Estate of Henri Sanguinet
Outskirts of Rouen, France
Sydney let her gaze wander casually around the ballroom, looking for Agent Gilbert. She couldn't find him. That was unsettling, because it was only a little more than an hour until the unveiling. Was he in disguise, or -- suddenly, she found her eyes meeting those of Michael Vaughn. After a second or two of absolute shock, she snapped her gaze to her wine glass. What the hell was he doing here? Clearly, something must have happened to Gilbert. Was Vaughn taking his place? Was the plan still on?
She forced herself to turn her back to him and wander about the room, feigning interest in the artwork on the walls, smiling pleasantly at guests, engaging in idle chitchat. But still her mind whirled. She was well-trained to react smoothly to any unforeseen changes in plans, but his presence had thrown her oddly off-kilter.
Try as she might, she couldn't avoid stealing a glance or two in his direction. He was surrounded by a small cluster of attractive women. A stunning blonde in an inappropriately low-cut red dress had practically attached herself to him. Was she another agent? Sydney wondered. No, she decided, she was trying far too hard to monopolize his attention. Sydney could hear her peals of laughter all the way across the room. Surely Vaughn wouldn't find such a shameless display of flirting *attractive*. It was really quite sickening.
Although, if truth be told, she couldn't fault the woman for her taste. He did look damn good in a tuxedo. Even if she hadn't known him, he would have drawn her eyes. There were plenty of good-looking men at the party, but he stood out. Speaking as an impartial observer, of course.
"You should ask him to dance."
She started at Dixon's voice. God, she'd not even noticed him approaching! "What are you talking about?"
"I've seen you looking at that popular young Frenchman across the room. And I assure you, he's noticed you, too."
"Dixon, don't be silly, I can't --"
"Sure you can. We have almost an hour until the unveiling. Sydney, you deserve a little fun. Go on. It's just one dance."
Sydney started to protest, but then she realized that it would be a perfect chance to find out what was going on without arousing Dixon's suspicions. Now that he had already noticed Vaughn, this was the easiest way. They'd just have to be sure that Dixon never, ever saw Vaughn again.
"Are you sure he noticed me?" she asked, exasperated that Vaughn had been caught looking at her -- conveniently forgetting that she had been guilty of the same crime. He must not have been in the field for a while. "It seems like he has enough to notice right in front of him."
"Oh, yeah, he noticed you. How could he not in that dress?" Dixon teased.
Sydney smiled and set her wine glass down on a side table. "If he turns me down, Dixon, you're buying me lunch for a week."
"He won't."
Sydney felt strangely nervous as she walked across the room, almost as if she were worried that he *would* say "no." The room seemed somehow larger than it had before, but at least she was afforded the best, longest look at him that she had enjoyed all evening. There was no denying it: he was an amazingly attractive man. It was almost criminal for him to look as good as he did in a tuxedo. She couldn't stop herself from letting her eyes roam over the slim length of his body. The tuxedo had to have been made for him; it fit him perfectly. There was something a little different about his hair. It was more tousled than usual, making her fingers itch to tousle it even further. He also had a noticeable five o'clock shadow, giving him a rakish, sexy edge quite different from his usual conservative sleekness.
There was absolutely no reason for her to feel this nervous.
* * * * *
Vaughn noticed Sydney walking toward him with a mixture of consternation and confusion. What the hell was she doing about to make contact with him so openly? Obviously she had a reason, but it seemed an unnecessary risk. Dixon would surely notice, and God knows who else. He would be shocked if K-Directorate didn't have an agent here tonight.
But he couldn't ignore the exhilaration that he felt at seeing her approach him, either. She looked ... amazing. She made a stunning redhead, and her short dress clung to her body like a second skin. He tried to damp down the desire that immediately surged through him. Suddenly, the danger they faced from Sanguinet somehow seemed secondary to the danger of Sydney Bristow walking toward him in a tight black dress.
He had been extremely annoyed when Gilbert called him from the airport as they loaded him into the ambulance. It had been an accident, but he had been furious at how it might affect Sydney's safety. He had had little chance to think throughout his frantic preparations for leaving and picking up the medallion from Gilbert at the hospital. But as he had settled into his seat on the plane, the annoyance had changed to anticipation. He was going to get to see Sydney in action, and not only that, he was going to get to help her, to work side-by-side with her. He hadn't quite realized how desperately he had wanted that until the opportunity was presented to him.
