Field of Daisies
by
Rocky-Cat


Disclaimer: The character of Remy LeBeau belongs, in his entirety, to Marvel. As I stand to make no money from having borrowed him, please do not bother to sue. Marguerite is my creation. You may borrow her with impunity, although I'm not sure why you'd want to.

Also, please excuse any errors in French history and/or geography. British history is really my strong suit, but somehow it just didn't work for this story.

Please feel to archive whenever and wherever as long as proper credit is given.

Constructive criticism is always appreciated - flames are not.

---

Marguerite noticed the young man sitting two tables away from her at the small sidewalk café. She noticed many things, mostly whether she wanted to or not, but this man was worthy of notice regardless of whether one had enhanced perception. It was hard to say what struck her first - the casual elegance of his dress, the comfortable confidence with which he carried himself, or the blatant sensuality that surrounded him like a physical presence. His genuine handsomeness was almost superfluous. Either way, because of him she was enjoying her morning's demitasse much more than usual.

He couldn't have been much beyond his early twenties, if that old, and even sitting, his long, lean body bespoke a lithe, cat-like grace. Even from this distance the tailored trousers he wore seemed to accentuate his slimness and his shirt, although tastefully conservative, was open slightly at the collar - well within the bounds of propriety, but he somehow managed to make even that simple expression suggestive. Was he a young office worker on a break or perhaps a university student between classes? Marguerite's eyes were drawn to the cigarette held loosely in his hand. They were truly artist's hands - fine-boned, long-fingered, and expressive. She wondered what talents those hands possessed and shivered slightly as a possible answer crossed her mind.

It was his face, though, that she found herself returning to again and again. His features were aristocratic, straight and even, almost angular, but with an enchanting hint of humor around his mouth, softening the severity. His auburn hair hung below his shoulders, too long to be entirely fashionable, but it seemed to suit him. His most telling feature, though, his eyes, were covered by dark sunglasses even though the morning sun was not nearly bright enough to warrant them. She wondered what those eyes would tell her. Would they be bright and laughing? Dark with smoldering sensuality? Or cold and aloof? Marguerite was nearly overcome by the urge to go over, remove the offending glasses, look deeply into those eyes, and satisfy her curiosity. Instead she simply continued watching him discreetly and storing away the memories.

Across the café, the subject of her scrutiny was well aware he was being watched. It did not discomfit him, though. On the contrary, he enjoyed being the object of a beautiful woman's gaze almost as much as he enjoyed watching a beautiful woman. He had been in Paris nearly two weeks this time and had kept his mind mostly on business. That meant no time for casual dalliances and only a few evenings that stretched into morning spent in the City of Lights' nightspots. Only two thoroughly satisfactory encounters with one of the better class ladies of the evening and no fine dining. His project was nearing completion, though, and perhaps it was time to allow himself a little relaxation. Perhaps this belle femme who seemed so interested in him would provide him with just the diversion he needed before completing his work and heading home.

He would be returning home the moment his work was done. He was a thief, a very good one, merci beaucoup, and was in Paris only to burgle an apartment blocks from where he was now sitting. And although Paris was practically a second home to him, home for the moment was a series of rooms off a small courtyard in New Orleans' French Quarter. But this lovely woman might banish thoughts of home for a little while at least.

He stubbed out his cigarette and turned to face Marguerite more fully. He flashed a brilliant smile that radiated charm and went over to her table.

"Bonjour, m'mselle," he said in Parisian French, no trace of his native Acadian patois noticeable to even most Frenchmen. "May I sit?"

Marguerite looked up at him consideringly. He was bold, this young man. But she had expected as much. And he was not a native, no matter how well he spoke the language. She felt it more than heard it but knew of a certainty that she was right. He was very intriguing, though, and she still had a burning desire to see what lay behind those glasses. She returned his smile and nodded.

"I am Marguerite," she heard herself say when he had seated himself next to her.

"Enchanté, m'mselle," he replied, taking her hand in his and bringing it up to his lips for a brief kiss. His lips were warm and soft, and even that fleeting touch seemed to promise so much more. His hair, which had brushed her hand as he bent his head, seemed to beckon her touch. "But surely you are a much more beautiful, more exotic flower than a daisy. An orchid, perhaps? A fragrant tropical blossom, non?"

Outrageous! The boy was flirting wildly. He had deliberately chosen to compare her to the flower that was the very personification of female sexuality, yet in such a way that no possible insult could be taken. Marguerite was no naïf. She was easily ten years older than this child and had about her all the estimable power of a woman in her sexual prime, not to mention the experience of her years, but here she was catching her breath over a line that would normally make her laugh. What was it about this man?

"Non, I am simply Marguerite. And you, m'sieur... ?"

