by Ludi and angyxoxo
Logan’s apartment
turned out to be as idiosyncratic as the man himself. It was a dingy old place, sparsely furnished but kept in
reasonably good shape, exactly how one would imagine a bachelor pad must’ve
looked like twenty years ago.
Jean sensed he hadn’t
moved or changed a thing in about the same amount of time. But she said nothing as she slipped past him
and into what appeared to be the hallway-cum-dining room. She stood there a moment, feeling confused,
nervous and out-of-place. It was as
though she’d trespassed on his territory.
Suddenly coming here felt like a terrible mistake.
“You wanna take yer coat
off?” Logan asked awkwardly. She sensed
that he was feeling as embarrassed as she was and that eased her nerves
somewhat.
“No… I wasn’t really
planning on staying long, I just wanted to…” She slowly trailed off, not
knowing what she wanted, or why she’d even come here. Maybe she was being irrational.
Maybe Scott had been telling the truth and she was overreacting…
Logan shrugged,
nonchalant once more, and brushed past her, opening the door to what must have
been the living room.
“Suit yerself…” he said.
She followed him on
instinct, only to find herself in a room she had not been expecting. It was as small and poky as the hallway, but
decorated with what she could only describe as antiques. Rare and fascinating Japanese antiques.
Jean stood in the
doorway and looked around in awe.
At the far end of the
room was a cabinet full various ornaments, gold statues of unknown deities,
black lacquered dishes, ceremonial Noh masks, enamel-inlaid mirrors and
hand-painted fans. Against another wall
was a bookcase full of books about Japan – some even in Japanese. But the crowning glory had been hung proudly
on the wall above the sofa. A katana
blade in a black scabbard, intricately decorated in gold and silver. Despite the shabbiness of his apartment, Jean
could tell that he took care of all these rarities with as much attentiveness
as he’d taken care of her that night at the Hideaway.
Though utterly at odds
with his character, somehow she wasn’t surprised to discover a refined and
cultured side to this strange and silent man.
“Wanna drink?”
He’d gone to the
adjacent kitchen and was calmly pouring himself a Scotch. She tore her eyes reluctantly away from the
katana and said: “Sure. Whatever you’re
having.”
His head popped round
the kitchen door.
“You sure about that,
Red?”
“I need something
hard,” she replied wryly, wiping her moist eyes with the back of a hand. He grimaced with wordless understanding and
disappeared, leaving her with the katana once more. A moment later he was back, two glasses of whiskey in his hands.
“You like it?” he
asked, nodding in the direction of the sword.
She nodded. “You
bought it?”
“Nah. Was a gift,” he returned, sipping from his
glass with relish. “S’my pride an’ joy.
Along with my bike, that is,” he added with a curl of the lips.
“It’s beautiful,” she
breathed. “You had it made in Japan?”
“Yeah.” He paused, his
eyes downcast. “I lived out there a while back.”
She looked at him, for
the first time feeling that she was touching something intimate and personal in
him and it felt odd, all the more so for the fact that he was letting her touch
it. She couldn’t help but feel warm
towards him, be attracted to his lonewolf demeanor and the fact that he made no
apology for it. And the way he looked
at her, gazed at her lips, waiting for her to speak… She swallowed.
“A long while back?”
she asked of him tentatively.
“Probably when you
were in yer teens, Red.”
The way he said it
made Jean feel like he was trying to put space between them and she was even
more confused. She looked away, sipping
the whiskey quietly, trying not to balk at the sour taste of it. She’d been angry with Scott, had come here
in the heat of the moment thinking she had no one else to turn to – but being
here, now, with him… Her anger had
dissipated only to be left with discomfort. Perhaps she really shouldn’t have
come at all…
“So,” he began,
settling down on the couch. “You wanna talk about it?”
“About what?” she
asked, taken off guard.
He gave her a look.
“Red, you come here
out of the blue with your eyes all red and puffy, askin’ me to help you
out. And now you’re tellin’ me there
ain’t somethin’ you wanna talk about?”
“I think…” she looked
down at her glass, her cheeks flushing, “I think maybe I was overreacting…”
“Hmph. So you jus’ came here ‘cos you were dyin’ to
see me?” His tone was mocking, as if he expected her to laugh at the
suggestion. And yet the accuracy of his
statement made her blush.
