So much had happened in the months following Jean’s death that most of the teaching staff and many of the students at Xavier’s were still coming to grips with that loss. Students’ conversation would drop off into silence as they passed her former classrooms; the casual mention of her name in conversation always caused a knowing and momentary silence before someone nervously changed the topic.

The Professor had re-committed himself to teaching, spending more and more time with individual students who had special needs with their mutations. Scott whetted his proficiency in organizing both curriculum and missions with the X-Men, allowing himself little time to brood in public. Ororo reinforced her position as the role model of calm, gracious strength, even if it was a role she’d never asked for, and spent many an evening in deep conversation with Kurt as they repaired the damage to her greenhouse. Logan had offered to throw in some help there, but ‘Ro knew there was so much else to be done throughout the school that she gratefully declined the assistance and tackled the job herself, borrowing Kurt occasionally for the jobs that required more than one pair of hands.

That left Logan with the job of foreman over the work crews assembled from older students and a few carefully chosen graduates with the proper skills to repair the damage to the school, or the willingness to learn. There was so much to do that it would take months to complete everything and make the place look like it had before the strike, but it was important to the kids’ well-being that their ‘home’ should return to normal; normal, except for the addition of a seriously beefed-up security system that Scott and Logan had spent ten nights designing, both of them grim-faced and terse-worded. The younger kids settled back into the swing of ‘regular life’ faster than the older ones.

Rogue had seemed quietly changed by the events at Alkali Lake. Gone were the giddy nights spent with her peers, her sometimes flabbergasted expressions when confronted with new experiences, her youthful exuberance and bouncing energy. Drawing even further inwards socially, she was focusing on her studies, throwing herself into her individual mutation work with Professor Xavier, and devoting herself to frequent turns on a work crew. Logan had taught her to replace window panes, cut boards using a miter, and she could wield a hammer with the best of them. Their southern belle had found a new vocation as an apprentice carpenter. Thus, settling into their comforting ruts of building new lives, the winter weeks wore on in a blur of sawdust, eraser dust, lectures and lunch breaks.

Early in February, at the request of several younger students, the Professor gladly agreed to allow a Valentine’s Day dance, complete with decorations and a local band hired for the occasion. Bobby groaned at the suggestion that he join the Decorating Committee, composed of Jubilee and Kitty, simply because he was taller than either of them (decorations did, after all, need to be hung) and they needed some gender-balance. He’d only consulted with them for three minutes when the proposed color scheme of Bobby’s red tablecloths, Kitty’s pink heart cut-outs trimmed in gold glitter, and yellow bunting (guess who’s idea that was?) proved more than he could take.

“This place would look like an explosion in a tulip factory.”

“Dude, seriously.... the red/pink theme has been done to an excruciating death. We need a fresh approach.” Jubilee was intense, focused, non-negotiable. Bobby quickly iced over his now-empty Mountain Dew can and dropped it down the neck of her shirt before stalking out of the room to the sound of her squeals and gasps. The Decorating Committee was back to two again. Logan, eavesdropping on the whole session from beyond the kitchen doorway while he swiped a sandwich, groaned quietly and avoided the lot of them.

_______________________________________

Valentine’s Day arrived on schedule, and the dance began.

Professor Xavier spoke above the loud music as the kids started drifting around the improvised dance hall/auditorium in small groups, chatting, dancing, eating snacks and drinking punch.

“I was hesitant about this soiree at first, Scott, but I think enough time has passed since the attack that the festivity will do the students some good.”

Scott nodded his silent agreement from his position standing guard over the punch bowl, knowing in his heart that someone would eventually try to spike the reddish cherry-flavored stuff. He knew Logan would be the suspect most likely to do the spiking, just to piss Scott off, but the feral had been mostly absent for the evening. Scott had seen him lurking in the occasional doorway or passing across the terrace throughout the evening, avoiding the whole social scene, loud music, abundant kid energy, and just about everything else connected with the Valentine’s Day dance at Mutant High. Scott knew Logan’s routine: he was patrolling, making irregular rounds between the grounds and the Security Room. It wasn’t necessary. It just made Logan feel better.

_______________________________________

Rogue smoothed her favorite dark green sweater before making her beyond-fashionably-late appearance at the dance, with less than a half-hour before the band would leave at eleven o’clock. Milling through the throng of dancing, giggling kids, she smiled at a few friends, accepted a cookie from Jubilee, and refused punch from Bobby who was just tipsy enough to be wobbly on his feet. Apparently Scott’s staunch guarding of the punch bowl wasn’t working.

