The taxi pulled up in front of the chateau. Michael grabbed their suitcase from the trunk and paid the driver. The driver stared at the bills in his hand, then at Michael. Michael stared back. The driver broke eye contact first.

Nikita playfully swatted Michael’s arm. "Stop that. You can’t keep intimidating the taxi drivers into accepting a smaller tip. It’s not fair." She chuckled just the same, knowing that if she saw that look in Michael’s eyes, she would have backed off, too.

He smiled, looking considerably more relaxed than the previous day. Nikita studied him. He looked good in faded jeans and a bright green cotton sweater that brought out the color of his eyes. "What are you looking at?" Michael asked.

"You. Bad boy." She giggled and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Where have you taken me?"

"To Paradise?" He laughed when he saw the skeptical look on her face.

"Yeah, right, Michael." She surveyed the fading structure before them with something less than enthusiasm. "It’s a little...um...rundown, isn’t it?"

"It’s rustic, Kita."

She frowned. The gardens looked ill-kept, what flowers there were crowded out by weeds and bugs. The pond in front would have been charming had it not been filled with pond scum. The cobblestone walk which led to the entrance was missing chunks of Belgian block, and walking on it looked like it might be lethal for anyone with weak ankles or high heels.

"Is it too late to turn around and go home?"

Michael put his arm around Nikita. He dropped the suitcase for a moment and pointed at the crumbling facade that made up the outside of the once-grand chateau. "We are home, in a way, Kita."

She eyed him dubiously. "No way."

He nodded. A wistful expression appeared in his vivid green eyes as he continued to look at the old structure. "This place has been in my family for years. Hundreds of years."

Nikita stared at him in shock. "Are you serious?"

He smiled sadly. "It is falling by the wayside, Kita, and it makes me sad to see it this way. There is no one in residence who cares about the chateau or its history. I can’t claim it. I’m supposed to be dead, remember?"

Nikita hugged Michael tightly, pressing her face against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath her ear. "Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry."

"Don’t be, doucette. I wanted to share it with you. But I wish you could have seen it through my eyes as a boy here. During the summer, we would come here, and I loved the gardens. That was my job." He stroked her hair absently, lost in reverie. He extended an arm, waving at the expanse of faded blossoms as if he could still see them in all their former glory.

"I loved working with the earth. It made me feel so...I don’t know, close to nature, I guess. This was such a grand place once, Kita. I wish you could have seen it."

She struggled to see the vestiges of magnificence reflected in Michael’s eyes. She never would have dreamed that this chateau was connected somehow to Michael’s past life. Sighing, she played with Michael’s hair, catching a curling tendril in her fingers, then releasing it. "Michael...who do these people think you are?"

"I made a reservation here, just like anyone else, Kita. It would be dangerous to do anything different." He looked away, and she knew he was fighting the stranglehold his mind had on his emotions.

She smiled, and it was as if the sun had come from behind a cloud, suddenly brightening the day and improving its clarity. "I love it, Michael."

He returned the smile, his eyes somewhat darkened by remembrance of things past. "And I love you, Kita."

***

Birkoff threw the silverware into the kitchen sink with a sploosh. Walter turned around and fixed Birkoff with a look that would have made Michael proud. Water dripping off his chin, Walter stared into Birkoff’s eyes until Birkoff put up both hands in protest. "What??"

"You did that on purpose, didn’t you?"

"Of course not! What are you--crazy?" Birkoff would have walked away then, but Walter grabbed him by the arm.

"Don’t mess with me, boy. I’m not in a charitable mood."

"Huh! Tell me about it. You’ve been in a blue funk ever since Nikita left with Michael for their honeymoon. I’m surprised you even let them go."

Walter’s eyes narrowed. "Why, I oughta--"

Declan walked in and went directly to the source of the trouble. "Walter, not in my kitchen. There’s a perfectly good lawn in the back where you boys can play to your heart’s content."