“I… Something
happened… I was upset. I thought
talking to you would help, but…”
“But I ain’t the right
person to talk to, huh?”
“Because I’m praying
I’ve read the situation wrong and I’ve got nothing to be really upset about,”
she finished.
He gave her a
quizzical look, but she didn’t want to explain. She just couldn’t deal with mentioning Scott to him. For one thing she’d lied to him – she’d
pretended she was single and she didn’t want him to think bad of her. For another she still didn’t want to appear
anything but single to him…
“I gotta admit, Red,
you’ve got me intrigued here,” he began, and she finally found the courage to
sit on the sofa next to him. “Are you sure there ain’t anythin’ I can do?” he
continued, softer this time.
“No,” she replied
slowly. That at least was true. She didn’t know why she’d come to him in the
first place, when she so easily could’ve phoned her sister, or one of the
girls. Even her own actions confused
her. It was so out of character for her
to find comfort in someone she barely knew, and that scared her. “I’m sorry,
Logan, I really shouldn’t have interrupted your evening. It was rude of me since I barely know you at
all, but it was such a spur of the moment decision and I didn’t know where else
to go.”
She busied herself
looking at her hands but he simply grinned. “Don’t apologize. I wasn’t doin’ anythin’ interestin’. I was only thinkin’ of goin’ up on the roof
and drinkin’ a beer… ‘Bout as excitin’ as my evenin’s get these days.”
She couldn’t smile,
despite his humorous tone.
“Funny. I would’ve thought a man like you would be
finding lots of things to do during the night.”
He grunted. “What
makes you say that?”
She shrugged. “Just a
feeling.”
He leaned over
reflectively, placing his empty glass on the coffee table. “Well,” he began, “I
was a busy kinda guy. Back in the old days, when I had a lot more
to do with my life than run a bar.”
“Like when you were in
Japan?” she asked, looking up at the katana again. He raised an eyebrow.
“What, we talkin’
about me now?”
She looked down into
her glass again. “I’d like to know about you,” she found herself confessing
quietly. He looked surprised and she
continued quickly. “I…I find you an interesting person, Logan. You’re…so different to other men.”
He stared at her a
long moment, considering, then said: “What d’ya wanna know?”
“Why you went to
Japan. Why you stayed out there. Why you obviously still love it so much.”
His gaze was more
penetrating this time, and she thought he’d be angry with her for presuming too
much, for having been so bold. But the
look in his eyes wasn’t anger – she couldn’t tell what it was.
“It was because of a
woman,” he finally replied, simply, so simply she was taken aback.
“You mean…” she began,
tongue-tied. He nodded briefly.
“Yup.”
She flushed. “I’m
sorry.”
“Why? You brought it up. If you ask for it, you gotta be prepared not to like it.” He
wasn’t rebuking her, just being matter-of-fact. She thought it was the only way he could deal with life without
folding.
“What was her name?”
He didn’t even blink.
“Mariko. Mariko Yashida.”
“And you were…close?”
“We were engaged.”
“Oh.” She paused,
wondering if she should pose her next question at all. She swirled the contents
of her glass round, asked: “If you don’t mind me asking… How did she…pass on?”
His countenance was
still one of calm stoicism.
“She was
poisoned. By the Yakuza.” He caught her
shocked expression and gave a mirthless smile. “Don’t give me that look,
Red. I ain’t gonna lie to you. I wasn’t no saint, back in the day. Never pretended t’ be.”
“But you…and the Yakuza?
You were involved in organized crime?”
Logan perused his
glass, his gaze far-away. “No. Not
quite. But Mariko was – by blood. Her family was the Yakuza.” He looked at her then, his blue eyes searching her
face. “You're a big girl, Red, so I ain’t gonna pretty this up for you. Yeah, I did some work for the Yakuza, but
only under my own terms, and only for Mariko.
I was caught up in some funny business back then and I was stupid. I let it get in the way of my personal life
and I paid for it.” He sighed. “You haveta understand, I was a worthless gaijin to the Yaks and they didn’t like
me cozyin’ up to the big boss’ daughter.
When she would have no one else, it was treason. You can guess what happened next.”
