankle-length leather trench coat. She paced forward slowly and gave him a feral grin when he turned to face her again.

Nikita nearly purred when his eyes widened with knowledge that she was going to attack him.

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

Nikita slammed Michael against the front door and slipped her hands inside his leather trench coat. She dredged her fingers down his chest and abdomen, circling her hands around his waist to pull his hips to hers. Leather creaked as she ground against him, purring deep in her throat. Nikita slipped her tongue between his parted lips and stroked the hot, silken walls of his mouth.

Michael captured her face with his palms and pulled her back just far enough that his warm breath caressed her face. "Nikita."

"What?" Nikita sighed, unable to keep her hips from rocking towards his hard heat.

"Be patient," he said, feathering a kiss over her lips. "We have reservations." He flicked his tongue over her bottom lip, followed by his callused thumb.

"Forget the reservations," Nikita growled, hooking her stocking-clad leg around Michael's hip and rubbing against the soft fabric of his leopard-print pants.

Michael grunted as Nikita knocked him back against the door again. His mouth descended upon hers in a punishing kiss. Nikita opened her jaw wide as Michael's lips slanted over her mouth and his tongue delved greedily inside; their tongues wrestled for dominance, sucking on each other's lips and giving soft bites with their teeth. Nikita gasped as they broke apart; the nostrils on Michael's sexy, patrician nose flared as he struggled for air. His reddened lips parted and Nikita leaned towards him for another kiss.

"We have to follow the profile," Michael said, pulling his features into the familiar, dispassionate mask.

"Fine. Let's go," Nikita answered, disentangling herself from him and stepping back.

The sooner we get going, Nikita thought, the sooner I can get into those pants.

She pulled Michael forward by the lapels of his leather trench-coat and steered him out of the way. Michael watched, bemused, as Nikita hastily pulled on her black leather jacket and flung open the door. She took one step outside and stopped in her tracks; Michael's chest hit her in the shoulder blades and his hands came up to cup her biceps.

"What is it?" he murmured in her ear, scanning the area for hostiles.

Nikita pressed herself back against his lean body and shivered. "I like the bike," she rasped. Michael squeezed her arms in assent.

The motorcycle was parked in the driveway. Michael had gone that morning to pick it up, a Ducati Monster 900 City. The silver casing gleamed in the afternoon light, reflecting off the mirrors, the head lamp, the windshield. Their clothing and accessories were already stowed in the black case strapped on the side.

Dimly, Nikita heard Michael locking the door and pocketing his keys. He took her elbow and led her down the path. Nikita licked her lips in anticipation. Although the bike was built for two, their luggage and the exhaust casing was going to force her to practically plaster herself to Michael's back for the ride. On a Harley, she would have been able to lean back and put some distance between their bodies. Not on a Ducati.

I hope he knows what he's in for, Nikita thought, watching Michael swing one muscled leg over the saddle. He revved the engine and pushed up the kick stand with a booted foot. Nikita shuddered as he slipped a pair of dark sunglasses on his face and looked at her expectantly. He looked dark, dangerous, and very, very sexy.

"And he's all mine, too," Nikita murmured to herself. Her comment was swallowed by the noise of the motorcycle engine and she moved forward. Nikita swung her leg over the bike and nestled close to Michael, even more grateful that she had chosen to 'go commando' than before. She caught Michael staring over his shoulder in appreciation as her leather skirt rode up to show the tops of her stockings. Wickedly, Nikita writhed against his taut rear and pulled the hem down, wedging her thighs around his and conforming her body to his muscled back. She re-arranged the tail of his trench coat for maximum contact, sliding her hands around his waist and spreading her palms low on his ridged abdomen.

Michael pulled out of the driveway and Nikita rested her cheek on his back, drawing in the delicious scent of male and leather. The motor vibrated between her legs as Michael skillfully maneuvered the bike, his wind-blown curls brushing her forehead.

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

When they arrived at the hotel on the other side of the city, Nikita was so painfully aroused she had trouble struggling off the motorcycle; she didn't even bother to care if she had inadvertently flashed someone in the chilly parking garage. Her fingers had sought and found that Michael was not unaffected by the sensual ride, their bodies rubbing and vibrating together on the back of the Ducati. Nikita's legs felt as unsteady as tapioca pudding on her spike heels watching Michael swing one muscled thigh over the bike. His trench coat hissed over the bike's saddle as he stood up and rolled his shoulders free of knots. His curls were wind tangled and spilled over his forehead; one cinnamon lock of hair curled over his dark sunglasses. It was endearing, but the rest of his hard, dangerous body belied the hint of boyishness.

Belatedly, Nikita attempted to smooth back her ratted hair, her wind-blown locks framing her face like a lion's mane. Michael's black gloved hand reached out and closed around her wrist.

"Don't," he whispered into her ear, leaning so close that his coat squeaked against her leather dress. "I like it this way."

Galvanized, Nikita snatched their bag, threaded her fingers through his and began dragging Michael to the hotel entrance. "Come, Monsieur Christophe. Our room is waiting," she drawled over her shoulder.

Michael caught up with her and their strides fell into sync without any conscious attempt to do so. His billowing trench coat brushed against her stocking-clad calves. They prowled into the brightly lit hotel lobby. A well-dressed matron stopped in her tracks and pressed her hand to her heart, jaw dropping in shock. All conversation from the small groups sitting on the leather couches stopped as Nikita's heels clicked by, Michael striding silently beside her but for the whisper of leather. Hushed comments renewed as she and Michael approached the front desk

"We have a reservation," Michael said. Nikita shivered and slid her arm around his waist at his thickened accent.

The clerk cleared his throat and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing over his striped tie as he tried not to ogle Nikita in her form-fitting leather mini. "For whom?" he choked.

"Monsieur et Madame Christophe," Michael replied. Nikita's hand began caressing his ridged abdomen of its own volition.

She chuckled silently. If we don't get our room soon, the people in this lobby are going to fully understand what it means to get my Michael fix.

"Ah, yes, the Honeymoon Suite," the clerk reported, his eyes flicking at Nikita with hungry disappointment. He glanced over Michael's identification and handed him the envelope with the key card. "I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Oh, we will," Nikita purred, pulling Michael toward the bank of elevators. She winked at the young clerk, and an embarrassed flush spread above his white collar. While they waited for a descending elevator, the shocked matron made a bee-line to the counter and gave the poor clerk an acrimonious glare.

"What kind of clientele is this hotel catering to?" she sniffed. "Surely you aren't renting rooms by the hour!"

The hotel manager walked up and placed his hand on the clerk's shoulder. "Excuse me, Mrs. Maxwell, but Monsieur and Madame Christophe are valued guests. He is a prestigious art dealer and his wife is an international model."

The elevator doors opened with a ding and Michael and Nikita stepped inside. Nikita buried her face in Michael's shoulder to keep herself from giggling.

"Well, I never!" Mrs. Maxwell sniffed.

"If their presence bothers you, ma'am, I'm sure we can find you another hotel..."

The doors of the elevator slid shut; leather creaked as Michael extended an arm and pressed the button for their floor.

"So, do you think people are going to remember us?" Nikita teased.

"They will before we're through," Michael murmured, brushing her hair away from her ear so he could run his tongue along her earlobe. Nikita closed her eyes and counted to ten, breathing slowly.

I can't jump him in here, she wailed to herself. As much as I'd like to...

The elevator slowed to a gut-clenching stop and the doors parted. Nikita pulled Michael out by his hand and nearly shouted for joy. A few feet away was the linen closet.

"I can't wait anymore, Michael."

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

Nikita backed the willing Michael into the linen closet. As the door swung shut behind them, Michael's jacket slid from his shoulders with a whisper and puddled onto the floor. She nipped at his lips teasingly, backing him farther into the small service room. More gently, Nikita tugged at the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, flinging it in the direction of the towel-laden shelves. His sunglasses had come off with the shirt, hair tumbling into his eyes.

Nikita slammed Michael against a shelf and took his mouth, tongue darting between his wind-roughened lips to stroke his liquid depths. His hands rose to her shoulders and helped her struggle out of her leather jacket, the sleeves catching at her wrists. Arms free, Nikita ran her fingertips down the smooth expanse of his chest, slipping one stocking-clad thigh between his legs and grinding forward.

