"Can I offer you a drink, belle?"  Remy crosses the room and gestures to a fully stocked wine cooler.  You would think that having a wine cooler in your bedroom would be a bit much, but in Remy's room, it works.  His suite is a warmly decorated, masculine space; clean and comfortable; rustic leather furniture set in contrast to sensual touches, like a bed made with silk sheets and sumptuous pillows.  On the end table is a vase of gorgeous roses; in his bathroom, a thoughtful basket of lovely smelling soaps and feminine toiletries placed by the sink.

It's a room where a woman goes to be charmed by his rakish personality.  Seduced by his velvety voice...beguiled by his handsome face, his lithe, muscular body.  Made to feel special...perhaps made to forget, if only for a little while.

"Do you--have anything stronger?" I ask, feeling a blush warm my face.

Remy pauses, and then a kind smile touches his lips.  "Of course," he says, pulling a bottle out of the hutch above the cooler.  "Créole Shrubb?"

"Sounds perfect," I reply with a nervous smile.

He pours a glass and I meet him halfway to take it.  Forgetting all manners and decorum, I bring the glass to my lips start throwing back the rum, unable to stop until it's gone.  Shyly I bring my fingers to my mouth and delicately blot a drop of the liquid, only now thinking about how I must appear.  Mama would have died of embarrassment if she could have seen me just now.

"Thanks," I say sheepishly.

The corner of Remy's mouth twitches.  "Pas du tout," he replies, gently taking the glass from my hand.  "Would you like another?"

"Um, yes...please.  I'll take it a little slower this time," I say with a little chuckle.

Remy pours a second glass for me, and this time I try be a little more sophisticated.  I wait for him to pour his own drink, instead of downing mine immediately in one fell swoop.  As I bring the glass to my lips, I close my eyes and take in the aroma of the Creole spices.  A sip of the sweet, smooth liquid carries wonderful notes of orange peel, chocolate, and fresh sugar cane.  Delicious.

"I didn't think you would come."

"Well I...I didn't think I would have the time, and...I wasn't sure if...I mean..."  I look down at my glass, struggling to find the words.  "I don't know, I thought maybe..." I trail off.  What's the right thing to say here?

"Hey...it's ok, chère.  You don't have to explain.  You are always welcome at Remy's."  His eyes lock with mine for a long moment.

"Thanks, Remy," I say softly.

"Besides," he smiles.  "Remy never passes up the opportunity to have a beautiful woman runnin' her fingers through his hair."  He nods his head toward my leather bag of styling tools.

I laugh and brush a lock of hair away from his eyes.  Remy always seems to know just the right the thing to say to put you at ease.

"Do you really want me to cut your hair?" I ask.  "It looks good just the way it is, too."

"'Course I do," he replies, pulling back the curtains and opening the balcony door.  "C'mon.  Let's do it outside, chère; it's a beautiful afternoon."  He walks to the bathroom and begins wetting his hands and running them through his hair.  "Go on ahead and enjoy the sunshine.  I'll be there in a minute."

"Ok," I reply with a smile.  I grab my bag and walk onto the balcony.  A breeze caresses my face as I step outside, and I draw in the sweet air deeply.  Down in the courtyard, Storm is placing fresh flowers on white linen-covered tables for the ball.  She notices me standing above on the balcony and pauses, giving me a wave and a smile; I smile and wave back, happy to see my friend, the weather goddess.  Just as I'm about to turn, Logan appears, lugging a huge planter of flowers.  My heart skips a beat.

"Tell me again why I'm doing this, 'Ro?" he grunts.

'Ro points to a spot beside an arch covered in vines and purple blossoms.  "Because you love me," she says with a smirk.

"Not enough to be playin' with flowers and haulin' stuff like a pack mule," he retorts.

"And because you owe me," she continues.  "Don't give me that look.  If it wasn't for me, you know Scott would have never let you hear the end of it.  I saved your behind from a major pride-swallowing."

"Alright, alright," he grumbles.  "Don't remind me."  He hoists the planter to the chosen spot with another grunt, muscles bunching and flexing in his back, shoulders, and arms.  He is so strong...I take a gulp of my drink and watch as he wipes his forehead with the back of his arm and starts heading back to get the other planter.

Just then he notices me and halts in his tracks.  I think I've stopped breathing.  I'm expecting him to look angry, or maybe irritated, considering our last encounter.  Instead his face is unreadable as we just stare at each other, not saying anything.