He looked away
quickly, his eyes wandering, and behind the gruffness of his words Jean
detected the sorrow and guilt that still haunted him. She could say nothing, knowing words would only be a cold
comfort.
“That katana,” he
continued, nodding up at the polished blade, “was her gift to me.” He leaned
forwards, stared at his interlaced fingers. “I told her I loved her, but I
wasn’t prepared to give up my way of life for her. I was an idiot. She was
willin’ to give me everythin’ and I threw it all away. I lost her and there was no one to blame but
myself.” His voice fell to an undertone. “I’ve been alone ever since.”
Silence fell. Jean was getting tired of fiddling with the
barely-touched glass, and she didn’t particularly want to get drunk again
anyway. So she set it down on the table
and looked him in the eye.
“Logan…” she began
with genuine feeling. “I-I’m sorry.”
He glanced up at her,
his gaze questing. “Me too. But being
alone is the price I gotta pay for letting Mariko die. Being a loner is the way I am.”
She shook her head
slowly. “No, it isn’t. Sure, you made a
mistake back then, a terrible one, but it doesn’t have to rule the rest of your
life. For what it’s worth… I don’t
think any less of you.”
He was wordless, his
gaze intense, so intense she had to look away.
He was being frank with her, and that made her feel guilty. He hadn’t told anyone this in a long time,
she could feel it. And that he’d chosen
his confidante to be her meant more than she could tell. He wasn’t the kind of man to deal with
florid gestures. His way of showing
friendship was primitive, a simple matter of give and take. He’d shared with her and so he expected the
same of her. But it was more than
that. As she looked into his eyes she
knew it wasn’t simply friendship he was trying to show her and she knew it
wasn’t only friendship she’d been looking for in him either.
And in that
split-second of realization it was clear as day to her why she had come here.
She’d come here
because she was attracted to Logan.
She’d come here because she found him interesting and passionate and
sensitive and she’d wanted to hurt Scott the way he’d hurt her.
She’d been prepared to
cheat on her fiancé, the man she loved.
The revelation was
enough to get her to her feet. He
looked up at her, puzzled at her sudden look of alarm, and feeling flustered
she mumbled: “I think I should be getting home.”
“But you only just –”
“I’ve really got to
go,” she insisted, half-turning towards the door. She knew he didn’t want her to go, but to her surprise he didn’t
try to stop her.
“All right,” he replied
quietly. He stood up too. “I just hope
what I told you…that it ain’t gonna change things between us.”
“Why should it change
anything between us?” she asked softly.
“I ain’t a frank man,
Jean – never have been, never will be.
But when I’m with you…” He paused. “I ain’t afraid t’ feel round you, Red.”
She couldn’t face him,
knowing she’d gone a step too far and unable to take it any further, because
she already had Scott and what she had with him wasn’t something she was
willing to risk for a fling with a man she barely knew. Because she knew she and Scott could work through anything – it was
just a question of her wanting to. And
the way she felt when Logan looked at her – it made her want things she’d never
wanted before, and that scared the hell out of her.
“You don’t deserve to
be alone for the rest of your life,” she told him quietly. “I know I don’t
really know you, but what I do know is that you’re an intelligent, kind and
generous man. And that there must be someone out there ready to care for
you.”
She made to leave and
got as far as the doorway when he stopped her.
“And could that
someone be you, Jean?”
She halted. She couldn’t help it – it was his
voice. Low and impassioned, simple and
honest and full of want. He wanted her; he wanted to open up his life
to her. He was ready after all the
years of hurt he’d suffered. He was
taking a risk and they both knew it.
Suddenly she felt like a schoolgirl again.
“Logan…” she breathed,
her heart racing.
“I wanna tell y’
somethin’, Red,” he returned in a low voice, not moving to her, still keeping
his distance. “An’ I’m gonna be honest.
I haven’t known what love is in a good long while. But ever since I’ve known you I’ve been
feelin’ things I ain’t felt with any other women, not since Mariko. And I don’t know if this is lust or
somethin’ more but for the first I’m willin’ to take a chance on someone,
Jean. I want t’ get t’ know you for
real. An’ that’s the God-darned honest
truth.”
What he asked for was
so simple, so uncomplicated, and even if all he was asking her for was a night
of unbridled passion at that moment she would have said yes. But what he was asking her for was so much
more, and she’d lied, deceived him into wanting it. He was a good man who’d done bad things and yet he’d been honest
with her – and honesty was something she hadn’t even been able to give him.