"Nikita," he breathed as she ran little bites down the corded length of his neck. "Our room is down the hall."

"Unh," Nikita murmured, flicking out her tongue to taste his chin. "Here...can't wait."

Michael's hands rose from her hips and he slipped his thumbs inside her leather mini-dress. The callused pads of his thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts; Nikita moaned and wriggled against his hands, pressing forward. She nearly wept when his hands stilled. Nikita opened her eyes and saw Michael staring at something in the corner with a speculative glint to his eyes.

"Michael?"

He swung his gaze back and Nikita clutched at his shoulders to stay upright. His green eyes were glowing with some conspiratorial and deliciously wicked light. Nikita moaned and rubbed her body against his burgeoning heat, intensely aroused that he reserved looks like that for her alone.

Thank God, Nikita thought hazily. If he looked at the new recruits like that, we'd have to scrape them off the floor and issue asbestos blankets as protection.

"Want to go for a ride, 'Kita?"

Nikita's skin shivered in anticipation at his husky voice, and she communicated her confusion by cocking her head and spreading her kiss-swollen lips in a grin. "What?"

We just got off the motorcycle, Nikita thought. I won't survive another elevator trip down to the parking garage and we'll get kicked out for lewd and lascivious conduct. Her smile widened at the thought.

"A ride, 'Kita," he repeated, flicking that wicked gaze sideways. Nikita craned to look in the corner and gasped as Michael chose that moment to suckle her neck. She was looking at a full laundry cart.

"I don't get it, Michael," she drawled.

His eyes darkened and his lips curved into an expectant grin. "You will."

Nikita felt the pressure of his hands at her waist a second before Michael lifted her into the air and deposited her on the soft linen in the cart. When Michael's lips slanted across her mouth and his tongue stroked the hot walls of her mouth, Nikita automatically wrapped her legs around his hips and jerked him closer. Michael caught her lower lip between his teeth and pulled away, scraping the soft tissue. His eyes gleamed as his hands disentangled her legs from his hips.

"Lean back," he commanded.

Nikita leaned back and settled herself on her elbows in the cart. Her legs fell open in invitation when Michael's lips parted and his fingers began stroking up her inner thighs, toward the hem of her leather skirt. His fingers teased over the tops of her stockings as he inched her skirt up, rubbing her smooth skin with his rough fingertips. He leaned forward and expelled a puff of hot air over her aching wetness, drawing circles on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs with his thumbs.

Nikita writhed and bucked towards his sculpted mouth. He teased her with another breath of air, watching her from underneath his thick eyelashes.

"Mi-chael," she groaned, voice breaking when he took an exploratory lap with his tongue mid-word.

"Mmm," he hummed, nuzzling her depths with his lips. The vibrating sensation sent Nikita gasping for breath and writhing forward, digging her spike heels into the side of the cart for leverage. Michael gave her what she desperately wanted and delved deep with his tongue, rubbing her clit with his nose. Nikita sighed at the contact, her back arching in pleasure. Hazily, she realized Michael's hands had left her thighs. About to protest, Nikita was hit by a wave of pure pleasure.

The cart has wheels, her brain communicated to her crazily. Wheels. Oh. My. God.

Michael's hands maneuvered the cart again, lapping at her musky wetness; as he slammed the cart into the shelf, he darted his tongue deep inside her. Nikita's head fell back and she clutched at the edge of the cart. His lips suckled at her sensitive bud in between collisions.

"Uh," Nikita sighed as Michael slammed the cart into the wall again and twisted his head. She was utterly beyond speech, could only spread her thighs wider to communicate she wanted more.

Michael backed the cart violently into a shelf, forcing his tongue deeper inside and hitting a sensitive spot. Nikita's back arched off the linen. He did it again, twisting his head on impact. Nikita made a guttural sound, losing control of her limbs. Once more, Michael slammed the cart, delving his tongue so deep inside Nikita's hips bucked forward. Her perception narrowed to take in the man still tantalizing her, his thumbs once again sending shivers through her skin where he touched her. He continued lapping at her silky walls as Nikita shuddered, a languorous heat radiating outward. Tingling down to her fingers, toes, flushing her earlobes, hazing her blue eyes as dark spots edged her vision...

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

Nikita's eyes were drawn to the enormous bulge in Michael's leopard-print pants as she tugged her mini-dress into place. She watched, licking her lips, as Michael shoved his shirt into the pocket of his leather trench coat and slipped it on over his naked shoulders.

After Michael had given her an intensely erotic release, he had refused to let her delve her tingling fingers into those leopard-print pants.

"Be patient, 'Kita. We need a bed for what I want from you," he had murmured. The contained hunger in his voice had nearly caused Nikita to throw caution to the wind again and demand that he show her what he wanted now. But anticipation was always a good aphrodisiac...not that she needed one where he was concerned.

Nikita shivered as Michael turned around and offered her his lean hand, feeling her nipples tighten in response to his sweat-sheened, muscled chest. She slid her hand into his, entwining her fingers in his strong, callused grip. Michael led her out of the linen closet. The door swung open and they glided out...and ran straight into a maid.

The short woman stopped in her tracks, her comfortable black shoes hissing on the carpet underfoot. "Excuse me," she said immediately. Her sharp gaze flicked up and down the pair, taking in the swollen lips, the hair in disarray. Michael's broad chest, Nikita's hastily rearranged dress. The maid pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her starched apron. She said nothing, simply staring with one dark eyebrow cocked.

Michael gave her a brilliant smile, tucking Nikita's arm close to his body. "Please forgive us," he entreated, letting his accent grow thick. His green eyes caught her name tag pinned neatly on her apron. "We'll make it up to you, Emily."

Her stony glare defrosted a bit at Michael's charming smile. Emily shook her head, a strand of hair escaping her severe bun. "You'd better. Shoo. Get on with you."

Michael began leading Nikita down the richly appointed hall towards their room.

"Use the room! That's what it's there for!" Emily called to their backs, slipping inside the linen closet and muttering indecipherable phrases under her breath.

"Oh, they're gonna remember us, all right," Nikita murmured into Michael's ear as he unlocked the door to their room. Michael motioned for her to precede him, his eyes admiring her form in the tight dress as she strode ahead into the room and skirted their bags inside the door. His mouth quirked at her soft exclamation of surprise.

The hotel was too posh to be garish in the honeymoon suite. The rooms had been furnished tastefully with newlyweds in mind. Nikita moved forward, grinning wickedly at the Jacuzzi in the large bathroom. The bed was king-size, taking up a large portion of the bedroom. There was a small living room with plush furniture with a balcony leading off to one side.

"Nikita," Michael called. Nikita turned away from where she had been pressing her nose against the glass to see the view from the balcony. "Come here."

She strolled leisurely towards Michael, where he stood at the foot of the bed. She swayed her hips suggestively, pleased that his eyes were following her torturously slow movements across the room. Nikita stopped inches away from Michael and jutted her chin.

"Tell me what you want from me, Michael," Nikita drawled, watching his pupils dilate at her husky tone.

"Take off your dress," he ordered, voice soft.

Nikita grinned and reached behind her back, slowly unzipping the leather mini-dress, knowing her pose accentuated her high breasts. The zipper rasped down and Nikita slipped the straps from her shoulders, shimmying out of the tight dress until it slid to her feet.

"Sit down," Michael said, commanding. He shrugged out of the leather trench coat and tossed it on the floor next to her dress. Nikita perched on the edge of the bed, nude but for her stocking and stiletto pumps. Michael crouched down in front of her, his thick thigh muscles pulling the fabric taut. His fingers stroked down her left leg and pulled her foot into his lap, dexterously unbuckling her high heel and slowly sliding the shoe from her foot. He left her arch pressed against his heat and brought her other foot into his lap, removing the shoe as well.

"Lie down."

Nikita pulled herself farther onto the mattress with her elbows, watching Michael's hands as they pulled off his boots and peeled off the leopard-print pants.

Next time he wears those, Nikita thought as Michael advanced onto the bed, I'll have to lick the spots and see if they come off.