Taking a turn on the dance floor with a group of the girls, Rogue allowed herself one wild dance, then excused herself from the partying students, stepping outside onto the terrace and around the corner, away from the doors. Moonlight flooded the grounds and the rolling hills beyond. It had snowed all day, and the whole scene was a blanket of crisp white, cast an eerie blue by the cold light of the moon.

“Hey.”

Marie jumped slightly at the sound coming from the darkness beyond the terrace, but relaxed as she recognized Logan’s voice.

“Hey. I wondered where you were. Not liking the party?” She moved to stand beside him as they both watched the moon glide over the far ridge.

“Nah - not my cup of tea by a long shot.” He fumbled inside his coat and pulled out a dark package, and handed it to her. “This is yours.”

Marie turned the package over in her hands; something soft, rectangular, no box, but wrapped in red paper and tied in a simple bow that looked more like packing string than a ribbon. Oh, my god, it’s a Valentine’s Day present, she thought to herself. I didn’t get him anything. I suck. I suck so bad. I’m the worst.

“Logan?” Her voice was shaky. “I really, truly did not expect anything like this. I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything for you. Not even a card... because I’ve just been... so... it’s hard, you know? I’ve been distracted by a lot lately.”

“Aw hell, Marie. You don’t give a gift to get a gift. This is just something you need.” He slid an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer against him in the cold night air. “It ain’t no big deal of a present, and don’t go gettin’ all whooped up about it until you unwrap it. Just put ‘em to good use. Besides...” he squeezed her against his ribs. “... you give me lots of stuff. It’s just stuff that doesn’t fit in a box.”

Marie blinked her eyes about twelve times, fighting back tears, and concentrated on unwrapping the package. Laying the paper on the terrace wall, she shook out the contents and discovered a new pair of jeans: weird jeans, with loose, boxy legs and lots of little pockets. There was a little square patch pocket and a slashed pocket down the right leg, and a funky loop on the other leg, plus the standard-issue 5-pockets.

“I can’t believe you bought me jeans!” She held them to her waist and checked the leg length. “They’re perfect, but I’ve never seen jeans like this, with all the pockets and... what’s the strap for?”

“That’s a hammer loop. They’re carpenter’s jeans. You drop your tape measure there...” Logan pointed out one small square patch pocket. “... and if you’ve got a folding rule or drill bits or something shaped like that, it goes there.” Slash pocket. “Your hammer handle drops through the loop and is caught there, so it’s right at hand without bending over or hunting through a tool box all the time. You’re doing professional quality work, so you need professional quality clothes.”

“You know, sugar, you just blow me away sometimes.” Marie laughed and stepped away slightly, twirling with the jeans pressed against her legs. “These are too cool! Thank you.” Folding the jeans neatly and laying them on the discarded paper, she heard the band’s front man announcing the last song as they began a slow dance number. “If you’re gonna dance with me, mister, you’d better make it snappy. The band’s about to take a powder for the night.”

Logan cast her a sidelong glance before speaking. “I’m not much for dancing, Marie.” He didn’t tell her that the only reason he ever danced with a woman was to get her into bed, or get a good long sniff to see if she was already warmed up and humming for him to get her naked. No, Marie didn’t need to know that about him, assuming she didn’t know already with him in her head. But Marie, if anything, was not easily dissuaded.

“Look, tough guy: this is the last song, and there’s nobody out here but the two of us. The people inside can’t even see us from around the corner, so I’m giving you this dance as my Valentine’s Day present to you. It would be ungallant to turn down a lady who kept the last slot open on her dance card, just for you.” She held out a gloved hand to him expectantly, and Logan gave one quick, silent thanks that it was a slow song, before easing himself against her in a gentle embrace.

She was good. There was nothing fancy about a slow dance with him - just two bodies swaying to a gentle rhythm, feet silenced by the snow, hair and skin silvered by the pure moonlight, the music a background thought overpowered by two people gliding slowly in each others’ arms in the darkness. Some might think that young people didn’t know how to do a good slow dance, but she moved herself perfectly in time with his body. They flowed together, around and around in a small snowy circle, arms encircling each other, her head sometimes against his shoulder, sometimes staring into the sky, then raking her gaze across his face with a strange, knowing smile that mystified him.