And she couldn’t take
that risk, she just couldn’t throw away all those years with Scott, even if
what they had was already crumbling away…
“Logan…” she began,
but he preempted her, raising his hands and silencing whatever she would have
said.
“Jean, I ain’t gonna
push you inta anythin’. I don’t wanna
do that. An’ I ain’t askin’ anythin’
from you, I just wanna let you know how I feel.” He gave a wry smile, as if to
say how stupid he was for letting his feelings known at all. “I just… I know, Jean. Y’ come here, cryin’ yer eyes out, askin’ fer me, lookin’ at me the way y’do…” He trailed
off, shook his head and raised his eyes to hers. “There’s a guy in your life, isn’t
there,” he finished.
She couldn’t help
it. Her heart sank. Even though her mind was relieved the truth
was out, she couldn’t help her heart from sinking. She wanted to put her arms round him. She wanted to breathe in the feral scent of him and kiss him and
tell him she didn’t care, that she was willing to take a chance too. But the part she’d been playing all her
life, that of the rational, logical creature whose passions were hidden for
fear they become too intense – won over.
“His…his name’s Scott,”
she murmured with a calmness she didn’t feel. “Scott Summers. We’re engaged.” She bit her lip, continued:
“I’m sorry, Logan. I caught him cheating on me, and I guess I was prepared to
cheat on him too. But I can’t do
it. Not because of Scott, but because…”
she took a deep breath, “because I care about you too, Logan, and I can’t lie
to you anymore, I can’t pretend this can be something more than it is.”
She finally found the
courage to look at him and found herself staring straight back into his eyes,
blue eyes that told her all she needed to know. That she’d hurt him, that she’d hurt him just when he’d been
willing to let go of the all the hurt he’d borne before. And that he understood. That he was still understanding her, even
after what she’d done to him.
She couldn’t bear to
see that look any longer.
She swiveled to go,
and somewhere inside she still thought he’d stop her, that he’d wrap her in his
embrace and kiss her and give her a reason to stay. But he didn’t move. He
wasn’t fighting. He had nothing to lose
because they hadn’t even begun.
She tried not to meet
his eyes, afraid of what they might say to her.
“Goodbye, Logan,” she
murmured.
She didn’t even hear
him reply before she left.
-oOo-
It was one in the
morning and Emma Frost should’ve been fast asleep. Either that or she should’ve been living it up in the city,
partying the night away with the girls or some random guy whose name she didn’t
even know.
Instead she was
sitting in her bedroom watching a weepy chick-flick and swigging red wine
straight from the bottle in nothing but her underwear. The world had started to get hazy somewhere
in-between the first and second bottles.
It made her want to laugh deliriously, and that was exactly what she’d
been looking for the entire evening. It
was the only way to stop her from crying.
“I’ll show that
low-down student that no one takes advantage of Emma Grace Frost…” she slurred
to herself, taking another swig and spilling wine on herself in the
process. Unfortunately she was well
past caring.
Emma flopped back onto
her bed and managed to set the bottle back onto her bedside table without
dropping it. The entire day she’d been
kicking herself for sleeping with Bobby Drake.
At work she’d been praying that he wasn’t going to hang around and wait
for her when she got back. The last
thing Emma wanted to do was the old ‘let’s-talk-things-over’ routine.
It wasn’t so much the
fact that it was Bobby she’d slept with.
It wasn’t the first time she’d had a fling with the gardener. It was the fact that she couldn’t remember
any of it, that she had lost entire control of her faculties in front of a man,
that she’d opened up all her insecurities and vulnerabilities to him. She felt as if she’d shown Bobby something
disgusting and ugly – the real Emma Frost.
And that was what she couldn’t stand.
She couldn’t bear to face him again because of it. She couldn’t bear to think that he’d see her
as some cheap and nasty whore.
She wanted him to see
her as someone special.