He prayed that he wouldn't do anything to mess things up. Apart from a few missions, he had never really been a field agent. So far, though, things had gone fine. He had tried to assume Gilbert's cover as a playboy race-car driver as best he could. He certainly didn't have Gilbert's enthusiasm for the part, but he must be doing well enough, if the women around him were any indication. It was flattering, of course, and a great benefit for his cover, but he really would have preferred they go away. He had danced with a couple of them -- the blonde in the red dress, Monique, had been practically insistent -- but they were distracting, and the only woman there whom he wanted to spend time with was the one woman he couldn't.
But now she was walking toward him, and adrenaline surged through his body.
* * * * *
"Monsieur, je me demandais si vous voudriez danser?" She couldn't help notice the rather murderous glare that the blonde shot her, and she felt inordinately pleased.
Vaughn raised one eyebrow, and she was quite sure that she had never seen anything sexier in her life. He rather blatantly looked her up and down. "Naturellement, mademoiselle Je suis ˆ votre service. Pour danser...." He let the sentence trail off suggestively. Without breaking eye contact with Sydney, he handed his wine glass to the blonde, who looked as if she had just been presented with a dead fish. Oh, *perfect,* Sydney thought, feeling a bubble of laughter well up in her throat. She couldn't help shooting the woman a rather smug glance as Vaughn took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
The band was playing a soft, romantic tune that she didn't recognize. They settled into each other's arms and began to move in time to the music. "What are you doing?" they hissed at the same moment.
Their eyes met, and he nodded for her to go ahead.
"What happened to Gilbert?" she asked.
"He broke his ankle at the airport." He rolled his eyes at her quizzical look. "Don't ask. I think it involved a flight attendant and a baggage carousel. Anyway, there wasn't enough time to brief anybody else and pick up the medallion from him, so here I am."
She glanced at the group of women who were still clustered where they had left them, looking variously glum and perturbed. "You seem to have slipped into Gilbert's cover successfully."
He grimaced, but she detected a faint redness rising on his cheeks. "Hey, don't act so surprised. But if I have to listen to *Monique* laugh in my ear much longer, I'm going to go deaf."
I knew he wouldn't find her attractive, she thought with satisfaction. "The sacrifices we make for our country."
"My turn. Why did you ask me to dance?" he asked. "We weren't supposed to make contact until after you got the medallion. Dixon had to have seen you."
"Dixon noticed you staring at me and insisted that I ask you to dance. Not very stealthy, Agent Vaughn."
"I was *not* staring. I may have *looked* once or twice, but I was not *staring*," he protested quietly. Oh, God, *had* he been staring? Vaughn wondered, abashed. He had tried very hard not to. Of course, he had caught *her* looking at *him* a time or two. "Anyway, what gave him the idea that you would *want* to dance with me?"
"I don't know."
Was that a bit of a blush he spied on her cheeks? She wasn't meeting his eyes, and he couldn't help smiling a little. "Busted, Agent Bristow?" he whispered.
"I was very surprised to see you," she said.
"OK," he said, instilling a note of teasing disbelief into his voice, and her eyes flashed up to his. She smiled in spite of herself.
There seemed nothing else to say then. They relaxed into the dance, their bodies moving in unison to the music. Sydney concentrated on the sensations that were filling her mind. His grip was strong but gentle -- just right. He smelled of cologne and soap and a scent that she had learned was distinctly him. He made her feel ... comfortable. Most of all, she felt the electric warmth where his hand rested against the small of her back, bare where her dress scooped down to just below her waist. She could almost imagine how it would feel if he moved his hand over her back, his palm igniting her skin.
There was a pleasant fire in his hand where it touched her bare back. Her skin was so soft, it was all he could do not to caress more of it, all of it. He felt a little intoxicated at being this close to her, moving with her. The very air that surrounded them seemed to hum along with the music. He knew that he shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he was, but God, it was wonderful and arousing, and it was only for a few moments. Surely they deserved a few moments.
Suddenly, she stiffened, the mood broken. "What is it?" he asked, immediately tuned in to her tension.
"Anna." Sydney turned them so that her back was to Anna Espinosa. "In the corner, beside the Picasso-wannabe. Vaughn, I can't wait for the unveiling. I have to move now."
He nodded, his mind snapping back to business. "Need someone to distract her?"
"That would be helpful." She hesitated. "She knows Dixon."