Logan breathed deeply of her. She was so good, so female - and he realized she hadn’t worn any perfume for weeks - yet something in her scent had changed, but he couldn’t put a finger on it. He could pick up the scent of her soap, lotion, shampoo, everything that was normally there and blended into the unique bouquet that was Marie, but there was no overwhelming cover scent. He unwittingly buried his face in her hair and breathed deeper; no fertile hormones: she wasn’t ovulating. No metallic tang: she wasn’t bleeding. No other man’s scent on her skin, hair, or clothing: she hadn’t danced with anyone else, not closely, not touching.

Realizing where his thoughts had strayed, Logan mentally shook himself out of the reverie, and realized with a start that the song had ended but their dance hadn’t. She still moved silently in his arms, and the closeness was beginning to stir things inside him that he wasn’t able to deal with here on the terrace alone with her in the darkness. Listening intently, he could hear thumps and bangs inside; it had to be after eleven o’clock. Hell, the band was already packing up!

“Darlin’, the song’s over. Suppose we ought to go inside before you freeze?” He eyed her lack of a coat. Damn, but that dark sweater looked fine against her pale skin. Normally, he’d be checking cold-woman-in-clingy-sweater for the appearance of erect nipples, but this was Marie. He looked elsewhere. Eyes were good. Yes, look at her eyes. Be innocent. Do not stare down the front.

“I don’t want to go in yet. I’m loving’ this moonlight.” Logan pulled off his jacket and held it around for her arms. As she slipped into it, one foot shot out from under her and she nearly fell before grabbing his arm to steady herself. “Well, it seems we’ve danced ourselves into our own little skating rink here....”

Looking down, Logan saw what she meant. Where they’d slow-danced, the snow was packed down and as slick as ice. Her shoes were smooth-soled, and she was having trouble staying on both feet. He realized he’d left his cowboy boots on, and that was worse. No traction. “Step over into the crunchy part.” He nodded behind her, indicating a safer place to stand.

Marie turned to see where he’d indicated, and both feet went out from under her as she still clung to his arm. Tipped off balance, Logan tried to pull away from her in case he fell too, not wanting to land his adamantium-laden weight on top of her, and in the split second that followed, both of them went down in a tangle of legs and arms and snow and lung-jarring grunts, and Marie heard a hard *thump* as Logan’s head hit the wall on the way down. He lay still in the snow beside her, eyes closed.

“Logan, honey, talk to me.” She patted his cheek with her gloved hand at first, then saw the spread of blood on the snow beneath his head. “Oh god, no...” She was taking a deep breath to call for help when he stirred beside her, groaned softly and muttered something that might have been obscene if he’d been able to enunciate. His eyes fluttered open as she leaned over him, cradling his head away from the bloody snow. “Sugar, you with me now?”

“Fuck, you really pack a punch when you dance with a guy.” He tried to sit up but got woozy for a moment. Supporting his head in her hands, she eased him back to lean against the wall while his head cleared and his mutation kicked in and healed the damage.

“Put your coat back on - you’re sitting in the snow.” She started to pull the coat off but his hands stopped her.

“Keep it - I’ve got on heavier shirts than you do.”

“Wear it - you’re hurt. I’m fine.”

“Keep it. I’m Canadian. You’re from Mississippi. You’ll freeze first.”

“I’ve got more body fat. That’s natural insulation. Put your coat on.”

“Keep it. You’re pissing me off faster.”

“Well then, I’ll just have to share body heat with you until you’re done bleeding on my gloves.” Pulling the coat open, she straddled his hips and leaned against him chest to chest, wrapping the coat around both of them as far as it would reach. Logan’s arms instinctively went around her waist inside the coat.

Feeling him shiver slightly (although Logan would deny it if she asked), Marie tucked herself tighter against him, cradling his torso against hers, and in the coldness of the wind, she hadn’t realized that she’d touched her cheek against his until their combined body warmth roused his attention. Feeling him go tense beneath her, Marie tried to regulate her breathing as Logan’s bare fingers were sliding softly over her face, touching the cheek that was not against his, grazing her skin softly.

“Can you tell me why I’m not flat on my ass and out cold again, since I’m touching your skin?” She heard a strange tone in his voice, almost but not quite anger, more than amazement, and somewhere short of calm. Her voice was soft and level.

“I am working really hard on turning it on and off, and tonight, it’s turned off.”

Logan’s hands went to the sides of her head and he held her back from him, skin to skin, staring into her eyes with a hard, searching expression. “When did this happen??!?”