Walter whirled around, zeroing in on Declan now. "And that’s another thing, Declan."

Declan stood with legs apart, arms akimbo. "You don’t want to go there, Walter. Trust me." Suddenly Declan looked every bit as dangerous as Michael. It didn’t matter that their coloring was completely different, or that Declan was taller and thinner. He had the look. The look that bespoke power. Control.

Walter exhaled loudly. "I’m sorry, Declan. It’s just that I miss Sugar." He looked miserable for a moment.

"We all do, Walter," Declan echoed. "Interesting though, you didn’t say you missed Michael." Declan’s storm grey eyes glinted mischievously.

Walter snorted. "Oh, hell, he can take care of himself. He’s been doing it for years. Besides, Michael’s not pregnant with my first grandchild."

Birkoff giggled, wondering if Walter realized what he’d said. Declan raised an eyebrow imperiously at Birkoff. "Walter, you’re a strange and wonderful man."

Walter’s chest visibly puffed out as he grinned at Declan. "Why, thank you, Declan. Always nice to meet someone who can recognize a man of my breeding and good taste."

"Ah, that’s what it is then. Must be the cook in me, I love things that taste good."

Declan’s eyes twinkled, and Birkoff choked on a shard of laughter so sharp, it nearly cut his throat.

Walter colored and sputtered, but no sound came out. Birkoff laughed aloud, finally, feeling relieved that he could release the laughter at last. "Damn, Declan, you gotta teach me that trick. Making Walter speechless."

Michael inserted the key into the old lock and it turned with a creaking protest. He shrugged. "Even the locks are ancient. At least, we don’t need to worry about security. There’s nothing left here worth stealing."

Nikita looked into the spacious bedroom before her. "This room overlooks the gardens. It must have been beautiful when the flowers were in bloom, Michael."

He nodded. "I asked for their best room." He hefted the suitcase up and onto the bed. A huge, queen-sized bed dominated the room, its four posters draped with gauzy white material, making a sensual enclave for those within. The walls themselves were a pale mauve, which made Nikita smile, remembering how Michael had fought her on painting their own bedroom that color. Nikita sat down on the edge of the bed. It was like sinking into a soft pile of goosedown.

"Michael? Have you ever thought about finding a way to restore this place? Maybe you could make a mysterious donation..."

Michael pulled her hair away from the back of her neck and pressed a kiss to her nape. He rested his hands on her shoulders. "I would like that, Kita. Maybe Birkoff could help me hide the source of the money."

She closed her eyes peacefully at his loving touch. "I’m sure he could."

"I would like to leave a legacy for our children," Michael said with a trace of uncharacteristic emotion. Nikita turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I like the sound of that." She pressed her face against his middle.

"Are you tired, doucette?" He unconsciously stroked her hair, as if reassuring himself that she was still there, still his.

"Just a little." She stood up and stretched her arms wide. "Do we have time for a tour before dinner?"

He nodded. "Sure. It’s still light out."

They left the room, Michael pocketing the ancient key. The corridor was dimly lit, but in some ways, it was more romantic that way. However, Michael, automatically worried that Nikita would find some hidden hazard and stumble, held her hand tightly. When they came to the stairwell, Michael hesitated at the top. "I’ll go first."

Nikita kissed him tenderly. "Michael, I like the way you make me feel so protected."

He laughed softly. "That’s not what you used to say, Kita." He rubbed her nose with his finger. "You used to hate it."

Nikita’s gaze fell across Michael’s face like a soft blue light. "I didn’t hate it. I didn’t understand it."

"And now you do?"

"Yes," she replied, in much the same sibilant whisper that Michael used. "I think you loved me even then."

"I know I did." His mouth claimed hers fiercely, and he pressed her back against the wall, not wishing to chance either of them falling down the old stairwell.