She’d never known
until that moment that she wanted something more than just a casual fling in
her love life, something beautiful and worth holding onto. Jean and Scott had it. Betts and Neal had it. Rogue and Cody had had it, and even back
then she’d scoffed at it. It was
love. Why couldn’t she have it? All she had was a drunken night she couldn’t
even remember. A drunken night with a
guy who was almost perfect. Someone who
talked to her as his equal, who comforted her and made her laugh. She’d called him a low-down student, thought
him unworthy and beneath her. But of
all the men she’d ever encountered, he was the one who’d truly made her feel
good about herself.
“Trust you to turn a
good thing sour, Emma,” she mumbled plaintively to herself. “It so nearly could’ve
been ‘the real thing’ and what d’you do?
Screw it all up like you always do.”
She rolled over onto
her stomach and buried her face in the pillow.
She wanted to remember last night as something tender and intimate,
something out of one of Rogue’s romance novels. Why did she always have to get the sordid sex-fests?
Ring, ring!
At the sound of the
phone Emma rapidly pushed herself up with her palms, her heart leaping.
Bobby…?
Part of her didn’t
want it to be him. The other part
wanted, needed to hear his voice
again…
She scrabbled for the
phone.
“Emma Frost speaking,”
she greeted as soberly as she could.
“Emma?”
It was Betsy’s voice
not Bobby’s, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Betsy?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Look, I’m sorry it’s so late, luv, but I
just had to call you…” She took a
breath, trying to still the trembling of her voice before continuing. “Emma, I
really need your advice.”
“Advice?” Emma
repeated thickly. Why did she suddenly
want to screech with manic and hysterical laughter?
“Yes. I mean, I know I ask a lot of you and I know
you get angry sometimes, but I truly trust your judgement and I need you to
help me out… I think I’ve done something terribly wrong.” She paused, and even
through the haze in her head the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on
Emma. You think you’ve done something terribly wrong, she wanted to
say. Well take a look at my life!
You’re not the only one who’s screwed up miserably! I’m the last person you want advice from! But she couldn’t. It was too sad to even confess.
She knew Betsy would want to hear all the gory details and she didn’t
think she could take it.
“I know you’re going
to yell at me for saying this,” Betsy continued in a rush down the phone, “but
I’m going to say it anyway. Emma, I
think I’m in-love with Warren Worthington.
And before you say anything, I know
you told me to stay away from him, but I just can’t believe he’s as bad as you
say he is. He came round this evening…
he even offered me a chance to be with him, and it felt so right, and I really wanted to say yes… But then Neal showed up and…
oh Emma, I can’t believe it, I turned Warren down and I made up with Neal and
he spent the entire evening here going on and on and I couldn’t stop thinking
about Warren… I mean it, Emma, he’s the most wonderful guy I’ve ever met and I
don’t know what happened between you two, but I just want you to think
objectively about this and let me know whether you… Emma? Emma, are you still
there?”
Emma pressed a finger
to her aching forehead as she listened to Betsy outline her predicament. Her head was head was spinning. She didn’t care about Warren
Worthington. She didn’t care about Neal
and she didn’t care about Bobby. She
just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep forever.
“Emma?” Betsy called
again, annoyed.
“Sorry, Betsy,” Emma
slurred. “But I’m ‘fraid I’m not up t’ playin’ your shrink t’night.”
“What? Emma, are you drunk?” Betsy’s voice was
suddenly filled with concern.
“M’fine. M’jus’ not the best person to ask for an
opinion on men right now, kay?”
Betsy was alarmed.
“Why? What’s happened? Emma, are you okay?”
“Nothin’ a good ol’
forty-winks can’t sort out, Betts.”
“Emma, you sound
rough. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. And if you really want my advice, stay right
where you are. You and Neal got
somethin’ I’m never gon’ have. Never
told you but I was always jealous when I saw you guys t’gether… He really loves you… Which is more than any
guy’s ever gon’ give me… Don’t you dare throw it ‘way, Betts. Y’hear me?”
“Emma…” There was real
worry in Betsy’s voice, but Emma couldn’t bear for anyone to pity her any more
than she pitied herself.
“G’night, Betts,” she
said quickly, and switched off the phone before anymore could be said. Throwing the handset into her pile of clothes,
she slumped back onto the bed. Emma
rarely felt sorry for herself but this time she didn’t even check the tears of
self-pity that came to her eyes.
Face it, Emma, you’re a failure.
