A warm smile found its way to her lips and she released the pent-up breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Feeling her earlier tiredness slip away, she turned to get ready for her rendezvous with the note’s ‘anonymous’ writer.

The club was packed. Not nearly as much as it would have been on a busy Friday or Saturday night, but enough to fill the dance floor with sweaty bodies that simply wanted to let loose. Remy surveyed the room. Under the dimmed lights he could make out several familiar faces: fellow musicians, a couple of actors, and a number of people from their recording label, all unwinding from a long day’s work. Inwardly, he grinned. This would help their cover even more. Seemingly two acquaintances who just happened to bump into each other one night at a local club. He had already spotted Rogue sitting in a circular booth with Guido and Logan off to the side. From the slight untidiness of her hair, he could tell that she had been here for awhile, no doubt accepting the numerous offers to dance that always came her way.

As he watched from the bar, a young man approached her table, apparently unfazed by the two brawny bodyguards seated on either side of her. Remy recognized him as one of X-Gene’s numerous employees whom they dealt with on a regular basis -- Brian something, holding a position in the marketing department, if he remembered correctly. He saw Rogue smile as she slide out from the booth and placed her hand in Brian’s, permitting him to lead her onto the edge of the dance floor. She wouldn’t allow him to go any further than that though, choosing to stay within easy reach of both Logan and Guido should trouble arise.

Remy hung back, soaking up the sight of her without being too conspicuous. As much as he was aching to, he couldn’t go to her immediately after arriving; that would be a sure sign that he was here because of her. Instead, he mingled with the other club patrons, knocking back drinks, and occasionally flirting with various women.

Thirty minutes, two drinks and three phone numbers later, he had about all that he could stand. He needed to be with her. At least next to her, if not touching her. He gave a small nod to both Damien and Hank at the end of the bar, and excused himself from his conversation. Meeting his security halfway, the trio moved through the crowd toward Rogue’s table, stopping only to exchange pleasantries with several acquaintances.

Catching her eye, Remy grinned devilishly. “Fancy meetin’ you here, chère,” he said, for the benefit of anyone who happened to be listening in on the conversation.

“Sugah,” she greeted, smiling up at him as Guido stood and made his way to the other side of the booth so that Remy could slide in beside her. “Nice ta see ya again. How’ve ya been?”

“Good. I’ve been good. Still on tour, ya know how dat goes. What ‘bout yaself? Finished de new record?”

Underneath the table, she could feel Remy’s leg press up against her own. An electric heat shot through her body. “Yeah, all done. We’re rehearsin’ now fo’ th’ tour.”

Remy glanced at their bodyguards who, from the looks of it, were having a lively discussion regarding defensive techniques. “Back on de road ‘gain, eh?” His hand disappeared beneath the tabletop.

“Soon. In ‘bout three weeks.” She let out a small gasp as his fingers found their way onto her inner thigh, smoothly making small circles on the surface of her leather pants. Turning away from her for a moment, he looked around the room, nodding a slight greeting to someone in the crowd. She knew that was a distraction, designed to draw attention away from the rather intimate act he was performing on her thigh.

When he faced her again, his expression was blank, but there was a distinct twinkle in his eyes. “Ya plannin’ on gettin’ in shape b’fore ya head back out, chère? After all, tours c’n be strenuous on a body, y’know.”

The man was living dangerously. His message was clear, to her at least, and could have easily been interpreted by someone nearby if they’d simply read between the lines.

Well, two can play, she thought as she lifted his hand off her leg and began to run her fingertips across the planes of his palm. With agonizing slowness, she encased his index finger with her own five digits, creating a shell of warmth around him. Leisurely, she drew her flesh along the length of his forefinger, continuing in an even back and forth motion.

Remy had been watching her eyes throughout her little exploration of his hand, but when her nails began raking up his finger he had to look away. It reminded him too much of another activity they had engaged in some months ago, and the memory was stirring up some very inappropriate thoughts, considering their current surroundings. He reached for his drink with his free hand and downed it with one swallow. Disentangling himself from her maddening touch, he said quietly, “You win, chère… f’r now.”

She smiled coyly at him before leaning in and whispering in his ear, “Took ya long ‘nough ta get yoah Cajun behind ovah here, cute as it may be.” She reclined back into her seat. “Honestly, Ah thought it’d take fo’evah fo’ ya ta get past th’ double platinum mark,” she stated in a louder tone, setting up the pretense that their conversation was centered on business.