"She doesn't know me."
Sydney felt a sudden grip of fear, realizing that she didn't want Vaughn anywhere near Anna Espinosa, anywhere with a chance of getting hurt. But it was the obvious plan. She forcefully pushed the confusing fear aside. "As long as she didn't notice us dancing."
"Hey, I'm just your typical French playboy making the rounds of the beautiful women."
"Just ... be careful, OK? She's dangerous."
"You too." He brought her hand to his lips as the song ended. "Merci pour la danse, Sydney." She shivered, and try as she might, she couldn't convince herself that it was simply a result of apprehension about beating Anna to the medallion and concern for his safety. Vaughn smiled at her, a smile that she found at once comforting and enticing, and she smiled back. Then they parted, each to their tasks, their minds both lighter and heavier than they had been.
* * * * *
"Such a stunning lady should not be standing alone." Vaughn held out out a glass of wine to Anna Espinosa.
"Perhaps I prefer being alone." She straightened her spine -- if that were any more possible -- and stared him in the eye challengingly. She took the glass, however. He wished he'd had a knockout capsule to put in it. He was definitely going to start carrying one from now on.
"Perhaps you have not had the right company." He plastered a lop-sided smile on his face -- the one that Alice had accused him of trying to use to get out of her doghouse when the Agency called him away from yet another one of their evenings together. It had worked on her for far longer than it should have.
She looked him up and down as blatantly as he had Sydney earlier. He hoped to God that he hadn't looked as predatory. She put him in mind of a coiling cobra. "And what makes you think that you might be the Ôright company'?"
"I've never had any complaints about my ... company." Inwardly, Vaughn cringed, thinking that if he were Anna, he would slap him.
"You normally have a lot of company, then?" Anna purred.
"Enough to know the good kind when I see it."
She smiled seductively in response, and he wondered just how long he was going to be able to keep up this godawful innuendo.
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm. "There you are, mon cher. I was getting lonely." His heart sank as Monique sidled up next to him possessively.
Anna raised her eyebrows slightly. "Excuse me," she said and walked away from them.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, Vaughn thought, staring after Anna and fighting the impulse to shake Monique's hand off his arm angrily. Had he bought Sydney enough time?
Outskirts of Rouen, France
Sydney let her gaze wander casually around the ballroom, looking for Agent Gilbert. She couldn't find him. That was unsettling, because it was only a little more than an hour until the unveiling. Was he in disguise, or -- suddenly, she found her eyes meeting those of Michael Vaughn. After a second or two of absolute shock, she snapped her gaze to her wine glass. What the hell was he doing here? Clearly, something must have happened to Gilbert. Was Vaughn taking his place? Was the plan still on?
She forced herself to turn her back to him and wander about the room, feigning interest in the artwork on the walls, smiling pleasantly at guests, engaging in idle chitchat. But still her mind whirled. She was well-trained to react smoothly to any unforeseen changes in plans, but his presence had thrown her oddly off-kilter.
Try as she might, she couldn't avoid stealing a glance or two in his direction. He was surrounded by a small cluster of attractive women. A stunning blonde in an inappropriately low-cut red dress had practically attached herself to him. Was she another agent? Sydney wondered. No, she decided, she was trying far too hard to monopolize his attention. Sydney could hear her peals of laughter all the way across the room. Surely Vaughn wouldn't find such a shameless display of flirting *attractive*. It was really quite sickening.
Although, if truth be told, she couldn't fault the woman for her taste. He did look damn good in a tuxedo. Even if she hadn't known him, he would have drawn her eyes. There were plenty of good-looking men at the party, but he stood out. Speaking as an impartial observer, of course.
"You should ask him to dance."
She started at Dixon's voice. God, she'd not even noticed him approaching! "What are you talking about?"
"I've seen you looking at that popular young Frenchman across the room. And I assure you, he's noticed you, too."
"Dixon, don't be silly, I can't --"
"Sure you can. We have almost an hour until the unveiling. Sydney, you deserve a little fun. Go on. It's just one dance."
Sydney started to protest, but then she realized that it would be a perfect chance to find out what was going on without arousing Dixon's suspicions. Now that he had already noticed Vaughn, this was the easiest way. They'd just have to be sure that Dixon never, ever saw Vaughn again.
"Are you sure he noticed me?" she asked, exasperated that Vaughn had been caught looking at her -- conveniently forgetting that she had been guilty of the same crime. He must not have been in the field for a while. "It seems like he has enough to notice right in front of him."