The moment is broken by a sultry Cajun voice behind me.  "I'm ready for that haircut, mah lady."

"Remy!" I breathe with a start.  "I didn't hear you coming."

He looks down to the courtyard and then back to me.  "No, I suppose you wouldn't with all the...distractions out here," he says with a wink.

Oh my god.  Busted twice in the span of five minutes.  I look down again, but Logan has gone back to work.  "I was just...'Ro was decorating for the ball and...Aw, hell."  I gulp down the last of my drink and hope that he'll cut me a break.

He chuckles warmly and his eyes twinkle playfully.  "Come on, love.  Let's see if Remy can't do a better job of keepin' your attention."  He takes me by the hand and leads me to a chair that he's brought out to the balcony.  Turning to face me, he crosses his arms at the hem of his shirt and pulls it off over his head in one fluid motion, revealing a smooth, tan, perfect chest and rippling abs.

Oh my.  I drop my glass in surprise, but Remy doesn't let it hit the ground, catching it deftly and setting it on the ledge.

"Easy, chère," he says.  "Jus' thought it would be better to keep the hair off mah shirt."

"Um...right.  Of course," I stammer, trying not to stare.

He sits in the chair and leans back, beautiful muscular arms hanging down to his sides, his flat stomach looking so very touchable right now.  "I'm all yours.  Do with me what you will," he says with a grin so charming, I can't help but grin back.

"Very well, Mr. LeBeau," I say, opening my bag and pulling out a comb and a pair of scissors.  Slowly I walk in a circle around Remy, observing the cut of his hair and making mental notes of what I want to do.  I come back around and position myself in front of him, reaching out to run my fingers through the damp hair above his eyes, drawing it upward to estimate the length.

He moves his legs farther apart.  "You can come closer if you want, chère."

I search his face for another grin or a playful glint in his eye, but he's not being playful anymore.  Burning red eyes are fixed on mine, and there's that tingle down my spine again.  I step closer, and his eyes gaze upward at me.

"I, um...I'm gonna...start in the back, I think," I say, stammering again.  Blushing like a schoolgirl, I step around his leg and circle behind him, and dang, he looks good from this angle, too.

I don't know why I'm being so silly; I talk to Remy all the time.  I've seen all the guys at the mansion with their shirt off at one time or another.  But usually not this up close and personal.  So close that I can see the texture of their skin, every pore, every muscle movement, every eyelash; see and hear every rise and fall of their chest.  When you get that close to someone, and they're as attractive and charming as Remy, and all their attention is on you, it's easy for a girl to get a little giddy.

Still, outside of giving a haircut, there are few men that I've been that close to before.  There's really only one man I've ever wanted to be that close to.  I feel a pang in my chest, and quickly push that thought out of my head.

I begin drawing sections of Remy's hair between my fingers and start snipping away.  I'm going to trim it enough to give it some shape, but I think part of Remy's hotness factor is his longer hair, so I'm not taking off too much.  At first I'm nervous, wondering what he must be thinking every time I touch his hair or brush up against him, but as I go along it gets easier.  My heartbeat and breathing slow down eventually, and hey, I'm kind of enjoying this.  Yeah, until it's time to make my way to the front of his hair, and now I have to stand between those hard thighs again.  Ugh, there goes my steady heartbeat.

C'mon, girl.  Get a hold of yourself.  You're the Rogue, for cryin' out loud.  You don't turn into a swooning fool just from standing next to a man.  I try to reason with myself and stay unruffled.  It's just Remy.  Sweet, charming, genteel Remy...dashing, handsome...tall, muscular...shirtless...completely...hot...Remy.  Oh boy, I'm in trouble.

A few last hurried snips, and oh thank God, I'm finished with the haircut.  Tamping down the urge to fan myself, I stand back a little and squint one eye to survey my handiwork.  He looks damn good, if I do say so myself.

"How do I look?" he asks, turning his head side to side.

"Well, I can only do so much, Sugar," I sigh with a pretend air of resignation, "but I'd say you're actually...less ugly."  We both look at each other, trying not to smile.

"Did I say that out loud?  Nuts, I meant to say you look acceptable," I correct myself.

"Hmm," he says thoughtfully, "Well, you did the best you could, considerin' what you had to work with."

We look at each other a moment longer, his mouth twitching and me biting my lip, until we can't take it any more and we both start laughing.