"Remy LeBeau, chere."

Chere. Another liberty. But it was simply impossible to take offense. Flirting was obviously as natural to this man as breathing and, truth be told, Marguerite was enjoying the attention and compliments. She gently disengaged her hand from Remy's and sipped from her cooling demitasse.

"What brings you to this café, M'sieur LeBeau? I'm here nearly every morning but I know I haven't seen you here before."

"Remy, chere. I'm no m'sieur," he laughed, a rich sound that made her want to join in his good humor. "If I'd known you were here, I'd have been here every morning waiting for you."

"Seriously, Remy."

"Seriously?" he shrugged. "I had a business meeting nearby and stopped here for a few moments. Fate, non?" He didn't mention that his 'business meeting' was with his local contact in the Theives' Guild and had to do with some final details of tomorrow night's burglary. The local Guild would be providing his lookouts and ensuring that his escape path would be clear. His trust in them was implicit, not so much because they were fellow Guild members, but because they knew the penalty for failing a brother. Their cut of the take would come after Remy had returned to New Orleans and had fenced the goods. They trusted him only for the same reasons he trusted them. It was a good system and had worked for longer than anyone could remember.

Remy bantered with Marguerite for nearly a half-hour, enjoying her quick-witted responses and bright intelligence. She was maybe a touch more serious than Remy preferred but she was attractive and clearly interested in him, all that he ever required. Then, "You will have dinner with me tonight, chere." It was neither a request nor a statement. It just was.

"Yes, I think I will."

"Tres bien. Then I will pick you up at... "

"No. We will meet at the Bistro San Michel. You know it? Bien. At nine o'clock?"

Remy rose gracefully, took her hand in his and once again lightly brushed his lips to it. He smiled broadly and Marguerite felt her heart beat just a little quicker. "Until then, chere."

He turned and walked from the café. Youthful energy radiated from him and the swing of his hips broadcast a potent male sexuality to anyone within receiving range. Marguerite followed him with her eyes until he disappeared from sight.

"Another demitasse, Mme. Dumas?" The waiter interrupted her train of thought.

"Non, merci, Richard." Marguerite's eyes remained fixed on the street long after Remy had disappeared from sight.

* * *

By eight o'clock Marguerite was examining herself in front of the mirror and putting the final touches on her make-up. "I might be thirty-five," she thought, "but no one can fault this." A combination of exercise and a fortunate genetic inheritance had given her a body that men appreciated and women envied. At 5'8" in stocking feet, she was a little above average height. Her build was athletic yet womanly. Her hips were slim and her legs were long for her height, shapely and firmly muscled. Her breasts were round and firm, large enough, yet not too large. After all, as one former lover had said, more than a handful is a waste. Of course, he did have rather large hands, she mused.

She stepped back and assessed the impact of her appearance. The sleeveless black dress she wore skimmed over her curves without hugging too closely. It stopped two inches above her knees, within the bounds of decency but leaving questions about what lay beyond. Suggestion was so much more effective than open invitation, she had found.

Marguerite had accented her outfit with a fine gold chain around her neck and gold drops that hung from her ears. Her brown hair was swept into an updo and she smiled approvingly at the way the light highlighted its reddish-gold glints. It was time to go.

She picked up her evening bag and headed out to the restaurant. She was determined to be there first, waiting for him. On one hand, she simply wanted the pleasure of watching him approach from across the room. On the other hand, no matter how attracted she was to the mysterious, sexy M. LeBeau, and she most certainly was, there was quite a bit he wasn’t telling her, far too much that he was hiding. She felt it too deeply and knew therefore that it was true. Marguerite simply did not want him to have the upper hand right from the start and that included not letting him pick her up at her apartment. Her brother's apartment, actually, but Daniel had been on an overseas assignment for the bank for so long that Marguerite had begun to feel like its owner rather than just a caretaker.

In a large hotel that catered to business travelers, Remy was also preparing to go out for the evening. The hours since he had left Marguerite at the café were full with the necessary last minute planning that went into every successful act of thievery. Remy reviewed what he knew about the mark and checked and re-checked his information.

Daniel Dumas had been out of the country for a long time but Remy's contacts had let him know that a thirty-ish woman came by the apartment often - to clean or water plants, they had presumed. No impediment at all to Remy, just another parameter to factor, an eventuality for which to prepare. Dumas was a mid-level banker, single, childless, and comfortably well off, but by no means wealthy. What made him interesting was that he came from a long line of bankers with close ties to the royal families of France and Austria at the time of the Revolution. There was more than enough reason to suspect that Dumas, as the eldest son of the eldest son, had possession of jewels, primarily diamonds, that had been sent from the royal family of Austria, family of the queen Marie Antoinette, to aid in the escape of their royal relatives. Jewels that never arrived at Versailles and subsequently escaped detection by the Directorate. Jewels that Remy would soon be liberating. But not tonight.

