Disclaimer: Marvel's characters, not ours.
A/N: ishandahalf - Thanks for the uber-long comment, luv - as always. :hugs: We think right now that Remy's intentions are kinda mixed up, even to himself. But he'll work it out eventually. You know what guys are like with matters of the heart. :lmao: ;) IvyZoe - Cody's story will definitely be revealed in due course. :) Chica De Los Ojos Cafe - Wow! We're thrilled you approve! We agree - even if it was only out of pure lust, we know that it was inevitable. But we all know it's not just pure lust, right? Muahahaha! Stay tuned, mon amie:D Sweety8587 - Nah, Remy's a strawberries and cream kinda guy. ;D Alisha - sorry you found it disappointing Alisha. We figured that Rogue and Remy's banter would be more awkward, since they were in a rather awkward position... But hey, you feel what you feel. Thanks for giving your honest opinion. :) Wabi-Shabi - Talking to one another:starts to calculate how many chapters before they actually start talking to one another: Come on, where would a Romy fic be without the misunderstanding and the angst! Although we promise you this will have a happy ending. Is that good enough? Honestly, we've tried to keep things upbeat thus far, but Remy and Rogue have to sort some things out first and it ain't all going to be roses along the way... ;) But anyway, thanks for reading and commenting and most of all enjoying. As for our own fics - well, Angy's kinda busy with everyday life, and Ludi's kinda busy having a bad bout of writer's block where Threads is concerned. But we're not giving up... we just don't know when the next updates will be on the horizon. :( Chaos-harbinger - Meh heh. You're bringing back some woeful memories of 'Sunset Beach' and 'The Bold and the Beautiful'. Yup, we admit it, this is pure, unadulterated soap opera. :p All we have to say about the situation with Warren, and with Scott - expect the unexpected...
...And thanks to everyone else who left their comments and reviews on the fic! We appreciate your support as ever and hope you continue to enjoy reading the story in the future. :D As for this chapter, we're having just a little bit of down time before things pick up again. Stay tuned...
-xOx-
Mix 'n' Match
(16) Introspection
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 fiance, 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-
To be continued...