The comment was meant for any potential paparazzi sources lurking about unseen, but he wasn’t fooled. He knew it held another connotation for him. Especially since he’d been talking to a well-endowed platinum blonde just before making his way over to her.

“No worries, chère. ‘M fortunate people like de music,” he replied, continuing their little charade. “Lady luck’s been smilin’ down on me since she gifted me wit’ a lucky streak.” Pointedly, his eyes caressed the white stripe running through her hair.

She would have blushed if it hadn’t been for the commotion near the main entrance. A fight had broken out between two men, while a woman stood off to the side, screaming for them to stop. Bouncers came to break the troublemakers apart and escorted them out of the club.

From beside her, Logan grumbled low in his throat. “Told ya this wasn’t a hot idea, darlin’. What if that bastard’s here an’ tries ta -- ”

Rogue shot him a look that was obviously meant to silence him. From over her shoulder, Remy could see the reluctant change in Logan’s expression.

“It’s jus’ a bar fight, sugah,” Rogue cut in, before he could investigate the exchange between her and Logan. “Happens all th’ time. Prob’ly jus’ a jealous boyfriend or somethin’.”

She turned to him then, with a look in her eyes that he had come to understand. It was a look that said their little game had gone on long enough and it was time to end it. He made a show of getting up along side Hank and Damien, before turning back to her and planting a platonic kiss on her cheek.

“Great t’see ya ‘gain, chère. Ya should come over sometime an’ do a track wit’ me, maybe f’r de next album.”

“Ah’d like that, sugah, sounds great. Good luck with th’ rest o’ yoah tour.”

He grinned. “Same wit’ yours.”

She watched him weave through the crowd of people and duck out the exit, his bodyguards flanking him every step of the way. She waited another five minutes before pulling out the sliver of paper she knew Remy had left her. It never ceased to amaze her how easily he could slip things in and out of her pockets without her even noticing his movements. Sometimes she would experiment and wear the tightest clothes she owned just to see if he could still get something past her.

Obviously he can, she thought, peering down at the beige leather pants that fit over her hips as if they were painted on. Casually pretending to adjust her boots, she unfolded the small note under the table. Once she had straightened, she quickly glanced down and read,

One hour.

Although she didn’t display any outward signs of the action, she groaned. She wanted to leave right then and there, follow him out the door and surprise him at his hotel room. Instead, she needed to be patient and keep up the pretense that he was nothing more than a fellow artist to her.

She forced herself to remain seated at the club for another good twenty minutes before she thought her insides would explode with excitement. Finally, she indicated to Guido and Logan that she was ready to leave. By this time, the number of people in the club had increased, making it difficult to cross the room without bumping into every other person.

“Sorry,” she mumbled to someone whose arm she had hit with her shoulder. She turned around to offer a more proper apology but the person was already lost in the throng of bodies.

Once outside, she took a deep breath of the cool night air before Logan ushered her into the awaiting car. She was practically jumping in her seat on the ride home, eagerly anticipating her reunion with Remy.

He had been studying her every gesture from across the room. He took note of every smile, every nod, every dance she consented to, even the number of drinks she had consumed. She possessed a particular grace to her movements, a specific fluidity of motion that drew attention to her, like a moth to a flame. And there were certainly plenty of moths out there more than willing to receive burns. He could tell that a number of men wanted to approach her but were intimidated by the bodyguards protecting her. The precious few that did have the courage never got further than a dance and a thank you. It was only the Cajun jazz singer who’d been invited to sit down at her table.

He had been seething with anger the entire time LeBeau was with her. The man even had the audacity to turn his back on her, if only for a moment. If that had been him sitting only inches from her person, he wouldn’t have taken his eyes off her even for a second.

When she got up to leave, he quickly moved to intercept. Ever his gracious and polite southern belle, she had even apologized to him when he had purposely brushed against her shoulder.

Soon, my darling, he thought, suppressing his feelings of impatience. Good things come to those who wait.

Pacing impatiently at the foot of her bed, Rogue was positively overflowing with excitement and anticipation, coupled with a slight tinge of apprehension. It was well past the one-hour mark and still no sign of Remy. She knew they would use that time to drive around the city, shaking off the fans or media that might be following them, before making their way over to the house. What worried her was the thought that they might not be able to lose any shadows behind them, forcing them to return to their hotel. They couldn’t risk anyone seeing Remy coming or going from Rogue’s home. If he were seen, the news of their relationship would spread like wildfire, and they didn’t want that to happen just yet.

