Disclaimer: I don't own Gambit, unfortunately. If I did…I'd take advantage of it. ;) The French is mostly self-explanatory; though 'combien?' does mean 'how many?'
"Damn humans."
Cecilia cursed under her breath as the drunken men whistled appreciatively when she sauntered by. Adjusting her sunglasses, making sure her eyes were hidden, she flashed her ID at the bouncer, who nodded discreetly, letting her in.
Looking up through her sunglasses as she topped the three stairs leading to the bar, she blinked, immediately able to see through the nearby walls. Yeah, she spotted his energy, the man was there…
As soon as she crossed the threshold, her ears were assaulted with the sounds of techno and pop coming from the dance floor; presumably the latest tunes – Cecilia wrinkled her nose – but not necessarily the best.
It didn't matter – she wasn't here to dance anyway. She was looking for him – she'd heard rumors about him; stories of his prowess, his accomplishments, and his loyalties – and now she was here to figure him out.
Stalking forward with a feline grace, her heels virtually silent in the noise of the club, she strode forward with purpose, tugging down her already low-cut top. Her creamy skin was exposed, her shoulders bare.
Stopping over at the bar, she leaned against the counter; her stomach flipping in anticipation. "A sherry," she shouted over the noise to the bartender.
In a matter of seconds, she had thrown her head back and downed the alcohol, her mind fazing and inhibitions vanishing almost immediately. She relaxed, dropping her shoulder blades, and, slamming the empty shot glass on the counter, she turned her back to the bar, starting forward purposefully, a provocative sway in her hips as she made her way over to the card tables.
Pushing through the heady veil of smoke, away from the crowd of people on the dance floor, she waved the toxic fumes away, coughing. Smoke always gave her a headache. As she emerged from the overpowering mass of grey, a small crowd erupted in excited cheers as the sound of cards flipping into the air entered Cecilia's ears.
Cards appeared over a man's hat, and swiveled down to neatly enter his other hand, where he fanned them neatly. Cecilia could see him sprawl out in his chair from behind, relaxing.
"Show's over, yats," he announced languidly in a thick Cajun accent. "No more lagniappe tonight – we save that for Carnivale – hmm?" he winked at a curvaceous blonde who smiled encouragingly. "Some other time, cher. I'm dating the cards tonight," he drawled.
Cecilia decided this was her chance. Stepping out of the shadows, she stood, facing his relaxed form from across the table. He half-chuckled, almost to himself, tipping that all-too-familiar hat at the blonde.
"LeBeau," she said sharply. "Do you play?"
The man tugged the hat down over his eyes, swiveling his head towards her slowly, hiding his surprise at the fact that she knew his name. At the sight of her definitely womanly form, he burst out laughing. "Look, yats," he spoke to the two other men at the table. "There's a hayacall thinkin' she can play the booray." He sneered. "You're out of luck tonight, cher. May," his eyes ran up and down her body, darkening in lust, "ya've got nudding to bet, and ah've got no time…"
Cecilia braced her hands on her hips. "You seem to have time enough for your men here," she pointed out crisply.
He gave her a shit-eating grin. "May, they's worth ma time."
"I can give you a good time."
"Ah'll bet," he nodded appreciatively, "but ya seem to have nothin' on mah own tongue, sha."
"I can give you plenty to put on your tongue," she said smoothly, provocatively, leaning on her opposite foot to deliberately switch her hips.
The two men at the table with him laughed appreciatively, and one of them elbowed the man in the hat.
"Mah language," he laughed, throwing the cards down onto the table, rubbing his index finger and his thumb together in a sign for cash. "Mah tongue – da only one ah speak aside N'Awlins."
"You're right," she agreed. "I have no money to bet – so; as such, I bet myself."