"No, 'Kita," he murmured as she reached for him. "We're going to be creative."

"We are?" Nikita asked hopefully, licking her lips in anticipation as Michael climbed around her on the bed. She tilted her head back and stared up as Michael kneeled above her head. A slow smile spread across her face as she realized his intentions. He prowled down her body towards her feet. Nikita couldn't resist, licking at his chest as it passed over her face. Michael responded by nibbling a line down her abdomen as he crept closer to his goal.

"I like creative," Nikita murmured. Michael moaned as her hot breath teased over his hard heat, and he dipped his head to taste the liquid depths at the apex of her thighs. Nikita gasped and arched her back as Michael's tongue entered her where it had been only minutes before. She reached up and lapped at his arousal, swirling her tongue around his velvet tip and savoring the liquid pearling there. They moaned together, hands cupping the other's hips, suckling. Pleasuring and being pleasured.

The sensation was intense, highly erotic. Michael's mouth teased and sucked at her aching core, his tongue and teeth worrying at her until Nikita wanted to scream in frustration. His muscles were rock-hard beneath her hands, her mouth closing again and again over his hot length, taking him into her throat.

But it wasn't enough.

Nikita gave Michael's velvet tip a parting lick and took the initiative. She used her body weight to flip Michael over on the bed and onto his back, quickly pulling herself up and down his muscled body. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked back at his bright eyes, throwing him a teasing grin as she hovered over his throbbing arousal.

His fingers singed her skin as they closed over her hips, convincing her to lower herself down. Michael's hips left the bed as she let him enter her inch by frustrating inch. When he was completely inside, Nikita sighed and lowered herself until her back rested on his tense chest. Michael's strong arms wrapped around her midsection and he sat up. Nikita threw her neck back and gasped; Michael took advantage and bit the cords standing out on her neck, soothing with his hot tongue.

Michael lunged forward again and Nikita's stomach came into contact with the smooth coverlet. One hand splayed over her abdomen, stroking her skin with his fingertips; the other hand crept down and parted her folds, teasing her bud as he stroked into her.

"Michael," Nikita breathed, spreading her hands to steady them both against his grinding thrusts. He filled her completely, then almost pulled out before he ground back into her. Nikita bucked back against his hips, writhing as he began stroking faster, harder, wilder. Her panting breaths swelled him even larger, and he added a sharp twist to his hips as he thrust into her once more.

"'Kita," he murmured in her ear as she began trembling beneath him, eyes closed and jaw open as her orgasm roared through her veins. Her breath left her body as he stroked her through it, thrusting her higher. Their gasps buzzed in her ears, her fingers clutched at the soft fabric underneath her. And then there was the sweet sting of Michael's teeth closing on her shoulder, his heavy weight settling against her, lazy warmth spreading to her fingertips and toes.

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

Nikita lay on the mussed bed, limbs entangled with the warm, solid mass she called Michael breathing softly into her neck. She felt heavy, limbs almost numb from pleasure, fingers twitching idly over his smooth skin and the rough silk of his lengthening curls. Her garter belt was biting into her skin, but Nikita was loathe to move.

She had missed Michael, his quiet strength. The way his austere features relaxed in sleep, his musky scent, the taste of his mouth. She had missed his touch, his voice, his self-assurance. Nikita knew she ought to get some sleep before their mission went live, but she couldn't force herself to close her eyes and lay claim to oblivion. She was enjoying watching Michael sleep too much.

He made a low sound and shifted slightly. Nikita bit back a moan as his stubble rubbed over the sensitized skin at her neck. His hand flexed and brushed the underside of her breast, one thigh sliding down an inch. The way his muscles gently rippled from the slight change in position made Nikita hungry for him again.

But no matter how much she wanted to look into his drugging gaze, Nikita wouldn't wake him up. Her eyes flicked over to his bicep, doing a visual check of his bandage.

He needs his sleep, she thought. Her index finger idly twirled a cinnamon curl. I've been wearing him out, Nikita added to herself, allowing a satisfied grin to crease her face.

Despite her efforts, Nikita awoke to a pair of amused green eyes. Michael's hand brushed her hair from her eyes and she gave him a sleepy grin.

"What time is it?"

"We have a few minutes," he said.

Nikita wiggled underneath him and began unhooking her garter belt. Michael obligingly rolled to the side and propped his head on his hand. He watched in appreciation as Nikita worked the stockings down her long legs and tossed them onto the floor, where they drifted to the plush carpet.

Task accomplished, Nikita rolled over to press her body against Michael's lean length. "How many minutes?"

Michael's eyes glittered in the darkness; he reached a finger out and traced her full lips. "Not enough," he rasped.

Nikita groaned and pressed her forehead against his, wrapping her arms around his strong body and hugging him close. "Who designed this profile, anyway?" she groused.

"You did," Michael said, amused. He nuzzled her neck and shifted onto his back, laying Nikita's head on his chest. She could hear his heart beat.

"We need to get ready, don't we?"

"Yes," Michael agreed.

"Shall we both get out of bed on three?" Nikita asked, drawing her finger around Michael's flat nipple.

"On three?"

She grinned. Michael sounded aroused and confused. Just how I like him, she thought.

"Yeah," Nikita breathed. "I count to three and then we both get up."

"Okay."

Nikita held in a groan as she felt his chuckle rumble through his chest. "Alright. One...two...three!"

Before Nikita could react, Michael gathered her up in his arms and climbed out of the bed. He slid her body down slowly, leaning her back, bending over her with his sculpted lips parted...

Nikita arched her neck to kiss Michael when his arm abruptly left her body and picked up their suitcase. He tossed it onto the bed. At Nikita's stormy frown, he pulled her upright and feathered his lips over her mouth before capturing it in a drugging kiss.

"We need," he murmured, suckling at her lower lip, "to get ready, 'Kita."

Nikita glanced at the clock and hooked her foot around Michael's legs, tossing him back on the bed. "We've got time," she growled.

"Is that an order?" Michael asked, raising himself onto his elbows.

"I'm the Team Leader and I say we've got time," Nikita purred, prowling onto the bed and hovering above him. "Have some respect for my authority, Michael."

Michael's arm snaked out and pulled her down onto the bed; he rolled with her until Nikita's shoulders were again pressed against the bed.

"Yes, ma'am."

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

"Orders?" Michael asked, hovering over Nikita and caging her with his arms, a blank mask settling over his features, incongruous with his blazing eyes and reddened lips. Nikita stretched beneath him and gazed at him from underneath lowered eyelashes.

"I don't know what I should do with you, Michael," Nikita purred, lifting her thigh between his legs. She held back a laugh as his arousal jumped where it pressed into her hip. "You've been insubordinate."

"Have I?"

"Yes," Nikita nodded, suckling at his lips before leaning back again. "Unless you want to be punished, Michael, you'll have to do everything I say."

Michael's eyes gleamed and a smile tugged at his mask, but he smoothed the blank expression. "Yes."

Nikita's eyes flicked to the clock and she sighed, absently rubbing the inside of her thigh against Michael's leg, her attention drawn back by his low hiss. "Take me, Michael. Hard...and fast," Nikita ordered.

Michael didn't respond verbally; after the initial flare in his green eyes, his mouth came down and drove the breath from Nikita's lungs. His tongue lapped at her voraciously, nipping and biting with an abandon Nikita had rarely seen from Michael. He made her weak. He made her blood stutter in her veins. He made her re-learn the definition of want...and need.

"Michael," she breathed as he moved his attentions down her jaw and under her throat. He bit down her neck and a low sound of pleasure gurgled in her throat. When Michael progressed to her breasts, ravishing the soft tissue into hard, damp peaks, Nikita could only gasp from the pleasure-pain of his seeking mouth. Mindlessly, her hips bucked off the mattress, searching for Michael's hard heat.

She wanted him. She needed him. Now. If he wasn't inside her soon, the depth of her desire would burn up her flesh, disintegrate her.

Nikita closed her eyes and nearly wept when she felt his velvet tip rub against her; she was more than ready as he thrust inside, entering her almost completely. Nikita made a choking sound and her hips convulsed upward, her heels digging in at the juncture of his buttocks and thighs to force him deeper.

