Ding dong.

Geez, not more of them.

Ding dong.

Can't the little buggers' own stupid parents buy them candy?

Dingdongdingdongdingdong.

"Geez--" I threw open the door.

"Trick or treat, mademoiselle."

Oh, geez! Treat was right. Those eyes, those lips, that hair . . .

"Bon 'alloween." He shook the plastic pumpkin in his hand. A few Tootsie Rolls rattled unceremoniously. "Trick or treat, ma cherie."

Oh geez. The green eyes sparkled. My breathing nearly stopped. The lips quivered sensuously. My pulse pounded. The hair rippled in the late October wind.

Oh, geez.

"May I come in?"

Wordlessly, I let him pass, the red satin of his costume susurrating to me, whispering sensuous, seductive wordless messages . . .

Oh, geez.

"You like my costume? I thought you might."

I nodded. Bravely I thought at the time, although in retrospect it may have been the only physical action I could take, I reached out and traced the letter on his midrift.

"M." He smiled. "For me."

I traced it again, the soft round curves over the hard muscles of his abdomen. "M," he said again. "For Michael."

I sighed. "Michael and me."

"Of course, ma truffle," he whispered back. He embraced me, pulled me close. I could smell him the sweetness of nougat, smooth as milk chocolate, with an underlying bite of bitter cocoa just for interest.

He kissed me then, like Godiva melting on the tongue. We went on and on, clinging like caramel to the other's lips. when we parted, it was like that final rush of sugar from the last nonpariel.

"I must go, my bon-bon," he said. "Back to them--to Section. But I will return."

He left then, but I knew he'd be back.

I would never doubt the word of a man who would dress as an M & M just for me.

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