PART 84
"Were you able to get some rest in Isabelita's room?" Miss Glanzman asked Nikita after the search parties left. "I know it's not the same as being in your own room."
Nikita hesitated. "Uh, a little." More than anything else, Nikita had been aware of whose bed she shared the previous night.
"This whole incident has been most disturbing," sighed Miss Glanzman. "But we must carry on." She handed Nikita a folder. "Mr. Samuelle wanted you to take over his class today. This is the lesson plan."
"Very well," replied Nikita, taking the file. "Did the Inspector have any new leads this morning?"
Shaking her head, Miss Glanzman said, "I'm afraid not. All we can do now is
pray that Carla is found soon."
Miss Glanzman moved on to speak to Miss Roddy and Nikita turned and trudged toward the classroom. She was certainly in no mood to work on tenses and verb conjugations today, but she had to do her part, just as Michel was doing his right now with the search parties.
Fanning patted down his accomplice's pockets until he located the roll of bills. He gleefully withdrew it and stuck it in his knapsack. Then his stomach began to growl. He stood up and crossed the room to the small table where a loaf of bread sat. He tore off a chunk and stuffed it in his mouth as he glanced over at Carla.
"I guess you're kinda hungry by now. Can't afford to let my hostage die on me." He slid the gag down and fed her some morsels of bread, then held a cup to her lips with some water. Carla hated to drink from the same cup as this disgusting criminal, but what choice did she have?
"Why are you doing this?" she asked when he set the cup aside.
Fanning tore off another piece of bread as he pondered the question. "Why? I'll tell you why," He laughed his evil laugh again. "Samuelle interfered with my plans and put me in Newgate Prison." He paused when he saw the surprise on Carla's face. "Oh, I see you didn't know about my visit to that venerable institution. Well, mark my words, that Frenchie is the one responsible and now he's going to pay!" Fanning slammed his fist down on the table. "So, what better way to make him suffer than to take his woman? Sure, he thought nobody knew, but I saw how he lusted after her!"
He glanced behind him to the prostrate body of his unfortunate accomplice. "Only that idiot snatched you by mistake." Fanning got more and more irritated as he thought about the situation again.
"You'll not get away with this!" shrieked Carla. "They'll find you and send you back to Newgate for the rest of your miserable life!"
"Shut up, bitch!" snarled Fanning as he slapped Carla. Her head rolled to the side and tears stung her eyes. Then he pulled the gag back into her mouth and put the scratchy burlap sack over her head again.
"I hate it when women talk back," he snapped.
For a couple of hours, Michel and Father Elliot had had the farmhouse under surveillance. "It's the old Graham place," explained Elliot. "Benjamin Graham passed away about three months ago." But now there was clear evidence of someone living in the ramshackle place. Two horses were tied to a tree in front of the house and a small lamp or lantern was illuminating the interior.
"It would be the perfect place to hold an innocent," said Michel. "Quite a distance from the main road and no other dwellings nearby."
As if on cue, the front door opened and Fanning stepped onto the porch and lit a cigar. He leaned leisurely against a post and blew smoke rings into the air, acting like some country squire surveying his property.
Michel looked to Father Elliot. "Are you ready?"
Elliot nodded and touched the butt of his gun. "I haven't forgotten how to use one of these. Let's do it."
Carla was outraged! Not only had Fanning insulted her, but he had slapped her! No man hits me and gets away with it! she thought indignantly. The first chance I get I'm going to strangle that filthy excuse of a man!
Whenever Fanning wasn't watching her, Carla was furiously twisting and working her hands in an effort to get free. Now her diligence was rewarded as she was able to wrench her left hand out. She was so mad that she paid little attention to the nasty rope burn on her wrist.
The pungent odor of Fanning's cigar drifted through the open door. Carla quickly reached down and loosened the rope binding her ankles. She slid her hand under the burlap sack to yank the gag out of her mouth, but left the sack in place. There was no point in giving away her advantage just yet.
Fanning stubbed out his cigar and went inside. He decided he had to do something about the accomplice. He didn't want to keep looking at his bloodstained body and besides, there would be a stench developing soon.
He dragged the body out the front door and around to the side of the house. There was a small embankment and with one good kick, the body rolled down the hill and landed in a gulley. Having taken care of that problem, Fanning went inside and began cleaning his gun.
PART 85
"There! All set for Mr. Samuelle," said Fanning in a mocking tone. He had been so absorbed in cleaning and re-loading the gun that he almost seemed to have forgotten his hostage. Carla was grateful to be ignored for a few minutes and she tried to formulate a plan should she have an opportunity to escape.
Although Fanning's words chilled her, she thought, Do not underestimate Michel Samuelle. He could beat you with his eyes closed.
A sudden neighing of the horses caused Fanning to pause. He got up and stepped to the door to have a look, keeping the gun close. Apparently, the horses had gotten loose. Carla could hear him stomping off the porch and hurling curses at the poor animals.
Then she heard a slight scratching sound at the window. It stopped, then came again. Hesitantly, Carla lifted the burlap sack for a peek. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she got a glimpse of Michel. Her prayers had been answered, but there was little time to think. All she knew was that she was going to scoot into a corner and out of Michel's way. Obviously, he had a plan and she needed to be ready.
Fanning secured the horses and went back inside. "What the hell?" he hissed when he saw the empty chair where Carla had been only a few moments before. As he turned to look for her, Michel crashed through the window, rolled, and had his gun trained before Fanning knew what had happened.
Carla screamed from her hiding place in the corner and clutched her chest. "Oh, Mr. Samuelle!"
"Carla, go," ordered Michel softly.
She looked to the door and her jaw dropped. There stood Father Elliot, appearing totally unlike their even-tempered vicar, also pointing a gun at Fanning.
"Go quickly, Carla!" he urged.
"Father Elliot! I can't believe this!" she gasped as she slipped behind him and out the door.
Fanning regarded Michel with a sneer. "You know, it was your bitch that was supposed to be the bait, but I guess this worked out just as well. You're here now and we can settle this, man-to-man."
"It's already settled for you – death by hanging," said Michel.
An angry look contorted Fanning's face and a deep growl rose up from his chest. He grabbed the chair and swung it at Michel, who leapt out of the way. Instead, it struck the wall and splintered into several pieces.
"DAMN YOU, SAMUELLE!" shouted Fanning.
Father Elliot rushed forward, but Fanning got off a quick shot that clipped him in the shoulder. He stumbled backwards in pain.
Michel was then able to catch Fanning off guard and kick the gun from his grasp. Fanning yelped, but was undeterred and lunged for the lantern on the table. He swung it at Michel's head, but he ducked in time and the lantern hit the opposite wall, sending up a shower of sparks. There was a loud whoosh as the thin curtains caught fire.
Michel promptly fired into Fanning's upper thigh, close to the crotch. Fanning gasped in total disbelief and crumpled to the floor with an anguished cry.
"That was rather stupid," said Michel calmly. "If you kill the good Father, who's going to officiate at your funeral?"
The fire was rapidly spreading and Father Elliot yelled to Michel, "Let's get out of here!"
Michel stuck his gun in his waistband and picked up Fanning's gun and knapsack, which would be held as evidence, and flung them out the door. By now, one whole side of the farmhouse was engulfed in flames. Michel grabbed Fanning by the feet and pulled him out of house and into the yard. Father Elliot fired three shots into the air to signal the other search party.
Carla was alternately screaming and sobbing as she stood by the horses. Michel went to her and took her by the shoulders. "How are you? Did he hurt you?"