Michael's lips and tongue tortured her again, lapping at the satin walls of her mouth as he began to move inside her without allowing her to fully adjust to the size of his arousal. Her walls spasmed and clutched at his swollen length as he rocked into her, increasing his pace into hard, quick jabs. Nikita panted and scrabbled at his back with her fingers, the barrage of sensations too much for her nervous system to process.

The moment she teetered on the edge of her orgasm, Nikita regained lucidity just long enough to bite Michael's earlobe and whisper, "Come with me." Michael's hands captured her head and he stared into her eyes as the violent tremors overtook her, locking her jaw, arching her back, spasming almost every muscle in her body. As she let out a soft, sobbing exhale, Michael's mouth closed over hers again and she felt him tremble as he came.

A moment later, Nikita blinked and glanced at the clock, acutely aware of Michael's lips pressing on her neck. Every inch of her skin tingled, hyper-aware of the man sprawled on it. She blinked again.

No, that can't be right, she told herself. She stared at the numbers, unwilling to believe that Michael had reduced to her a quivering, boneless and sated mass of flesh in well under ten minutes.

She craned her neck and sought Michael's eyes, realizing he was laying with his chin propped between her small breasts and staring up at her. His eyes twinkled. The damnable man appeared energized by the whole thing, sweat sheening his muscles. Nikita felt like she had just ran a marathon and then taken a long bubble bath.

"I can't move," she blurted.

Great. Now I'm the one who's aroused and confused, she thought.

"I'm on top of you, 'Kita," he answered, patronizing her. The rasp of his stubble at her breast nearly made Nikita's eyes roll back in her head.

"Yes. You are." She couldn't think of anything else to say. Her mind was wholly occupied with processing all the various sensations he had given and was now giving her by shifting restlessly on her body. Michael pulled back and out of her to crawl off the bed; Nikita nearly screeched in child-like frustration that his touch was gone.

Michael hauled Nikita's slack body from the bed and helped her stand up. Nikita grumbled at Michael's amusement as they both discovered her knees were wobbly, their arms reaching out to steady and be steadied.

"What did you do to me?" Nikita mumbled, turning in circles to find their valise. Michael's warm arms closed around her waist and he hugged her to him.

"I followed my orders, 'Kita," he said, drawing her to the foot of the bed where they had inadvertently kicked off the suitcase. He pulled out her mission blacks and piled them in her arms, pushing her back towards the bathroom to splash cool water on her face. The lycra and leather fit a bit too snugly over her tender skin, and Nikita uncomfortably exited the bathroom to see Michael setting up the equipment. Nikita propped herself against the wall and watched him work, placing an audio playback in the bathroom, a motion sensor inside the main door, and hanging the Do Not Disturb sign.

If anyone were to enter the suite, a tape recording of her and Michael making noisy, passionate love would begin playing inside the closed bathroom door. Nikita grinned as she thought about her profile. It hadn't taken very long for them to produce those tapes last night. Another recorder was set to play at regular intervals in the bedroom. For the sake of the other guests, Nikita hoped that the walls were thick. But not too thick...

Michael motioned for her forward and began arranging the harness for them to rappel down from the balcony. There were security cameras in the hallway which Nikita had considered messing with, but entering and exiting via the balcony required less technology and fewer explanations should Red Fist come inquiring. Not that Lucas would ever ask about their methods again, but the upper echelons might insist. This profile had been far more intricate than most Nikita had written in the past. She felt a thrill ripple through her stomach, driving away the enervation from Michael's explosive lovemaking, and watched Michael slide a mask over his face so that only his pale eyes were visible. He disappeared over the side carrying the rest of their supplies. There was a soft hissing sound as he descended the few floors to the ground, the tension in the rope relaxing as he touched down.

Nikita took a deep breath through her mask. This will work, she assured herself, clambering over the side and dropping into the darkness.

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

Nikita crouched in the bushes as Michael competently disarmed the burglar alarm. She waited until Michael slipped inside the darkened house, following his black shape. Nikita gritted her teeth as they began systematically looting the house. She had chosen very carefully which houses she and Michael were to rob. The inhabitants had to be away for the Mother's Day weekend. They must not have been robbed before, and a robbery must not put them in the poorhouse. They must not have very young children who would be needlessly frightened...Nikita's list went on and on. No guard dog. Simple security, a good distance from the road...

She and Michael flitted silently through the house; Nikita couldn't swallow for the bitter tang on her tongue.

I feel like such a jerk, she thought to herself, going through the jewelry while Michael patiently teased open the safe.

Despite all the restrictions, Nikita had come up with a few houses. She almost wished she hadn't, so Madeline or Michael could profile the mission. That way, she would only be following orders rather than giving them. It was a slight difference, but a telling one for her conscience.

I don't know how Michael can deal with feeling like such a heel all the time, she grumbled to herself. I'd better not go near a church anytime soon. A lightning bolt would fry me. With my luck, it wouldn't kill me, but I'd end up looking like I had visited Marge Simpson's hairdresser.

Nikita stuffed the loot in the pack at her belt, finishing with her sweep of the house. She took care not to dislodge anything else as she slipped back into the dark study and squeezed Michael's shoulder. He raised his head and nodded, slipping the valuables into his bag and rising. Their shapes ghosted across a mirror hanging in the hallway as they flitted through the house. Nikita led the way out the window and approached the black van in a crouching run. Michael slid into the driver's seat and the motor turned over with a low growl. He drove silently and carefully to the next house, parking on a low-traffic street with plenty of ground cover.

They slipped out and repeated their actions, encountering no anomalies like a recently acquired pet or a state-of-the-art burglar alarm. Not like any alarm system available to the public would have stopped them, or even put a crimp in their profile. It just would have been an annoyance.

The last house on their itinerary didn't make Nikita feel guilty at all. As she and Michael disabled her security system and broke into Amy Muldoon's house, Nikita could only feel a faint sense of revenge. Maybe a little attack of conscience. But just a little.

Nikita almost couldn't stifle her snickers as she rifled through Amy Muldoon's bedroom. Michael noiselessly padded in the room after a few moments, and Nikita proudly held up a plastic vibrator and a pack of batteries. She could see the skin around his eyes crinkle in amusement. Nikita put the vibrator down and pulled out a velvet whip and a pair of handcuffs. Michael crossed his arms and cocked his head, as if to say, "Is there more?" Nikita's shoulders shook with laughter as she lifted a dominatrix outfit from the dresser drawer and wiggled it at Michael suggestively.

This is what you're missing, Michael, she thought silently, replacing the garish leather outfit.

He crossed the room silently and slipped his gloved fingers under her chin, raising her gaze. The fingers drew back and tapped his wrist. She nodded. They were low on time. Nikita wished she didn't have her mask on; she was sure Michael would appreciate the grin curving her face.

They withdrew from the house and back to the van, driving back to the hotel parking garage. They left the van there for Section operatives to retrieve as soon as she and Michael reached their hotel room. They prowled to the back of the hotel, the air of the early morning heavy and muffling the quiet sounds of Nikita connecting her grappling hook to the balcony. She felt a quick caress at her waist as Michael gave her the go-ahead, and she rushed up into the air.

Nikita clambered over the balcony edge and detached her line, backing up to give Michael space to maneuver. She coiled the length of nylon and checked the room as Michael leapt gracefully onto the balcony. They stowed their gear, finding nothing amiss with the hotel room.

"All clear, Birkoff," Nikita muttered. She methodically stripped off her clothes as Michael collected the electronics, and climbed onto the bed. The sheets felt gloriously clean and cool on her weary body. Moments later, she felt the mattress creak and sag with Michael's weight. She automatically rolled towards him, their warm skin touching and tingling with recognition.

"G'night, Michael," she murmured, sighing and nestling her head on his chest over his beating heart. Her arms wrapped themselves around his waist, snuggling against his body heat. Michael brushed her hair away from her face, a soft smile lighting his face as he realized she was already asleep. He risked waking her by lowering his head and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Sleep well, my Nikita."