Tonight Remy had other quarry on his mind. La belle Marguerite. It had not escaped his notice that she had never mentioned her last name. If she wanted to add a bit of mystery to the seduction, bien. It only made the game that much more interesting. For Remy had no doubt that tonight would be a long, seductive prelude leading up to the thoroughly satisfying main act. Youth aside, Remy was very aware of how attractive he was to members of both sexes and how charming he could be with so little effort. It was part of his mutant powers. Still, knowing how the game would end did not make its play any less exciting - for either player.

He strode through the hotel lobby and hailed a cab at the entrance. In the few minutes it took to arrive at the bistro he banished all thoughts of work from his mind and concentrated only on the evening's pleasure. For he was sure it would be a pleasure to spend the night (and morning?) with such an intelligent, attractive woman as Marguerite. He felt an agreeable tightening in his groin and smiled in anticipation.

Marguerite watched him enter the restaurant and marveled again at his sheer male beauty. Remy had dressed tonight all in black, from slim black trousers to a black sport jacket to a black silk shirt, open at the neck, giving him a raffish air. The color set off his auburn hair beautifully. A small silver hoop in one ear caught the light and winked at her roguishly. That was all that would be winking, she thought with irritation, since he was wearing those damnable sunglasses again. Did he have an illness? Not likely, given how very healthy the rest of him seemed. Was it a misplaced attempt to be "cool"? Again, not likely since this man had no need to play at being trendy. Whatever it was, all Marguerite knew was that she had to get those glasses off and see the eyes that lay behind them.

Remy approached her table confidently and, with a gentle flourish, produced from seemingly out of thin air a fresh orchid. "May I, chere?"

Marguerite smiled and nodded. Remy lifted the flower to inhale its fragrance, gently kissed its petals, and deftly pinned it to her dress. The sensuality of the gesture was stunning and Marguerite felt a wave of heat wash over her. Without a doubt this would be an interesting evening.

It was. Remy flirted non-stop, at times adorable, at times sexy, always charming. In his company Marguerite felt that she was unusually witty, sparkling, and beautiful. He had a way of making her feel that no woman had ever been so desirable. Logically Marguerite knew that this was not so. Surely Remy made every woman he was with feel these feelings. She resolutely pushed the maddeningly rational thoughts away and chose to simply enjoy the little time she had with him. Men like Remy did not stay around long, she knew. Once the conquest was made he would be off to seek another amour. C'est la vie. But tonight was theirs and that was all that mattered.

The dishes had been cleared from dinner and Remy and Marguerite were enjoying a few moments of comfortable silence. The sexual tension in the air was palpable, but the anticipation too was good. Suddenly Marguerite felt a soft touch on her ankle. Slowly the touch moved upward. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized that soft caress was Remy's unshod foot gently tracing a line up the inside of her leg. Her breathing quickened and a slow flush crept up her face in pace with his foot. She would have to put a stop to this soon before she embarrassed herself.

Remy's facial expression had not changed. He still looked confident, sexy, and amused with the world in general. He was keenly aware of the effect he was having, though, and was thoroughly enjoying the sensations flowing back to him. Marguerite's excitement excited him and as her full lips parted slightly and her eyes slowly lost their focus Remy knew he had to see her face when she reached her climax.

"Remy," Marguerite breathed. She had pulled back just far enough to break contact with him but not so much that he felt he had gone too far. He cursed good-naturedly under his breath, realizing that he had not yet been able to determine whether she was wearing stockings or pantyhose. As with most men, a black garter belt did wonders for Remy's libido, not that that ever needed any help, but he had his hopes.

"Remy, do you like the blues?"

Blues? It took a moment to refocus his thoughts. "Mais oui, but... "

"I know an excellent club not too far from here. Hot music and cold drinks. Interested?" Maybe in the shadows of the dark, smoky bar she could get him to remove those glasses and then she could finally look into those eyes.

"Of course." Remy let nothing break his carefully schooled equanimity and reminded himself that they were only deferring their pleasure. He was grateful for the few moments that Marguerite absented herself before they left the restaurant. He needed those minutes to compose himself and allow his incipient erection to recede.

Marguerite and Remy left the restaurant and turned to walk towards the club. It was not quite midnight but the streets were dark and far too quiet. Remy put one hand into his pants pocket and slipped a coin into his palm.

They walked a few blocks together, not quite touching, but close enough to feel each other's heat. Marguerite certainly felt as if she was generating quite a bit of heat and it was all Remy's fault. Just steps past the halo of light cast by a streetlight Remy stopped suddenly. She wasn't expecting this and stumbled slightly. He caught her shoulders and steadied her.