A knock sounded at her door and she all but ran to answer it.

“’Bout time, sugah! Ah was beginnin’ ta think -- ” The hall outside her room was empty. “Remy?” she called, stepping out and peering down the corridor.

A gentle breath tickled her ear just before two precise fingers poked her in the ribs, causing her to jump and turn in surprise. Before she could cry out or even react further, an arm wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her back into the room while shutting the door in one smooth motion.

By way of greeting, Remy’s mouth hungrily sought out hers, his body pressing her firmly against the back of the door. She quickly forgot everything she had been worrying about earlier and lost herself in the sensation of his lips and tongue. His kiss was demanding, urgent. As if he were trying to make up for the months of being deprived of her touch, and she responded in kind. It was quite some time before they pulled away from one another, foreheads touching and chests heaving with the effort to catch their breath.

As the dizzying spell began to fade slightly and she was once again capable of coherent thought, she teased, “Well, Cajun, ya certainly know how ta beg fo’ fo’giveness aftah makin’ a lady wait.”

He grinned at her comment, closing his eyes and softly nuzzling the side of her neck. “Sorry, chère. We had some technicalities t’take care o’ b’fore we could get here.”

“’Technicalities’?” she asked, concerned. “Th’ press was followin’ ya?”

“Non.” He lifted his head to look her in the eye. “Henri needed t’go back t’de hotel t’pick up his lucky rabbit’s foot. Den we had t’stop by de market t’get some munchies f’r deir li’l poker game.”

Rogue groaned. Over the past year, the card games had become somewhat of a tradition for their security teams, as well as somewhat of a hassle to break up. At each game, the money being exchanged often reached well above the thousand-dollar mark, giving all those involved reason to be a bit touchy. By the end of the game, teeth would be bared, tempers would blaze and threats would be made. It would become so intense that you would think these men despised each other to no end, but in reality they were all on friendly terms and respected each other immensely. That was, until the next poker game. Rogue had long suspected that Remy was dying to join in all the gambling fun -- being a card shark himself -- but since the games were only held during their nights together, he chose their form of entertainment over the boys’.

He took hold of her hands and pulled her away from the door, leading her into the room. “Miss me, belle?”

“Yeah, Remy,” she smiled, her tone half sarcastic, “in th’ short while that we were apart, Ah was ready ta cut off mah own arm, Ah missed ya so much.”

He raised the aforementioned body part and pretended to exam it thoroughly. Bending formerly, he lovingly kissed the back of her hand. “’M glad t’see dat no harm has come t’any part o’ ya exquisite body.” His kisses trailed down the length of her arm, accenting each of his words.

She could feel the familiar flow of heat spread through her veins, slowly igniting her senses. Looking up and catching his eye, she felt like she was drowning, losing herself in his hypnotic stare. It was such a rush, like being thrown into white water rapids without a life vest. There was nothing she could do but be swept away by the current.

He smiled, and honestly, she could feel her knees threaten to give way. Damn, but the man was gorgeous. She needed to sit down before he made her collapse onto the floor. He joined her on the edge of the bed.

“You get m’su’prise, chère?” he asked, noticing for the first time the cleanness of her bedroom, not a single rose petal in site.

She grinned and then walked around to her night table, opening the drawer and extracting a medium-sized wooden box. She returned to his side and lifted the cover, revealing the petals within. “Rosie put th’ rest inta Momma’s ceramic bowls an’ vases, an’ spread ‘em around th’ house.” She kissed him quickly as a sign of thanks before adding, “She says yoah th’ sweetest boy she’s evah met an’ she’s gonna kiss ya th’ next time she sees ya.” A spark of humor crept into her eyes. “Right before she kicks yoah behind all th’ way back ta New Orleans fo’ makin’ her clean up aftah ya.”

He laughed heartily, falling back onto her bed. “Remind me t’send her some flowers an’ choc’lates, mignonne. Wouldn’ want any o’ ya fam’ly mad at me. It’d be sure suicide.” He reached over and rubbed the small of her back with his hand.

Turning towards him, she asked, “What time’s yoah flight t’morrow?”

He sighed. He didn’t want to be reminded of how little time they had together. Or of the fact that they probably wouldn’t see each other for another three months… or more.

“Not ‘til seven-thirty, but I have t’leave here by five. Still gotta swing by de hotel an’ pick up our stuff.”

“Ya could’ve jus’ brought yoah things with ya, since y’all’re spendin’ th’ night anyway.”