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

Michael shifted in his sleep and came instantly awake, conscious of the pillowcase pressing into his cheek and the covers muffling his sprawled body. He turned his head, stubble rasping on the linen, and listened. A low hum. Splashing.

Nikita was in the Jacuzzi. Without him.

For Michael, there was only one word that could describe the situation: iniquitous.

Michael rolled out of bed and landed noiselessly on his bare feet, padding across the bedroom and to the bathroom door. He pushed and the door swung inward, revealing Nikita's lean back curving forward. Her hair was tied in a loose knot on the top of her head and her fingers were closing around a courtesy bottle of bubble bath.

Michael leaned his cheek against the door and watched Nikita's ablutions, enraptured. From her posture, he could tell she was smiling as she shook out a sizable dollop of the stuff, the jets producing an instant froth of bubbles. Her arms raised and half-heartedly tried to massage her shoulders, sliding deeper into the steamy water.

Michael could resist no longer. He moved forward and dipped his hands in the water to work at her stiff muscles.

"Were you going to stand there all day?" Nikita drawled, head drooping forward in relaxation.

"I thought about it."

"Get in," she urged, scooting forward. Water sloshed as Michael lowered himself in behind her. She scooted back into the cradle of his thighs and presented her shoulders for his further attention. "Much better," she murmured, gliding her palms over his thick thigh muscles. They sat there in companionable silence, jets whirring and water softly lapping at their skin as Michael worked the kinks out of her back.

"How's your arm?" Nikita mumbled after a while, startled from her doze when her nose dipped into the water. Michael had pulled her back against his chest to halt her from further mishaps until she regained her perspicacity.

"Fine," he replied. Nikita jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. "It's healing."

"Let me see," Nikita ordered, spinning herself around in the Jacuzzi. She unwrapped the bandage and had to concur; Michael's bullet wound was healing rapidly, as usual, and looked much improved despite his recent exertions. She nudged herself forward to examine the injury, holding back a grin as her small breasts continually brushed against his taut chest underwater from the movement of the jets. Michael's finger began tracing up and down her right arm, dipping in and out of the hot water.

"Michael," Nikita said suddenly. "I'm still your Team Leader." She grinned, nudging herself forward and feeling his obvious response to her closeness. It seemed like they were always ready for each other. "I have just one order for you."

"What is it?" Michael asked, moving away from the wall so Nikita could slip her legs around his waist.

"I want you to...relax."

Michael chuckled into her neck, running his teeth down its slick length to nibble at the dip on her shoulder. His hands flexed on her sleek butt, languorously shifting her onto his hardened length. Nikita sighed in pleasure and began caressing his water-slick body as Michael set a tantalizingly slow pace. Her fingers dribbled water down his broad shoulders, trailing down his biceps and forearms, for a moment covering his hands encasing her hips.

The displaced water slapped against the tub walls, increasing in frequency as Michael dipped his head to suckle at the rosy crests of Nikita's breasts. The water was hot, but Michael's velvet tongue was scalding as it circled her damp peaks. He allowed a tortured nipple to slip form his mouth and rubbed his raspy stubble over the aroused tissue. After he finished teasing her breasts, Michael brought one hand up between her shoulder blades. Her puckered nipples pressed against his chest, scraping up and down his damp skin. Nikita bit her lower lip and slid her hands under the water to grip his muscled butt, helping him gyrate her hips over his swollen length.

The water slapped more frantically as their bodies became locked into this pose, eyes blazing, mouths open and panting, a fraction of an inch from touching. The tip of Nikita's tongue appeared at the corner of her lip, transfixing Michael's jade green eyes. Their moist breath commingled and tantalized; Nikita's lips parted farther as she felt the aching, liquid pleasure build to the breaking point.

She realized, a split second before her neck snapped back from her orgasm, that she and Michael hadn't even kissed yet.

Good morning to you, too, Michael, her mind whispered as her body convulsed, shuddering gasps clogging her throat.

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

"Is that everything?" Nikita called, striding through the rooms and doing a visual scan. It wouldn't do to leave anything incriminating. Nikita was sure Madeline would have a few choice words to say if they did.

"Let's go, Nikita," Michael answered from the hall door, his voice distorted by traveling through the two rooms. Nikita sauntered toward his voice, her stiletto heels sinking into the heavy carpet. She and Michael were wearing the same clothes as yesterday. There had been no room in the valise after packing their mission blacks and the equipment.

Michael stood at the door with the valise weighing down one arm, glancing impatiently inside the room. Light reflected off his dark sunglasses and glinted off his cinnamon hair. Nikita's eyes savored the now familiar outfit of a black mesh shirt and those leopard print pants. Nikita had his leather trench coat draped over her arm along with her jacket. It was overwarm in the rooms; she and Michael had spent a long time in the Jacuzzi, and its steam had escaped into the suite.

A flush rose to Nikita's cheeks as they passed the linen closet. Michael's firm hand at her waist kept her from straying inside for another ride. He ushered her inside the elevator, caging her against the wall with his hips and the length of one muscled arm. Nikita smirked as another couple entered the elevator on the way down to the lobby and raised her face for a kiss. Michael obliged, feathering a tempting caress over her lips and pulling away as the elevator reached the ground floor.

They checked out hurriedly and strode to the parking garage. Michael stowed their bag and threw his leg over the saddle of the bike. Nikita secured their coats on the saddle and clambered on behind Michael. Before Michael could start the bike, Nikita leaned forward in an incredible display of her agility and nuzzled his hard thigh. She darted her tongue out and licked at a black leopard spot on his pants.

Nikita rocked herself against one taut buttock as he turned and gazed at her questioningly on the seat. Nikita leaned forward and caught Michael's lips in a lush kiss, hot mouths fusing together for a few heart-pounding seconds. They broke apart when their position became too awkward, Michael half-twisted around on the saddle and Nikita angling her body around his shoulder. She grinned to stop Michael from turning back and delicately licked the small dimple in his chin.

"Just wanted to see if the spots came off," she explained huskily, grinning at him with all the attitude she could muster, knowing it would stir his desires. The skin around his eyes crinkled and Michael swung around, snapping up the kick stand and twisting the key perhaps a touch more quickly than he needed. The motor vibrated to life between their thighs.

Nikita chuckled to herself and settled in for the ride as Michael maneuvered the bike through the levels of the parking garage. Every time Michael took a corner, Nikita took advantage of it and arched herself closer to Michael's broad back. Her fingers idly stroked the thin fabric covering his chest. By the time Michael steered the bike onto a ground level street, Nikita's palm was boldly cupping his arousal.

She taunted and tempted him the entire drive, running her fingers along the natural curves of his muscles and suddenly scraping his skin through the fabric with her fingernails. Nuzzling his neck with her nose and lips, burrowing through a mass of fragrant curls. Nikita massaged his hard thighs, rhythmically rocking her hips forward. Scenery began to blur as Michael sped up with each blatant seduction.

Nikita might have commented on their excessive speed, but she was closely approaching the point where she didn't give a damn if Michael wanted to park the bike so they could go at it on the shoulder of the road.

I'm glad Michael's got such legendary control, Nikita thought. Otherwise, I'd get us arrested...

Nikita's hips rocked forward unconsciously as Michael turned onto their street. He turned his head slightly and shouted over the noises of wind and engine.

"Garage door opener. In my coat."

Nikita clenched her knees around Michael's waist and twisted around to dig in his coat pockets. She went through both outside pockets, finding their house keys, his phone, a pen missing its cap. Nikita moved to the inner breast pocket and triumphantly removed the garage door opener as Michael slowed to turn onto their driveway.

Nikita waved at Lydia, who was standing on her lawn ogling their clothing, a trowel forgotten in her gloved hands. The door creaked up and Michael eased the motorcycle into the garage. He lowered the kick stand with his heel and cut the motor. Nikita eased herself off the bike and stretched, starting towards the door leading into the house.

"Come here, Nikita," Michael ordered.

Nikita flipped her wind-blown hair over her shoulder and approached him slowly. "Yes, Michael?"

The sunglasses came off suddenly, revealing a pair of heated green eyes. Michael's hands closed over her waist and he began dragging her onto his lap, still straddling the bike. Nikita was soon tightly snugged against Michael's throbbing heat. The angled seat made a perfect cradle for their joined hips.