"Oh, yeah, he noticed you. How could he not in that dress?" Dixon teased.
Sydney smiled and set her wine glass down on a side table. "If he turns me down, Dixon, you're buying me lunch for a week."
"He won't."
Sydney felt strangely nervous as she walked across the room, almost as if she were worried that he *would* say "no." The room seemed somehow larger than it had before, but at least she was afforded the best, longest look at him that she had enjoyed all evening. There was no denying it: he was an amazingly attractive man. It was almost criminal for him to look as good as he did in a tuxedo. She couldn't stop herself from letting her eyes roam over the slim length of his body. The tuxedo had to have been made for him; it fit him perfectly. There was something a little different about his hair. It was more tousled than usual, making her fingers itch to tousle it even further. He also had a noticeable five o'clock shadow, giving him a rakish, sexy edge quite different from his usual conservative sleekness.
There was absolutely no reason for her to feel this nervous.
* * * * *
Vaughn noticed Sydney walking toward him with a mixture of consternation and confusion. What the hell was she doing about to make contact with him so openly? Obviously she had a reason, but it seemed an unnecessary risk. Dixon would surely notice, and God knows who else. He would be shocked if K-Directorate didn't have an agent here tonight.
But he couldn't ignore the exhilaration that he felt at seeing her approach him, either. She looked ... amazing. She made a stunning redhead, and her short dress clung to her body like a second skin. He tried to damp down the desire that immediately surged through him. Suddenly, the danger they faced from Sanguinet somehow seemed secondary to the danger of Sydney Bristow walking toward him in a tight black dress.
He had been extremely annoyed when Gilbert called him from the airport as they loaded him into the ambulance. It had been an accident, but he had been furious at how it might affect Sydney's safety. He had had little chance to think throughout his frantic preparations for leaving and picking up the medallion from Gilbert at the hospital. But as he had settled into his seat on the plane, the annoyance had changed to anticipation. He was going to get to see Sydney in action, and not only that, he was going to get to help her, to work side-by-side with her. He hadn't quite realized how desperately he had wanted that until the opportunity was presented to him.
He prayed that he wouldn't do anything to mess things up. Apart from a few missions, he had never really been a field agent. So far, though, things had gone fine. He had tried to assume Gilbert's cover as a playboy race-car driver as best he could. He certainly didn't have Gilbert's enthusiasm for the part, but he must be doing well enough, if the women around him were any indication. It was flattering, of course, and a great benefit for his cover, but he really would have preferred they go away. He had danced with a couple of them -- the blonde in the red dress, Monique, had been practically insistent -- but they were distracting, and the only woman there whom he wanted to spend time with was the one woman he couldn't.
But now she was walking toward him, and adrenaline surged through his body.
* * * * *
"Monsieur, je me demandais si vous voudriez danser?" She couldn't help notice the rather murderous glare that the blonde shot her, and she felt inordinately pleased.
Vaughn raised one eyebrow, and she was quite sure that she had never seen anything sexier in her life. He rather blatantly looked her up and down. "Naturellement, mademoiselle Je suis ˆ votre service. Pour danser...." He let the sentence trail off suggestively. Without breaking eye contact with Sydney, he handed his wine glass to the blonde, who looked as if she had just been presented with a dead fish. Oh, *perfect,* Sydney thought, feeling a bubble of laughter well up in her throat. She couldn't help shooting the woman a rather smug glance as Vaughn took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
The band was playing a soft, romantic tune that she didn't recognize. They settled into each other's arms and began to move in time to the music. "What are you doing?" they hissed at the same moment.
Their eyes met, and he nodded for her to go ahead.
"What happened to Gilbert?" she asked.
"He broke his ankle at the airport." He rolled his eyes at her quizzical look. "Don't ask. I think it involved a flight attendant and a baggage carousel. Anyway, there wasn't enough time to brief anybody else and pick up the medallion from him, so here I am."
She glanced at the group of women who were still clustered where they had left them, looking variously glum and perturbed. "You seem to have slipped into Gilbert's cover successfully."
He grimaced, but she detected a faint redness rising on his cheeks. "Hey, don't act so surprised. But if I have to listen to *Monique* laugh in my ear much longer, I'm going to go deaf."
I knew he wouldn't find her attractive, she thought with satisfaction. "The sacrifices we make for our country."