***

By the time they came downstairs, it was nearly time for dinner. But Michael wanted to show Nikita the grounds while it was still daylight. They walked quietly, arms wrapped around each other, past the gardens. Oddly, Nikita didn’t notice how unkempt their borders were anymore. Everything seemed different to her now, seen through Michael’s eyes. There was a lake, with boats for rowing, though Michael considered that much too dangerous for Nikita to chance. There were the stables, though there were no horses being kept any longer.

Michael stopped in front of the stables. "I learned to ride here. It’s a shame there are no horses anymore, but I can see why. There is barely enough coming in to keep up the main house."

"Well, they won’t get rich off us staying here for a week."

"No, but maybe we’ll find a way to do something about this. Thank you, Kita."

"For what?"

"For doing what you always do. You give me hope when I most need it and least expect it."

Michael’s eyes gleamed like jade in the waning light as they met Nikita’s. "I love you, Michael," she whispered, though they were alone and there was no need to do so.

He slid a finger under her chin, cupping her face for his kiss, promising himself that he would take only one. Their lips met briefly, and he could not help himself. Only one more. He closed his eyes, and his lips nudged hers apart, deepening the kiss. When he stopped, he was breathless, his hair falling into mild disarray around his face.

"Doucette...we’re going to miss dinner..."

She smiled knowingly. "I didn’t come all this way for dinner."

***

Walter sniffled. He was getting a cold. He was not getting emotional. Ha! Who was he kidding? He couldn’t even fool Birkoff with that one.

He sat out on the front porch of the house they shared and wondered what Sugar was doing right now. No, he thought impatiently, that was not a productive line of thought, as Birkoff would say. He knew what she was doing. He just didn’t understand why she and Michael couldn’t do it closer to home.

He laughed at himself. Here he was, having separation anxiety over a grown woman. A grown woman who had recently declared herself his daughter. A grown woman who was having his first and probably only grandchild. Sometimes he felt so much for Sugar, he felt overwhelmed by it. That was when he spared a thought for how Michael must feel. Sugar was so damned easy to love. She was like a life force they were all drawn to. They had all been dead or sleeping so long, thanks to Section, and she brought them all back to life.

Birkoff crept onto the porch quietly, so as not to disturb Walter. He slid down onto the steps, next to Walter, and settled. Walter glanced at Birkoff, who seemed unusually quiet, even for him.

"What’s up, little buddy?" Walter said, almost cheerfully.

Birkoff shrugged. "House seems so dark without Nikita in it, Walter. You know, like she took all the light with her."

He nodded. "I hear you, Seymour."

"But she has to have a life, too, Walter. I mean, sometimes I feel jealous because Michael has her all to himself, y’know? But that’s not fair to her. Or Michael."

Declan stepped onto the porch behind the two men. "How the hell did you get so much insight at such an age, Birkoff?"

Birkoff whirled around and faced Declan. Declan looked somber. But maybe it was the fading light.

"You haven’t been here long enough to understand exactly what I mean, Declan."

"But I do understand, Birkoff. I’ve lived the Section life. I’ve tried...to have a life outside. But as much as I love Madeline and what she’s done for me, my life has never been as rich or as full as when I came here. With you people."

Walter stared at Declan. "Really?"

Declan knelt down between the two men. "Really. I’ve never fit in anywhere. Not in Section. Not outside. But here...it was like finding my long-lost family." He clapped a hand on Birkoff’s shoulder. "Just wanted you to know," he said softly.

Walter smiled. "It’s really true then, things are not always what they seem."

"In my life, they never are." Declan shook his head, ponytail wagging charmingly behind him.

Birkoff extended a hand, and the other two looked blankly at it, before suddenly clapping their own hands over his. "All for one, and one for all, just like the Three Musketeers, huh?"

Declan laughed. "And we all know what an unlikely trio they were."

Walter joined the laughter, his weathered face creasing in a wide grin. "Hell, they had nothin’ on us."

Michael looked longingly in the direction of the stables. "If I were a wayward highwayman, Kita, I could carry you in there and have my wicked way with you. But alas..."