"Here, let me help you," I say, brushing the hair off his shoulders while he brushes off his legs.  After a minute we've almost got it all except for one stubborn spot. 

"Hang on, there's one piece that keeps sticking," I point out, "right on your neck."  

"Here?" he says, brushing his hand over his neck.

"It's still there...let me get it for you."  He watches me as I hesitate, then step a little closer, placing my hands on his chest as I lean in.  "It needs...a little air to unstick it," I say softly.

Remy tilts his head a little to the right to give me better access.  I smell the faint scent of soap and cologne as I inch closer...I can hear him breathing, feel the warmth of his thighs against my legs.  The brush of my breasts against his chest causes my nipples to tighten, and suddenly, I realize how very intimate this is.  I'm wondering if I've gotten too close, too soon.  I go to pull back, and a pair of warm hands land on my waist.  I stop, and my breath hitches.

"It's ok, chère," he whispers.

A shiver runs through me at the sound of his words.  I stand there for a moment, while Remy remains motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.  Then, once more I lean forward.  I take a breath, and blow a soft stream of air over his neck to unstick the hair.  Goosebumps instantly form on Remy's skin.

"It's gone," I murmur, slowly pulling back.  He turns to me then, looking into my eyes.  Our faces are so close, I can feel his breath on my lips.  The tension in the air is palpable.

I can't believe this is happening.  Do I want this?  Yes...I do.  It's what I'm here for, isn't it?  It's what I came for.  Is that wrong?  Maybe.  But there are far worse things than to fall into the arms of a man as sweet and handsome as the one before me.  There are far worse things than to seek the comfort of being wanted by someone, even if it's not the man you love.

I close my eyes.  I lean in closer, and now I can feel the warmth of his mouth across the tiny gap between us, and we're so close...

Suddenly, a familiar sound cuts the air.

*Snikt*

My eyes fly open and I turn them toward the courtyard, where Logan is standing with his claws out, glaring in our direction.  'Ro is standing next to him with a hand on his arm.

"...need to let her move on," 'Ro says softly.  He doesn't respond, continuing to glare.  I walk to the balcony ledge and his eyes bore into me.  Then, slowly, the glare softens to an expression that I can't decipher.

We continue staring at each other, something passing between us, but what, I don't know.  I feel so mixed up right now.  Remy comes up behind me, and Logan's face darkens to a glare again.  'Ro's eyes travel from Logan to Remy and back to Logan.

"Logan," 'Ro says gently, pulling his arm.  A low growl is rumbling from Logan's throat, and 'Ro puts a hand on his chest as he takes a step forward.

"Don't," she says.  The wind is picking up, and the branches on all the trees begin whipping back and forth.  Logan starts to shake her off, when the sky darkens in a matter of seconds, and suddenly a bolt of electricity strikes the ground just ten feet in front of him, stopping his advance.  Moments later it begins to pour, the wind howling and streaks of lightning flashing across the sky.  The flowers are blown off the tables and the tablecloths are getting soaked, but 'Ro doesn't stop the maelstrom.  Logan looks back at 'Ro, and then to me again.  She places a hand on the back of his neck and says something inaudible to him; slowly, recognition crosses his face, and he sheathes his claws.

The rain is coming down in sheets. "C'mon chère, we need to get inside," Remy urges, taking me by the hand.  He begins pulling me towards the door, covering me with a protective arm.  I steal one more glance back at Logan, who watches me until I'm in the door, then turns away.

Remy shuts the door to the balcony and gently guides me into the bathroom.  While he rummages through the linen closet, I wrap my arms around myself and watch the water drip from my hair.

I can't get the look on Logan's face out of my mind.  What was that?  Anger?  Jealousy? Accusation?  I feel like somehow I've been caught, but I haven't done anything wrong, and neither has Remy.  I refuse to be made to feel that way.  He can't say he wants to be friends one minute, and then start popping the claws the next minute when a man gets close to me.  It's not right.  You can't have it both ways.

But then I also watched as his face changed to something like...regret. Loss.  It almost broke my heart to see that look on his face.  I can never stand to see him suffer in the slightest, and to see that look...Right then and there I wanted to jump down from that balcony and run to him.  But loss of what?  You can't lose something you never had.  You can't mourn the loss of something you never wanted.

Or is it the loss of the person he thought I was?  The loss of the neat little arrangement we had, where he could run about town bedding any woman he pleased, then come home and pal around with innocent little Rogue, who played the asexual, unattached friend and companion?  Always available, just waiting around for him.