“An’ let de hotel staff tip off de press dat I slept somewhere else while in town? Non. Least dis way dey’ll jus’ t’ink I was out clubbin’ all night.”

She curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. “Ah don’ like this anymore, Remy.”

“Quoi, petite?”

“All this,” she waved her hand in the air, “this sneakin’ ‘round, makin’ sure no one sees us, no one hears us. Pretendin’ we’re jus’ friends whenevah we’re in public.” She lifted his shirt a bit and ran her hand across his abdomen, letting it rest at his side. “But mostly Ah hate not bein’ able ta see ya more often. It’s killin’ me.”

“I know, mon amour, I know,” he soothed, kissing her temple softly. His breath tickled her skin. “I feel de same way, but what c’n we do? If we let de public know ‘bout us, de more we won’ get any privacy. Dey’ll be followin’ us ‘round twenty-four/seven wit’ all sorts o’ questions ‘bout our relationship.” He rolled onto his side to face her, slipping a hand to her waist. “An’ when dey get tired o’ dat, dey’ll start makin’ stuff up, jus’ t’sell de story.”

His heart twisted at the look of quiet acceptance on her face. There wasn’t anything they could do that they weren’t already doing. He hated the sneaking around as much as she did. He was an adult, dammit! Free to date whomever he chose. The rest of the world could go to hell, for all he cared.

But it was part of the job, part of the responsibility. The price to pay for having your dream come true. Both of them were aware of that going into the business. They knew that sacrifices had to be made in order to live their dreams. They just wished it wasn’t so difficult.

He tucked his finger under her chin and gently forced her to face him. “What ya wanna do, chère? Ya t’ink it’s time t’tell de press?” He saw the hesitant look in her eyes. “It’s up t’you, Rogue. Whatever ya decide t’do, ’m behind ya.”

He was relinquishing control of the situation to her, letting her choose the road they would take together, fully supporting her either way. Where did this man come from and what had she done to deserve him?

Imitating his earlier gesture, she reached for his hand and brought it to her lips. “No, sugah,” she whispered, meeting his eyes with an intent stare that held everything she was feeling at that moment. “Ah don’ wanna share ya with anyone jus’ yet. An’ if that means keepin’ ‘us’ a secret then that’s what Ah want. When it’s all said an’ done, sugah, all Ah want is you.”

A low groan rumbled from his throat as a hand slithered its way beneath her blouse, caressing the skin there. “S’funny, mon coeur,” he whispered back, teasing her lips with his own. “I was jus’ t’inkin’ de same t’ing ‘bout you.”

“Mah turn.”

Remy looked down at her expectantly. He was propped up against the headboard of her bed with several pillows supporting his frame. Rogue’s back was pressed snugly against his bare chest, his arms firmly around her torso, and their legs entangled together, along with most of the bedcovers.

For the past hour, they had been trading war stories of their respective experiences in the music business. The range of topics covered everything from most loved/hated producer -- the selection had been extensive -- to craziest fan stunt -- Rogue had won that one with her story of a fan who was willing to eat horse manure in order to get tickets to her show. Remy had no choice but to admit defeat in that particular battle.

“Th’ most unusual thing ya had ta sign an autograph on.”

He thought for a minute before commenting, “Well, I wouldn’ call it ‘unusual’ per se, but it was certainly in’erestin’.” His hand glided down the side of her body and across her hip to come to a stop at the inside of her thigh.

“Well?” she persisted, trying to ignore the warmth that was emanating from his hand. “What was it?”

“‘It,’” he tapped her leg lightly, “was right here.”

She tried to twist around. “Ya signed a girl’s thigh?”

He buried his face in her apple-scented hair and grinned at the incredulous tone of her voice. Nodding, he affirmed her question, feeling her body stiffen slightly against him. He knew she was jealous, and strangely enough that thought soothed him. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that the woman who had asked for that particular autograph was actually a happily married mother of three who just happened to have a bit of a wild streak in her. Instead, he tried to pacify her mood.

“Chère, y’know…” he began but trailed off. She had shifted positions against him, causing a great deal of her legs to escape from underneath the covers. The sight of her long, creamy limbs was tempting to say the least. He was about to run his hand down their endless length when an image popped into his head. A memory, really, of another night… another bed…

Non, he thought as the blood drained from his face. Merde… Desperately, he pushed the thought out of his mind.

Sensing the change in his mood, Rogue sat up and turned toward him, a hand clutching the sheets to her chest. Her face was full of concern. “What’s th’ matter, sugah?”