Nikita’s eyes opened wide, instantly warming to the image of Michael as highwayman. "But what?"

Michael chuckled. "But...I am just a man with a pregnant wife...who needs to eat more than anything else."

Nikita rolled her eyes. "Did you swear allegiance to Neil, Michael? I swear, between you, him and Declan, I’m starting to hate eating."

"Then I’ll just have to make it more interesting."

***

That was a challenge if she’d ever heard one. Michael agreed they didn’t need to dress for dinner, which relieved Nikita no end. She casually plaited her long hair into one thick braid, which lay down her back almost to her waist now. The dining room was, as expected, nearly empty. It occurred to Nikita that Michael might have planned things this way, but just as quickly, she dismissed that thought. Michael could not possibly control every aspect of their lives, no matter how much it seemed that way at times.

They took a table in the corner of the room, preferring to be as isolated as possible. Though Michael nodded to the other occupants, he really had no desire to make polite conversation with people he didn’t know. He wasn’t here to make friends and bond with anyone other than his wife. His eyes slid slowly over her. She was the one bright spot in his life. It didn’t matter if he was looking back or looking ahead. She was the constant that kept his small portion of the universe in synch.

His fingers reached for hers across the table, until the tips touched. Content now, Michael picked up the menu. "Do you want me to order for you?"

"Can I stop you?" she said with a wry grin.

"Not a chance." He gave her that half-smile that drove her crazy, and she dropped her eyes, feeling as if they had just met and he was seducing her all over again.

"I presume you don’t want anything exotic, like snails...or..." Nikita grimaced at the mere mention of snails.

"You order anything that crawls and I’ll show you something that will make morning sickness pale by comparison." Nikita shook her head ferociously. "Ugh."

He chuckled. "You don’t want French food then."

"God, no, Michael. No offense intended."

"None taken. I don’t care all that much for it myself." He grinned at her, knowing that once more, he had surprised her.

"You don’t? I just assumed--"

"Nope. All those rich sauces. I always thought they were covering up something I’d be better off not seeing anyway."

Nikita laughed heartily, momentarily drawing the attention of the few other people in the dining room. She immediately quieted, not caring for the looks she received.

Michael grasped her hand and pressed his mouth to the back. "Don’t worry about them, Kita. We’re the only ones who matter." The tip of his tongue flicked out and licked her hand, disconcerting her. She giggled.

The waiter approached finally, and Michael ordered for both of them. Grilled chicken, baked potatoes, and green beans with almonds. Salad. His only concession to Nikita’s normal way of eating. "You can have the salad, doucette, but only if you eat at least half of everything else."

She liked negotiating with Michael over food. It did make the meal more interesting. Especially since he promised her things if she ate well. And he always kept his promises.

"Can I have dessert tonight, Michael?" She knew she was teasing him unmercifully, but she couldn’t help herself. He was such fun to tease.

He nodded. "Count on it."

***

When they finished eating, Nikita was pleasantly sated. Why, if I was Josephine, I’d be purring right now, she thought. Michael waved at the waiter, and a few moments later, the waiter produced a large bowl of vanilla ice cream, topped with fresh strawberries.

"Oh, Michael, I couldn’t."

"Yes, you can, Kita. The baby wants something sweet." He pulled the spoon through the ice cream and held it to her mouth. She smiled. "Are you going to feed me, Michael?" she asked huskily.

"Uh huh," he replied, letting the ice cream dribble slowly into her waiting mouth.

"Ooh, it’s cold." She licked her lips, clearing the white flecks of ice cream that clung to her mouth.

He picked up a strawberry, dipped it into the sugar bowl and popped it into her mouth. Her lips closed around the end of his finger, trapping it there for a moment. They both felt a sensual response to her action.

He raised an eyebrow. "Bad girl..."

"You love it," she giggled.

"No comment," he said, dropping his gaze to the bowl of ice cream, but his lips curved upwards.

