Logan saw her boots first. Rolling over, he looked up at Marie from the floor of the garage, his hands busy inside the bike's engine. He took a moment to enjoy the view; pretty wrap dress, cropped leather jacket, white scarf shot through with silver, her hair up in a messy bun and gloved fingers wrapped around a white paper cup that smelled of coffee and chocolate. She looked good and smelled better, and it had nothing to do with the steaming cup in her hand.

"Hey, kid."

Marie couldn't help but smile at him. There was a beer near his elbow, three empties on the workbench and he had a smear of grease above his left eyebrow and an expression that said he there was no place else he'd rather be.

"Whatcha doing?"

His brow arched. "Fishin'."

She giggled at his teasing and toed him with her boot before bending at the knees to crouch down next to him. She peered at the engine. "Spark plug?"

The luscious scent got stronger and his concentration shattered. He dropped the tool and cursed as he grated the skin off one knuckle.

"Shit!" Logan sucked at it as it healed, frowning as the scent and taste of blood and engine grease mingled with the heady scent of the woman crouched near his head. Christ, she smelled good.

"Well, you've bled on it, so at least it will let you fix it properly now."

He cracked a smile. "Who taughtya that?"

"Scott."

"He ain't wrong."

It was probably one of the nicest things he'd ever said about Scott and it chased away the sad smile from her face. She and Scott had grown closer after Jean's death and she still felt his loss keenly.

Logan pushed himself to his feet and grabbed a rag to wipe his hands. Marie straightened, brushing at her skirt before she half leaned, half sat against his bike. He wondered, with a touch of wry amusement, if she had any idea how proprietary that gesture was. You didn't touch a man's bike like that unless you belonged to him too.

Hell, maybe some part of her did know. She met his eyes and stroked the glossy tank with an appreciative fingertip; a long, slow glide up over the swell and down the sleek side, rimming the gas cap for good measure. Tight maddening circles that drew a rough, dirty growl from him. She may as well have been stroking him. It had the same result. His mouth actually watered. The desire to put his hands on her and drag her to him rose, sharp and hot. She stretched out her legs, crossing her ankles before taking another sip of coffee and looking up at him from under her lashes.

She seemed like a woman with something on her mind.

Fair enough. He had a few things on his mind, too.

He should have taken a step back, grabbed that beer and put some distance between them, but he'd never been one to listen to the voice of reason. Especially not with that scent in the air between them. He moved closer instead.

"What's up, darlin'? This about the dinner you owe me tomorrow? I was thinkin' pot roast. Maybe with that real good bread you make. The sweet one. Dessert too. You know how to make chess pie?" It was by far the easier of two cravings to discuss.

"Are you ever not hungry?"

"Nope. Gotta big appetite." Understatement of the century. She was lighting all sorts of fires in him today. The beast within was ravenous, though it wasn't the thought filling his belly that made hunger burn brightly from behind his eyes. He looked but said nothing. That wasn't a conversation either of them were ready for.

"Well, no, this isn't about dinner. Yes, I'll make the pot roast and the pao doce. And yes, anyone who knows all the words to Dixie can make a chess pie, sugar." She winked at him. "But I was thinking maybe baked Alaska. I've always wanted to try that."

"Next time."

Marie rolled her eyes, aware there would more than likely be several next times. She couldn't always figure out how he was doing it, but he typically seemed either to win her markers outright or to acquire them from the person who had. He'd spent one afternoon building a new greenhouse for 'Ro to earn back the marker she'd won. She'd lost three to Hank that he'd somehow reclaimed and Jubilee had told her Logan had straight-up bribed her for the marker she'd won.

In the interest of self-preservation, Bobby had thrown his down on Logan's pile of chips and all but fled from the table directly following their last game. Honestly, the man was a menace. But it was kind of sweet that he liked her cooking enough to bother. He was too proud to ask her to cook for him and too damn stubborn to accept her charity, but he had no problem redeeming a marker. He didn't like to be in anyone's debt. Even hers.

"Whatcha got on deck, darlin'?" She had that look that said she wanted to talk and she better get to it quickly. He didn't have much patience left. Not today.

"I was wondering..." Her cheeks got pink. It was a good look on her. That long slim neck and full red pout were definitely doing it for him, too. "The Red Door, sugar. You owe me a date."

"I do." He'd been waiting for her to ask, wanting to be sure she was sober and completely aware of what she was asking of him.

"Well, I'm in the mood to collect."