It took her a moment to calm down enough to speak. Finally, she shook her head, "No, no, I'm fine. Why did he do this? I don't understand what's going on! And why is Father Elliot here?"
Before Michel could answer even the first question, Carla blurted out, "I don't feel so good," and fainted straightaway.
The following week at Sanibelle was one of high excitement. More people from Scotland Yard descended on the campus and surrounding countryside, asking a lot of questions and gathering evidence. The story of Carla's rescue by Mr. Samuelle and Father Elliott was repeated countless times in the school and throughout the parish. Nikita felt a special pride that Michel - her Michel! - had been so instrumental in solving the case.
The next Sunday, Father Elliot was once more in his pulpit and in his familiar garb. His shoulder was a bit sore, but he gave an exceptionally good sermon on "The Evil That Men Do."
"They have no idea, do they, Father?" said Walter as he passed out of the church.
"No. Let's try to keep it that way," agreed Father Elliot.
Michel was right behind Walter and drew Elliot away from the groups of parishioners who were standing around chatting. "That matter we discussed a few weeks back – it's time," said Michel in a low voice.
Father Elliot nodded. "I'll be ready."
Fanning was transferred to a special infirmary in London where he was under the care of a Dr. Gelman. "He has a special interest in the criminal brain," explained Inspector Vartan to Miss Glanzman as they dined in the village one evening. "Hopefully, we will be able to use his findings to profile future missions."
"I see," said Miss Glanzman thoughtfully. "Well, I'm just relieved that this whole terrible episode is over. It's high time everyone settled down and returned to their studies."
A mischievous grin spread over the Inspector's face. "Spoken like a true school mistress. But speaking of settling down, how's your wedding dress coming along?"
Miss Glanzman gazed with love and affection at her handsome fiancé. He seemed much more relaxed since this "Mayfair Mob" business was over. She toyed with her napkin before answering coyly, "Mummy is putting the finishing touches on it now."
Lionel and Leona came into Scotland Yard one morning after Fanning had been transferred and immediately Weiss noticed something different about the pair. The petty arguing, rolling of eyes, and heavy sighs of annoyance that usually punctuated their conversations were somewhat minimized.
"Hey, what's going on?" asked Weiss.
Lionel and Leona exchanged a glance and Leona sighed dramatically, "Well, they'll find out sooner or later."
Weiss held up his hands. "Wait a minute! Don't tell me – you two didn't, did you?"
Lionel pretended ignorance. "Didn't what?"
"For crying out loud, Lionel! Tell the man," said Leona impatiently.
Lionel broke out in a big smile and put his arm around Leona's shoulders. "I give you Mr. and Mrs. Lionel Crabtree!"
"Woo-hoo!" yelled Weiss. "I knew it!" He clapped his hands and started calling to the secretaries and flunkies working nearby. "Hey, everybody! Leona and Lionel finally got hitched!"
"What do you mean 'finally'?" demanded Leona.
"Oh, we've had a bet going on when you guys would take the leap into matrimony!" chortled Weiss as their co-workers crowded around to offer congratulations.
Lionel was enjoying all the attention immensely. "Well, with Leona being a widow and me being a widower, we figured that two could live as cheaply as one. Leona has a larger flat, but she can't even boil water! Good thing I'm pretty handy in the kitchen," laughed Lionel. "Right, sweetie?"
Leona had loosened up a bit and smiled slightly. "I'm afraid he's right about the cooking."
"Of course, our kids were all for it," continued Lionel. "And we can grow old together and look forward to grandchildren!"
PART 86
The Elementary French students departed and Michel sat down at his desk to sort out the stack of mail. There were letters from his family and even one from his old friend and mentor in Paris, Professeur Trémont. Sadly, there was no reply to the telegram he had sent to the office of Nikita's father requesting a face-to-face meeting.
He glanced out the window now and saw Nikita going into the library. He thought for a long moment, then decided, Time to move things along.
He bundled all the mail into his attaché and stepped into the hall. A secretary came running after him. "Mr. Samuelle! This just came by special messenger!" she said and thrust a cream-colored envelope into his hands. "He said you should open it immediately."
"Thank you, Mrs. Paxton."
The emblem on the envelope and the thickness of the paper gave it an air of importance. When he opened it, Michel found he was being summoned to an "Official Inquiry" in London the day after tomorrow. He had expected as much. But now he began to consider how he could best carry out his next mission.
Nikita sighed as she read the letter Mrs. Paxton had given her. "Official Inquiry" regarding the "Mayfair Mob." When is it all going to end? Of course, Carla would be called, too. However, she was already in London, recuperating at her family's townhouse.
Nikita laid the letter aside. She had come into the library after class to write a letter to her father. There was so much to tell him that she hardly knew where to begin. She picked up the elegant black-and-gold fountain pen he had given her for Christmas. I'll expect you to write me lots of letters with this, my dear!
As she was turning it over in her hands, Michel approached and stood before her. "Are you busy?" he asked.
"I was trying to write to Papa, then I received this," she said picking up the summons.
"I received one, also." He paused as two girls came and sat down at the other end of the table. They spread out their notebooks and prepared to study, but not before casting shy glances at Michel.
He looked back to Nikita. "We need to talk . . . privately," he whispered.
"As you wish," she said and gathered her belongings.
It was a bit windy, but Michel led the way down the gravel path to the gazebo. Weeping willow trees effectively shielded it from the main building, which was a good thing if you were a student out with your young man, or bad if you were a teacher trying to prevent such a meeting.
Michel and Nikita regarded each other in silence. The wind ruffled Nikita's hair and Michel longed to run his hands through the long golden strands. But he resisted. Finally, Nikita reached out and tenderly touched Michel's cheek. He had suffered a laceration there when he surprised Fanning. He closed his eyes at her touch. Then he took her hand and quite unexpectedly drew her palm to his lips.
The feather-light kiss reminded Nikita all too vividly of his lips on other parts of her body in the not-too-distant past. She felt a rush of warmth all over and a tingly sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Inhaling sharply she said, "Michel, you asked me to be patient and I'm trying. But what happens now? You know it can't be casual between us." * Season 3 – "Beyond the Pale"
Still holding her hand, he saw the confusion and longing in her sapphire eyes. "I never intended it to be casual. I want it to be permanent."
The way he emphasized the word gave Nikita a sudden thrill of hope. Time seemed to stand still as she held her breath.
"Ni-ki-ta, will you marry me?"
Further investigation into Fanning's background turned up some very interesting facts. First, his name was not Fanning, but Fanchére. Born in Normandy, his father deserted the family before he was born. He aspired to join the French Foreign Legion, but was dismissed after eight months because of a bad attitude and refusal to follow orders. In addition, he was the chief suspect in the brutal beating death of his estranged wife, Lisa. To escape prosecution, he fled across the Channel to Brighton where he changed his name and began a new life.
Dr. Gelman came into the room where Fanning was secured to a heavy-duty metal chair. He circled the prisoner slowly as his assistants, a man and a woman in white lab coats, stood calmly by the door.
"For the next three days you'll be subjected to an intense debriefing. You will cooperate with us because you know how things are done here. When we're done with you, you'll be canceled. Any questions?" * Season 2 – "Hard Landing" (Madeline says this to Ackerman in the White Room.)
PART 87
"Ni-ki-ta, will you marry me?"
Nikita's eyes widened as she heard Michel's proposal. But she didn't have to think about her response; the answer came as naturally as drawing her next breath.
"Oh, Michel . . . yes!"