“It’s been slowly happening, for weeks now. At first, it was just a momentary thing, with the Professor sort of telepathically walking me through a kind of process that turns it off. After I learned the process by heart, I kept on practicing with him monitoring me, and it’s gotten easier. I’ve learned to shut it off for a few hours at a time now. In fact, I can keep it turned off without even thinking about it, but then it starts to, sort of... overload? After a while I get to feeling buzzy and wired, like a caffeine overdose, and I know I have to turn it back on again for a while, and let it drain off the backlogged energy. But, it’s working. Professor Xavier even trusted it enough to touch my hand and hold on for a few minutes. It scared me to death that I’d hurt him, but it worked. I can go about half a day now without getting the rush that tells me it’s time to turn it on again.” Marie realized she’d blurted all of that out at once, but she was still dealing with the overwhelming realization of being able to touch people again.

“God, Marie, that’s... just... fantastic!” Logan was smiling at her, a big, happy smile the likes of which she hadn’t seen on his face before. He kept his hands on her, holding her head gently, thumbs brushing her cheeks softly.

“Logan, you’ve got to promise me one thing, please. No one else knows but you and the Professor. I want it that way for a while. It’s wonderful, yes, I’m thrilled. I’m overwhelmed. I just need to take small steps with people, you know? ‘Cause I’ve been untouchable for so long, I just want to go slow, not tell everyone because I’m afraid. I’m afraid they’ll all start patting me and touching me, and if everything changes all of a sudden, then it’ll just be weird, I think. I don’t really know how much of that stuff I can handle if it all happened at once, and maybe someone would accidentally touch me when it was turned on. Can you understand that? Does that make sense to you?” She really, really needed to stop talking so much, but it was good to finally let the cat out of the bag with someone who would understand.

“Yeah, it does.” He kept his hands on her, touching her cheeks, stroking her forehead to tuck away strands of hair, one thumb grazing her chin just below the swell of her lower lip, like he was memorizing her face by touch. “You’ve had enough big changes. You want to take this one at your own pace. I understand that. I won’t tell anyone until you give me the okay on it.”

“Thanks, sugar. Now, I get to do this...” And Marie leaned forward, still wearing her blood-soaked gloves, brushed a few stray strands of Logan’s hair from his forehead, and kissed him softly between the eyebrows, letting her lips linger on his skin before leaning back to regard him again. “How’s your head feel where you clocked the wall?” She patted around his head. His nape hair was sopping wet with blood and starting to freeze stiff.

“Eh, I’m fine - not a problem.” He cracked his neck and gave a sigh of satisfaction. “I can feel it’s all healed up now. But my ass is freezing in this snow. Let’s get back inside. I’m gonna go take a shower, get cleaned up, and you’re gonna go try on those jeans.”

“Deal.” She slithered off his lap, much to his regret, and got carefully to her feet again. Logan stood beside her, silently staring down into her dark eyes for a few moments, then gave her the slightly lop-sided grin she loved so much, as they re-entered the mansion.

_____________________

The bedroom clock flashed eleven forty-nine pm, and Logan was toweling the water out of his hair as he paced back from the bathroom toward his bed. Pulling on jeans only, he heard footsteps coming up the hall and knew her scent before her hand touched the doorknob.

“You decent, sugar?”

“Rarely. Come in anyway.” He threw the damp towel in the general direction of the bathroom door.

Marie stepped through the bedroom door like it was a catwalk and gave a dramatic twirl, posed, and pointed one leg forward displaying the perfect-fitting pair of carpenter’s jeans. “How did you figure out what size to buy, anyway?” She was wearing one of her loose-tailed work shirts tucked in at a funky angle in the front, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the hip curves.

“Easy. You’ve got roommates, don’t you?” He wouldn’t tell her that he had waited until they were all gone to classes, and then went through her drawers and closet, checking labels and measuring inseams and spending way too much time looking at other things. Female things, with lace and... well, she just didn’t need to know that.

Giving herself a faux slap upside the head, indicating ‘duh’ in action, Marie went back to the bedroom door and shut it behind her before returning to stand near him. “I... uh... well, there is a small... problem? With the jeans, I mean.” She added the last part when she saw his head come up and the question marks appear. “They’re a perfect fit and I love them, but...”

“But what? Spit it out.”