"Lie back," he murmured, eyes blazing and yet...calculating. Nikita didn't particularly feel like denying him and leaned back, the silver motor casing fitting into the curve of her back like it had been made for her. The top of Nikita's head rested against the dash, hips still securely pressed to Michael's warmth. His hands slipped under her thighs and tugged her closer, leaning forward to close his fingers around her dangling wrists. He pulled her arms up and experimentally positioned a wrist against each bike handle.

Satisfied, he released her hands and rested his palms on his knees, hovering his face over hers. "Want to try something, 'Kita?"

"Yeah," was her immediate answer.

Michael's hands were behind his back, unhooking her stiletto pumps. Her fingers itched to trace his pectoral muscles through the tightly clinging fabric. Nikita flicked each one off, the shoes landing with a clack on the cement floor. Michael fingers trailed back, unhooking the straps that held her stockings in place. He eased one stocking off, fingertips playing a torturous game with her flesh, flexing and brushing until Nikita writhed with impatience. Michael draped the stocking around Nikita's neck and proceeded to tease her by sliding off the other one.

Not to be outdone, Nikita tugged at the hem of Michael's mesh shirt and slowly eased it up. She leaned in to taste the skin of his taut abdomen as it appeared, stopping momentarily to lick his flat nipple. Nikita strained upwards and yanked the shirt free of Michael's arms, flinging the garment onto the hood of the car. Her fingers delved into his wind-blown mass of hair, massaging his scalp as she tilted his head up for a kiss. Their mouths melded, tongues searching, tasting silken walls and hard teeth. The kiss deepened and their hips rocked convulsively together, Michael's hands moving to her leather-clad rear to grind her more firmly against his arousal.

Michael lowered her back against the motor casing and took her hand, his body a welcome weight pressing her down on the cool metal. One hand pressed her wrist to the handlebar; the other slowly drew a silky stocking from around her neck. The fabric slid sensually over her skin, and Michael tied her wrist the handlebar in a neat bow. He nuzzled his way down her bare arm, kissing the exposed swelling of her breasts. He took her other hand and slowly slid the other stocking out from around her neck, loosely tying it, as well. His kissed his way down her other arm and up the side of her throat, biting at her jaw.

Nikita's hips bucked as Michael's fingers delved under the hem of her minidress and began working it up, brushing her inner thighs and the crease where her thighs and hips met.

"Hurry, Michael," Nikita whimpered, urgently needing to be filled with the contained heat pressing against her. Michael finished easing her skirt up and his hands went to his waist. Nikita licked her lips and watched with rapt attention as Michael unfastened his leopard-print pants. She arched her back and strained to lift herself up. Michael wrestled the material down, over his heavy arousal and taut butt, so that the fabric bunched at the tops of his thighs.

"Yes," she hissed as she felt Michael's velvet tip rubbing against her slick heat. "Be rough." Michael thrust into her, knocking her hips back against the silver motor casing. Nikita gasped as Michael used the natural incline of the seat to his advantage and let gravity help him thrust more deeply inside her silken walls, thighs flexing underneath her as he used his widely planted feed for leverage. His hands slipped under her and spread across her butt, grinding her forward on his throbbing length with a faint protesting creak of metal.

Nikita's head went back at the incredible feel of his hardness sliding in and out of her. Michael leaned forward with her, hitting her at yet another angle. His mouth nibbled along her exposed throat, lips pinching the delicate skin, his mouth's softness an erotic contrast to his hard arousal. He worried at the spot where her jaw met her neck, sliding his teeth along the sensitized skin.

Nikita whimpered softly as Michael rocked her hips faster, his length delving in and out with a fierce quickness that increased the liquid aching in her groin. Their panting breath stirred the musty air in the cool garage, filling it with the musky scent of mutual arousal. Michael's heels were no longer on the ground; he levered himself into Nikita's depths with the toes of his boots. The soft glow of sweat on Michael's chest and upper lip made Nikita wrench her wrists from the flimsy stockings. She slid her hands over the hot skin of his butt, crushing him to her with an increasing fervor. The cords of her neck stood out as she sought Michael's lips, warring with his velvet tongue.

Michael slid her hips down a bit, scooting back on the saddle without drawing his swollen length from her.

"Mi-chael," Nikita moaned as his hips bore down on her, the new angle crushing them together with a delicious friction. The first deep thrust sent Nikita's muscles into a slow spasm. Her fingers clutched at his hard curves and time slowed down. She could feel every thick inch of him withdrawing and penetrating her contracting walls, his hot breath in her mouth as he continued to taste her. She heard the frantic creaking of the bike as Michael stroked into her bucking hips. The ache blossomed into a spreading warmth, an intense pleasure-pain, as she felt Michael spasm inside her. Their slick, seeking mouths stole the breath from the other's lungs as they strained and spiraled...together...

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

Nikita made a contented noise, muscles slack, metal pressing into her leather-covered back. Michael loomed above her, forearms planted on the handlebars of the motorcycle. She lolled her head to the side, checking on something.

Good, she thought. The garage door is closed...not that it matters now.

They were tightly wedged together in the saddle; Nikita moaned as Michael shifted, pulling her upright and lifting her off the bike. Off him. She sagged against the car, bracing her palms on the hood. Nikita licked her lips as Michael tugged the leopard-skin pants back over his smooth hips, and glanced speculatively at the hood of their sedan.

We'd probably dent it, she thought ruefully as Michael slowly climbed off the bike. She chuckled at the idea of submitting the bill to Section for the body work to pound out a butt-shaped dent. If it weren't for Section, Michael and I would never be able to get automotive insurance.

Michael pressed a kiss to Nikita's temple and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the door.

"What happened?" she gasped, scuffing her bare feet on the cement. Nikita held up Michael's hand, the knuckles red and raw.

"Friction burn," he said, pulling her inside the door.

Friction burn, Nikita thought. Why do I like the sound of that?

"But I didn't -" Nikita stopped in her tracks in the hallway and Michael came up short, still holding her hand. "Michael, I need to ask you a question."

"Yes?" He was staring at her, looking delectable and recently ravished. Lips red. Hair mussed.

Nikita turned around and pulled up her skirt, spreading her hands against the wall to arch her back. "See anything?"

Michael's fingers traced along the smooth, bare curves. "Yes."

"Burns?"

Michael chuckled. "Is that what I'm looking for?"

Nikita tapped her foot impatiently and craned her neck around. "I'm serious, Michael."

"I think this needs a closer inspection," Michael murmured. There was a soft whisper as Michael crouched down, his warm breath on her skin causing Nikita to shiver. Michael's fingers brushed over the curves of her thighs, up over her buttocks and to her hips. He pressed several fluttering kisses to the unblemished skin and rose. "All clear, 'Kita."

Nikita tugged her skirt down, eyes flashing. "I'd better return the favor, Michael." Her hands delved inside the tight waist of the leopard-skin pants, the pads of her fingers caressing his skin in search of injury.

The phone rang.

Nikita let out a frustrated burst of laughter. "And I thought Birkoff was bad!"

Michael began backing towards the phone, taking Nikita with him, her hands still shoved down his pants. He reached back and plucked the phone of the cradle, bringing the receiver to his wickedly grinning lips.

"Hello?"

This is too much, Nikita mused to herself. The man can sound so cool under pressure, but this takes the cake. A chocolate cake with a thick layer of creamy frosting...

Nikita flexed her hands while Michael listened to the caller, his green eyes flaring at her.

"It's for you, dear," Michael said, holding the phone out with one of the most innocent expressions that Nikita had ever seen. Nikita worked her hand up out of Michael's clinging pants, to his soft groan and her grumblings. She snatched the phone out of his hand and shot him a fulminating look.

"Hello? Oh, hi Tracy. No, what news?" Nikita secured the phone between her chin and shoulder and attempted to free her other hand. Michael pulled her closer, which fouled her attempts. "Um, what was that, Tracy? A robbery! Three? You're joking." Nikita swatted at Michael when she finally dragged her other hand free. "No, you're not interrupting anything, Tracy. Michael's just being...uncooperative."