A hint of a smile lifted the corners of Michel's mouth. Since they were secluded, he felt relatively safe in pulling her close. His arm slid around her waist and he touched his lips to hers for a split second. It was entirely too brief, but would have to suffice for now. His head remembered his vow not to touch her until they were wed and his groin was sending an obvious warning, as well.
He released her and stepped back. Nikita sighed dreamily, all other thoughts driven from her mind. Even the impending investigation had taken a back seat to the fact that she was now engaged!
Michel gazed at her adoringly, then said, "You should return to your room. It's almost time for tea and I have to make some arrangements."
"Yes, of course," agreed Nikita.
"Go back by the side of the library. I will wait a few minutes and go around the other way."
Nikita smiled and gave him a conspiratorial wink as she stepped out of the gazebo. "We would not want to invite unnecessary questions, now would we?" she said in a flirty manner.
"Off with you!" replied Michel, struggling to suppress a laugh.
Only later, as she was packing for the journey up to London, did Nikita pause to wonder what her family's reaction would be to her betrothal. As far as she knew, everyone was still expecting her to marry Mick sometime later in the year.
Never going to happen! she thought as she snapped the valise shut. She plopped down on the bed and sighed. Oh, how I wish Carla were here! She would understand and be happy for me. As it was, she couldn't share her joy and excitement with anyone, not even the Brazilian Babes who were only a few doors down the hall.
She got up and went over to the window. The light was still on in Michel's room in the Tower. Impulsively, she blew him a kiss. I love you, Michel! She imagined him packing and working out the details for their trip. Suddenly, his light was extinguished.
It's late and I should go to bed, too, she the curtains fall back in place, she turned down the lamp and climbed under the covers.
All day long, Michel had been distracted. The hands on the clock in his classroom crept by with excruciating slowness. Finally, it was the last class of the day and he wrote the assignment on the blackboard. "I will be away for a couple of days," he announced. "But I expect you to keep up with your studies in my absence."
There was no need to say anything further; the whole school knew about the "official inquiry" in London. "Are there any questions?" he asked.
Hesitantly, a student in the second row raised her hand. "Uh, Mr. Samuelle, we've already done that chapter," she pointed out.
Michel looked at the board and shook his head. "You're right, Caroline. I don't know what I was thinking. Why don't you review that one, then see how far you can go in the next chapter."
That seemed to suit everyone, so he dismissed class. "Good luck, Mr. Samuelle!" they called out as they left. One girl felt compelled to add, "And remember to tell the 'whole truth and nothing but the truth!'"
"You can be sure that I will," Michel answered solemnly.
It was already dark on this winter's evening as Michel and Nikita approached St. Anne's Church. The air was cold and still and except for a lone dog barking somewhere in the distance, the countryside was quiet. It was the time of day when the good people of the parish would be huddled around their fireplaces and preparing to eat their supper.
Michel stopped Nikita just before they went up the worn stone steps to the front door. "Are you quite sure about this? You have no second thoughts? he asked softly.
"At my birthday party, my father said that I am a grown-up young lady now. As such, I know what I want and I want you, Michel," she answered in a confident tone.
"Très bien," he smiled. He took her hand and they entered the church, the heavy oak door creaking behind them. The front of the church was bathed in soft candlelight and together they walked down the aisle where Walter, Sammy, and Father Elliot in his vestments waited patiently.
"Sugar, I'm so pleased . . . for both of you!" said Walter as he hugged the bride, who wore a dark green traveling suit.
"Thank you, Walter."
Sammy stepped up with a small bouquet of hothouse flowers. "These are for you, Nikita."
"Oh Sammy, they're beautiful! Thank you."
"Shall we begin?" asked Father Elliot. The little group took its place in front of the altar. Before Father Elliot could begin, there was a slight noise at the rear of the church. "It's probably Richardson," he said, referring to the elderly sexton whom they all knew.
The sexton, who grunted more often than he spoke, had gotten used to strange comings and goings in the two years since Father Elliot had been at St. Anne's. Therefore, he would not consider it odd for the Father to be conducting a wedding on a Tuesday evening with only an old man and a teenage boy as witnesses.
The noise ceased and Father Elliot proceeded, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here tonight to join this man, Michel Jean-Christophe Samuelle, and this woman, Nikita Arabella Josephine Jones-Wirth, in the bonds of Holy Matrimony."
Over the next few minutes, the familiar words and vows of the wedding ceremony were heard and repeated. When Father Elliot asked for the ring, Michel replied, "There was not enough time to obtain one. This will have to suffice." Then he removed his gold signet ring from his right hand, which Nikita had never seen him wear before, and placed it in the palm of her left hand. He closed her fingers over it and lightly kissed them.
"I give you this as a promise of my love and fidelity," he said.
Father Elliot nodded in approval and continued to the final part. "Then by the power vested in me by the Church of England, I pronounce you man and wife. What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder."
He looked from Nikita to Michel with a smile and added, "You may now kiss the bride!"
Walter reached up to brush away a tear. Everyone thought he was a crusty old guy, but he was really a softie when it came to weddings.
Mr. and Mrs. Samuelle shared a brief, feather-light kiss. "Jolly good show!" exclaimed Walter.
There was only enough time for a quick toast with some plum wine and the signing of the parish register before Walter and Sammy drove the newlyweds to the train station.
"I won't worry about you going up to London now that you've got Michel," said Walter in a concerned, fatherly way.
"He's a good man. I'm lucky to have him," said Nikita.
The last train of the night chugged in and Michel and Nikita boarded, along with some businessmen. Walter and Sammy remained on the platform until the train was out of sight. "You are not to breathe a word of this to anyone," Walter warned his nephew.
"Yes, Uncle Walter," acknowledged Sammy as they climbed into the wagon.
PART 88 (NC-17)
Indeed, I must confess,
When Souls mix 'tis an happiness.
But not complete till bodies too do join. (Abraham Cowley, English poet)
Michel had reserved a room in a small, quiet hotel in London. It was near the building where the "official inquiry" would be conducted. In addition, it was near the office of Nikita's father, that elusive man who didn't even know he had acquired a son-in-law a few hours ago.
"Mr. and Mrs. Samuelle checking in," he announced to the clerk. It seemed strange to be able to say it out loud like that. Strange, but entirely appropriate.
"Very good, sir," said the clerk as he handed Michel the fountain pen.
Nikita took a deep breath as she watched Michel sign in. She couldn't help but remember that other time they posed as a couple. It was enough to make her blush furiously. But this time was different – they really were a properly wed couple!
He handed her the pen and she gave him a slight smile as she signed her new name – Nikita Samuelle. She was thrilled to be able to put that name on the register even if she couldn't use it at school. School! What will happen there? she wondered briefly. It was a fleeting thought and she did not want to think too much about that tonight. After all, this was her wedding night and there were other things to consider!She felt herself blushing again.
"I would like a word with the night manager," Michel said. Nikita gave him a puzzled look, but he offered no explanation.
"He's not in his office at the moment, sir. However, he should return in about fifteen minutes."
"Excellent. We will go up to our room then," replied Michel.
The clerk nodded and added, "If you're hungry, the dining room is still open, sir."
"Thank you, but we had a light meal on the train," said Michel. Besides, what I'm hungry for wouldn't be on your menu, he thought. Although the idea of devouring Nikita in new and unexpected ways certainly had its merits! These were definitely not thoughts he could share with the clerk as he placed the key in his hand.
