Secrets of the Past

by Kerri G.

Part 6

Logan woke slowly to stretch and reach for Charlotte. He sat up when he found the spot next to him empty.

Charlotte sat in the chair next to the bed, a man's large shirt covering her body, partially buttoned. She watched him; for how long, he didn't know. The intense expression on her face spoke volumes.

It made him uneasy. "Darlin'--"

"I met John Logan in a bar. A little unusual, but then there was a war in progress. Nice girls didn't go to bars. Fortunately, I wasn't a nice girl. I was there to do a job; nice was something I couldn't afford to be."

"Logan was in a poker game with a few of his buddies, including Nicholas Fury. I was there with some of my team, at our usual table in the corner. I watched him play from where I sat. I couldn't help it. He glared at me over his cards because I was staring."

"He was one of the most powerful looking men I'd ever seen. Not just his body, but his attitude. There was an aura of strength around him that got my attention. I could not look away from his eyes. I wanted to curl up inside him. Somewhere there was an understanding between the two of us. I reached out to touch him with my mind, and he told me to get the hell out of his head."

"Then he sent his friend Fury over to invite us into the game. Don tried to dissuade me, but I was out of my chair before the words even cleared his mouth."

"I sat down across from Logan and he dealt me in. We were two mutants who couldn't out bluff each other. He started out by baiting me, saying anything he could to get a rise out of me. Don was ready to take him out back and teach him some manners. Even Fury had to wonder about his attitude, and he was Logan's friend. I kept quiet, but I stayed in his head, baited him from the inside. I think we understood each other from the start."

"After that, he hunted me down and asked me out." Her eyes closed with the memories. "He didn't ask, he demanded. He began our relationship expecting everything to be as he wanted, and I enjoyed thwarting him at every step. I won't say it was love at first sight, because it wasn't, but it was damned close."

"It was no wonder I fell in love with him. He was everything I wanted and couldn't admit to wanting. I fought him, and I surrendered. I fell in love with him, his passion, his heart, his soul."

"We married nearly a year after that, and Jess was born 4 months later. We had a good life, even in the midst of war. I had my assignments, Logan had his. Sometimes it was hard to remember there was a war going on, other times we'd cling to each other in fear and uncertainty. There were nights we'd meet in the midst of some crazy conflict and fall into each other's arms for a few moments' respite. Then he disappeared and our world crashed around me."

"I didn't know he was gone, not until I returned from a routine mission with my team. We were taking time off to be with Jess, family time," her voice trembled over the words, "coming back here for a long weekend all together, but he didn't show up at the meeting place. I contacted Pvt. Stone. Stoney told me Logan had been gone for more than a week and no one knew where he was. As far as the brass was concerned, he was MIA."

"I couldn't accept that. I looked for him, in hospitals and POW camps. I defied direct orders, I was arrested and detained, escaped military police more than once. I even slipped into Berlin, but Logan was just gone. Hal finally sent a team after me, Logan's team. He was convinced I'd get myself killed, so he gave me something to do. He assigned me to Logan's team, more for them to babysit me than anything else. That's what gave me these scars."

Her voice was low and throaty, thick with unshed tears.

"Logan's team was scheduled to take out a small base that was stashing firearms and the like. Fury and Dugan were assigned as well; for back up, Hal said, but I knew better. They were there to keep me in line. I was still valuable to the brass as long as I wasn't crazy. I had doubts about my sanity, myself."

"We did it. Got in, took out the security and set the charges, but I had to check for information. It's what I'd been doing the whole time, what I was sent for -- break and enter, steal the data. They thought the building was all clear, so Fury gave the order to blow. I gated out before the worst of it penetrated my body armor. I let Fury and the others believe I'd been killed."

"I was gone long enough for Jess not to know me when I returned. *I* didn't know who I was." The pain in her voice cut through him, right to the bone. "I was badly wounded and unable to care for him, much less myself, for weeks after that. I frightened him with these scars. Every time I see them in the mirror, I remind myself of a monster. He was 2 1/2 years old, and very good at opening locked doors. He watched Thomas and Matthew clean and sew me up, listened to my screams. It was weeks before he'd come near me, then months before he let me out of his sight."

She wiped the dampness from her eyes.

"That swordfight was a farce. I beat you because I know him. You haven't changed so much that I couldn't do that at least once. I know his body, better than most I'd guess, the way you move, react. I've watched him move in my dreams, in my nightmares." She chuckled mirthlessly. "I couldn't do it now. Now you'd slaughter me. I've lost my only advantage."

She rose to her feet, her movements graceful, to stand by the window away from him.