“My shirt tail’s caught in the zipper. I tried to get it out by myself, but I can’t. I’m stuck in my jeans. And Jubes and Kitty took off after the dance, so, can you help me out of these?” She said that last part in all innocence. Logan had at least five perfect comebacks for that question going around inside his head, and none of them were innocent. Steeling himself, he stepped closer and saw the shirt tail sticking out through the closed zipper.

“It’ll be easier if you just cut my shirt tail off flush with the zipper on both sides, then it won’t hurt the zipper and it’ll save the jeans. You got scissors here?”

“Uh, no. Never had a need for any.”

“Use a claw?”

“I don’t think so, Marie.”

“Come on! I’ve seen you pop a claw out just to make a point in a discussion! Shave off that shirt tail for me. Be a buddy.”

*snikt* One claw came out, and he side-stepped her, deftly slicing the budding shirt tail from the front of the fly.

“Now from the inside. I’ll suck in my gut.” She pulled out on the waistband as she drew a deep breath.

“No way.”

“Come on, Logan! This isn’t enough to get it open.”

“I’m NOT sticking a claw down your pants, Marie! No way in hell! I might slice you by accident, and that ain’t gonna happen.” The clock flashed eleven fifty-three. He scratched his neck with his other hand, just to distract himself.

“I don’t want to risk breaking the zipper, and the shirt tail’s already toast. Come on!”

“No.” The claw snapped back in and he crossed his arms against his chest, reminding her of a stubborn little boy resisting an order.

“I can’t hurt you now even if you do touch skin, and I know you won’t cut me - you’re good with those things, so go for it.”

“No.”

“Arrrgh!” She stamped one foot in frustration, and not knowing what else to do, wrapped her arms suddenly around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. And held on.

Logan froze in place for about 5 seconds, and then slowly let himself go into the kiss. One arm circled her waist; the other cupped her ass lightly before he realized what he was doing and worked it up to her hair. Letting her kiss him thoroughly, he instinctively waited for the life-sucking sensation to start, but nothing happened, and in the meanwhile she was kissing the daylights out of him. Feeling her tongue start to probe at his lower lip, the feral part of him revved up and responded in kind. Within moments they were kissing and licking and touching and holding and nearly breathless from it all.

Reluctantly breaking out of the kiss, Logan took a long look at Marie’s face, flushed from the encounter; her lips were kiss-swollen, her eyes were steaming with desire, and the snagged tail pulled the front of the shirt taut over her breasts, showing every curve and a good measure of cleavage where she hadn’t buttoned it to the neck.

“You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re overwhelmed by the touching thing. Don’t lose your head, Marie.” His voice was shaky with desire, but soft with concern, and she loved that combination, but there was a point to be proved.

“I know exactly what I’m doing, Logan. You may not know this, but Eric hadn’t exactly led the life of a priest before I got him in my head. And then, there’s you in there, too, so when it comes to kissing and sex and the whole nine yards of that, I know a hell of a lot more than you think. Maybe my body doesn’t know how to respond to sex yet, but my mind does, and I’m sure the rest will follow naturally. Besides, if you don’t get me out of this shirt, you’ll never see ‘your’ Valentine’s Day present.”

Curiosity was a potent weapon, and she knew how to use it. Regardless, it was reality check time.

“I don’t want you throwing’ yourself away on the first guy who happens to be there when you learned to shut down the poison skin. Dammit, Marie - there are a host of reasons it shouldn’t be me.”

“Logan, you’re not the first guy who happened to be there. There have been plenty of males crossing my path since I got the handle on the mutation. I could have jumped any of them. I still could. There’s a reason I just kissed you, you know that?” She made him look straight at her. “You do know that, right? You know that there’s only ‘one’ reason why it shouldn’t be you, and that reason would be if you could look me straight in the eyes and honestly tell me that you don’t want me here with you tonight. Because I want you, and it’s taken me this long to get everything worked out in my head and find the brass to tell you that I want you. I want you to be the first, and even if it doesn’t go anywhere beyond tonight, you should still be my first. I’ve got a laundry list of reasons for that if you want to hear them, but the short list is trust. I trust you. I always have.”

He stood silently before her, staring deeply into her eyes, his arms still around her waist and bodies pressed close together. She waited, but he remained silent.

“So, tell me what you want.” No more ‘convincing’ would come from her mouth. He had to choose. *God, please let him say he wants me.*

He remained staring intently at her, silent as a post, until she thought she might scream her frustration at him. Finally, he drew a breath to speak. She felt her insides clench.

“I want....”