Once upstairs in their room, Nikita exclaimed over the interior. This room was larger than that in the country inn and much more elegantly furnished. "It's wonderful, Michel!"
He said nothing, but took delight in simply watching her move about the room, commenting on various things. She's nervous. He found her reaction both endearing and amusing.
Finally, she stopped in front of the dresser and removed her hat, placing it and the hatpins carefully to one side. Michel watched in fascination as her golden tresses tumbled down her back. Suddenly, it seemed hot in the room and he did not think it was entirely due to the fire in the grate.
Stepping closer, he stood behind her and studied their reflections in the mirror. His hands rested on her shoulders. "Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" he whispered.
"Not today," answered Nikita, watching him in the mirror with wide eyes. He began to thread his right hand through her hair, easing the tangles out of it.
"Well, you are . . ." Moving the hair away from her neck, he began nuzzling it. Nikita shivered a bit as the stubble on his jaw scratched her.
Nikita sighed softly, "Mmm . . ."
He paused for a moment and helped her remove her jacket, tossing it on the bed. The high-necked blouse with its many buttons amused him. So typical of Victorian women. Everyone thinks they are so prim and proper. He longed to touch the firm breasts that lay beneath it and cuddle their weight in his hands.
A knock on the door startled them. Michel dropped his hands and went to open the door. "Sir, the manager has returned to his office," said the ever efficient clerk.
"Thank you." He turned to Nikita and said, "I'll be back shortly." The intense look he gave her seemed to scorch the very air between them.
She understood completely and whispered, "Hurry!" as he closed the door behind him.
Michel followed the clerk downstairs and into the night manager's office, which was just off the main lobby. "Ah yes, Mr. Samuelle! A package did arrive for you this afternoon," he said, opening a drawer in his desk. He brought out a small box and handed it across to Michel.
"I trust you and your wife will enjoy your stay in London. If there's anything we can do to make it more pleasant, please do not hesitate to ask."
"Thank you," said Michel as he opened the box. He had wired a well-known jewellery store and purchased a wedding band, arranging for it to be delivered to the hotel.
"Good night then," said Michel as he shook the manager's hand.
Nikita was nervous, she was excited, and she was having a bit of a problem opening her valise. She fumbled with the lock for what seemed like an eternity until it finally popped open. She sighed with relief and rummaged around for the pale blue silk nightgown Penelope had given her at Christmas. Voices and footsteps were heard coming along the corridor and she knew that Michel would be back at any moment.
Did I not pack it? Surely, it is here somewhere.
The door opened and Michel was perplexed by the sight that greeted him. Nikita was standing in front of the fireplace with the blanket from the bed wrapped tightly around her. The only part that was visible was her head.
"Are you cold?" asked Michel, although the room temperature seemed more than adequate to him.
A playful smile lingered on Nikita's lips. "Not at all," she said nonchalantly. There was a pause and then she let the blanket slide to the floor. She stood before him wearing only the pearls her father had given her on her 16th birthday.
"Mon Dieu!" gasped Michel. He was caught completely off-guard and his mouth suddenly felt dry, even though the rest of his body was springing to life.
"Did I shock you?" she asked coolly.
Michel gazed at her like a man who had not eaten for weeks. "I hope you never stop shocking me," he replied as his eyes feasted on her naked beauty. He totally forgot about the ring that he had planned to place on her left hand.
Slowly, he advanced toward her and took her face in his hands as his lips met hers. One kiss, two kisses, until her mouth parted and his tongue slipped between her teeth.
Nikita moaned softly until Michel pulled back slightly and frantically began to shrug out of his jacket. "Ah, Michel! I want to feel your skin against mine!" panted Nikita, her face already flushed. She reached out to help him unbutton his shirt, but it was too slow so he impatiently jerked it over his head and flung it away.
The taut muscles of his bare chest rubbed against her full breasts, causing the nipples to harden, as he pulled her close again. His mouth greedily sought hers and their tongues thrust at each other.
"I need you, Kita!" he gasped between frantic kisses.
"Yes, oh yes, Michel!"
His hands cupped her warm breasts and massaged them roughly. He loved the feel of her erect nipples against his palms. "I . . . want you, Michel!" said Nikita, closing her eyes briefly as the sensations assaulted her body.
"You are so beautiful, Kita! And you will always be mine," said Michel. His bulging manhood was straining against his trousers and he couldn't wait much longer.
He stopped only long enough to strip away the rest of his clothes. Each second that he was not touching or kissing Nikita was sheer agony! The bed covers were turned down, but the wall was closer. Michel moved her against the wall beside the fireplace and kissed her once before dipping his head to take a pert nipple into his warm mouth. Nerve endings all over her body tingled and flared to life, especially those between her legs.
"Michel . . . ah!" His insistent member was pressing into her abdomen, making its presence hard to ignore. To Nikita, he felt huge! Even larger than the first time they made love. At least this time she was not quite as nervous and knew what to expect.
"Ah, Kita . . . I can't wait!" panted Michel. His body had waited so long to be reunited with hers and it cried out for sweet release.
With her back braced against the wall, Michel reached down and lifted her long, slender legs around his waist. Nikita's eyes widened and she placed her hands on his shoulders for support. So much for thinking I knew what to expect, she thought through the fog of her desire.
"I'm, uh . . .OH, MICHEL!" The words caught in her throat as he began to enter her, slowly at first, then plunging in all the way. "MICHEL! OH!"
The divine feeling of Nikita's tight muscles around him made Michel pause and sigh deeply. He wanted to stay there and yet at the same time, he wanted to go deeper. Now!
A light sheen of perspiration had broken out on both their bodies. Michel withdrew and began plunging in and out rapidly as he felt they were both on the brink of ecstasy.
With one final huge thrust, Michel felt the waves of Nikita's release as his hot essence spilled into her. Her fingernails dug into his back as her body and mind tried to process the powerful and exquisite sensations. "OH MY . . . MICHEL! I, uh . . . MI – CHEL!"
"KITA! MON DIEU!"
Nikita's head slumped forward onto Michel's shoulders and she clung desperately to him. Neither could speak for a few minutes as they waited for their breathing to slow down. Michel could feel Nikita's heart beating in time with his own. To him, it was a sign that they were always meant to be one, both in body and soul.
"Hold on," he said at last. Still submerged deep within her and with her legs securely around his waist, Michel carefully maneuvered them over to the bed and gently lowered Nikita onto her back. Her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow and Michel studied her face intently. The room was quiet other than the crackling of the logs in the fireplace.
Gently, he touched his lips to hers. "I love you, Kita," he whispered. "I have loved you since the first time I saw you."
"Oh, Michel! I love you, too!"
He reached behind him and pulled the covers over their gloriously naked and sated bodies and slowly withdrew from her. Nikita whimpered a bit, but closed her eyes as Michel wrapped his arms around her.
PART 89 (NC-17)
Lying on her side, Nikita observed her still sleeping husband. His chest rose and fell quietly and his face was more relaxed than Nikita had seen it for some time. She toyed with a loose strand of his long auburn hair and suddenly wondered if he was really asleep.
She leaned close to his ear and said softly, "Good morning." It was still dark outside and Nikita had just heard the small clock on the dresser strike six.
Michel slowly opened his eyes. A hint of a smile appeared. "Good morning," he replied.
Tucking the errant curl behind his ear she said, "It feels strange. We're really together now."
Holding her gaze he said, "We are."
Nikita traced a faint scar along Michel's ribcage. "What happened here?"
Michel chuckled. "A fencing mishap. René caught me off-guard."