Even Rogue’s known real happiness in her life and you’ve got nothing
‘cos you never had it. You don’t even
deserve Bobby. You don’t deserve
anybody. You might as well face it – no
one’s ever going to love you for who you are, because who you are is a
horrible, cold-hearted, bad-tempered bitch.
Might as well get used to being alone, Emma.
‘Cos that’s how you’re going to stay.
-xXx-
Betsy slowly placed
the phone back into its cradle, her brow furrowed in concern for her friend as
much as her own dilemma. She
half-considered going over to Emma’s and seeing what was the matter, but
decided her friend was safer sleeping off whatever had happened to her. Besides, Betsy knew Emma would rather die
than have anyone see her in distress.
God only knew the pride of that woman was practically intolerable.
Betsy passed a hand
over her eyes and sighed.
There was an image she
just couldn’t get out of her head.
Warren with his back to her, walking away, leaving her behind. Neal had demanded to know what he was doing
in her apartment and Betsy had held her breath, all sorts of insane and
melodramatic visions running going through her head – punches being thrown,
Warren bravely declaring his love for her to all and sundry. Because she didn’t doubt his feelings for
her were strong enough for him to fight for her. She knew they
were. She’d felt it. In their kiss.
And for the first
time, she had wanted him to fight for
her.
But he hadn’t.
Instead he’d stood
there, his expression very calm, very stoic, and said in a low undertone:
“Betsy left something in the cab whilst returning from the airport. Her cell phone, to be exact. I thought I should return it to her, since
she’d be needing it…” She’d bit her lip, wondering whether Neal would buy it, but
Warren hadn’t even waited for him to protest or reply. He’d quickly turned to her, and this time
she couldn’t escape his gaze, the hurt in his cornflower blue eyes. “I’d better
get going, Betsy. I’m sorry to have
wasted your time.”
He’d given her a
slight smile, a small curve of the lips that barely masked what she knew he’d
really been feeling inside. Then he’d
turned back to Neal, said politely: “Pleased to make your acquaintance,
Neal. Goodnight.”
And with that he had
gone, without giving her so much as one last parting glance.
Betsy had stared after
Warren’s receding figure, her heart caught in her throat as she realized – I’m probably never going to see him again. Half of her had wanted to run after him, to
enfold her arms about him and tell him there was no one else she wanted but
him. But the other half had told her to
stay. She’d made the right decision,
hadn’t she? It was Neal she’d made a
commitment to, not Warren. She barely
knew the man. Not enough to be with
him. Not enough to love him. Not enough to be feeling this way…
Neal had spent another
couple of hours at her place and she’d finally fended him off with several
lackluster excuses. She knew that if
she let him stay he’d probably expect her to sleep with him and she couldn’t
handle that right now. She was in a
horrible mess and she didn’t know what to do.
And now Emma seemed to
be in a quandary of her own and wouldn’t tell her what it was. Betsy had never heard her sounding so
despondent before and it worried her.
She slid off her
bathrobe, shivering momentarily as the cool night air touched her skin,
reminding her of the feather-light touch of Warren’s caresses. Slowly, she clambered into bed.
What was it Emma had
said?
You and Neal have got something I’m never going to have. He really loves you…Don’t you dare throw it away. Hear me?
Betsy sighed and
switched off her lamp.
“I hope you’re right,
Emma,” she mumbled to herself. “I hope you’re right.”
Because she knew in
her heart that she was resigning herself to another sleepless night where all
she’d be thinking about was another man’s kiss.
-oOo-
It wasn’t fair.
The bedside alarm
clock was flashing three in the morning and he still wasn’t sleeping. It wasn’t what the guilt-free aftermath of
casual sex was supposed to be like. But
then, there was nothing ‘casual’ about sex with Anna Raven and some of the
things she’d done to him still took his breath away.
Remy looked up at the
darkened ceiling and frowned.
She was lying only
three centimeters away with her back to him, her shoulders rising gently,
regularly in sleep, and he was still too freaked to touch her. He’d spent the last hour alone staring at
her like some lovesick teen that couldn’t believe he’d just scored with this
unbelievably sexy and passionate woman.
One night of wild sex and they hadn’t even spoken to one another when it
was over. It was everything he’d come
to expect from a one-night stand. No
words exchanged afterward, not even a tender touch. So why was it that was what he wanted now? He just wasn’t supposed to do intimacy
anymore.
