A/N: Hello all! I do hope you all are well. This story has been lurking around in my head since the beginning of the New Year. It's been a work in progress and I hope it is an enjoyable read.

One

The sleek buttercup yellow Maserati Gran Turismo Coupe crawled up the street caging like a panther, hugging the curb, its engine purring deep and low. Ororo Munroe was busy taking advantage of the beautiful late spring afternoon, kneeling in the moist dirt of the garden bordering the side of her house and the edge of the driveway. She was digging and stabbing at the weeds that threatened to prevent her tulips, roses and hydrangeas from seeing the light of day. She was cursing the stubborn weeds under her breath when the predatory growl of the car's engine attracted her attention.

She turned her head towards the sound and glanced at the car over her shoulder and frowned as it came to a stop in front of her house. "Goddess! What time is it?" She muttered, turning her left wrist to glance at her watch…3:58pm. Negligently dropping her trowel, she stood and peeled off her gardening gloves, tossing them besides the garden tool. She brushed the clinging dirt off her baggy work trousers, all the while, her cobalt eyes never leaving the driver as he emerged from the car and stalked up her driveway.

She reached up to tuck a few stray tendrils of snow-colored hair back under her head scarf. Quickly glancing down at her wristwatch again, she realized that the man was early for their meeting and she was nowhere near dressed for the appointment with this potential client. Being drenched in sweat and dirt was no way to make a first good impression and this was a job she was in dire need of.

Plastering a smile or what she hoped was a smile on her face, Ororo walked down the driveway to greet the man. She fervently hoped that she had left the interior of the house in some form of order before she had decided to do some work in her gardens. Her plan was to clean up before he arrived for their meeting, but it wasn't her fault that he had decided to show up over an hour early. She attempted to school her features to reflect self-confidence and affability in order to combat the disadvantage of being caught looking the way she was right now.

He was still a few feet away from her when she called out a greeting to him. "Hello," she voiced with a bright smile. "It would appear that there was a mistake with our schedules. I was not expecting you until a little later."

"No mistake," the man growled. "I just decided ta put an end ta yer games once and fer all."

Ororo's sneakered feet skidded to a complete stop on the old concrete driveway. Her bright smile faltered and her eyes widened in stunned surprise. Her surprise quickly turned to confusion. "I am sorry. I have no idea…"

"Cut the crap, woman," he snarled. "Who the hell are ya?"

"I am Miss Munroe. We have an appointment scheduled for this evening. Were you expecting someone else?"

"I've never heard of ya!" He thundered. "What the hell do ya think ya're doing with this diabolical game of yers?"

"Excuse me?" Ororo glanced around her surroundings helplessly, as though the massive oak trees shadowing her property would enlighten her and provide some answers to this strange encounter.

"Why the hell have ya been sending me those damn letters?"

Ororo tilted her head in further surprise. This was certainly beyond weird. She couldn't make this up even if she had tried. "Letters?" She parroted dumbly.

Her failure to comprehend was apparently fueling the anger he was clearly feeling and trying to hold in check. He bore down on her like a wolf circling his prey, until she had no choice but to back away from him. She squinted her eyes as she tried to get a good look at his face. However, the late spring sun being behind him was making it impossible.

The sun didn't prevent her from getting a good view of his other physical attributes and she realized that he was tall and very muscular. His muscular frame was covered in jeans that contoured to his physique and a sport shirt that was equally contouring. His raven-colored locks were thick with a few gray hairs sprinkled in, wavy and inviting and for one insane moment, she wished she could submit to the temptation and run her fingers through it. He was wearing some designer opaque sunglasses, so she was unable to see his eyes, but if they were anywhere near aggressive as his expression and stance, then she was better off not seeing them. His woodsy scent mixed with a hint of tobacco tickled her nostrils and she was ashamed to realize that she felt a stirring of desire at the scent.

"I am sorry, sir, but I do not know what you are talking about," she said calmly, wanting more than anything to get this bizarre meeting over with.

"The letters, dammit, the letters." The words were uttered through two rows of strong white teeth.

"What letters?" Ororo asked, becoming quite agitated at his baseless accusations.

"Don't play stupid with me!"

"Are you positive that you have the right house and person?"