"René?"
"My friend since childhood. He is like a brother to me," answered Michel.
"I should like to meet him sometime," she said as she continued running her finger over the scar. But even that did not mar his perfect body in Nikita's mind. It only added a new dimension to this fascinating man to whom she had pledged herself.
"You will."
There was a companionable silence as Michel let his eyes linger on his beautiful bride's face. He studied her full lips, her slender neck, and the swell of her breasts that the sheet was barely covering.
"Right now, I think you should pay more attention to your husband!" he said with a wicked smile.
Nikita feigned surprise. "Pardonnez-moi. Have I been ignoring you?!" Before he could answer, she slowly ran her hand down his chest and abdomen, stopping just short of his manhood. Michel inhaled sharply. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming for her touch!
"Relax, husband." She pushed him onto his back and slowly positioned her pelvis over his eager member. Nikita licked her lips as she felt his tip teasing her entrance.
The sheet had bunched around her waist, revealing her firm breasts. Michel longed to touch them again, feel their weight in his palms, but he placed his hands instead on Nikita's hips as she began to take him in.
His eyes closed briefly as their bodies moved closer and closer together. "Oh . . . Kita!" he sighed in pleasure.
"Mi . . . Michel! Ah . . . OH!" She flung her head back as he filled her completely, hitting her innermost core.
There was a moment's pause as they savoured the sensation of ultimate union. Then Nikita began to move up and down . . . up and down . . . up and down. There was another sharp intake of breath from Michel! "Yes . . . yes, Kita! Ah . . . Mon Dieu!"
Nikita didn't think Michel could go any deeper, but she was wrong! Unexpectedly, he grabbed her waist and rolled them over. He hoisted her legs up tightly around his waist and then withdrew completely before slamming into her again.
They both cried out at the same time as the powerful orgasm rippled throughout their bodies. Nikita's head rolled to one side and she gasped for air. "AH . . . AH . . . MI . . . CHEL . . . OH!"
Michel was too overcome for words as he tried to steady his breathing. He was still amazed that this divine creature had consented to marry him and share his life. He looked down at her flushed skin and gently ran his thumb over her eyebrow.
Nikita took his hand and kissed the palm. "Michel . . . my love!" she whispered.
"You can never know how much I love you, Ni-ki-ta," he answered. His mouth eagerly sought hers and they kissed slowly and deeply before succumbing to sleep once more.
The sun was beginning to peek through a slit in the curtains when the newlyweds awoke the next time. Michel stretched his arms extravagantly over his head and sighed deeply, the picture of a contented married man.
Nikita wiggled closer and rested her cheek on his chest. "May I ask you a question?" she said impishly.
Michel busied himself with fingering her long blonde strands. "Certainly. Am I not your teacher, after all?"
A giggle escaped from Nikita. "In more ways than one, it would seem!" Another giggle. "In the gazebo the other day . . . what if I had said 'no'?"
Michel pondered the question for a moment. "I can be very persuasive when the situation calls for it."
"Mmm . . ." sighed Nikita happily.
Michel extended one hand to where his jacket was lying crumpled beside the bed, tossed there the previous evening in the heat of passion. He found the ring box and presented it with a flourish.
"I was going to give you this last night, but I was, shall we say, distracted?"
"Oh, Michel!"
He removed the wedding band from the box and carefully slid it onto Nikita's left hand. "With this ring, I have thee wed," he said solemnly. "May I kiss the bride?"
Just as their lips touched, there was a knock at the door. "Maid Service!" came the cockney accent.
Michel sighed. "Just a moment, please." Nikita hastily pulled the covers up to her chin.
"I suppose we really should get up and get ready for the inquiry," said Nikita in a deflated tone. "Although I would much prefer to stay exactly where I am."
"So would I," agreed Michel with another quick kiss. "But I do need to have my suit pressed." He swung his legs off the bed and gathered up the pants and jacket and headed for the door. "You wouldn't want your husband to go out all wrinkled, would you?"
"I don't see any wrinkles from this angle!" she giggled as she surveyed his broad shoulders, derrière, and muscled thighs.
It was just after nine o'clock when Michel and Nikita arrived at the impressive marble building where various offices of Her Majesty's Government were housed. A man in a pin-striped suit escorted them upstairs and down a long wood-paneled corridor to a waiting room. There were several wooden chairs here and a low table spread with the morning papers. A grim-faced woman sat behind a desk in the corner and sorted through a stack of reports. She looked up as they entered, but did not acknowledge them otherwise.
The atmosphere of the place did not encourage loud conversation so Nikita leaned over to Michel and whispered, "I'm a bit nervous."
He laid his hand over hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Everything will be fine. I'm sure all you'll have to do is answer a few questions."
Nikita sighed. "I wonder if Carla is already here somewhere?"
"No doubt she is," answered Michel. He picked up one of the newspapers and began scanning the headlines to pass the time.
After about fifteen minutes, the pin-striped man returned with a clipboard in his hand. "Miss Jones-Wirth, please come with me."
Nikita looked to Michel for encouragement and saw love and concern in his eyes. "It's fine. Go," he said quietly.
She got up and followed the man down the hall and around the corner. He knocked on a door and then entered. Seated at a table was a bald man with a goatee. "This is Mr. Davenport," announced the pin-striped man.
"Please have a seat, Miss Jones-Wirth," gestured the bald man.
The pin-striped man returned to the waiting room and summoned Michel. He led him up another staircase and down another long hall. At the end of this hallway, they entered an antechamber which contained an ornate chandelier and several large landscape paintings. A long leather divan sat underneath the paintings.
A plump, matronly woman rose from her desk with a smile. "Good morning, Mr. Samuelle. I'll let them know you are here."
When she returned from the inner office she said, "It will be about ten minutes, sir. May I offer you some tea in the meantime?"
The Big Man sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, littered with files and papers. A portrait of Queen Victoria hung on the wall behind him, along with a pair of crossed Spanish swords. Two large leather wing chairs faced the desk and the floor was covered by a seventeenth century Persian carpet done in a floral pattern of muted red, blue, and green.
"Will there be anything else, sir?" asked Fisher, his efficient personal assistant.
The Big Man finished signing some papers and handed them to Fisher. "No. Show him in."
Michel was ushered in and Fisher closed the door, leaving the two men alone. Michel remained standing until The Big Man looked up from his desk.
"Michel, have a seat. I'll try not to keep you too long."
For about twenty minutes, the two men discussed the mission – what things were done right, what things were done wrong, how things could be improved in future missions of this type. The Big Man leaned back in his chair and listened closely as Michel shared his insights and suggestions. A truly impressive young man in every regard, thought The Big Man, not for the first time.
"Michel, you have performed admirably on this mission, for which Her Majesty extends her deepest gratitude."
Michel accepted the compliment humbly. "Thank you, sir."
"Which brings me to my next point," continued The Big Man. "While Scotland Yard does an excellent job within its jurisdiction, Her Majesty has seen the need for another type of agency that operates outside the normal channels. One that can deal with sensitive issues that the ordinary bobby on the beat is not equipped to handle."
"The kind of threat represented by Fanning and his ilk?" asked Michel. His interest was piqued by what The Big Man was saying.
"Quite so," agreed The Big Man as he drummed his fingertips on the desk and studied Michel. "Her Majesty has charged me with starting up this new agency and recruiting the crème de la crème to serve as operatives. It requires men, and women, with unique and specialized skills. It will be called "Section One" and you, Michel, are one of the men I would like to have join us. Your language and martial arts skills would be greatly valued in the service of 'Queen and Country.'"