"This won't do at all, chere," Remy said smiling gently and shaking his head slightly. His long, silky hair caught the light and made her ache to touch it.

"Won't do? What won't do?" "What's wrong, Remy?"

"Nothing's wrong, chere. Everything's very right." He slowly pulled her closer until she was pressed lightly against the length of his lean body. Something akin to an electric charge ran through her body at the contact and her arms slid around his waist under his jacket of their own volition. One of his hands was on the small of her back, keeping her body next to his. One hard thigh had insinuated itself knowingly between her legs and rubbed gently, rhythmically, at the core of her desire. Remy was lowering his mouth slowly to hers and Marguerite found that she couldn't stop watching those full, soft lips. In just a moment she would know if his kiss burned hotter than the sun and if his hands could indeed set her aflame with want. In just a moment... No!

Marguerite tore her eyes away from his mouth and pushed back in the circle of his arms. Remy stopped and looked down at her, confused.

"I'm so sorry, chere Marguerite. I thought that you wanted this too. I apologize... "

"No, Remy, don't. I do want this. J-just one thing, though. I want to see your eyes before you kiss me. I have to see your eyes. Please, may I?" Marguerite lifted her hands to the temples of his glasses and waited for his permission.

Remy frowned slightly. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, chere." He waited a moment and saw that Marguerite would not be dissuaded. "But I never could say no to a beautiful woman." The brilliant smile was back and she felt an unusually strong pull towards him.

Marguerite hesitated slightly now, steeling herself against whatever possible disfiguration she might find, and slowly pulled off the sunglasses. She gasped audibly when they were removed. His eyes were red and black and burned with an incredible fire. They were demon's eyes, intense and frightening, and so very beautiful.

Remy smiled ruefully, no longer exerting the full power of his charm. He gently removed the glasses from her unresisting grasp and slipped them into his jacket pocket. "This is the part where you scream and run away, chere."

"Scream? Run away? Whatever for?" Marguerite raised the back of her hand to his face and drew it along his cheekbone in a soft caress. "Non, Remy," she breathed. "You're beautiful." She moved her mouth closer to his, begging to resume the kiss that she had halted.

Remy chuckled. "Beautiful, moi? That's a word for you, chere." Still, he allowed her to pull him closer until their lips finally met. It began softly, with Remy brushing his lips against Marguerite's until his mouth finally settled against hers. Their lips parted slightly and she felt an intense burst of heat as Remy's tongue slipped into her mouth. It slid over her teeth and teased at her gently in slow exploration before engaging her own tongue in a dance of parry and retreat. She pressed her body more tightly against his and felt the wiry strength in his broad chest and flat belly. Boldly she let her hips graze his and felt the growing bulge in his pants. His kiss was intoxicating and the slide of his hands across her back was sheer magic. She moved her hands up his back and was just about to test the texture of his hair when something disturbing pushed at her consciousness.

There! Through the sensual mist clouding her senses she heard the noise again. "Remy! Remy! Listen! Do you hear it?" she whispered urgently.

"All I hear is my heart pounding for you, chere."

Marguerite pulled away slightly and grasped Remy's shoulders. "No. Listen. There's someone here. It's not right."

Remy cocked his head slightly and all his senses immediately came alert. Merde! She was right. There was someone else here, something was about to be very wrong and he had stupidly allowed himself to be caught unawares. He pushed her behind him defensively as a figure moved to detach itself from the shadows.

The man was a hulking street criminal, brawny, vaguely menacing-looking, and brandishing a knife. Good. Not a gun. That gave Remy more flexibility and he began to relax a little, knowing that this thug would not pose much of a challenge.

Remy kept his arms loosely at his sides, a little away from his body, and watched the glint of the streetlight on the seven-inch knife blade. Their attacker didn't even speak. He simply gestured with his free hand and grinned nastily.

"It's alright, mon ami," Remy said. "No need for violence. We will cooperate." His voice held the mugger's attention as Remy slowly raised his hand from his side. Instead of reaching for his wallet, however, Remy sent a charge of energy through the coin still held in his hand and threw it unerringly at the mugger's hand. It exploded on contact in a flash of light and sound. He heard the knife fall to the sidewalk and, while the attacker was still off-guard and dazed from the blast, he moved in to finish the encounter. Years spent living in Louisiana backwaters and scraping for existence on the streets of New Orleans had taught Remy the value of stealth over strength but had also given him a strong will to survive and the fighting skills to succeed. In short order, Remy had dispatched the petty crook and left him lying in a heap next to a trash bin, just where he felt he belonged.

