The music woke her up. At first, she thought it was just a passing car, and she wondered how someone could not go deaf with music that loud in their car. But it didn't pass, and she pushed herself off the bed and groggily looked out the window. Just down the street was some kind of dance club. She could see people milling around outside and flashing lights peeking through the front door. The neon sign overhead said The Power Plant.
Before she had a chance to think about it, she changed into her only pair of black jeans and a black T-shirt. She brushed her hair and dug some nearly forgotten red lipstick out of her bag. She shoved her key, ID and some cash into a pocket and was out the door in a flash, leaving her coat behind.
It was a typical dance club. Flashing lights, blaring techno music and bars of neon light tracing the walls. She slid onto a stool at the bar and waited for the harried-looking bartender to get to her.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
Marie twisted slightly and studied the guy who sat beside her. Frat boy, she decided. He was cute. Blond, probably blue-eyed, and he was actually wearing Dockers and a polo shirt. To a dance club. Marie shook her head at that. A shell necklace that was so 10 years ago was around his neck. He looked like he could afford to buy a drink or twelve for a little ol' girl from Mississippi.
"I'd love a beer," she said sweetly, thickening her accent. For some reason, a good Southern drawl tended to liquefy the brains of most men. This kid was no exception.
"Two beers," he snapped at the bartender, who scowled but complied. The frat boy didn't even leave a tip. Jerk.
"Why don't you give the man a tip?" she asked, giving him her best wide-eyed Southern belle look. "Or don't ya'all do that up north?"
The bartender laughed, and the frat boy grudgingly left a dollar on the bar.
Ooooo. Big spender.
Marie sipped her beer and flirted with the guy. What the hell. He was buying. He bought her another beer. Then another. Two of his friends came over, and one of them -- tall, dark and handsome, her favorite kind -- bought her another beer and asked her to dance.
"Sure, sugar." She hopped off the stool and swayed slightly, giggling. "I looooove to dance."
She hadn't been dancing in ages, but it wasn't hard to get into the music. It echoed through the building, pounded into the floor and up from her feet into her whole body until it was all she felt. She thought her heart was beating in time with the music, and she wondered what would happen if the music stopped. But it didn't stop, only faded into another song, and she danced.
They stopped dancing to have a couple more drinks, but Marie wanted back out on the dance floor. Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome danced with her, getting closer with every beat, brushing his body against hers. She'd never asked the guy his name, but she thought she'd call him Seth because he looked so much like him. So much, and she wondered if it was the alcohol or the music, or if she had finally lost her mind.
The beat pulsed through her body. And she danced.
Marie, you're so beautiful.
The Seth look-alike ran his hands down her sides. And she danced.
I want you so much.
His hands gripped her hips, pulled her closer. And she danced.
I need you, baby.
His lips brushed her throat. And she danced.
Please.
Suddenly, there was a growling noise, and he was gone. Her dance faltered as she twirled right into Logan. She laughed and tilted her head back to look at him. He didn't look happy to see her.
"Hey, Logan," she giggled. "Wanna dance?"
"We're leaving," he said, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder.
She felt like she should be mad, but her head was spinning, and it was kind of like being on a carnival ride. And she knew he wanted her, which made her laugh more. Maybe if he touched her, it would all just go away. He was a super-healer, wasn't he? He could heal her with his touch.
He shoved open the door to his room and stood her on the floor. "What were you doing?" he asked harshly. Fred, who had been milling around their feet, knew something was up. He went to the corner and hid under a chair.
"Forgettin'," she said slowly, trying not to slur her words. She pressed her body against his and slid her arms around his neck. "Help me forget, sugar?"
He leaned closer and sighed. "I ... this isn't how --"
"Shhh." She slid a finger over his lips and shook her head. Even in her drunken state she could tell that he was less than sober himself. Maybe she wasn't the only one who wanted to forget.
And then she couldn't think at all, as his lips crashed down on hers. His mouth was demanding, and she wanted to meet every demand. She opened her mouth to him, her tongue met his, and she tried to show him he could take whatever he wanted. Take it all.
He turned them both around, pressing her up against the door. She hooked her ankles behind him and ground her pelvis into his, eliciting moans from both of them. He was hard already, and just the feel of him was about to drive her over the edge. His lips dropped to her neck, sucking and nipping at her sensitive skin.
"Oh, Logan," she sighed, and suddenly his demeanor changed completely. He carried her to the bed and pulling off her shirt before resting beside her. She tried to think of something to say, but then his hands started to move. One tangled in her hair while the other traced gently up her ribcage, a thumb brushing over her nipple.
She shivered. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be like this.
His hand abandoned her breast and moved to her face, cupping it before he kissed her, slow and long and deep. She didn't think she'd ever felt anything like it before. He broke the kiss off and stared at her, his eyes dark.
"I want you so much," he said. "You're so beautiful."
Marie, you're so beautiful. I want you so much. I need you baby. Please.
He kissed her again, not noticing how she trembled or maybe just putting it down to desire. His hand went to the front clasp of her bra, and she pushed him away.
"No!" Suddenly, she was crying again, and he probably thought she was insane, and he was right because nothing had ever felt so right and so wrong at the same time, and she couldn't handle it all. "No. I can't --"
She stumbled off the bed as he stared at her in shock. "Marie. ... Baby, I'm sorry. Shit. I'm such an asshole. My God, you're drunk, and I --" He reached out to touch her, and she jumped back.
"No! Don't touch me. I can't be ... I can't do this." She ran out the door, not caring that she was missing a shirt, and fumbled for her door key. Finally, she found it and crammed it in the lock, shoving inside the door and slamming it behind her.
She was shaking. She was stupid. She was stupid and crazy and she couldn't stop shaking. And she felt sick. Marie raced into the bathroom just in time to empty her stomach in the toilet. She lay down in the bathroom, the cool tile of the floor easing the heat of her skin. What had she done?
***
A few hours later, Marie had managed to pull herself together somewhat. The problem, she decided, was that she actually cared what Logan thought. She cared about him, and that was a new feeling. Well, not new. Just ... forgotten.
She showered and changed clothes -- laundry was going to have to be next on her to-do list -- and worked up her nerve. She was going to tell Logan everything. All the nasty stuff inside her, if he would listen, if he was even still around. If she were him, she would've taken off immediately.
Somehow, she didn't think he'd gone anywhere. She wasn't sure whether to hope he was there or not. She pocketed her key and left the room. His truck was still in the parking lot, so she knocked on his door. There was no answer. Maybe he didn't want to talk to her. That was fine; she couldn't really blame him after the drunken psycho routine she'd pulled earlier. But she did want to see Fred, maybe take him for a walk.
She knocked on the door again, and when she didn't get an answer, tried the doorknob. Surprisingly, it turned easily, and she pushed the door open slowly. "Logan? Are you here?"
She moved into the room, gasping when she saw Fred on the floor, unmoving. She didn't even think he was breathing. She ran to the dog. "Fred?" she cried, shaking him. This was one thing she couldn't take. "Fred?" She blew out a relieved breath. He still wouldn't wake up, but she saw that he was breathing, though shallowly.
She didn't even hear anyone behind her; she only felt an exploding pain in her head before it all went black.