He took a threatening step forward, forcing her to take two steps back. "I've got the right house," he said with a voice that held a hint of steel.

"Obviously you do not," she threw back at him. She hated being put on the defensive, especially by someone whom she did not know and for something she had no clue about. "You are either crazy or inebriated and frankly, I do not care which one you are. But it is clear you have the wrong person and the wrong house. I must insist that you take leave of my property or I will call the authorities."

"Go ahead and call 'em," he challenged. "I would tell 'em that ya were expecting me."

"I thought that you were the man that I had a meeting with."

"Well I'm not here fer no meeting."

"Thank the Goddess," she replied. She would hate to do business with someone who was apparently unstable and irascible.

"Ya know damn well who I am," he said, peeling off his sunglasses.

Ororo sucked in a quick, sharp breath and fell back a step because she did indeed know who he was. She raised her right hand to her chest in an attempt to still her heart that was at that very moment threatening to jump out of her chest and straight into her throat. Her body shook with slight tremors and her mouth went as dry as the Sahara. "Logan," she gasped and immediately tried to suck in as much air into her lungs as possible.

"That's right. Logan. Logan Howlett. Just like ya wrote on the damn letters."

She was dazed, seeing him after all these years, standing only inches before her. This time, he wasn't merely a familiar image in the newspaper or on the television she had continued to love from afar. This time he was here, standing before her in the flesh. Time had been more than kind to him, enhancing rather than corroding his looks. He most definitely looked the same as he did then! Those steely gray eyes were still striking. His presence was still intimidating and he still exuded that raw masculinity that had captured her so long ago.

Ororo wanted nothing more than to stand there and take him all in, but he was glaring daggers at her and with no recognition as to who she was at all. Additionally, some of her neighbors had stopped what they were doing and were openly gawking at the sports car and Miss Munroe's visitor. "Please, let us go inside Mr. Howlett," she suggested softly.

It wasn't an unusual occurrence for a man to come to her home. Many of her clients were men or were represented by men and many of them consulted with her at her home. They were, however, boring executives dressed in three-piece suits, not tanned, handsome, celebrities who drove flamboyant cars and dressed as sexily as Logan Howlett was. North Salem, New York wasn't as swanky like some of the other neighborhoods of Westchester County because most of the area's residents drove modest cars and were middle-aged, so a Maserati sports car parked in front of Ororo Munroe's house and she engaging in a shouting match with its owner was a rare and curious thing indeed.

Ororo turned on her feet and led James Logan Howlett up the driveway and through the kitchen's side entrance of her home. As she stepped inside the coolness of the room, she became more aware of her dishevelment when the cooler air chilled her causing goose bumps to spring up on her. Or maybe it was her potent awareness of the man behind her that had her trembling slightly.

"Please follow me," she murmured over her shoulder.

She led him down a spacious hallway and towards one of her favorite rooms in the house, the solarium. Here, she felt more at peace, more at ease and better able to deal with the surprising reality that Logan Howlett had without warning, walked into her life again.

As he followed her, an odd feeling of what can only be described as peaceful and joyous washed over him. He ignored it. His eyes roamed around the room restlessly before colliding with hers.

"I'm waiting," he said in clipped tones, folding his arms across his broad chest. He was obviously out of patience waiting for an explanation for something she was still ignorant of.

"I do not know about any letters you have received, Mr. Howlett," she began, casting a wary glance upon him.

"They were sent from this address."

"Then you need to take it up with the post office because the mistake appears to be coming from their end."

"I seriously doubt it," he rasped. "I've received six letters over the past two months. Ain't no post office making a mistake like that." He ran an agitated hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "Look, Mrs….Miss…"

"Munroe. Ororo Munroe," she interjected.

Logan gave her a perfunctory, probing once-over. "Look, Miss Munroe," he repeated. "I've dated quite a few women during my adulthood. I don't have any recollection of all the women I've slept with, but I sure as hell would have remembered sleeping with ya."

His words caused a languorous heat to spread through Ororo's body and her heart flip flopped in her chest. She sucked in a swift, unsteady breath. "We have never been intimate with each other."

He cocked his head conceitedly and snorted. "So how is it that ya're claiming ta be the mother of a kid I supposedly fathered? Mind ya, it's a kid I've never ever seen or heard of up until yer first letter landed in my mailbox." He finished on a voice that was just above a snarl.