That he knew all too well. It was stamped all over her right now, in the way she looked and smelled, in the sinuous way she moved, even in the way she held herself. And then there was the way she'd planted herself on his bike, shifting and stroking and— Fuck.

"Soon."

"When?"

"Next weekend work for you, baby?" He gave her a dirty little leer just to watch her laugh.

"What's wrong with this weekend? I know you don't have any plans beyond pot roast, chess pie and tiling the kitchen backsplash." He'd somehow roped her into helping with that too.

Logan shook his head. "Can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

"You change your mind?"

"Hell, no." He had the opposite problem. He wanted it a little too much right now. Taking Marie to a sex club was probably going to stretch his control pretty thin as it was. There was no way he could take her there smelling as good as she smelled right now. That was hard enough without the environment of a sex club amping things up.

It was more than chemistry, it was biology. The scent tickled his brain, made him want to bite her, to rut and thrust and feel her open and receptive under his body while he filled her to overflowing with rivers of come. He wanted her scent all over him and he wanted to overlay it with his own.

There were subtle changes in her behavior too. She was more confident, more open and flirtatious. Her body was looser, her drawl a little thicker, her touches lingered and were more sensual. Men responded to it, it wasn't just him, although he felt it more keenly than most.

"What is it then?"

"Marie—"

"The truth, straight up. That's our deal, right?"

"It is, yeah." His face softened slightly. "S'just this one ain't real pretty. Maybe you could just let me have this one." His voice was low and husky now, quiet but not gentle.

"Like you just let me have one when I asked you to take me to the club that first time?" He hadn't cut her an inch of slack. "I don't think so, sunshine. If we're gonna go to a place like that together, we've got to be straight with each other."

"You might not like whatcha hear. Fair warnin'."

"I'll take my chances."

Finally he just shrugged. "You know how I am."

"Stoic, surly and prone to growling and clawin' things when you're pissed?"

He chuckled. She was not wrong. "My senses. How they are."

Marie nodded. She remembered. He'd poured himself into her twice, and when it was over, everything had just been... more. Like a dial turned up past the comfort zone. The lights were too bright and sounds too loud. She could feel the rough rasp of her clothes against her skin, every little nerve ending raw and wild. Scents and tastes had overwhelmed her. It was a cacophony of the senses; a wild riot skittering over her skin and under it. It had taken some getting used to. He rarely said anything about it, and sometimes she forgot that's how it was for him all the time. "I remember," she said softly.

The water under that bridge was deep and swift. He acknowledged it with a nod.

"I just needta wait a few days. You smell too good right now."

"Good?" Marie wrinkled up her nose. "I could take a shower," she teased.

"Wouldn't help."

"Good how? Perfume? Shampoo? Sweat? Pheromones? Fabric softener? What?"

"Fertile." That was all the explanation that was needed.

Oh, God.

Her teasing smile faded and she blushed to the roots of her hair. "Um. Okay."

"Sorry," he said, meaning it. It embarrassed him. Even now. All of it, the healing. The senses. The strength. The claws. He didn't like talking about it. Especially not this aspect, which made him feel more like an animal than the claws ever did.

"Me too. I didn't realize I made you uncomfortable. You've known me for years. Why didn't you say something sooner?" The thought that she'd inflicted that on him a dozen times a year for half a decade made her feel awful.

"Hey, it ain't like that. It ain't a bad thing. S'natural. It's not usually a big deal. You always smell good to me, kid." His expression softened. "Even when you were young and scared in a dive bar, and in need of a shower and some clean clothes."

"Logan!"

"Heh. It ain't gonna get you out of dinner tomorrow, either. I want that pie."

"If you're sure."

"It's nothin'. Really. Just makes me-" Wanna follow my nose? Hot? Feel like I'm splittin' outta my skin? "A little more possessive, and you know that ain't easy for me when it comesta you." He'd never made any bones about that fact. Something in him had recognized her as his from the moment she'd yelled out in that bar in Laughlin City.

"It's all right. I get it."

He wasn't sure she did. Not really. "I wanna take you. I do. It just ain't a good idea to mix that possessive streak with drinkin' and watchin' somethin' that'll make our blood run hot in a crowd. That's all." Logan was impressed with himself. That came out sounding a whole lot better than it felt inside; a wild crimson swirl of something that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep chained, scent or no.

Her eyes danced. "I suppose it would probably be best if the evening didn't end with someone getting impaled."

Out of the mouths of babes.

"Or clawed," she added mischievously.

Jesus. That Rogue really was going to be the death of him.

Up next: Hungry Like the Wolf. The Wolverine and the Rogue prepare for a night at The Red Door...