A.N. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. With finals coming up it seems that all of the professors have decided to give the very last tests at the very last moment. Thank you to all of you that are following this story but I would really love to hear from more of you about what you're thinking. Reviews give me encouragement!

Chapter 3—Flashback

As he stepped outside the airport into the sweltering heat, Marcel felt apprehensive about being back in New Orleans. After spending three years in New Orleans studying culinary, his first time being back made things seem, in his eyes, more magnificent and over the top. Even the air was different. Awkwardly, he shuffled his feet against the pavement waiting for—

"Marcel! You bloody wanker! Get your arse in the car, mate." His best friend, Klaus contributed nicely to the dramatics of New Orleans. A honk accompanied the yelling and Marcel couldn't help but smile. It felt weird but it was good to be home.

As they drove to Klaus' family home where Marcel would be spending his summer, Klaus regaled his best friend with the escapades he had gotten up to in school.

"I'm telling you, mate. You should have seen this girl. Brunette, petite, arse and tits to die for…she'll be the future mother of my children for sure."

"What'd you say her name was again?"

"Who the hell knows? Paisley? Bailey? Something of that nature." Marcel laughed. Klaus was a notorious womanizer but Marcel was sure that one day he would meet his match.

Soon, Marcel saw the famous Mikaelson Manor. The Mikaelsons obviously had money and their home and the surrounding grounds reflected that. As they pulled up the driveway, Marcel saw a flash of yellow. A leggy blonde was walking to the front door, her short blue dress teasing at what was underneath.

Marcel whistled low under is breath. "Now who is that?"

"Who's what?" Klaus looked confused.

"The blonde in blue, man. Is she a 'friend' of yours? Because I don't do sloppy seconds." Upon receiving no answer, Marcel looked at his friend, who looked like he was about to be sick. "What?"

"Mate, that's my sister."

Marcel gaped at the blonde again. "That's Rebekah?" Marcel couldn't believe it, but upon seeing the car coming up the drive, she had turned back to greet them. In the privacy of the tinted windows, Marcel was able to eye her without her knowledge. With the knowledge of her identity, Marcel was could see the resemblance to the thirteen-year-old girl he had left behind. The icy blue eyes were the same, as were the dimples in the cheeks, but the lips were fuller, her face had lost its roundness, and surely her legs hadn't been so long…

A slap to the back of the head drew Marcel out of his musings. "Ow," he said grabbing his head and looking at his fuming best friend. "What the fuck was that for?"

"That's my sister, you arsehole. Keep your eyes and hands to yourself before you lose them." Klaus stepped out of the car. "And wipe your chin. You're drooling."

Marcel banged his head against the headrest. The Mikaelsons always got him in trouble and if he didn't watch it, history would repeat itself. Checking his chin for drool, Marcel exited the car to the squealing and hugging of a very grown up Rebekah.

Oh boy, he thought as she jumped up and down against him. This is going to be a long summer…

About midsummer, Marcel was torn between wanting to stay in New Orleans and wanting to run far, far, far away. Being back in New Orleans was great: the sun, the city, and the lively music. It was truly the city that never slept. However, it felt like Rebekah Mikaelson had been possessed by the devil himself. She was pulling out the stops to torture him and as much as he didn't want to go there for fear of what Klaus—and the other brothers—would do to him, it was a delicious type of torture.

He had seen Rebekah in various states of undress, short jean shorts that showed off long, shapely legs, crop tops that exposed a tan, flat stomach, and once even her underwear, after she proposed they go skinny dipping and proceeded to strip. But every time Rebekah showed up in an outfit more revealing than the last, Klaus would shoot a warning glance at Marcel and it was enough to temporarily erase any wayward thoughts.

Unfortunately as he lay in the guest room at night, images of the day's outfit fluttered in his mind and Marcel did his best to will his hard on away. But with all the smooth skin Marcel had been getting his fill of, there was no way to calm himself. Thinking that maybe a glass of milk would help him sleep, he got up to head downstairs to the kitchen.

Sitting at the counter was the object of his fantasies, eating cereal in an oversized sweatshirt that left one tantalizing shoulder bare.

Shit, he thought and inwardly groaned. The small amount of skin showing did wild things to his libido.

"Can't sleep?" She smiled a sweet smile at him, wavy hair framing her face.

Marcel cleared his throat. "Um…no. Too many thoughts running through my mind."

"Any of those thoughts about me?"

Marcel stiffened and realization flooded his system. The little…minx knew what she was doing to him. He gaped at her, her cheeks were red with embarrassment but her chin was held high without apology.

He couldn't help but grin and shake his head. He had to hand it to her. She was devious and determined. "A few of them," he admitted, sitting down on the barstool next to her, his glass of milk forgotten. Her smile widened as she stood in front of him, her bare knees touching his clothed ones.

It was the most contact they'd had since he first arrived and it sent an electric current through him.

"I would like very much for you to kiss me." Marcel almost choked. This new, bold side of Rebekah just kept on surprising him.

"Rebekah, I don't think Klaus would like that very much." Klaus wouldn't like it at all, Marcel corrected himself.

"Do you always do what Klaus tells you?" It was a diabolical move from a sixteen-year-old girl, but Rebekah had more than proved herself to be beyond her age.

"No…but he's your brother. And he's my best friend."

"As your best friend, he should want to see you happy."

Marcel was amused. "And you think you could make me happy?"

"We'll just have to see now, won't we?" Rebekah pressed herself closer to him and Marcel stood, his 6-foot-4-inches towering over her 5-foot-6-inches. They were chest-to-chest and every breath that Rebekah expelled, Marcel breathed in, the heady smell of her going to his head.

He touched her face, tucking a hair behind her ear, and she nuzzled her face into his hand and closed her eyes. There was no denying that he wanted her. Badly. But his friendship with Klaus warred with his own desires. He was confused. Grasping her other cheek gently, Marcel planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Good night, Rebekah," he whispered, sidestepping her—and temptation—and jogging up the stairs, his lips tingling from touching her skin.

Months later, when he had gone back to Rhode Island, Klaus called him to vent about catching Rebekah in a compromising position with a guy from her school. The brothers had gone out of their way to torture the boy as he ran out of the house, clutching his clothes to his privates. Marcel felt a tinge of envy at the guy who had gotten to be with Rebekah in that way but he was relieved that he was able to maintain his composure and keep his friendship with the Mikaelsons. No matter how much Rebekah drove him wild with her outfits and affectionate gestures, he knew nothing good could come from getting involved with a Mikaelson.

A.N. Please do not forget to review!