Ororo speared him with a look that can only be described as speechless dismay. Thank the Goddess for her dark complexion, else he would have been able to see the color draining from her face. This man had officially yanked the bottom right from under her and set her world spinning wildly on its axis.

Shakily, she retorted, "I have never had children. And I will repeat for your benefit that I have never sent you any letters."

She indicated a chair for him to sit. "Please have a seat." She didn't offer him the chair out of good manners or concern for his comfort, but for her own safety because she feared her legs would collapse under her if she didn't sit down quickly.

Chewing on the inside of his lower lip, he thought about her offer for a moment before sitting on the edge of the soft cushioned wicker recliner. Ever conscious of her dirty sneakers, battered baggy trousers and heavily laundered flannel shirt, Ororo took a seat in the identical chair facing him. She sat ramrod straight, clasping her knees tightly together and placing her quivering hands on the arm rests of the chair.

Logan's razor-sharp eyes moved over her painstakingly, taking in her lovely face that held well-defined angles and planes, her firm but delicate jawbone, slender nose, moist lips and the coup de grâce, her almond shaped, cobalt colored eyes. His loins tightened painfully and his heart began thumping erratically. He wasn't here to garner this kind of reaction from her. He was here to confront her on her sick game and he was going to stick to that plan. But damn, if she wasn't a beautiful…no, exotic-looking woman. Ignoring the feelings she was stirring inside of him, he accused harshly, "Ya know who I am."

She felt naked and vulnerable under his penetrating stare and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Tearing her eyes away from the spellbinding allure of his gaze, she looked down, focusing her stare on the floor. "Anyone who looks at television or reads a newspaper or magazine would know who you are," she shot back. "You are a famous race car driver after all."

"And I make a great target fer every whack job out there!"

She took offense and leveled him with angry eyes. "I am not a whack job!"

For a moment, he was mesmerized by the darkening blue of her eyes. He felt a hypnotic pull which he tried his damnedest to pay no attention to. "Then why the hell have ya been sending me those letters? Christ! Ya can't even be original? Ya ain't the first nut to send me letters. I get all type of letters, hate mail, marriage proposals and the like," he said humorously.

"Hooray for you, Mr. Howlett," she replied in kind.

Ignoring her snide remark, he continued, "But I give ya credit fer creativity. Yers were the first ta claimed that I fathered yer child."

Ororo cursed under her breath. This man obviously had problems with his hearing. "Goddess! Have you not been listening to anything I have said? I have told you that I have never had a child nor have I ever slept with you."

"So ya say!" He shouted.

Ororo shot up from her seat and made a beeline to stand by the bay window. He stood as well and followed her. "Ya also threatened ta go ta the tabloids if I didn't do what ya want."

She turned around to address him, only to find him standing extremely close. She stifled a moan when she felt his body heat behind her. "Why would I threaten you with something like that? You are the face of your sport and you are a darling in the media. So why would little insignificant me threaten a man of your caliber? I would indeed have to be crazy or stupid and I assure you I am neither of those things."

"Ya called me Logan."

His simple refutation after her heavy retort took the wind out of her sails. "Excuse me?"

"Ya called me Logan after ya first recognized who I was."

"It is your name, is it not?"

"Only those close ta me know me by that name. The world knows me by James. We would have ta have been well acquainted fer ya ta know me by Logan."

She evaded that like an effective politician. "What did these alleged letters say?"

"Well, at first, they demanded money."

She rolled her eyes. "How trite."

"After that, then came the exposure of threats if I didn't accept the kid."

Ororo eased away from between him and the window. His nearness was like a one man wrecking crew on her ability to think clearly and rationally. "Mr. Howlett," she began. "I am an independent woman. I do not have to stoop so low as to threaten anyone for money or anything else needed to support myself."

"This is a nice neighborhood and certainly a huge house," he replied casually.

Ororo's eyes narrowed. "So?" She said testily.

"How much do ya make Miss Munroe?"

"What business is that of yours Mr. Howlett?" She cried. "I pay my own damn bills without help from anyone!"

"The victim has a right ta know his blackmailer," he shot back. "In every damn way," he added gruffly.