Marguerite watched the scene in amazement. The whole incident had taken no more than a minute or two yet she knew she had seen something very much out of the ordinary. Once it became clear to her that they were safe and that Remy was uninjured she began fitting things together in her mind. There was an answer to her questions and she thought she finally had it.

Remy returned to her side, clothes only slightly disheveled, not even breathing heavily, but with the adrenaline still rushing through his veins. "Marguerite, it's over now. Everything is fine, chere." He put an arm around her waist and hoped she would need much more of his soothing touch.

"Remy, are you a mutant?"

Mon dieu, but this woman had a way of saying the most unexpected things. "Yes, chere, I am. Is that a problem?" He wouldn't have been at all surprised if this turned out to be the end of their evening. It had happened before and would certainly happen again. Humans had always feared and loathed what they couldn't understand and had been that way since the beginning of time. Remy was resigned to it.

"No, it's not but can we leave here? I've had enough of this place."

Remy's spirits soared as he guided Marguerite back to the main street where they hailed a cab, back to his hotel, she noted. Presumptuous as usual, but that was his way. She was burning with questions. What were his mutant powers? How did it feel to live as a mutant? Was he comfortable with who he was? Stupid question. Of course he was comfortable. Marguerite had never seen anymore more at ease with himself and more confident than Remy LeBeau.

There was more on her mind than mutancy, though. Despite the generous size of the taxi, Remy had pulled her close to his side so that their thighs were pressed tightly together and his hand rested on her leg just above her knee. His fingers barely moved but their slight motion was causing her pulse to do some very interesting things. His red-black eyes were hooded but she could feel their gaze. Fortunately, the ride was short or who knew what else Remy might do?

Once inside his room neither bothered with any social niceties. Remy slipped off his jacket and Marguerite dropped her handbag on the desk. She moved into his arms as if drawn there by an irresistible force and rested her head on his cool, silk-covered shoulder while Remy simply held her close. Couldn't he feel the fire he was causing in her? Surely it must be burning through him, too. She slipped the buttons on his shirt, slid it free of his pants, and spread the fabric wide to have clear access to his chest. Magnifique! His chest was broad and powerful despite his slimness. A light sprinkling of cinnamon-colored hair covered his pectorals and arrowed downward to a narrow waist. His leanness spoke of deprivation in his past but the tight sheathing of muscle suggested that the hard times had been overcome. The line of hair continued further down towards equally narrow hips that Marguerite decided would just have to wait for her attentions. Right now she wanted to learn the taste and feel of every inch that she had just uncovered.

Marguerite ran her nails delicately across Remy's chest and loved the soft gasps he made as she brushed gently over his flat nipples. Trailing kisses along the line of his collarbone she moved her lips down to his chest and settled lovingly on one nipple. Her tongue teased it to a state of hardness, circling it and licking at it over and over. She nipped at it playfully with her teeth and tested its hardness again with her tongue before kissing her way across to the other nipple and giving it her full attention. Her hands explored his back while Remy's soft murmurs of pleasure provided a counterpoint to her own increasingly labored breathing.

Her mouth moved lower and Marguerite began to drop to her knees. Remy caught her shoulders and refused to allow her kneel. He pulled her up until she was standing opposite him and kept his hands on her shoulders.

"Non, cheri," he said, his voice husky with desire. "It's my turn now." His hands moved into her hair, deftly removing the pins and freeing it to tumble down around her shoulders. With both hands Remy pulled his fingers through the heavy mass and moved closer, pulling Marguerite into another tender kiss.

"Enough of this," she thought, slanting her mouth over his and deepening the kiss. She needed to make him feel the urgency that was impelling her and she wasn't sure how much more teasing she could take. She pushed the shirt off Remy's shoulders and felt rather than heard his amusement. She was pleased when, in response, his hands immediately went to the zipper of her dress. When it was open Marguerite moved back and let the dress fall forward over her arms. She stepped away from the dress, now puddled on the floor at her feet, and let Remy's appreciative gaze sweep over her.

"Mon dieu, Marguerite!" Remy breathed. She was a beautiful vision in black lace. Her full breasts were cupped lovingly in a lacy black brassiere and Remy was momentarily jealous of the simple garment. She wore matching black lace panties and, Remy was very pleased to note, a black garter belt holding up black silk stockings. He suddenly felt like a overwhelmed little boy on Christmas morning, not knowing which prettily wrapped package to open first.

He decided to begin at the top and deftly undid the catch of her brassiere. He tossed it aside and let his hands take the full weight of her breasts. Marguerite's head fell back at the touch of Remy's hands on her bare flesh and when he bent his head to suckle at her already hard nipple she let him know her pleasure by clasping his head firmly to her.