"Am I?" he murmured in her other ear, outlining the shell with his warm tongue.

"Michael," Nikita warned, teeth clenched. She shot him a quelling glance and returned to her conversation. "Sorry about that, Tracy. So, there's an emergency Neighborhood Watch meeting tomorrow? Good. No, of course we'll be there. Thanks. Yeah, talk to you later. Bye."

Nikita replaced the phone and slid her arms around Michael's neck. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"Me?" Michael asked, blinking his green-gray eyes.

Nikita smiled up into his eyes and switched over to mission mode. "Tomorrow. Eighteen-hundred hours. Possible contact with target."

"Understood."

"Until then," Nikita purred, brushing her lips across Michael's. "I believe the lawn needs mowing, Michael."

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

Nikita reclined on the porch in a wicker chair, a sweating glass of lemonade clutched in one hand. She lifted the glass to her forehead and ran the cool exterior over her flushed skin. Her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses as she chafed her wrists on the glass, lips parting unconsciously as Michael made another pass with the lawn mower.

He was wearing a ragged pair of cut-offs, slung low on his hips. Blades of grass clung to his broad, sweaty back and his flexing biceps. Nikita moaned under her breath as Michael turned, her eyes feasting on the pale strings that clung mid-thigh where the jeans ended. The way the soft, light blue material conformed to his muscled body, off-setting his glowing tan.

The way all their female neighbors were inexplicably outside to do yard work and didn't seem to be accomplishing much -- other than producing a copious amount of drool.

Michael brought the lawn mower up to the porch where Nikita sat and cut the motor. He lifted one strong arm and raked his fingers through his hair, lifting the sweaty curls from the back of his neck. He pushed his sunglasses down with a flick of his index finger and rested his elbows on the porch railing. Michael extended his hand and Nikita gave him her half-full glass of lemonade. His fingers closed around the glass; he turned it in his hands until he reached the damp spot where Nikita had been rubbing the glass against her neck. Michael bent his neck and licked and the outside of the glass.

"Tastes like you," he murmured, slanting her a heated glance as he tipped his head back. Nikita licked her suddenly dry lips and watched his Adam's apple work as he swallowed the lemonade. Nikita's feet slid off the railing when Michael brushed the moisture from his lips with the back of his hand, tongue darting out to catch a drop of lemonade in the divot under his nose.

"C'mere," Nikita said, holding out her unsteady hand. Michael slid his warm hand in hers, and Nikita stood, tugging him along as she stepped off the porch and headed for the back yard. Michael quickly caught up to her, his damp skin burning through the thin fabric of her sundress as he looped his arm around her back. Nikita halted in front of the canvas hammock.

"Get in. Face down," she ordered. Michael obliged, kicking off his scruffy sneakers and climbing into the hammock, rolling onto his stomach with the agile grace of a cat. He crossed his arms and rested his head sideways on his forearms. Nikita kicked off her sandals and clambered into the hammock, sitting down on the backs of Michael's thighs. She tucked her legs along his and leaned forward, her strong hands kneading at the damp, flushed skin of his broad shoulders.

Beneath her, Michael's chest rumbled in pleasure as she worked on a knot in his neck. Nikita massaged his entire back, the shoulders down to the small of his back. Nikita jokingly started chopping her hands along his back like she always saw on TV.

"'Kita," Michael warned, his voice burred and punctuated by her hard chops with the sides of her hands.

"Isn't this relaxing, Michael?" Nikita teased, sliding her palms over his shoulders and leaning forward to kiss the sweaty skin on the back of his neck. She licked her lips and craved more of the salty tang of Michael's skin, darting her tongue out to lick a circle onto his neck.

"Nikita?"

Nikita jerked her head up in the direction of the voice. Tracy stood at the hedge, wringing her hands and looking embarrassed. "What is it, Tracy?"

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" she asked, crossing into Michael and Nikita's yard.

"'Course not," Nikita said, levering herself into a sitting position again. A small frown appeared on her face, her hands idly caressing Michael's bare skin. "Something wrong?"

"Well, yes and no," Tracy said, walking over to a walnut tree and digging at the bark with her fingernails. "George is finally putting in the new hot water heater that I've been begging him for since February."

"That's good, isn't it?" Nikita asked. Absentmindedly, she traced Michael's backbone with her index finger while Tracy pulled more bark off the tree.

"Men can be so stubborn!" Tracy blurted with asperity. She ripped a large chunk of bark off and flung it. "He's going to hurt himself, I just know it!"

Nikita could feel Michael stirring underneath her and caught his silent message. "If you're worried that he's going to do some damage trying to do it all himself, maybe I can help?"

"What?" Tracy asked, blinking at Nikita owlishly. "I wouldn't ask that of -"

"I meant," Nikita laughed, holding up her hand. "Can I offer you Michael's services?"

Tracy practically wilted with relief. She tugged on her haphazard ponytail. "Would you?"

Nikita grinned and gave Michael a light slap on the butt. "Do you mind my pimping you for a while, Michael?" Out of the corner of her eye, Nikita saw Tracy blush furiously.

"Do I get a cut?" Michael murmured beneath her, his eyes closed.

"Of course. I'll pay you in cookie currency," Nikita answered, letting out a tense breath when he responded to the joke.

"What kind?" he asked, a little grin curving his soft lips.

Nikita tapped her chin. "Peanut butter cookies with chocolate kisses," she decided.

Michael's body heaved beneath her and they spilled out of the hammock; Michael caught her to his chest, landing neatly on his feet. "Deal."

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

"Are you sure it's all right?" Tracy asked, following Nikita into the air-conditioned house.

Nikita laughed and began banging the kitchen cupboards in search of ingredients. "Help me make these cookies, and we'll call it even."

Tracy took the mixing bowl from Nikita's outstretched hand and hugged it to her chest. "Michael won't hurt himself, will he? I mean -"

"Tracy," Nikita interrupted, resting her flushed cheek against an open cupboard. "Michael will be fine. He leads an..." Nikita paused, searching for an appropriate euphemism for what she and Michael did. "He leads an active life style. He knows his limits."

Actually, the man doesn't know his limits. But I can't tell Tracy that Michael routinely runs around with multiple bullet wounds, can I? Nikita said to herself.

Tracy grinned suddenly, tucking back a strand of brown hair that had escaped from her ponytail. "I sort of noticed that Michael looks like he works out," she said.

Oh, you have no idea, Nikita thought to herself. Michael's got stamina like you wouldn't -

Nikita abruptly jerked her mind away from thoughts of Michael's lean body lifting the hot water heater, his sweat-sheened muscles straining, his cinnamon curls sticking to his forehead.

If I keep thinking along those lines, I'll burn the damn cookies, she told herself.

*

Michael rounded the corner of the house and saw George wrestling with the enormous hot water heater that sat on the back of a pickup truck. His T-shirt was already sweat-stained and he was ordering his sullen son around.

"No, Tim, more to the left," George growled, a trickle of sweat sliding from beneath his graying hair. "Left!"

Michael padded up to the truck silently and rested his forearms on the edge, disregarding the fact that the sun-heated metal was burning his skin and the bullet wound to his arm was itching under its innocuous Band-Aids.

"Need a hand?"

"Jesus!" George bellowed, nearly dropping the heater on his foot as he spun around and glared at Michael. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Michael's lips quirked and he pulled down his sunglasses. "I think you can handle that on your own."

George rolled his eyes and fisted his hands on his hips. "Don't tell me. My wife sent you over here."

"No," Michael said. "My wife did."

"But it was Tracy's doing, wasn't it?" George snapped. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his forehead.

"Actually," Michael said, sensing he was treading on slippery macho territory, "I think they wanted to get me out of the way to talk. They bribed me with cookies if I'd go away."

"Really?" George asked, glancing at his son. Tim had collapsed on the lawn, his arm flung over his face to block out the sun.

"Yes."

"You wouldn't happen to have anything to do for the next few hours, would you?" he hedged.

"No." Michael smiled and swung himself into the bed of the truck. "I'll lower, you catch." George jumped out of the truck and moved to stand behind the tail-gate, grasping the lower portion of the heater.

"Careful," George called, waking up his son.