He couldn’t answer her. Instead, he simply stared at the woman before him. Her hair fell down her back and off one shoulder, tousled from the times he had run his fingers through the silky locks. Her eyes were bright and full of ardor. Her skin was glowing and flushed from their recent lovemaking.

“Remy?”

He captured her mouth with his own, searing all the emotions he felt into the kiss. Gently laying her back down on the bed, he let his actions depict what he couldn’t find the words to say.

“Chère,” he whispered softly from his crouching position at the side of the bed. He brushed away the hair from her forehead. “Chère, it’s time t’get up.”

She groaned irritably but moved into his touch. Mumbling sleepily, she replied, “Five mo’ minutes…”

He smiled. When it came to waking up in the morning, she was just as bad as him. “Non, petite, ya have t’get up now. What would ya maman say if she found out ya missed rehearsal ‘cause ya were sleepin’ in wit’ ya lover?” Tenderly, he relieved her of the bed sheets and scooped her up into his arms. She snuggled up against him as he made his way into the bathroom.

Remy had woken up a half hour earlier, showering and dressing before preparing an impromptu surprise for his sleeping paramour. He had filled the tub with warm water and a small amount of bath oil, sprinkling some rose petals into the mix to add to the rich aroma emanating from the water.

Rogue’s head perked up at the fragrance that enveloped around her. “Whatcha doin’, Cajun?” she asked as he smoothly deposited her into the awaiting bath. The heat of the water was at first a shock to her senses, but it soon lulled her into relaxation. “Ah thought ya wanted ta wake me up,” she teased as he knelt down beside her. “Drawin’ me up such a luxurious bath’s only gonna make me wanna sleep more.”

He picked up a nearby washcloth and lathered it with soap. “Dat’s why de water’s not as hot as ya usu'lly like it, petite.” He began to wash the arm closet to him. “An’ don’ ya be gettin’ any fanciful ideas ‘bout fallin’ back asleep neither. ‘M sendin’ Logan up here t’come bangin’ on de bedroom door if ya ain’ downstairs in thirty minutes.”

She laughed at his motherly tone and playfully flicked water into his face. “Yes, suh!”

Handing her the washcloth, he said regretfully, “Ya better finish up yaself, mignonne. If I go any further dan ya arm, ya won’ be enjoyin’ dat bath by yaself f’r long.”

Seductively, she looked up at him from beneath her long lashes. “An’ would that be so bad, M’sieu LeBeau?” Leisurely, she leaned over and brushed her lips to his, teasing him with the slight touch.

His senses were going crazy at her nearness, screaming at him to discard his clothing and join her in the luscious bath water. And he would have too -- eagerly, in fact -- if it hadn’t been for his stupid sense of honor and responsibility. (When had he developed that particular trait?) He knew that they both had obligations to fill and they wouldn’t be able to accomplish them by basking in each other’s company, no matter how much they wanted to.

He pulled away from her a little, just enough to break contact. “Behave yaself, ya li’l minx.”

Leaning back into the tub, she pouted, a touch dissatisfied. “Thief,” she shot at him, feigning the bite in her voice.

“Runaway,” he returned. His hand penetrated the surface of the water and tickled her side. Water splashed about as she tried laughingly to evade his hand.

After some time, he finally took pity on her and stopped his assault. She was leaning against the tiled wall away from him, playfully cautious of another attack on her ticklish spot. She looked so breath-takingly beautiful, just sitting there as she was, her hair somewhat damp from the water, her breathing gradually returning to normal after the exertion of defending herself.

“C’mere, chère, an’ gimme a kiss.”

Obediently, she angled her body toward his and obliged him, fully understanding that this was their kiss goodbye. She knew he could feel all her longing, all her desire and all her sadness at their parting in that one kiss, tearing at both their souls and leaving an open wound that wouldn’t heal until their next reunion together.

Slowly and with an iron will, he drew himself away from her kiss and stood. She gazed up at him with such sad eyes that he almost lost his resolve to leave.

“See ya later, chère,” he said softly, blatantly refusing to use the word ‘goodbye.’ He didn’t want the concrete reminder that he wouldn’t be seeing her for a while.

“Later,” she repeated.

He reached down and caressed the tips of her fingers before laying a kiss on the back of her hand. Catching her eyes, he whispered huskily, “Je t’aime.”

“Ah love you, too, sugah.”

And with that, he was gone. The sound of the door clicking into place echoed back to her ears.