Remy sighed and slid
out of bed, fumbling for a cigarette and a lighter in the darkness, trying to
get his cynicism back. He stood by the
window, turning his back on her like hers was turned on him, as he sucked in
smoke to deaden the ominous sensation of butterflies in his stomach. Outside New York was a sprawling silhouette
under a canopy of indigo velvet, a sparse scattering of lights flickering,
glimmering, winking back up at him.
He just didn’t get it.
There’d been dozens of
women in his life, dozens of cheap fucks, tawdry seductions and nights of
unbridled passion with no strings attached at all. He’d get away with a wink and a kiss and that would be the end of
it. None of those women had ever meant
anything to him – so why was she any
different? What made sex with her so amazing
that he couldn’t sleep?
What made her so amazing?
He looked back over
his shoulder, trying desperately to work it out. Behind him Anna lay in his bed, her skin silvery in the
moonlight, reminding him just what it felt like to have her arms, her body
around him. He didn’t know what it was
but whenever she looked at him, whenever she touched him, whenever she kissed
him it drove him wild. She had that something he’d been looking for in a
woman ever since he couldn’t remember when.
And he wanted more of it. He
wanted more of her in the morning, he wanted more of her tomorrow night… and
the night after that, and the night after that…
He studied the tip of
his cigarette, a lonely flare of crimson in the night.
It don’t have t’ mean anyt’ing.
It’ll just be good sex and dat’ll be it.
Remy stubbed the cigarette out, threw the smoldering
remains out the window.
Who’m I kiddin’? She’s de most
amazin’ femme I’ve ever met…
He grimaced, partly at
himself, partly at the whole stupid situation.
Turning, he walked back over to the bed and slid in under the covers,
wanting to tell her, wanting to talk.
He ran his fingers over the curve and swell of her waist and hip,
pressed a kiss against her dimpled shoulder blade.
“Anna,” he murmured
into her skin. “You ‘wake?”
She made no reply,
didn’t even stir.
He paused, waiting,
knowing he wouldn’t get an answer. It
was a minute before his resolve faltered, before he let her go and rolled over
onto his back once more.
Dammit, LeBeau! You gotta play
dis cool…
Maybe in the morning,
maybe in the cold light of day, things would feel different. Maybe he’d be back to his devil-may-care
self again.
Maybe.
Lulled by the soft
rhythm of her breathing, Remy slipped unwillingly into sleep.
-xXx-
I’m still awake.
I can’t sleep, but I’m
pretending to, and I hate myself for it because this isn’t the way it’s
supposed to be. If this was really love
it’d be all kisses and cuddles and coy afterplay, but it isn’t.
And I know he’s awake
too.
He’s been lying there
next to me and I can feel his eyes on my back, I can feel the intensity of his
gaze and I can’t return it because I know how I feel now. I’m afraid that if I turn and look at him,
he’ll be able to see it in my
eyes. He’ll laugh at me, he’ll think
I’m a fool. He’ll tell me what I
already know – that this is a one-night-stand, that I don’t mean a thing to
him.
I want to kick myself
for being such an idiot.
He gets out of bed and
I hear the flick of a lighter as he lights up another goddamn cigarette. I half expect him to go and grab a beer but
he doesn’t. A few minutes later he
comes back, he slides in under the covers and I feel the warmth of his naked
body beside mine. He caresses my
shoulder and kisses it, his tender touches sending shivers down my spine. I want to turn to him, I want to feel him
against me once more but I can’t afford to, I can’t afford to let him know how
hooked I am on him already…
“Anna,” he murmurs.
“You ‘wake?”
What does he
want? More sex?
I squeeze my eyes shut
tight, I say nothing.
He waits a long while,
his lips still on my shoulder, his breath teasing my flesh. Then he finally gives up and rolls
away. I can barely breathe. I try to tell myself this is just lust, a
stupid infatuation, and when I wake up in the morning I’ll be able to walk out
that door without so much as a glance back in his direction.
The morning’s only a
few hours away and I already know I can’t do it. I can’t hold out any longer, even if it means he’ll push me away.
Maybe he wants to talk…
I turn, I put my arms
round him, I say his name.
He doesn’t respond.
He’s already fast
asleep.
-oOo-
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