Remy gently pushed Marguerite to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of her. She looked at him quizzically when he lifted up her left foot but he smiled reassuringly and his demon eyes burned hotly. Marguerite knew that whatever he did would please her and so let him have his way.

He removed her shoe and reached up and undid the garters holding up her stocking. He let his long fingers graze her thigh as they moved down to her stocking top. With her foot resting on his bent knee he slowly rolled the stocking down her leg, his fingers brushing in the merest whisper against her, leaving trails of molten heat behind them. By the time Remy had finished removing the second stocking Marguerite was leaning back on her elbows on the bed, eyes closed, reveling in the sensations. She could barely stand to keep still under his fiery touch but didn't want this sweet torture to end.

Marguerite opened her eyes and looked up when she felt the absence of his touch. She saw that he was now standing in front of her and had his hand on the button of his trousers. This was a pleasure that Marguerite had intended to reserve for herself and, breaking through her sensual torpor, sat up and took Remy's hand in hers, removing it from his waist. She then used her hand to traced the bulge in his pants, circling around its hardness and feeling the restrained power there. She cupped his erection in her palm and felt Remy push himself against her, seeking more contact.

His hands were caressing her hair, letting its soft weight fall through his fingers, while she undid his trousers and let them fall to the floor. Remy's hips were every bit as narrow as she had expected but his legs were hard with muscle and looked as if they had been sculpted from marble. She noted with amusement how softly the light furring of auburn hair blended into his pale skin but as she rubbed her cheek against his hard thigh she felt nothing but heat. Marguerite let her hands range down his legs, savoring their feel against her fingertips. She moved her hands around to Remy's ass - small, tight, and as hard as the rest of him. As she massaged his butt cheeks she began to nuzzle his erection through the soft cotton of his underwear. His muted scent was smoky, spicy, and musky - a combination of brandy, tobacco, and something else unnamable. Marguerite let the sensations wash over her and curled her fingers more tightly into Remy's ass.

"Oh, chere, what are you doing to me?" Remy cried softly.

Marguerite smiled up at him, leaned back on the bed, and reached out her hand to him in invitation. Remy lay down next to her and pulled her up against him tightly. The press of flesh against flesh affected them both deeply and Marguerite impatiently tugged at Remy's underwear, sorry she hadn't thought to remove it sooner. Remy's erection, now free, was quickly imprisoned again in Marguerite's hand. She moved her hand along the shaft from base to tip and back again, watching the play of emotions across Remy's face as she picked up her speed, now slowed down, now grasped him harder, now more loosely. He was beautiful. His hair spread across the pillow as his long, lean body arched into her hand. He was so sensitive and responsive, so easy to arouse. His body was drawn towards the source of his pleasure and his incoherent moans and cries told her that he was so near his climax. Marguerite's excitement was growing apace with his and she slid closer to him, rubbing up against his thigh in time with her stroking.

As if he felt her eyes watching him, Remy opened his own eyes with a visible effort. Marguerite gasped. She could swear that they glowed almost completely red - on fire with the flames of Hades. He held her wrist to stop her movements. "Non, non, mon coeur. It's too soon."

Remy dragged in a few breaths to steady himself and rolled to his side, gently pushing Marguerite back to the bed. He licked at the sensitive spot just under her ear and traced fiery kisses down her neck. Burying his head between her breasts he inhaled their sweet fragrance before rubbing a thumb across one pink nipple while rolling the other with his tongue. She felt as if she could soon come just from the attentions of his mouth on her breasts, but Remy seemed to sense her condition and moved down her body, letting his tongue play at her navel while his hand skimmed down her hip and thigh.

At the feel of his sinewy body sliding along hers Marguerite felt the need to have him inside her growing rapidly. Remy seemed determined to prolong their pleasure, though. She gasped as she felt his searing breath between her legs through the silk of her panties. Remy was laying between her spread legs and one hand was teasing its way up the inside of her leg while he was placing hot, wet kisses on her silk-clad pubic mound. Marguerite moaned and twisted under him, hands clenching in the bedcovers, silently begging him to stop playing games and, por dieu, get on with it!

Once again Remy sensed the desperation of her need and tugged at her panties, pulling them easily down her legs and tossing them to the side. He returned his attention to her again, but not with his mouth. This time his hand moved between her legs and his thumb massaged her clitoris as one long finger slipped easily inside her. Dieu, but she was so wet already.