"My turn. Why did you ask me to dance?" he asked. "We weren't supposed to make contact until after you got the medallion. Dixon had to have seen you."
"Dixon noticed you staring at me and insisted that I ask you to dance. Not very stealthy, Agent Vaughn."
"I was *not* staring. I may have *looked* once or twice, but I was not *staring*," he protested quietly. Oh, God, *had* he been staring? Vaughn wondered, abashed. He had tried very hard not to. Of course, he had caught *her* looking at *him* a time or two. "Anyway, what gave him the idea that you would *want* to dance with me?"
"I don't know."
Was that a bit of a blush he spied on her cheeks? She wasn't meeting his eyes, and he couldn't help smiling a little. "Busted, Agent Bristow?" he whispered.
"I was very surprised to see you," she said.
"OK," he said, instilling a note of teasing disbelief into his voice, and her eyes flashed up to his. She smiled in spite of herself.
There seemed nothing else to say then. They relaxed into the dance, their bodies moving in unison to the music. Sydney concentrated on the sensations that were filling her mind. His grip was strong but gentle -- just right. He smelled of cologne and soap and a scent that she had learned was distinctly him. He made her feel ... comfortable. Most of all, she felt the electric warmth where his hand rested against the small of her back, bare where her dress scooped down to just below her waist. She could almost imagine how it would feel if he moved his hand over her back, his palm igniting her skin.
There was a pleasant fire in his hand where it touched her bare back. Her skin was so soft, it was all he could do not to caress more of it, all of it. He felt a little intoxicated at being this close to her, moving with her. The very air that surrounded them seemed to hum along with the music. He knew that he shouldn't be enjoying this as much as he was, but God, it was wonderful and arousing, and it was only for a few moments. Surely they deserved a few moments.
Suddenly, she stiffened, the mood broken. "What is it?" he asked, immediately tuned in to her tension.
"Anna." Sydney turned them so that her back was to Anna Espinosa. "In the corner, beside the Picasso-wannabe. Vaughn, I can't wait for the unveiling. I have to move now."
He nodded, his mind snapping back to business. "Need someone to distract her?"
"That would be helpful." She hesitated. "She knows Dixon."
"She doesn't know me."
Sydney felt a sudden grip of fear, realizing that she didn't want Vaughn anywhere near Anna Espinosa, anywhere with a chance of getting hurt. But it was the obvious plan. She forcefully pushed the confusing fear aside. "As long as she didn't notice us dancing."
"Hey, I'm just your typical French playboy making the rounds of the beautiful women."
"Just ... be careful, OK? She's dangerous."
"You too." He brought her hand to his lips as the song ended. "Merci pour la danse, Sydney." She shivered, and try as she might, she couldn't convince herself that it was simply a result of apprehension about beating Anna to the medallion and concern for his safety. Vaughn smiled at her, a smile that she found at once comforting and enticing, and she smiled back. Then they parted, each to their tasks, their minds both lighter and heavier than they had been.
* * * * *
"Such a stunning lady should not be standing alone." Vaughn held out out a glass of wine to Anna Espinosa.
"Perhaps I prefer being alone." She straightened her spine -- if that were any more possible -- and stared him in the eye challengingly. She took the glass, however. He wished he'd had a knockout capsule to put in it. He was definitely going to start carrying one from now on.
"Perhaps you have not had the right company." He plastered a lop-sided smile on his face -- the one that Alice had accused him of trying to use to get out of her doghouse when the Agency called him away from yet another one of their evenings together. It had worked on her for far longer than it should have.
She looked him up and down as blatantly as he had Sydney earlier. He hoped to God that he hadn't looked as predatory. She put him in mind of a coiling cobra. "And what makes you think that you might be the Ôright company'?"
"I've never had any complaints about my ... company." Inwardly, Vaughn cringed, thinking that if he were Anna, he would slap him.
"You normally have a lot of company, then?" Anna purred.
"Enough to know the good kind when I see it."
She smiled seductively in response, and he wondered just how long he was going to be able to keep up this godawful innuendo.
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm. "There you are, mon cher. I was getting lonely." His heart sank as Monique sidled up next to him possessively.
Anna raised her eyebrows slightly. "Excuse me," she said and walked away from them.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, Vaughn thought, staring after Anna and fighting the impulse to shake Monique's hand off his arm angrily. Had he bought Sydney enough time?