The two men regarded each other for a long minute. Michel considered all that The Big Man had said and chose his words carefully. "Sir, while I cannot deny that this is an intriguing offer, I was given to understand that my cooperation with Scotland Yard was a one-time assignment." He paused for a moment. "Besides, I am not a British subject."
The Big Man waved his hand dismissively. "A minor detail," he scoffed as he opened a leather binder and withdrew a single sheet of paper. "I am authorized, by the Crown, to grant you full and immediate dual citizenship should you choose to accept this offer." He pushed the paper toward Michel.
Michel scanned it briefly and saw the official seal of Queen Victoria. Indeed, all that was lacking was his signature.
Looking up Michel said, "There is another matter to consider. I have recently married and would like to discuss this with my wife."
The Big Man's eyebrows arched up in surprise. "Indeed. I don't recall the profile including instructions for you to enter into a marriage with a foreign national as part of your cover."
A bit of tension hung in the air. "No, sir, it did not." Michel stared hard at The Big Man as he explained his actions. "This was not a cover marriage; I am in love with this woman."
There was a discreet knock at the door and Fisher slipped in. "Pardon me, sir, but here is that other report." He placed a sheaf of papers on the desk and waited for a word from his boss.
The Big Man grunted and perused the report. "Very well. I'll just sign it and you may send it along to Her Majesty." He opened the desk drawer and brought out an expensive black-and-gold fountain pen.
Michel eyed the pen curiously. He had seen one exactly like that very recently. Then realization dawned on him.
The Big Man signed the papers and handed them to Fisher, who slipped wordlessly from the office. Still holding the pen, The Big Man's eyes met Michel's and each man knew what the other was thinking.
"Perhaps this would be a good time to introduce myself," said The Big Man. "My name is Reginald Jones-Wirth."
"Ni-ki-ta's father," said Michel, the full implication of the situation settling on him.
"Yes. Now you understand why I could not reveal my identity," said Reginald. He pushed back his chair and came around to the front of the desk as Michel stood up.
"Let me congratulate you on your marriage! I could not be more pleased to have you for a son-in-law!" Reginald said and extended his right hand. "It was a splendid, if small, ceremony. Naturally, the female members of the family will squawk about not being involved."
Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. "Of course," said Michel. "That noise at the back of the church was you."
"I'm afraid so. You see, Father Elliot gave me advance notice and believe me, if I had not approved, no wedding would have taken place last night, or any other time, for that matter."
"I do not doubt it, sir," said Michel.
Clapping a hand on Michel's shoulder, Reginald said, "Shall we find Nikita and let her in on the secret? I don't know what she'll have to say about all this. She can be quite opinionated, as you've no doubt already discovered."
PART 90
"Fisher, please bring my daughter upstairs," said Reginald to his assistant, who was waiting in the outer office.
"Right away, sir."
Turning back to Michel, Reginald said, "I want to mention a couple of other things for your consideration. First, someone with whom you are familiar has also been approached about joining us – Inspector Vartan. He is a strong leader and I would hate for him to get lost in the bureaucracy of Scotland Yard. Secondly, the dual citizenship would extend to your heirs." Reginald paused a moment. "A distinct advantage for my future grandchildren, wouldn't you agree?"
Michel's expression revealed nothing and Reginald liked that. It was good to be able to mask one's thoughts and feelings in the intelligence business. It gave an operative the upper hand when dealing with criminals and subversives. Reginald suppressed a chuckle. No doubt it drives my daughter to distraction, however.
"I have no further questions, Miss Jones-Wirth," said the bald man called Davenport. He closed the file and laid his pen down. Nikita sighed with relief. So far, at least, the inquiry had not been bad at all. She was asked to tell her story again while Davenport made some notes in her file. Once or twice he had interrupted to ask a question or clarify a detail.
"Am I free to go?" she asked hopefully.
Davenport looked sympathetic, but shook his head. "Not yet."
At that moment, Fisher appeared in the doorway to escort Nikita to the next phase. "Please come this way," he said.
Nikita sighed again as they went upstairs and passed numerous doors on both sides of a long hallway. She wondered if either Michel or Carla was sequestered behind one of them while men in dark suits bombarded them with endless questions.
At last, he stopped and ushered Nikita into a fancy office. "Wait here," he said as he knocked on another door. He entered the inner office and Nikita sank down on the leather divan to await further instructions. She looked around with interest at the furnishings. Someone important must work here, she thought as she eyed the chandelier overhead. It vaguely reminded her of the one in Aunt Adrian and Uncle George's foyer. Perhaps this is the office of that 'Big Man' Michel mentioned.
A few minutes passed and Nikita realized that the other door was not closed all the way. She heard voices engaged in a low conversation. One voice was definitely that of Michel and the other sounded like - but of course couldn't possibly be - her father. What is wrong with me? I'm just letting my nerves get the better of me. Of course, it's not Papa. She toyed with the clasp on her handbag. Although I'm not sure how he will react when he eventually learns of my marriage. I hope he will like Michel. Another heavy sigh escaped from her lips. Well, I'll worry about that later.
The door of the inner office now opened and Michel came out. Just seeing him again put Nikita at ease. "Michel!" she whispered and jumped up. When she saw the man behind him, her eyes widened and her heart seemed to plummet to her feet. She was suddenly grateful that her wedding band was concealed beneath her gloves.
"Papa! What are you doing here?" She knew that her father had a wide range of friends and acquaintances, both in business and government. Maybe he knows The Big Man, too. "When did you get back from your buying trip?"
A broad grin spread across Reginald's face. "My dear girl, you're looking simply marvelous! Marriage seems to agree with you! Come inside, I have some things to explain." To Fisher he said quietly, "Would you have Mrs .Butterworth bring up some tea? I fear we may need some."
Nikita glared at Michel. "I'll let your father explain," he said with a little smirk.
Clasping the teacup in both hands, Nikita listened raptly as her father wove a spellbinding tale of intrigue and covert missions; operatives and heinous criminals. She could scarcely believe her ears. To think that her beloved Papa was The Big Man, the powerful and mysterious superiorto whom so many people deferred! When he finished, Reginald asked, "Nikita, can you forgive me for deceiving you? It was for your own protection, I assure you, not because I enjoyed keeping secrets from my daughter."
"Me forgive you? What about my deception in marrying Michel behind your back when you intended me to marry Mick? Oh, I know you were there, but, of course, we were not aware of that," she said in exasperation.
Reginald leaned back in his chair. "Ah yes, Mick. Well, that was more your uncle's plan than mine, although I did endorse it at the beginning. It was one of those things that seemed like a good idea at the time. However, after Michel came on board, I began to have other ideas . . . and hopes." Reginald looked to his son-in-law. "And now things have worked out splendidly for everyone."
"Except Mick," added Michel dryly.
Nikita looked at her father and they both started laughing. "Yes, except for poor Mick!" concurred Reginald. He came around to the other side of the desk and Nikita fell into his arms. "Oh Papa, I'm so glad you're not mad about the wedding!"
Releasing her, Reginald said, "Nonsense! Now I'm sure newlyweds have far more interesting things to do in London than hang about with an old man."
"Papa!" Nikita exclaimed as a flush stole up her neck.
"I have a mountain of paperwork to tackle this afternoon, but why don't we meet for dinner tonight at The Golden Palm, say around eight o'clock? I'm sure you remember where it is, Michel."
"Of course, sir," he answered, shaking Reginald's hand.