Marguerite thrashed and whimpered as wave after wave of pleasure threatened to overwhelm her. A fine sheen of sweat covered her breasts and, as a second finger entered her, she cried out, "Non, Remy, non. I can't... please... non... "

"Oh, oui, chere, oui," Remy breathed against her. His fingers were working a strange kind of demon magic inside her and his breath on her bare flesh fanned the flames higher. Without removing his hand Remy replaced his thumb with his tongue and began teasing at the hard nub of flesh. As her breathing began coming in short gasps he pulled his fingers away and used his mouth solely. He kissed and licked, lapping at her sweetness, until finally plunging his tongue deep inside her. Marguerite shuddered and arched, calling Remy's name, as her climax engulfed her in a tide of pleasure.

Remy slid back up her body, his hair tickling at her sensitized nerve endings. He held her tightly against his body until she calmed slightly. He kissed her, sharing the taste of her still on his lips, and holding himself over her, slid easily inside her. Remy sighed, almost in relief, as he felt his cock enclosed tightly in her warm wetness.

"Oh, Remy," Marguerite gasped. She was thrilled to finally have him inside her and shifted her body, the better to feel how completely Remy was filling her.

Still holding himself over her, Remy began a slow motion, pulling almost all the way out before just as slowly pushing all the way back in. All her nerve endings were aflame with this teasing friction. She wanted so much more yet never wanted this pleasure to end. She lifted her hands between their bodies to tease his nipples and was gratified to hear Remy's moans, accompanied by a slight increase in his pace. Shifting a bit, she reached one hand under them to play with his balls. They were hard and heavy in her hand and when she pressed a finger into the sensitive spot just behind them Remy threw his head back and groaned. He increased his pace until he was almost pounding into Marguerite. She wrapped her legs around his back and moved her hips against him. The movement was bringing her own orgasm closer and she dug her nails into Remy's back, demanding, "More, Remy, please, more!"

Remy let himself down on top of her and captured her lips in a deep kiss as he stroked harder and faster. She held him tightly as her orgasm rocked through her and Remy's eyes opened wide as her muscles pulled and squeezed him more tightly than he had thought possible. Marguerite found herself staring up into those gorgeous red-black eyes of his as his orgasm began to overtake him. Remy's eyes shut tightly again as the inevitable took him and he pulsed into Marguerite's hot, satiated body.

* * *

The morning sun slanted through the window and Remy grimaced slightly at the intrusion. A smile quickly appeared on his face, though, as he recognized why he felt so especially good this morning. He stretched and felt the pleasurable aching of his muscles, reminding him of the three times he and Marguerite had made love last night. The experience had been very good for both of them and he looked forward to revisiting it before beginning the day. Without opening his eyes he remembered the marvelous things they had done together, how beautiful she had looked in the throes of orgasm and how she had urged and excited him to new levels. He felt his sex begin to stir in response to the mental stimuli and reached over to caress his lover.

Remy's hand made contact with the sheets and nothing else. Confused, he slid his hand across the bed, still feeling nothing. He listened for a moment and heard only silence. Opening his eyes, he sat up and looked around the room. Marguerite was not there nor were any of her belongings. In fact, there was no sign that she had ever been there at all, but for one thing.

On the pillow, next to Remy's head, lay one perfect orchid.

* * *

The bustle and confusion of the afternoon commute would provide the ideal cover for both the burglary and getaway, Remy thought. A few minutes in the Dumas apartment and then out again, melding into the raucous traffic, out to the airport, and then home again, no one the wiser at least until it was too late. There was really nothing to it for a thief as skilled as he was. Even at his young age Remy had executed operations like this many more times than he could remember. In and out cleanly and quickly and celebrate later. Much later.

He resolutely pushed thoughts of Marguerite from his mind and attempted to concentrate on the task at hand. Stubbornly, her image kept invading his consciousness and Remy allowed himself a brief moment of indulgence. He mentally replayed fleeting instances from last night - her sweet breasts overflowing his hands, the taste of her on his lips, her soft gasps as she neared climax, and his own confusion at finding himself alone and abandoned in the morning. Ruefully Remy acknowledged that it had been a unique experience for him. Always he was the one to slip out of a woman's grasp, in and out of her life as naturally and inevitably as spring followed winter. But now to be in the opposite situation? Life always has something new to teach, n'est-ce pas?

This time Remy did succeed in banishing the intrusive thoughts and gave his plans a last minute review as he approached the apartment block. There was very little that could go wrong and most every eventuality had been planned for. Bien, off to work, then.

Remy entered the apartment easily and glanced around to get his bearings. Everything was just as it should be according to the floor plan he had been given. He moved confidently towards the spare bedroom where he was sure the jewels would be hidden. A few minutes considering the options and testing various surfaces and Remy found the false-bottomed compartment in the armoire. Everything was there, just as he had hoped. It paid to be good at one's job, he thought. Moving quickly he secreted a fortune in stones in the well-used briefcase he brought along just for this purpose. Not only would it help complete the harried business traveler pose he intended to assume, but the cleverly designed, discretely placed lead lining would make his new acquisitions virtually undetectable to airport security.