"There have been other men, when I could find one that would overlook the scars. Men that didn't see me as damaged goods, or if they did, they didn't care. I haven't spent all these years alone. Oh, not for several years after, not until I couldn't stand the loneliness any longer. All they had to do was not remind me of Logan. I never wanted to open my eyes and even *think* he stared back at me. Pathetic, isn't it? I feel pathetic."

"At first I just wanted a body, the oblivion of losing myself in another beating heart, if only for a few moments. I had to force myself to take a man to our bed. Force myself. I wondered if I was raping myself, making my body submit to another man's touch, his kisses and caresses. Raping myself using another man's body as the weapon. Interesting concept, wouldn't you say?"

"The years passed, and I stopped forcing myself, stopped trying, stopped feeling. Jess reached human adulthood and his power started to emerge. I fell into relationships with a certain kind of man. Ones who were kind, considerate, undemanding. The type of man who wouldn't push me into bed when I said no, so I wouldn't have to show him how ugly my body is. Men like Wyn."

"Men who weren't Logan."

"There has been no man in my bed for 25 years." She fell silent.

Finally she turned back to him. "My husband, the man I married, had a son with, dreamed with, fought and loved, he's still inside you. I want him back." She hugged herself tightly. "The man who would find me in the middle of nowhere, where ever I was. Finding him in my bed, his hands on me, his body deep inside mine before I was even awake. The man who ordered me around, then said please." A sob escaped her. "The man I could talk to, tell my deepest secret to, trust my soul to. The man who loved me. I want him back."

Logan got to his feet and padded over to her, reaching out to close the distance between them and stop the aching words from pouring out of her.

"Don't touch me," she told him with a ragged breath. "I can't take it when you touch me. You touch me and I lose my reason, and I hate myself for giving in. I crave your body, and I know you're not my Logan. It hurts. It's like losing him all over again."

"I'm yer husband."

"You wear his face, but you're not him. You can't be him."

He touched her face, thick fingers lightly stroking the soft skin. A small whimper escaped her.

"Don't play games with me," she pleaded in a whisper, even as she pressed her face into his palm. "You'll destroy me." She loathed the needy tone of her voice, despised herself for feeling it.

"Not tryin' to destroy ya." He drew her closer to fold her into his arms. Her words, her fears and pain, found their way to his heart to shame him. He didn't know why he couldn't let this go, whether or not he was feeling possessive simply because this woman was his wife, rather than for the woman herself. He'd been alone, really alone, for as long as he could remember, never coming close to anyone but for a few times. He'd been burned badly those few times.

Not only did he have a son now, he had a wife.

Was she the reason he'd never completely given himself over to another woman? Why he'd chosen women who weren't free to come to him for one reason or another?

She was right. He wasn't the person she remembered, and he had no right to do this to her, but he had a piece of paper that said she belonged to him, and that was the idea he couldn't let go. He wanted her.

Charlotte wrenched herself from his arms and turned her back to him. "Please...."

Please what? Please leave, please touch, please love, please....?

Logan rested his hands on her shoulders, his warmth seeping into the tense muscles. Moving closer, his breath stirring the hairs on her neck, he massaged firmly, deeply, not knowing how he knew this was the way she preferred to be touched.

Charlotte released a breathless sob, her head falling forward, swaying slightly on weakened legs.

Taking her response for acquiessence, he pulled the shirt from her shoulders, sliding the cool cotton down her body to drop it on the floor at her feet.

She wouldn't turn around.

Her hair fell in a tangle down her back. He gathered the heavy mass in his hands, burying his face in it to inhale the scent, imprint it on his senses. Memorize it, lock it away, never forget it again.

She trembled, but still didn't turn around.

Logan brushed her hair over her shoulder, exposing the smooth line of her back to him to run his fingertips over, feeling her shivers. He felt a stab of remorse to see the swelling of flesh where he'd bitten her, teeth marks marring the ivory tone of her skin, her arms decorated with rings of bruises. He pressed soft kisses to the insulted skin to make amends for his rough treatment.

A low moan broke from her.

The small tattoo on the outside curve of her left hip drew his attention; he lazily drew a circle around it, over it. He had been pleasantly surprised to see it. Lady Charlotte had a hidden wild streak in her that pleased him. He wouldn't have guessed she had it in her. Now he wouldn't be amazed at anything she did. Not now.

Her breath caught in a agonized sob.

Logan sank to his knees to touch his lips to the tattoo, then traced his tongue over it. It was a small Chinese I Ching trigram symbol, Ken - The Still Mountain. Curious. Where'd she get that, and why? Who was with her?