Remy was overwhelmed. This lovely blonde-haired woman, whom he'd never seen before – was sexy beyond belief. Her soft curves begged to be held, to be touched, and he had to admit he was deeply impressed by her. And when she offered herself to him he almost had to stop his jaw from falling off at her nerve. It was quite an offer, he considered, cocking his head to one side, and the players beside him supported him, jeering at the woman who seemed to be so confident. Shooting the woman a speculative glance, he looked down at the table. If she was betting on bourre, he was in trouble. Sure, he might have been the best card player on either side of the Mississippi, but this – this – was a chance he simply wouldn't risk messing up.
Finally, he nodded. "Ah'll take this bet, yats," he smiled. "May, ah've changed mah mind." The two men let out a collective sigh. "Booray won't do. Ah'll test boo's worth in vingt-et-un."
"Blackjack?" they complained, whining as only men can, though standing up anyways, making room for the lady.
Smiling smugly, Remy offered the woman the chair beside him with a flourishing gesture. Coolly, she sat down, and Remy breathed a mental sigh of relief – now, he had only two problems – the sudden tightness of his pants and winning this card came. He was betting on risky dice – betting that he was a better player than she; luckier than she.
He flipped the cards back and forth between his hands a few times, mentally calling them up from the table.
"Mr. LeBeau," the woman offered her hand.
Remy held back. He might make love to this woman later, but he sure as hell wasn't going to touch her until he found out who she was.
"Why do ya wear those sunglasses, cher?"
The woman bent her head, shrugging the glasses off with one hand and slowly meeting his eyes. "I'm Cecilia," she said in a low voice, and Remy's eyes opened wide as he looked upon hers for the first time.
"Cecilia…?" he trailed off, wondering about her last name, but totally fixated on her silvery eyes. They shone like liquid diamonds, and now he understood why she hid them.
She was a mutant.
"Just Cecilia," the woman said coolly.
Blind, he thought. Cecilia means blind in Latin…his eye twitched, but only slightly. The irony was obvious, but he was not amused. They'd obviously wiped her memory. He didn't approve of such a cruel joke, yet she seemed to be able to see.
Remy quickly put on a charming smile. "Enchanté, Mademoiselle Just Cecilia; ah do believe ah have a game to play with ya."
Cecilia smirked as he shook her hand. "Deal," she commanded in a soft tone.
Remy dealt.
Perhaps it was her anticipation, or perhaps it was the thrill of the game, or perhaps it was the night – but whatever it was, they made the game seem to go by awfully fast. They were constantly going back and forth at each other, each desperate to win what they wanted – he wanted to win her…and she wanted to make it look as though she'd played a hard game, and had lost tragically.
That was the hardest part – making it look real. She started the game with ease, and as it went on and on she faked losing confidence; pretended she was having trouble. As it went on, a smug smile spread across his face, and he knew he had her beat when she began to look doubtfully at the cards and bite her lip.
It all seemed to pass rather quickly for her – the anticipation, she assumed. They traded phrases back and forth throughout the game, each loving the fast-paced thrill, she holding her own and he performing minor tricks when the chance arose.
" – Double down, cher – "
" – Stay – "
" – No, split a pair – "
" – Hit me – "
"Stand!"
It all went by rather quickly. When Cecilia figured the game was almost over, she pulled her eyebrows together, looking at him doubtfully through her silver irises. "I think I'm losing," she laughed doubtfully, almost nervously. At least the tremor in her voice was believable, she reflected.
"Sha, yah're going to be losin' more den dat tonight, if ah have mah way…" he drawled, smiling suggestively, looking her up and down again.
Cecilia smiled confidently. "That was the bet, was it not?"
Remy nodded sagely.
"Then I surrender. You're going to win either way, and I'm just dragging out my demise here by keeping on like this."
Remy visibly sighed. "Ah love a good competition, boo. May, that's alright. Ah'll just make you play a full game later…ah do lak mah vingt-et-un." He began tossing the well-worn cards into a violet satchel, which he tucked into his inner jacket pocket.
The French slipped off his lips fluidly, oh-so-naturally; beautifully so. She shivered. "Well then, I'm all yours, I suppose," she smiled seductively.
Remy stood up, pulling the beautiful, charming girl flush up against him so that she could feel his excitement; could feel him flush against her. She gasped as he whirled her up, and smiled in pleased surprise at his obvious erection.