They went on this way for several moments, until Nikita had consumed the strawberries, if not the whole bowl of ice cream. "Please, no more," she protested.

Michael nodded. "See? All you need is a little incentive and you perform very well."

Nikita coughed. "Offer me something I really want and see what happens, Michael."

He almost blushed at that. He signed for their dinner, charging it to their room. When they returned to their room, the elderly housekeeper was just leaving. "You must be the newlyweds," she said in barely intelligible English.

Michael nodded. The housekeeper gave him an odd look, then walked away slowly, muttering something about a storm coming.

When they entered the room, the dim light merely enhanced the romantic atmosphere. What light there was filtered through the gauzy material clinging to the four-postered bed, giving it a soft, almost diffused look. Michael closed the door and braced a chair under the doorknob, making it impossible to open from the outside. Nikita looked at him questioningly.

"You said we didn’t need to worry about the security."

"Yes, but the nosy staff is something else."

They undressed without speaking, and Michael turned off the light. The full moon outside came through the window, lighting Nikita’s hair and body, turning it silvery-white. She lay down on the bed, not bothering to wear her usual oversized T-shirt, wondering if Michael had noticed.

He noticed. It was the first thing he noticed. Bare- chested, he slid onto his side on the bed, wearing only pajama pants. She smiled. "You’re wearing pajamas?"

"Well, we’re away from home, and you know what they say, suppose there were a fire?"

She stretched like the feline she resembled at times. "Then I guess if I’m gonna burn, I’m gonna burn..."

He reached out and touched her face. "Only if I can come with you."

"If you insist."

***

Hours later, they were awakened by the sound of thunder. Lightning laced the night skies, and Michael felt Nikita shudder next to him. She awoke with an almost-scream on her lips, and he held her. "It’s okay, doucette, I’m here."

She looked up at him sleepily, the bedcovers a curious tangle around and beneath her. "Thought I heard thunder."

"You did. Storm’s moving in."

She sighed. "I’m not superstitious, Michael. Are you?"

Michael shrugged. "You mean, is it some kind of omen? I don’t think so, Kita."

Unconsciously sliding his hands over her lithe form, Michael abruptly stopped, as if electrified. "Kita!"

She nearly sat up at the change in his tone. "What is it, Michael?"

"You’re not completely flat anymore."

"Well, I know my breasts could be bigger, Michael, but that’s not--"

"No, no, Kita. Your abdomen. It’s getting rounder. Just the tiniest bit." It was the awe in his voice that grabbed her. She felt tears come to her eyes. She ran her hands through his hair as he lay his face across her middle, kissing her abdomen once before settling there.

He looked up at her, green eyes unreadable in the darkness of night, despite the moonlight. "You better not be crying, doucette."

"I’m not," she lied.

"Good," he agreed, knowing she lied. "I love you, my Kita."

"I love you, too, Michael."

They slept until sunlight poured through the windows, turning the room a pastel pink. Nikita yawned and stretched, her arm coming in contact with a firm but smooth chest. Michael opened his eyes and smiled sleepily, his arm still wrapped around her waist. "Good morning."

She blinked at the harshness of the light. "Um, I think it’s closer to afternoon."

"Can’t be. I never sleep that late."

"Maybe I tired you out." Nikita grinned almost shyly.

His eyes darkened to moss green. "Would you like to find out?"

"Michael, we can’t just stay in bed all day," she protested weakly.

He leaned over and licked her earlobe. "Why not?" He ran his hands over Nikita’s chest and she groaned. "Ummm....I’m thinking."

"Think fast," he said with a chuckle, latching onto her neck with one hand. He bent his head to nuzzle her neck, then kissed her mouth with more tenderness than urgency. With his fingertips strumming against her cheek and into her hairline, she relaxed against him.

"Still thinking?" he asked with a bit of a smile. She nodded in a vaguely preoccupied way.

"Need help making up your mind?" he asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Mmm, that one went directly to my brain."