"Excellent!" said Reginald. "Until then, my dear!" he said as he kissed Nikita's cheek.
Nikita chattered non-stop all the way back to the hotel. "I'm still in a state of shock about Papa!" she exclaimed as they entered their room. "I simply would not have believed it if I hadn't heard it from his own lips."
Michel had to agree. "Imagine how I felt when I learned I had been working for your father all these months."
"Suddenly I feel very tired," sighed Nikita as she collapsed on the bed and kicked off her shoes. "I think the last few days, and nights, are catching up with me."
"You need to relax," said Michel. "What about a hot bath?" Although there are other ways to relax, he thought wickedly.
"Yes, that does sound, uh, relaxing," Nikita replied with a coy look at her husband.
"Then it's settled. I'm going down to get a newspaper and I'll have the maids bring up some water," he said, glancing to the clawfoot tub standing in the corner. The tub was large enough to accommodate two people easily and Michel had every intention of sharing it with his beautiful wife, even though he did not reveal this thought.
"Fine," said Nikita as he departed. She stared at the back of the door. That is certainly not what I had in mind.
Within a few minutes, two maids appeared with buckets of steaming water and proceeded to fill the tub. It took them a couple of trips to get enough water for a decent bath. After they left, Nikita undressed and pinned up her hair. She had just slipped into the tub when Michel returned. "Are you relaxed now?" he asked flippantly.
"You know, it's nice and hot," she said as she trailed her hand idly through the water. "Very soothing."
Michel said nothing, but casually tossed the newspaper on top of the bureau. He studied Nikita as he removed his jacket and hung it up.
"It would be a pity to waste any of this water," said Nikita, leaning her head back.
Michel could feel the blood rushing through his body and his pulse quickening as he slowly began to undress. He never took his eyes off Nikita as each article of clothing came off. Then he eased himself down behind her, careful not to spill any water over the sides, and positioned her against his chest.
"Hmmm . . . perfect!" he sighed.
PART 91 (NC-17)
"What are you thinking about?" asked Michel. His strong hands were massaging the muscles of Nikita's shoulders and upper back.
"Different things," she sighed contentedly. A few moments passed. "Oooh, that hurt!" she exclaimed.
"Stubborn knot there," said Michel as he kneaded an area between her shoulder blades.
Nikita closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on relaxing. This morning's revelations about her father had been quite a shock. But now his repeated lectures about "doing one's duty" made total sense to her.
An unsettling thought now crept into Nikita's mind. "Oh Michel, what happens tomorrow? We have to return to Sanibelle." She turned her head slightly and Michel could see the pained expression on her face. "I cannot bear the thought of being separated from you. Do you think Papa will somehow notify Miss Glanzman? Or maybe she already knows," said Nikita anxiously.
"My dear, do not worry so much. Let's hear what your father has to say tonight. I'm sure he's already anticipated the situation."
Nikita exhaled. "Yes, you're probably right. A man in his position has to do those things."
"Besides, whatever happens, we still have today to enjoy ourselves," said Michel as he nibbled on her ear. The action sent a little shiver along Nikita's spine. He took a soft sponge and worked the scented lather over Nikita's shoulders and down her arms, pausing to admire her wedding band. "At least you won't have to hide this tonight."
The water was cooling, but other temperatures were rising. Michel extricated himself from the tub and strode over to the washstand. Nikita admired his lean, yet powerful, physique. Oh, if the Brazilian Babes could see him now! she thought wickedly. She remembered all the times they had discussed him over late night cups of cocoa. Isabelita had once remarked that "he must look even better without clothes!"
"Wait," he called out as she started to get up. He grabbed a thick, fluffy towel and returned to wrap it around her glistening body as she stood.
Then he scooped her up in his arms and swung her around a couple of times before depositing her on the bed. "Michel!" she cried out in surprise.
He growled and tossed the towel aside. Nikita's lips parted and her heart began to race as she awaited his sensual touch. He began at her feet and massaged his way up her long legs, slowly and deliberately, but careful to avoid the dark blonde curls at the top of her thighs.
Nikita sighed. "You have the most incredible hands."
Michel looked up with an evil grin. "Only my hands?" he asked playfully. Not giving Nikita time to think, he began placing light kisses on her abdomen as his hands skimmed along her ribcage. Tiny goose bumps erupted all over Nikita's body. "Ah, Michel!"
Before long, his hands found the soft swell of her breasts and closed over them, squeezing gently until her nipples grew taut. His lips moved up the long column of her neck and along her jaw line until reaching her dainty earlobes. He nibbled one lobe, then the other, all the while murmuring endearments in French to his lovely bride.
His lips moved over her face and eyes, finally settling on her inviting mouth. Nikita ran her hands into his long locks as their tongues thrust at each other. Breaking the kiss at last, Michel moved down her chest and abdomen, once more bestowing light, teasing kisses. Nikita moved restlessly and reached for her husband. "Michel, oh!"
"Ni-ki-ta, my love. You are so beautiful!" he said breathlessly. He had reached the apex of dark blonde curls and kissed her once there, inhaling her scent. It was driving him wild! "Ki-ta."
Nikita groaned at the feel of his lips on her most intimate region. "You are . . . torturing . . . AH! . . . me! Oh my God! Michel!" Her hips jerked involuntarily as his tongue probed and explored her. "AH . . . AH!" she gasped.
Michel lifted his head to gaze at his sweet angel's flushed face. "I love the way you smell, the way you taste, Ki-ta! You are divine."
"Oh, Michel! I need you, I need you . . . AH!"
Those words were like music to his ears and threatened to push him over the edge. "And I need you, chère." He positioned himself and slowly began to enter her.
Clutching the sheets she breathed, "Ah yes, Michel! I want you . . . now! Yes, oh yes!"
Michel eased his rigid member in, inch by inch, sighing as Nikita's tight walls enveloped him completely. He savored the blissful sensation of being one with this amazing woman, his wife. "Yes, Ki-ta!"
He withdrew and began a slow, steady rhythm until Nikita screamed out in gasping breaths. "Yes . . . yes . . . Michel! Oh . . . Ah, yes!"
Her waves of pleasure triggered his own release as he plunged into her warm depths one final time. "Ki-ta . . . my love! YES, YES!"
He collapsed on her and buried his head by her neck. "I love you, Ki-ta," he whispered in her ear. Nikita ran her hands up and down his broad back as her breathing began to return to normal. "Michel, Michel . . . you are my heart."
Michel raised his head to gaze adoringly at Nikita. She reached up and touched his face before pulling his head toward her for one lingering kiss, then another. They closed their eyes and slept peacefully for a while. Then as they slowly awoke, desire sparked and they made love once more.
They spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, arising only when it was time to dress for dinner with Nikita's father.
They arrived at The Golden Palm restaurant exactly at eight o'clock. Reginald, who had arrived only a short time before, rose from his chair as the maitre d' led them to the corner table.
After consulting with Michel about a wine, Reginald placed their order and the three of them settled down for a friendly conversation. Reginald couldn't help recounting some humorous anecdotes from his daughter's childhood. "Papa, I can't believe you remember all those things!" she chided. Michel chuckled as he regarded her over the rim of his wineglass.
"I daresay your cousin Seymour remembers it even better since he wound up with a broken arm," said Reginald.
By now, their food had arrived. Nikita unfolded the crisp linen napkin and spread it in her lap. "I'm famished," she exclaimed, picking up her fork.
"Did you not give my daughter any luncheon today?" Reginald asked his son-in-law.