"A tango before we go, mon ami," he requested, smiling, tossing his hat up into the air and winding his arm around her waist.
"Combien?" she asked, wondering how much time the two would spend here before they left, also proud to display her small knowledge of French.
His eyebrows shot up at the unexpected reply. "Trois," he pronounced, holding up three fingers. "After all, cher, three dances used to be scandalous…and scandalous we are."
Cecilia smiled sensually, plucking up her sunglasses and placing them back on her nose. Remy, however, swiped them away, tucking them into his jacket. "Coo, you have beautiful eyes…and now ya go turnin' rad on me! Sha, don't be troubled," he laughed as she blushed, embarrassed. "When ya've got it, flaunt it. And ya've got fine eyes."
"I just don't want anyone to notice," she said, looking down.
Remy laughed again, lighter this time, trying to make her feel less self-conscious. The girl was as confident and brazen as God himself, but damned if she felt imperfect because of something she couldn't help. Remy wouldn't have it. "Don't worry over them. They's much too busy gogo on the dance floor," he smiled. "Aside, the only one close enough to your eyes is me. And I don't care."
With a snap of his fingers, Remy cued the band to play a tango – he obviously frequented this bar. As the two stepped out the center of the dance floor, he took her hand, tapping his foot out behind him. Meeting his gaze sensually, Cecilia assumed the same position, their bodies pushed right up against each other, though they stood rigid; unmoving.
As the band struck the first note, he stepped back, leading her. They spun and whirled, each step complementing the other, never once tripping up or breaking their intense concentration on each other's eyes.
As her form was flung downwards, his hand supporting the small of her back, his other hand ran lightly over her chest, whispering across her breast to lightly caress her neck. His very touch was a light echo, a taunting, and a hint of things to come. As she let another small gasp escape her – she was very responsive, he noted – he thrust her back up, and they rounded the dance floor once more, clearing all occupants to the side.
As the violinist attacked the last note with a ferocious strike of his bow, Remy pulled Cecilia's hand directly up over her head, and, unblinking, kissed her straight on the mouth, his tongue expertly sliding over her pink lips before taking her lower lip in between his teeth; all in the span of three beats. Pulling away, quickly but reluctantly, he met her gaze, and in his eyes was a challenge.
Eyes filled with passion now, she met him step for step, bound for bound in the next dance, and she explored him now, becoming braver. Before, she had been brazen, but not brave…but now she touched him, running her hands over his solar plexus, realizing and grasping the power she knew she had over him. She relished it; breathing lightly into his ear and grinding against his hips when she had the chance, making him shudder lightly and close his eyes in need and want.
What had started out as a fling might have begun to end in the most memorable one-night-stand of Cecilia's life. She'd never met such a passionate, charming man as Remy – but nor had she met him before tonight.
Sure; she'd known of him before – after all, who hadn't heard of the great Gambit?
After their last passionate dance, Remy's eyes had darkened and Cecilia's heart was throbbing in her chest. "You win," Cecilia whispered as their foreheads pressed against each other gently.
"I claim my prize," he said softly, his Cajun accent fading as his tone softened.
He kissed her then, fully and deeply, thrusting his tongue hungrily into her mouth, and they warred there for a moment, he winding his fingers deep into her hair, and she melding herself to him, her arms traveling all over his back, up to hold his shoulders, and back down to squeeze his rear briefly. He groaned into her mouth, and she smiled against him. "Cher, ah don't think ah can take it if'n ya start that now," he warned.
"My place or yours?" she whispered against his mouth.
"Mine, mon cheri," he smirked.
"Then why are we wasting time here?" she giggled.
"May, I'm not sure, boo." He grinned. "Laissez les bons temps rouler!"
Cecilia almost purred. "Oh," she guaranteed, "there'll be more than good times rolling around in your bed tonight."
Remy's erection strained against his pants at her confident statement. He knew now that it had been far too long since he'd had a woman. "You're right, boo," he said hoarsely, "why are we wasting time here?"