He laughed wholeheartedly, then sobered as he looked at her in earnest. "You’re starting to look much more relaxed, doucette. No bad dreams?"

She shook her head. "Not last night. I kept dreaming about the baby. I think it’s a boy."

"I think it’s a girl."

"You do? Why?" She cocked her head curiously at him. He shrugged.

"Wishful thinking, maybe."

"You want a girl?"

He looked vaguely uncomfortable with where the conversation was going. There were still issues in his head that he had yet to resolve. It would be a bad idea to get into them here and now. "I want our baby to be healthy."

"Then it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl." Nikita pronounced with a finality that Michael admired, if only because it effectively closed the subject. For now.

He kissed her lightly and got out of bed. Extending a hand to her, he helped her up, feeling her mold her body to his as she stood. She kissed him, her fingers soon hopelessly enmeshed in his cinnamon brown hair. "I miss our rocking chair," she whispered saucily into his ear.

"We’ll improvise," he replied.

***

Lunch was routine. Nikita ate as Michael directed, but her heart wasn’t in it. She wanted the baby to be healthy, but she just could not fathom why anyone would need such large quantities of food, pregnant or not.

She dabbed politely at her mouth with a napkin. "What are we going to do today, Michael?"

"We could go for a walk."

"Or?" Nikita looked impatient.

Michael sighed. "You’re worse than me at relaxing, Kita."

"I’m used to doing a million things, usually all at once. Being trained to work under pressure does that."

She frowned, as if she had just thought of something disquieting. "And I miss Walter...and Birkoff...and even Declan. I wonder what they’re doing."

"Not thinking about us, I’m sure."

***

Birkoff shifted uneasily on his knees. He was attempting to weed the garden that Nikita had started in the backyard. It was hopelessly overgrown with weeds and at this point, it was hard to tell the weeds from the struggling plants that were trying to surface. His hands dirty, he wiped the sweat from his face, inadvertently streaking dirt across his cheeks.

"Walter!" he yelled.

Walter immediately came running at a trot. "What is it, Birkoff? Did you hear from Sugar?"

Birkoff glanced at the cell phone lying in the grass next to him. "No messages. Guess they must be having too much fun to think about us, Walter."

Walter shrugged and seemed to grow smaller before Birkoff’s eyes. "I guess so."

Birkoff felt compelled to offer something hopeful. He couldn’t stand that wounded look in Walter’s eyes. He wanted to shake him and say, Nikita isn’t dead, she’s just on her honeymoon. But he knew it would do no good. The older man was quite honestly pining for his newfound daughter. Nothing would help. Except maybe a phone call from Nikita.

"Hey, Walter, maybe she’ll call tonight."

Walter’s blue eyes brightened. "Yeah, maybe. Don’t lose the phone, Birkoff, I don’t wanna miss a message."

"You can count on me, Walter."

Walter strode away, a tiny bit less lost than a moment ago, and for that, Birkoff was thankful. He didn’t want to rain on anyone’s parade, but he wasn’t sure if Walter would last the entire week without hearing from Nikita.

***

Nikita lay on her back in the grass. Michael leaned over her, waving a flower he’d picked in front of her face. "What are you thinking about so hard, Kita?"

"I love being here with you, Michael." Nikita hesitated, biting her lip gently. Michael tickled her nose with the flower. "But?"

She glanced at him. He looked so relaxed now. Years younger. As if he had finally managed to shed some of the baggage Section had made him carry all those years. She hated to risk disrupting whatever healing he was undergoing himself. But he asked.

"I miss our house," she said in a small voice, so low Michael had to strain to hear her.

He regarded her patiently, looking as though he wanted to say something, but changed his mind at the last moment. "And?"

"I miss Josephine." Michael blinked. Not every man could survive such a blow to his ego. She would pass on near- continuous lovemaking for the rest of the week so that she could be with her kitten? That was his Kita.

He rolled onto his back with a groan. "You know, Kita, we needed this time alone."