He continue to lick and kiss his way over her hip to her stomach, rubbing his face against her. His beard stubble scraped at her. Charlotte's hands settled on his head, sinking into his hair to hold him securely.

They held that position for long moments, her head bent over him, tears falling softly into his hair, on his face.

He rested his hands around her ankles, slowly moving them up, massaging tense muscles, caressing the backs of her knees and inner thighs.

Charlotte's hands tightened painfully in his hair, her breath hissed between her teeth. Her traitorous body craved more, demanded more, the hatred for her weakness drowning under the sensation buffeting her. Her legs would no longer support her body, she felt herself falling into his arms.

He gathered her up to carry her back to bed. Her body stretched out in front of him, he could see those scars she was so ashamed of, covering the right side of her torso, extending around to her back, a thin line creeping along the side of one plump breast.

Leaning down on both hands, he gently kissed the radiating scars, following the lines with his tongue. She had the lean body of a dancer, muscles clearly defined beneath the creamy smoothness of her skin, rounded softness of her breasts and hips.

"Logan," she breathed in a helpless whisper.

He accepted the tacit invitation she offered him readily, burying his face in her hair spread around her to inhale the scent of her deeply. He sighed at the touch of her hands reaching around him to slide up his back, eagerly caressing the hairy texture of his skin. At her urging, he eased his body down next to her, never losing touch with her skin.

Charlotte trembled at the bold lust in his eyes, before he pulled her close to take her mouth again. He kissed his way down her body, giving thorough attention to her breasts. She arched up into his mouth, a breathless moan released into the soothing dimness surrounding them. Logan murmured to her, his lips trailing one exceptionally hideous, scar. She stilled, panicking.

"Not....ugly," he growled against her. "God, woman, yer the most beautiful thing....."

Her hands twined themself in his thick, unruly hair, pulling him up to meet her in a fervent kiss.

Shushing her moans of protest, Logan resisted her attempts to bring him down against her to kneel between her legs. He stroked her legs, using just his fingertips, the muscles tensing under his touch. She clenched and unclenched fistfuls of blanket at the sensual torture he inflicted on her. Only her Logan would know she craved physical touch.

When she could take no more, he leaned back up to kiss her, his body entering her. Charlotte wrapped her legs around him and buried her face in his shoulder. His hands grasped hers, holding them on each side of her head while he fought to keep control.

"Logan?" Charlotte opened her eyes, the sight of him taking her breath away. Striking under any circumstances, aroused and flushed with desire he glowed.

He met her eyes, capturing her lips again, one hand releasing hers to cup her face. Locking his gaze with her, he thrust against almost languidly, determined to take the time to treat her gently, but the flush of her body, the heat rising from her, urged him on to greater heights. Her head fell back as the pleasure increased, moans filling the air around them.

Charlotte pressed kisses along the taut lines of his throat and jaw. She'd forgotten his deeply sensual approach to lovemaking, his attention to every hint her body offered him.

Shuddering, he buried his face in her hair as his focus narrowed to the woman beneath him, her arms pulling him closer, nails raking his flanks and back.

Woman.

Wife.

Charlotte.

Concentrating, letting his heightened senses guide him, he sensed her approaching climax, raw sensation overtaking everything, her teeth sinking into his shoulder to muffle her scream. Only then did he let go, following her over the edge into repletion.

Trembling, reluctant to separate, they remained entwined, kissing, touching. Settling her head against his, she sighed.

"What?"

"You have to go." He had to leave before anything else happened, before he could play her body against her again. Ignoring the lightly stroking hand on her hair, she continued. "This is all too much for me, Logan. You've got to give me some time."

He didn't respond, his hands still playing softly over her. They were both so sweaty, they'd be glued together if they dried in this position.

"Please."

His hands tightened on her. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Thank you."

~*~*~*~*~

Charlotte saw Logan through the gate, still tasting his fierce parting kiss on her lips, his gruff words demanding that she call him and visit very soon. Those were decisions she had no intention of making at that very moment, not until she could sort it all out in solitude.

Passing through the kitchen for coffee, she spied the envelope Jess handed her when he first arrived on top of the refrigerator. With a sigh, and a second cup of coffee, she took it down and opened it.

Ms. Ashcroft --

Emma Frost.

Charlotte crumpled the brief note in an angry fist, cursing herself for not reading it sooner. It would have saved her so much trouble and frustration.

The sated feeling in her body refused to argue with her brain. It felt too well-loved to complain.

Not well-loved, her brain argued back, well-fucked. There's a difference.

Doesn't matter, her body retorted, it still feels good.

Damned if it didn't. It was a feeling too dangerous to give in to. She would not be calling or visiting her *husband* in the near future.

End.

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