Michel looked at Nikita briefly, who tried to kick him under the table. "We were . . . busy."
Clearing his throat discreetly, Reginald said, "Yes, well . . . moving on to other matters . . ." It didn't take an Oxford don to figure out how newlyweds might have spent a lazy afternoon.
Toward the end of dinner, Reginald reached in his pocket and brought out a cheque, which he presented to the newlyweds. Nikita gasped when she saw the amount. "Papa, I don't know what to say!"
"I would have spent at least this much on a traditional wedding for you, but this can go toward buying and furnishing your home. A far better investment, if you ask me," said Reginald with a big smile.
Michel was surprised, too. "Thank you, sir. This is most unexpected."
"It's nothing," said Reginald, waving his hand. "I have only one daughter so I feel entitled to spoil her. And this is no reflection on you, Michel. I know you are perfectly capable of supporting a wife."
"Still, this is extremely generous of you, sir," said Michel.
Reginald looked very pleased with himself, but he had one more surprise up his sleeve. "Well, it's getting late and you two have a long voyage ahead of you tomorrow!" he said brightly.
Nikita's expression changed immediately. "Long voyage? We are only going back to school," she said with a sigh. She had no idea how being married was going to play out at Sanibelle. She had conveniently pushed reality aside for the past few days.
Now Reginald presented them with a packet containing train tickets to Dover and ferry tickets to cross the Channel to France. "A wedding trip!" said Reginald. "Michel, I'm sure you're anxious to see your family again, especially since the mission is over and you have a wife."
Nikita was taken aback. "What about school? What about Miss Glanzman?"
"Do not worry, my dear. I will apprise Miss Glanzman of the situation," said Reginald with complete confidence.
Lionel and Leona were in the process of combining their households. On the morning of the big move, Leona stood at the top of the steps with her hands on her hips. "That ratty chair is not coming into my flat!" she declared in no uncertain terms.
"But it's my favorite chair," Lionel protested. "I sit in it every night to read the newspaper."
More gently, Leona said, "We'll get you a new favorite chair. With nice plaid upholstery, I think."
Lionel shrugged. "Okay, I guess I can live with that."
"Good! Now shake a leg. We don't want to miss our train. I always enjoy a good wedding and I'm anxious to meet the Inspector's fiancée!" said Leona, a sudden feeling of sentimentality coming over her.
"Yes, dear," answered Lionel dutifully. He motioned for the movers to take his favorite chair around to the rubbish bin, where it landed unceremoniously on the top of the heap.
Lionel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Plaid, you say? Can I at least pick out the colour?"
** The Following September
Miss Glanzman, who was now a very happy Mrs. Vartan, relocated to London, where her husband worked for The Big Man, alias Nikita's father. As luck would have it, The Sanibelle Foundation was gearing up to open a day school for the daughters of high-ranking government officials and diplomats. The Board of Directors did not hesitate to call upon Mrs. Vartan's administrative expertise in organizing the curriculum.
The main campus, in the countryside south of London, continued to flourish in spite of two popular students being withdrawn by their families due to "emotional distress." Or at least that was the official story Headmaster Wolfe put out in the wake of the "Mayfair Mob" scandal.
In fact, Carla and Nikita suffered no long-term ill effects after that dreadful business was concluded. The Big Man sent people to clean out their room and send their belongings up to London. "For security purposes, my dear," explained Reginald. Nikita was sad not to be able to say goodbye to her friends, but she understood why it had to be done this way. This was the beginning of her new life as the wife of one important man and the daughter of another.
Carla's father consented to her engagement to Seymour Jones-Wirth, pronouncing him "a fine young man with great potential," and to her dabbling in fashion design while Seymour finished his university studies. Meanwhile, after some initial morning sickness, Nikita settled in to help Mrs. Vartan with some organizational details at the new school.
Headmaster Wolfe sorely missed Miss Glanzman's no-nonsense approach, but found that Miss Roddy quite admirably filled her shoes. He was even more pleased when Kate Quinn agreed to come and be Miss Roddy's assistant. He had even ceased wondering what might have happened to Madeline. So, life was good, after all!
Michel and Nikita purchased a small house on the outskirts of London and were pleased when one day they received a telegram from Walter asking how life was in the suburbs. He promised to come visit after the baby was born. They had not yet decided on a girl's name, but were definitely going with "Adam Reginald" if it was a boy.
Reginald was gratified to have his son-in-law and Inspector Vartan working for him, but was tickled pink about the prospect of being a grandfather. Alas, poor Mick, the rejected suitor, moved to Monte Carlo and bought a casino. At last report, he was living the high life with a voluptuous former dancer from the Moulin Rouge.
(End of the romance novel.)
** Back to the Present Day
The insistent buzz of the alarm clock brought Nikita out of a heavy sleep. It can't be time to go back to Section already. It seemed like only a few minutes ago she had started reading the romance novel. She saw the book lying on the floor beside the bed, apparently having slipped from her grasp when she nodded off. The orange kitten, who had been curled at her side last night, was snoozing soundly on top of some clean towels.
She picked up the book and thought, Not a bad little story. I may have to read some more of these books. Especially when Michael's out of town!
Thirty minutes later she was in Section and heading for Comm. Birkoff was typing furiously at his keyboard and barking out instructions to a long-haired operative behind him. A quick glance toward the Perch showed Operations and Madeline bent over a monitor. Apparently, there was more than one mission going live at this point.
She walked up and stopped beside a workstation. "What's happening, Birkoff?"
"The Kabul mission is loading in fifteen minutes and we have some new intel about that arms dealer in Zaire." Birkoff was so busy that he didn't even look up at her.
Nikita almost hated to interrupt him. "Uh, is Michael back from Egypt?"
"Don't know." Birkoff jabbed a finger on the intercom. "Gail, I need another disc, ASAP! That's right! Do I sound like I'm joking?"
Nikita started backing away. "Okay, catch you later."
Birkoff wheeled his chair across to another computer. "Run the B program. If that doesn't work, reboot," he said to the young Korean girl sitting there. He glanced up briefly at Nikita. "Sorry, can't talk now."
"No problem," replied Nikita. She turned and headed for Michael's office. Sure enough, Section's top operative could be seen through the open blinds. Nikita hesitated, wondering if she should disturb him. Yes, I want to bother him!
She opened the door slightly and stuck her head in. "How was Cairo?" she asked brightly.
Michael stopped typing and uttered one word. "Hot."
Without waiting to be invited, Nikita entered and sat down in her usual chair. I'm looking at something that's pretty damn hot, too. She found it hard to keep the smirk off her face.
"Can I help you with something?" Michael asked as he kept typing.
"Did you get any useful intel in Cairo? Is the team going out today?"
"Perhaps and no," he responded.
Well, you're just full of information today, aren't you? she thought.
Finally, Michael looked up and focused on her for a full minute. "Was there anything else?"
Nikita shook her head. His intense stare sent a chill down her spine. "No. Guess I'll see you around," she said as she slowly got up. She paused at the door and added, "You look tired, Michael. I think you need to relax more."
That evening, Nikita passed the bookstore where she had purchased the romance novel. Just as she was about to go in, the small pager on her hip began to chirp. She yanked it up disgustedly and looked at the text message. Then she smiled. It was an address very familiar to her.
After a brisk five-minute walk, she arrived at Mario's, a popular Italian restaurant. Seated at a table by the window was a man in a black suit. He met her gaze as she approached and a chill went down her spine.
** THE END **
May 9, 2004