"Oh, I agree, Michael. Totally." She nodded vigorously, even enthusiastically, as if she knew she had already won.

"You don’t want to stay here the rest of the week with me?" Nikita peeked at Michael, trying to ascertain if he were genuinely hurt by her admission or just feeling her out.

"Michael, I love you. I love being with you. Wherever you are is where I want to be."

He looked up at the sky, his eyes changing almost to blue- grey as if reflecting what they saw. "So if I said, I want to stay, I want to give you this, to remember the rest of our lives, you would do as I asked?"

She rested her chin on his chest, looking directly into his eyes. "I would."

He closed his eyes slowly. "Maybe I needed this more than you did, Kita. I felt guilty because we didn’t have a honeymoon. I felt cheated. But you were willing to take what you could get."

"I’m used to that, Michael." He winced. She was reminding him, perhaps not intentionally, that over the years, their relationship had been merely a series of brief encounters, often frustrating, often unsettling, but never resolving the feelings between them. Nikita had been forced to accept whatever bits and pieces he allowed her to share. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t much at all. That’s why he wanted to make it up to her. And now she claimed she didn’t need any more than he had already given her. Could he live with that?

"I want you to have something special to remember, doucette. Something you can tell our children about someday. But I won’t force you to stay. I can’t."

Nikita kissed him. Her lips felt warm and tasted of the berries she had for lunch. "I love you, Michael." She snuggled into the crook of his neck, kissing him there as well. "Whatever you decide is fine with me."

He raked his fingers through her hair, dislodging the blonde plait she had created. He gently combed her hair with his hands, stroking it repeatedly until it gleamed like fine white gold silk in the sunlight. He sniffed her hair, inhaling her special fragrance, and he laid his cheek on it, feeling it like a caress to his skin.

"Give me one more day, Kita."

She settled peacefully in his arms, as they lay sleepily together beneath the afternoon sun. "As you wish."

After dinner, Michael took Nikita dancing. In the deserted but still-glorious ballroom. "It hasn’t seen a party in a great many years, Kita, but it’s still beautiful." He held her hand as they strolled beneath the crystal chandeliers that gleamed despite a desperate need for polishing. "Would you like to dance?"

"Oh, Michael, I don’t think so. There’s no music."

"Since when did we let something like that stop us?" He wrapped his arms around her and began to sway back and forth. She could no more resist than fly. Wait, maybe this was flying. It felt like it. They were gliding across the floor, Michael’s shoes making the tiniest tap as they turned and dipped.

When he bent her body back, her head nearly touching the floor, she arched prettily, the hem of her dress sweeping the polished hardwood. Michael found the hollow of her neck and touched his lips to it. "You are so beautiful, Kita."

She smiled without answering. The heat of the day had not reached inside this room. Here it was still cool, like the night outside. She vaguely registered the sound of crickets chirping in the moonlit night air. She felt like an angel about to ascend to Heaven. Michael pulled her up and into his arms again. He buried his face in her hair. "I love you, doucette."

She loved the feel of him against her. Always a sensual person by nature, Nikita often felt challenged by Michael’s special textures. His fingertips rough on her softest skin. His lips soft and moist against her cheek. His breath sweet yet harsh in her ear when they made love.

She slipped her hands inside his shirt, and he reacted predictably. "Kita! What are you doing?"

"Dancing," she said mischievously. She ran her hands up and down his chest, and he shivered. "It’s not that cold in here, Michael," she said knowingly.

"You’re trying to drive me crazy, aren’t you?" He closed his eyes with a groan, clasping his own hands over hers.

"No-o-o," she drawled. "If I wanted to drive you crazy, I would start lower. Like this." She slid one hand inside the waistband of his pants, and he gasped.

"Stop that, you’re asking for trouble," he warned.

"What are you gonna do to me, Michael? I’m already pregnant," she breathed tantalizingly against his mouth.

"If I could do it again, I would." He pulled her slowly against his lower body, kneading her back with his hands.