I'm sorry, but I just can't do that anymore.  It hurts too much.

"Let's get you dried off before you catch a cold," says Remy, tenderly wrapping me in a big, fluffy towel.  He takes a smaller towel and begins blotting my hair to stop the dripping.  I'm feeling chilly now, and my body starts shivering.  Remy tosses the small towel aside and pulls me to his warm chest, wrapping his arms around me tightly and rubbing my back.  I rest the side of my face on his chest and start to relax as his body heat envelops me.

We stand there like that for a few minutes, just holding each other, feeling the heat return to our bodies.  Slowly, tentatively, I snake my arms around his waist.  So warm.  My hands leisurely stroke the smooth skin of his back; and then, as if they have a mind of their own, they wander to his sides, skating up and down, caressing his beautiful, perfectly cut obliques.

Remy hand stops rubbing my back.  I wait for further reaction, but he says nothing.  My fingers continue their shy exploration, tracing the muscle down his hip, until they reach the waistband of his pants.

Remy's arms loosen their tight hold, and he pulls back, searching my face; still, he says nothing. My fingertips slowly move over his stomach, and he draws in a ragged breath, touching his forehead to mine.

"Rogue..." he says softly, "chère...we--"

I don't let him finish, now sliding my hands up his bare chest and then behind his neck.  Please don't stop me.  I need this.  I pull him down, arching up desperately to bring his mouth to mine.  His lips are warm and soft, his kisses are gentle, sweet.  His breathing quickens as his hands tighten around the small of my back; I start to deepen the kiss, but then Remy breaks away.

"Chère...don't do this," he whispers.

I look up at him with uncomprehending eyes.  He brings his hand to my face, and with his thumb, gently wipes away a tear that has run down my cheek.

"Remy be the best thief there is, but someone has already stolen chère's heart and locked it up tight."

For a moment, I'm unable to speak.  Then I bow my head down in defeat.  "It doesn't matter.  He may have my heart, but he doesn't want it.  Not in that way."  I look up at Remy again in earnest.  "You can help me break my heart free, Remy.  Just help me forget for a while.  You don't have to love me.  You don't even have to care for me.  Please."

"Oh, chère," he says softly, covering my hands and moving them over his heart.  "I do care for you.  And that is why I cannot do this."

I shake my head in disbelief.  "I don't understand."

"I can't break your heart free without hurting you, too.  You belong with him.  I see that now."  He gazes at me with a wistful smile.  "The Wolverine has stolen your heart without even tryin', and like a fool, he's hidden it so far away that he's forgotten what a great treasure he has, just for the takin'.  But don't you worry none.  Soon he's gonna come to his senses."

"And if he doesn't?" I whisper.

"He will.  Trust me, petite.  Remy knows a thing or two about love." He winks at me.  "And if he doesn't, well, 'den I'm gonna have to charge up a whole deck of cards and knock some sense into that thick metal skull of his."

I laugh and sniffle.  "You are so bad.  But then again, I might ask you to if he doesn't come to his senses."

He takes both of my hands in his and kisses them.  "C'mon, chère.  Let's find something dry for you to wear, and 'den you can watch sappy old movies with Remy and eat dinner on the sofa."

"Thanks, Remy," I smile.  "That sounds wonderful."

He rummages in the linen closet once more and pulls out a fresh robe for me, then leaves the bathroom and shuts the door.  After stripping down and taking a hot shower, I hang my dress, bra, and panties over the shower curtain bar, then wrap myself in the robe and tie the belt snugly.  For a moment I wonder if I should feel self-conscious about my drawers just hanging out there in the open like that in Remy's bathroom.  Of course, Remy's probably no stranger to having women's lingerie scattered about his living quarters, so it probably won't even faze him, I muse.  And then I wonder if it's weird that I'm going to be strolling around his room wearing a robe with not a stitch underneath.  Oh yeah.  Already did that once today in the library.  How ironic that I'm right back where I started.  I can't seem to stay clothed appropriately today.

When I come out of the bathroom, Remy has changed his clothes and already has a small feast of French bread, cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, and grapes laid out on the coffee table.  He sets a couple of Hubig's Pies on the table next to the grapes.  "A guilty pleasure," he smiles sheepishly.