*Oh God, please.... please,* she thought.

“... you to show me....” Logan stroked her hair and gave her a look that would melt any woman. “... what my Valentine’s present is, unless you’re just teasing me about that.”

She nearly danced with joy, but corked down the exhilaration. “Well, sugar, I’d love to do that, but we’re back to square one again. My shirt tail’s stuck in the zipper, so I can’t.” She grabbed his arms at the biceps (and damn but he was grab-able there - all thick-muscled and hard), and tried to rattle some sense into him. “You’ve got to get me out of this!” It was like trying to rattle an oak tree, but she did her best to get her point across. “Cut me out of this or I’m gonna hurt somebody.”

Logan nearly tossed her onto the bed at that point. Her energy and persistence and sheer sexuality were tearing his reserve down. He knew the scent of a woman when she was ripe and ready and determined, and Marie was saturated in it. Grabbing the waistband at the front, he jerked her playfully against him and softly growled the words into her ear.

“Suck it in, baby. You’re comin’ outta that shirt right now.” The clock flashed eleven fifty-eight as the single claw ripped back out again. Carefully he slid the silver claw down the flat of her belly, keeping the cutting edge angled away from her skin, and Marie realized that he had to peer down her pants to see where to cut. She drew her belly muscles tight and held her breath, not moving even a hair’s breadth while she felt the warm metal slide down the front of her jeans. With a soft slide of the claw, Logan cut the shirt tail loose from the zipper and lifted the claw slowly back out, stroking her belly with the flat side. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and the scent of warm, aroused Marie would have done him in if he hadn’t already surrendered. His body had been rebelling against his ethical resistance to her all along, but he was a goner now: the bulge in the front of his jeans made a decisive move north and out and he groaned with the heat of it, rubbing himself against her as he retracted the claw again. “Where’s my present?”

Marie put a hand to the center of his chest and pushed him down to sit on the bed before her. “It’s right here. I hope you like red, since it’s the traditional Valentine’s Day color....” She started unbuttoning her shirt and he was transfixed by each little button popping out of it’s hole, her nimble fingers working slowly. Dammit, but she had learned a few tricks from him being in her head. She was teasing him with a slow strip. Another button opened, and he saw the flash of red velvet from inside her shirt: she’d bought special underwear, because if she’d had red velvet stashed away before, he’d have seen it and remembered it. Had she really bought this red velvet bra to wear for him? That would mean that she’d planned to come to his room tonight and stay. The clock flashed twelve midnight, and Marie gave a mock gasp.

“Oh! Too late. I guess you’ll just have to wait until next year.” She reached forward and patted his shoulder in mock sympathy, then started buttoning up again.

“Oh no, you don’t.” He was off the bed and undoing the buttons before she could step back, but she laughingly swatted away his hands. He pulled her back against him and collapsed them both onto the bed, her on top, where she straddled him for the second time.

“Show me.” His voice was pure sex: husky, deep, edging on a growl.

Marie ran her hands all over his chest, reveling in the feel of thick male muscles under her fingers, silky chest hair gliding against her skin, warmth radiating from his hard maleness. She traced broad shoulders, muscled arms, stroked the thick muttonchops, ruffled the dark, still-damp hair that had gotten scrambled every direction. She was aware of the firm, ropey thighs where she sat astride him, and she was very aware of the growing bulge in the front of his jeans that he kept grinding against her. He let her touch him freely, keeping his hands at his sides, allowing her exploration. She tickled a fingertip across one flat nipple and he gasped at the sensations that ripped through him.

“Show me, Marie.”

“Since you wasted so much time making a decision earlier, I should make you wait for your birthday.”

“I don’t have a birthday, baby. I want my present now.” He was enjoying teasing her, but she could tell his arousal was increasing and the teasing was getting an edge to it.

Her hands returned to the buttons and he laid quietly beneath her as she worked the buttons opened again, all the way down, and slipped the shirt off her shoulders, letting it drop on the floor behind her. Logan’s eyes went dark as he looked at her: pale skin, long dark hair framed in white locks, full breasts cupped in a blood-red velvet bra trimmed with elegant matching lace.

She sat as quietly as she could while he explored her, as she had done him. With hands that almost trembled, he touched her reverently, stroking her hair back from her bare shoulders, tickling over her ribs and watching as her nipples came erect from the touch, and then lightly rubbing at the protruding points through the red velvet, making her gasp and melt against him. She pressed against his hands as he cupped her breasts fully, his fingertips reaching above the fabric and caressing her soft skin where it swelled above the red lace. Her eyes had closed and she was breathing in the sensations he was causing in her. He knew there was one last chance for her to change her mind.