She laughed delightedly. "I believe you mean that!"

He smiled as he began to kiss her mouth. "I do. I have dreams about that night on the roof, Kita."

"Tell me about them..." she said in a seductive whisper.

He chuckled, then groaned again. "You know what I want to do to you, Kita."

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t," she teased. "You’d better refresh my memory."

His eyes darkened at astonishing speed. His mouth claimed hers and clung as though it would not, no, could not leave her. His tongue worked its way gently into her mouth, and he framed her face with both hands, holding her prisoner for his sensual assault.

When he broke away, breathless, Nikita said, "We seem to have stopped dancing, Michael." Her blue eyes gleaming like the crystal chandeliers above her, Nikita danced away on light feet, daring Michael to follow her. He did.

"There’s dancing...and then, there’s dancing...." he replied when he caught up with her. Just when he would have kissed her again, she darted away, giggling. "You know how I love to dance, Michael."

This time, when he caught her, he refused to let go of her hands, pulling her outside into the moonlit night. "See the full moon? It reminds me of you, the color of your hair. Moonlight. Pure and clear."

Her laughter stilled at the sound of poetry on Michael’s lips. He was not a man given to poetry. He spoke indirectly more often than not. But he was concise, even terse, even when he allowed her to see his emotional side. But this, this attempt to make poetry out of his feelings for her touched her in ways she could not express.

"You make me feel so beautiful, Michael." She hid her face against his neck.

"But you are, Kita. How could you not know that? How could you not see that? Look into my eyes and see your reflection." He pulled her away from his neck and tipped her face gently upwards with his fingers. He could tell the exact moment when she registered the moonlight in his eyes.

"Oh..." she said with a small cry. He kissed the side of her face, unable to prevent a sigh from escaping him.

"What’s wrong?" she instantly queried.

"Nothing," he said, his voice mere breath. "I love you...so much...." His heart was so filled to overflowing, he could not continue. He could only bury his face in her hair wordlessly.

She felt her eyes fill with the tears that always seemed nearby these days. It felt so strange to be at the mercy of one’s feelings this way, but pregnancy seemed to enhance everything she felt to a magnitude of 10. "Michael..." she spoke his name like a litany.

He drew back and pulled her farther out into the night. She was reluctant to go, the blackness of the night made her fearful, despite the illumination of the full moon. He stopped when they came to what might have been a magnificent maze of hedges, if they had only been trimmed. Still, they offered protection from the cold night air. There was a bench, solid and made of marble, in front of them. Michael sat down, drawing Nikita close.

"I need you so much, doucette, sometimes it hurts." He leaned his forehead against hers, almost as if he were deciding how much to tell her about how he felt. It was hard for him to speak openly about his emotions. It felt like he was giving something away, some piece of himself. It made him feel vulnerable. Exposed. Even weak. Especially to need so much. Sometimes it scared him. What would happen if she were not there? Would he simply disappear?

As if sensing his disquiet, Nikita traced the outline of his jaw with her finger, kissing his chin when she reached the bottom. "I need you, too, Michael. I-I don’t know what I would do without you."

He clung to her, his arms almost shaking as they embraced her, warmed her. She shivered, and this time it was with the cold. He took off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. She held part of it to her nose and smelled Michael’s scent on it. She smiled so beatifically, Michael had to ask.

"It smells like you," she replied, as if that somehow explained everything. "Months ago, when we were apart, I would search for something that belonged to you...and it comforted me...because it was like you were there with me."

He was so touched, he kissed her. "Kita, just when I think you can’t surprise me anymore, you do."

"I hope I never stop surprising you, Michael."

He pulled her into his lap and she blinked sleepily at him. He lay her head on his shoulder and stroked her hair, knowing they both found it relaxing as well as reassuring. "I wanted to make love to you in the moonlight, doucette. But I’m afraid of freezing you to death. If you caught cold, I would never forgive myself."

She smiled. "There are worse things."