"Hey, nothing to feel guilty about, sugar.  Clearly you're burning those off as soon as you eat them, 'cause you are looking mighty fine to me.  But if you're worried, I'll help you by eating both myself," I say with a grin.

"You better not!" he says, daring me to try.

"After the day I've had, those pies are as good as mine," I reply with a glint in my eye.

Our eyes lock in challenge as we circle the coffee table, poised to dive and snatch the sweet paper-wrapped confections.  I lunge forward to grab the pies, but Remy gets there first, snatching them and spinning out of my reach.

"Hey! Gimme those pies!" I laugh, and then wince in pain as I pull back up.

"You ok?" Remy asks, immediately by my side.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I assure him, rubbing my neck and shoulder.  "I'm just a little sore still, from this morning's Danger Room session."

"Oui, that was a tough one," he agrees.  "Ol' Cyke was intent on runnin' us ragged."  He pats the sofa.  "Sit here, chère.  Let Remy take care of you with his magic fingers."

Reluctantly I sit down and turn my back to Remy.  "I'm fine, Remy, really.  And besides, I've never really liked massages anyw--oooohhh," I moan.

"You were saying?" Remy says with a knowing tone.

"I was just saying---mmm---where have you and your magic fingers---ooohh---been all my life?"  Remy chuckles and continues to melt away all the knots in my neck and shoulders with his skilled hands.

"Mmm...oohhh..."  My head lolls forward as Remy massages the base of my neck.  "I am so embarrassed, but I just can not stop---aaahh---moaning."

"You're not the first femme to say that to Remy," he quips.

I look back at him and roll my eyes.  "Oh lordy be, did you just say that out loud?"

He grins back at me. "Yes I did," he says with a self-satisfied air.  "You got a problem with that?"

"As a matter of fact, I do--oooo!" I moan in satisfaction as Remy presses his thumbs deeper into my shoulder muscles.  "Oh God! Remy!  That feels so--ahhh---so good!"

"You like that, chère?

"Yes!  Uuunnhh!"

"Does Remy make you feel good?" he says playfully.  "Does Remy touch you in all the right places?"  We're borderlining on sounding like a French porn soundtrack at this point, and he knows it.

"Oh God, yes!" I moan again, unable to stop myself as he massages his way up the back of my neck.  "So good!"

Just then I hear loud growl outside the door and the metallic sing of adamantium blades as they slice through the latch like butter.  Logan kicks open the door and comes charging in the room, chest heaving as he breathes furiously in and out through his teeth.

Remy and I sit there frozen in place with dumbstruck expressions on our faces.

"Easy homme," Remy says, cautiously lifting his hands from my shoulders and holding them in the air.

"Shut up, Cajun," Logan growls, pointing his claws at Remy.

Remy stands up and looks around for something to charge, grabbing the first thing he sees.  "You don't wanna be like that, Wolverine.  Remy is a peace-lovin' man, but you come at me with those knives and I will blast you into next week with this--" he looks at the glowing purple object in his hand. "...pie."

Logan cocks his eyebrow at Remy.  "Really, Gumbo?  A pie?"

"Logan, what are you doing here?" I interrupt, standing up and stepping in front of Remy.

Logan sheathes his claws.  "I..." he shifts uncomfortably.  "I was walking by, and thought I heard you..."  He shifts again and looks around, noting the table of food and then looking Remy up and down.

"Heard me what?" I say, putting my hands on my hips.

"Talking," he stammers.  "I thought I heard you talking in here, and I needed to see you about something."

"I see.  And what was so important that you felt the need to chop Remy's door open and come barging in here like hell on wheels?"

Logan says nothing for a moment, realizing that there is no easy way out of this.

"I need a haircut," he says feebly.  I stand there staring at him with my mouth agape like a slack-jawed yokel, and he shifts again.

"You...chopped open the door.  To ask me for a haircut?" I say finally.

"Yeah, that's right.  I need you to cut my hair.  Right now."  He says it with as much conviction as he can muster, even though it sounds ridiculous.  "The ball is just a couple hours away, so it can't wait.  I need you.  Right now."

My heart skips a beat when he says those last words.  I glance at Remy, who winks at me discreetly.  "Alright, Logan," I say calmly.  "I'll cut your hair."

"Great, let's go."  He grabs my arm and starts pulling me towards the door.

"But Logan, I don't have my--"

"No time, kid.  We gotta move," he cuts me off, yanking me out the door.

"I'll save you a pie," Remy calls out after us.