"Wow," the teenager breathed, watching Michael's muscles bulge as they slowly lowered the heater to the asphalt of the driveway. "How much can you lift?"

Michael blinked the sweat out of his eyes and stared thoughtfully at the young man. "Enough."

They loaded the hot water heater onto a dolly and maneuvered it into the house. George banged a pipe into the doorway as they pushed it through the door, knocking a chip of wood loose. George cursed when Michael asked if he had any carpenter's glue and they rolled the dolly to the stairs leading into the basement.

"It's times like these that I wish we'd put in an elevator," George grumbled, taking the bottom and backing down the stairs.

A little more than half-way down the steps, Michael heart a faint protest of over-stressed metal. He automatically braced his legs and clamped his hands tighter on the dolly's handles.

"Get out of the way," he ground out, just as the dolly began to come apart.

"Hell if I will!" George shouted back.

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

"I think they're done," Nikita announced, pulling the oven door open wider and plucking a hot pad from the counter. She pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven and held them up for Tracy's inspection.

"Okay," Tracy shrugged, craning her neck to see out the kitchen window behind the sink.

Nikita put the cookie sheet on hot pads to cool down and gave Tracy a measuring glance. "I think I might dye my hair red. You know, just to see how it looks."

"That's nice," Tracy answered, standing up on her tip toes and pressing her nose against the glass.

"I also wondered if you wanted to join in a threesome with me and Michael, 'cause your husband is gonna be tired after all that lifting."

"Sure."

Nikita's hand closed over Tracy's shoulder. "Please don't tell me you let your children ask you for things when you're like this?"

"What?" Tracy asked, turning away from the window and the disappearing light. She frowned and struggled to remember the conversation of the past few minutes.

"So what do you think?" Nikita asked, noting by Tracy's blush that the older woman certainly remembered what she had been asked.

"Cookies are done," Tracy said. "You should put the last batch in. Don't dye your hair; blondes have more fun, right?" Tracy nibbled on a hangnail, her eyes darting back to the window and her house. "And, um, don't you need to ask Michael first?"

Nikita didn't answer the question. She padded to the hallway and flung open the back door. Michael had just reached the steps, face tired and hair tousled; he had skirted around the other side of the house, invisible from the kitchen window.

"Michael," Nikita greeted, waving him inside with a quick kiss to his sweaty, stubbled cheek. He kicked off his shoes and followed her into the kitchen. In the better light, Nikita noticed that he had a bundle of paper towels clutched in each hand, and he seemed to have a few small scratches on his chest and arms.

"Good news," Michael said upon seeing Tracy. "You have hot water now. The bad news is that there was an accident. George may have broken a few toes."

Tracy's face had gone white at the thought of an accident. "Oh, thank God, he's alright?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Michael," Tracy said, flinging her arms around his bare shoulders and giving him a quick hug.

Nikita showed Tracy out and paced back into the kitchen. "Show me your hands." Michael let the bloody paper towels fall onto the kitchen counter. "Oh, Michael," she hissed, taking his scraped palms into her hands. "Tell me what really happened."

"The dolly came apart when we were on the stairs," Michael grunted as Nikita took his hands and ran a stream of cold water over the raw skin. "It wasn't an accident, Nikita."

"What?"

Michael gave her a long look, his thick lashes lowering over his green eyes. "I was an anomaly. George was supposed to be lowering the heater down the stairs with his son. It was meant to fall on him."

"You mean -" Nikita said, her voice faltering and going flat. "It was supposed to be another accident. George was supposed to die." Cold water sluiced over both their hands, forgotten in the realization that they were still on a mission.

"Yes."

"George works for the Agency as an analyst," Nikita recalled slowly.

"He was next on Nelson's list."

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

Nikita daubed at Michael's raw palms with a fresh paper towel and suppressed a deep sigh. If Nelson was on the move again, then meeting him tomorrow was that much more important. They needed to get invited into Nelson's house and his organization before he arranged another accident for George.

"Here, have a cookie," Nikita said, stuffing a peanut butter cookie between Michael's lips as she probed the cuts. His eyes widened at the invasion before his jaw worked to chew the cookie. Nikita leaned in and ran her tongue along his lips to catch the golden crumbs, tasting the mixture of musk and sugary peanut butter.

"We need to advance the timeline," Michael murmured as she reluctantly turned her attention to the smaller scratches on his forearms and abdomen.

Nikita tossed the bloodied towels into the garbage. "We'll work on the profile tomorrow," Nikita answered, stepping back and tugging Michael to the stairs. "You need to get cleaned up."

Michael allowed himself to be pulled up the stairs after glancing down at himself. His skin was covered with drying sweat, grass clippings, grease and blood. "'Kita, how -" he broke off, spreading his bloody palms and cocking his curly head.

"Get in the tub. I'll wash," Nikita explained, bending over the edge and twisting the taps. She brushed his hands aside as they went to the snap of his cut-offs and tugged the damp material down his sleek hips. Nikita lightly nuzzled Michael's thighs with her lips as she drew herself upright.

"You're overdressed," Michael murmured. He stepped closer and ran the back of his hand down Nikita's tanned arm.

"You're dirty," Nikita quipped, slipping her arms around his lean waist and pulling him back towards the tub. She bit her lip as Michael stiffly lowered himself into the hot water, lids drooping as he reclined and pressed his head against the tiled wall.

I'll just bet he pulled a few muscles, Nikita groused silently.

Nikita settled her hip on the lip of the tub and leaned over Michael's body to grab the soap and sponge. She paused when she felt Michael's eyes on her and grinned down at his heavy-lidded gaze. "Penny for your thoughts," Nikita said, leaning in farther to scrub Michael's chest. At his lazy half-grin, Nikita tweaked his nose with the sponge. "I'll bet you've got just one thing on your mind..."

"I was wondering if I get compensation for an on-the-job injury." Michael held up his hands out of the water, sloshing the skirt of Nikita's dress.

She pursed her lips and regarded her wet skirt with narrowed eyes. "Michael..." Nikita began, then thought better of it and stood up. She shucked her dress off and had one toe in the still steaming water when she smelled smoke. "The cookies!"

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

Nikita bit her lip as she wrestled the smoking cookie sheet onto the counter. The crisped and shriveled masses that formerly were cookies assaulted her nose with a charcoal stench. Had she waited another minute, she and Michael might have met the firemen from the local fire department. Nikita sighed and picked up the pan, preparing to douse the smoking heaps in the sink.

I wonder if the firemen around here have thighs like Michael, Nikita thought, snatching a spatula.

"Don't."

Nikita whirled to see Michael leaning against the counter with a white towel slung low around his hips. Rivulets of water flowed down his broad chest and muscled legs, onto the linoleum. "Michael, it's going to set the fire alarm off."

Michael plucked one of the undamaged cookies from the counter and gestured with it. "If you put the baking sheet under cold water, it will warp the metal." He took a bite out of the peanut butter confection, idly dusting the crumbs from his gleaming chest.

"What should I do, then?" Nikita stamped her bare foot in frustration. Michael didn't answer right away, his eyes focused on the rest of Nikita's bare body.

"Leave them," he advised, flicking his heated gaze up to meet her eyes.

"Fine," Nikita decided, abruptly dropping the tray. She crossed the floor in two long strides and pressed herself to Michael's length. "How's this?"

"Better," Michael murmured, levering himself away from the counter. "But you're not wet." His fingers trailed down her arms.

"Not yet," Nikita agreed, allowing Michael to turn her around and back her to the stairs.

"Ignore it," Michael ordered softly when the doorbell rang just as Nikita ascended the first step.

"But it might be important," Nikita whispered. "You get the door, I'll get wet." She turned and bounded up the stairs. Nikita heard him mutter something about "cruel and unusual punishment" as she waved from the top of the stairs and ducked into the bathroom.

Michael's wet feet slapped on the linoleum as he made his way to the front door. He checked the windows; when no one appeared to be there, Michael slipped immediately into mission mode and cautiously cracked open the door.

A little girl stood on the porch in a green uniform, an order form clutched in her hands. A woman, presumably her mother, stood just behind her looking harried.

"Yes?" Michael said, swinging the door open a bit wider.