Scanning the room quickly Remy determined that he had left nothing out of place and had touched nothing with bare hands. He breathed a quiet sigh and moved rapidly back to the door. He was only feet from his escape when the unexpected happened.

"Remy, chere." The voice was soft, but the endearment held the deadliness of sharpened steel.

"Marguerite?" Remy stopped short, turned slowly towards the source of the voice, and saw her seated in the corner of the living room. Why had he not seen her before? How was it possible? And what was she of all people doing here? A partial answer crossed his mind. "Marguerite Dumas, non?"

"Oui, mon amour, Marguerite Dumas." Her voice was bland but her expression bespoke an almost overwhelming sadness. "Why, Remy?"

He gauged the distance to the door and thought better of it. If he had missed the presence of one woman what else might he have overlooked? Better to just brazen it out.

He smiled beguilingly and let the power of his charm begin to build slowly. He spread his hands slightly and said, "It's what I do, chere."

Marguerite felt that same inexplicable pull towards him and quashed it ruthlessly. "Not again, Remy. Not this time."

Remy saw that the charm power was not having the expected effect and was puzzled. This couldn't be possible unless...

"Marguerite, how did you know I would be here?"

"I just... " She thought about it fleetingly and realized she didn't know how she had known. "I just did."

"And the mugging last night. You knew before it happened. How?"

"I don't know, Remy, I don't!" she cried. She was confused. He had managed to turn the tables on her, putting her on the defensive and taking the attention off himself. "It just didn't feel right. The same way I know you're not French. You don't sound right. And the same way I knew you were here for the wrong reasons. I just knew."

Remy was smiling again, this time naturally. "I don't sound French?" he chuckled. "Eh, bien, I stop tryin' den," he said, letting the rhythms of his native Cajun French overtake his speech. "But Remy t'ink he know what's happenin' here. Let's see if dis is right; you know t'ings because dey jus' feel right to you, you're able to resist my charm power, an' you c'n make yourself seem to fade into de backgroun', non?"

Marguerite nodded apprehensively.

"Chere, you t'ink it possible you a mutant, too?"

She looked stunned as the realization washed over her. Yes, it was possible, she conceded. More than possible, closer to very likely. Still, a mutant in the Dumas family? This wasn't something she could easily mention to Daniel over croissants one day. No, maybe she was indeed a mutant, but this was something she'd keep to herself. Deal with it day by day, perhaps. But never, never share with anyone else.

"No, Remy. It's not. I am not a mutant." She almost managed to convince herself but she could see from the expression on his face that the wily thief didn't believe her for a moment.

He nodded reassuringly and moved to put an arm around her. "Dat's okay, chere. You come to terms wit' it one day. You a strong woman. You c'n deal wit' it."

Marguerite froze and edged away from his arm. She knew all too well what would happen if she let Remy touch her again. He didn't have to exert any mutant powers to draw her into his embrace. He had only to look at her with those devil's eyes and let her remember his hard, tight body and talented hands for her to want him again desperately. For the sake of her tattered pride she wouldn't let it happen again.

She folded her arms around herself as if to ward off the cold. "Go, Remy. Just leave." She hung her head to avoid seeing him walk out the door. "And Remy... leave the briefcase."

Remy smiled and placed the case gently on the floor. There would be other days and other prizes. He took one long last look at Marguerite Dumas and stored the memories away for later. Slipping noiselessly out the door he wondered if Marguerite was perhaps an undeveloped telepath, too. He sent a final thought in her direction before leaving her life completely.

*J'taime, mon amour.*

* * *

Four hours later Remy LeBeau sat in a comfortable business class airline seat and stared out at the Atlantic Ocean. Soon he would be home again, amidst familiar surroundings, and the excitement would be over for a little while. He would have to explain, though, to the Thieves' Guild why he had not come home with the treasure they had expected.

He thought once again about the gaily-wrapped gift box in his carry-on baggage and the child's geology set it contained. A present for his academically inclined niece, he told the airport security officers. And indeed there were many rock samples in the kit. And among those unpolished worthless samples were some very fine examples of 18^th century European diamond cutting, not to mention some exceptional emeralds and a few sapphires as well.

He smiled to himself as he thought that perhaps the Guild would not be too disappointed. While he had perforce left many of the gems in his case on the floor of the Dumas apartment, many of the choicer pieces had disappeared into his pockets to be reassembled later in the geology kit. A smart farmer never puts all his eggs in one basket and a smart thief never puts all his jewels in one briefcase.

And Remy LeBeau was a very clever thief.



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