Logan's eyes travelled over her, unhurriedly and methodically. They paused when they reached her breasts, which on account of their size were prominent through the flannel shirt. She felt her nipples stiffened against the material of her bra and she had to bite her bottom lip in order to hold back the moan that threatened to erupt from her throat. His intense stare was wreaking havoc on her, encouraging feelings she had buried for him a long time ago to resurface.

She had to get away from his intimidating presence and the heat of his gaze. "Please excuse me, but I am expecting someone and I have to get ready."

"Your client?"

"A potential client. I have an interview with him."

"What do ya do?"

"Not that it is any business of yours, but I am a web developer and designer."

"What company do ya work fer?"

"None," she replied tersely.

"What job is the interview fer?"

"Designing the new website for the Westchester Mall."

His bushy eyebrows shot up, clearly impressed. "That's a big payday."

Ororo's eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. She was smart enough to know where he was headed with his line of questioning, so she remained quiet.

He knew she was on to him, so he tried another route. "So, getting the job will be good fer ya."

She shot him a look that clearly said "no kidding". "Mr. Howlett, time is getting away from me, so please, you will…"

He stepped in front of her and caught her by the shoulders as she tried to go by him. "It's gotta be hard doing freelance work, not knowing if you'll get a job ta pay fer this mansion and pay yer bills."

"I manage."

"Ya're certainly not rich."

Silence.

"So ya took ta blackmailing me fer money ta keep up yer lifestyle?" He sneered.

"Goddess! Is your skull that thick?! I have never sent you any letter," she bellowed. "I do not have to resort to blackmail or breaking any laws to get by."

"Do ya know the amount of trouble ya can land in should I go ta the police with this?" He asked unemotionally.

"I do not care what you do Mr. Howlett," she huffed. "I know I did not do anything wrong." She glared at him, daring him to follow through on his threat. "Now, please unhand me and kindly leave my home."

Ororo desperately needed him to release her, not because he was hurting her, but because her senses were going awry being held that close to him.

Logan tampered the insane desire to stamp his mouth on her own, staking his claim. What was it about this woman that was making him hard and irrational? She was awakening feelings in him he had long ago buried. If they had slept together, he most certainly would have remembered. She didn't appear to be a woman one would forget going to bed with. He most certainly would have remembered the gloriously mane the color of clouds and those beautiful baby blues clouded with passion.

"Ya seem like a smart frail," he said.

"Gee, a compliment from the great Logan Howlett," she scoffed.

"So why the hell did ya put this address on the letters sent ta me anonymously?"

Ororo threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. A bark of laughter escaping her. "Goddess! You are by far the densest man I have ever met. Did some of those race car crashes knock whatever brain cells you had out?" Peering at him, she turned the tables. "All I have heard so far is that you have received letters from me allegedly. Where are these supposed letters? Why did you not bring them with you for me to see?"

"Do I look like a fool? I show ya the letters and ya destroy them. There goes my evidence."

She shook her head in continued disbelief. This had to be a bad dream, she mused. "Oh Bright Lady!" She cried. "You cannot be serious."

"I'm damn well serious. This isn't funny anymore, especially not after the last letter threatening ta take me ta court and forcing me ta claim a kid I've never heard of or met. That was the last straw and I decided that enough was enough and I was going ta give ya a reality check."

"Trust me, Mr. Howlett. I am not the type of woman to lodge a paternity suit on a man for my own gain," she replied, rubbing the space between her eyes.

"Even one in my position?"

"No, Logan."

His name coming off of her lips did funny things to him on the inside and for the second time since meeting her, he had the urge to taste those lips. He snapped out of those dangerous thoughts. The woman was an extortionist. "Not even if I stand ta lose a lot if a scandal of this magnitude comes out?"

"Dammit, no!" She roared. "I have already explained to you that I have never had a child," she said less quietly.

The opening and slamming shut of the front door garnered their undivided attention. They heard a scream for "Mom!", then running footsteps in the hallway. The emergence of a skinny, tall, lanky fifteen year old boy into the room held both occupants spellbound, both for different reasons. "Hey Mom! Have you seen the sweet car in front of our house?"

Chapter 2 Sneak Peek: Ororo certainly has some explaining to do.