“Marie, baby. This is still... “ Words failed him momentarily. “You can still change your mind. You can walk out of here and forget everything we’ve done and talked about if you want. Hell, you could do that anytime. Even if we end up in this bed together tonight, and you change your mind, you can still walk away. It’d be rough, but you’ve got that option. I would never force you, or even expect you to do anything you didn’t want, or feel like doing. You understand that?”

“I understand. I can do what I want.”

“That’s right.” He pulled her down onto his chest and kissed her again, softly exploring her mouth with his, lips gliding over lips, tongues shyly touching, hands stroking shoulders, arms, backs. The animal inside was goading him to toss her down and have her, but the man knew it had to go slow, give her time to adjust to everything. Everything.

“So, you bought that sexy red bra for my Valentine’s Day present. That means you intended to show it to me tonight, right?”

“Yessiree, and you might be interested to know that I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“I noticed that earlier, darlin’. About gave me a heart attack.” She laughed softly against his throat, wiggling down onto him again and making him gasp with the motion. The tightness of his jeans was starting to make him ache. “So, what about that birthday present you mentioned earlier? If you’re goin’ commando tonight, that means I don’t have any presents left to open, right?”

“Well, if all the anatomy books are right, there’s still some ‘opening’ to be done, and you’re gonna have to help me out with that part. You’ve got the right equipment for the job. Again, ‘if’ the books are right....” She ground her pelvis against him again, making his back arch. “Maybe you should have a birthday. If you don’t know when your real one is, I’ll give you one right now. It’s February 15th, and I’m giving you a virgin for your birthday. You can change that date later, but for tonight, it sticks. How’s that?”

“That’s just fine with me, babe.” He indicated the side table. “Just so you know, there are condoms in that drawer. I may not be a Boy Scout, but I am always prepared.”

“Don’t need ‘em, don’t want ‘em.” At that, he rose up off the bed and sat straight up, staring her in the face where she still sat astride his thighs.

“Now, Marie - first time’s always gonna be an adventure and such, but there are risks you don’t take. I’m using a rubber.”

“You don’t need to. I took care of that.”

“What do you mean, ‘took care’ of it?”

“The first time I switched off the skin, I went to the Med Lab and got on the pill. I didn’t say why, and I said not to ask me about it or tell anyone about it, you know - the whole doctor/patient confidentiality thing. I knew what I wanted, I thought it out, and I planned for it. Your mutation won’t let you ‘catch’ anything or pass it on, and I’m on the pill, so we’re both safe with each other. Tonight’s my night, Logan, you said it yourself. I can do what I want, and I want everything to be natural: naked all over, no distractions, no boundaries, no bothers. Can you accept that?”

“Oh hell yeah.” He eased back down beneath her and pulled her against him, rolling them over until he was on top, his weight resting on his forearms. “You’ve planned out this whole night from the word go, haven’t you?”

“Yep. There was a little improvising at the last minute, though.” She wiggled under him, adjusting herself against his hardness and making him tingle all over. It was going to be a long, slow, delicious, busy night.

“Remember this, Marie: any time you want to change your mind, you just do it. Walk out if you want to, push me off you, poke me in the eye, whatever it takes, but you do what you want. Okay?”

“Okay. Can we start now?” She stroked her hands over his shoulders and wrapped a leg around his hips.

“Baby, we started the minute you walked through that door, which I’m locking right now, by the way.” He bounded off the bed and threw the lock before returning to stand over her, looking down at her spread out on his bed, velvet and denim, dark hair and touchable skin, chocolate eyes and touchable breasts and legs and scent and waiting for him to take her. Life was good.

“Tell me one thing, and tell the truth because I’ll smell your nervousness if you lie. You can’t fool this nose.”

“Okay.” She sat up part way, leaning back on her elbows and that made her cleavage go even deeper and he felt all the blood in his body run just south of his navel.

“Did you jam the shirt tail in the zipper on purpose?”

“Of course! I thought I was gonna break a nail getting that damned zipper up over that. But, as I told you - cutting it would work.” She wiggled the zipper down easily and let the fly lay open over her belly.

“Thought so.” The trademark smug grin showed up. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Marie.”

“Happy birthday, Logan.” She reached for him as he lowered his body over hers.