Holting Out for a Steele
Puerto Vallarta, 1975
Laura brushed the crumbs of sand off her polka-dotted beach towel before rearranging herself to lie on
her stomach again to let the sun saturate the other side of her body. She rested her chin on her crossed
arms and tried once more to stop thinking long enough to enjoy the scenery.
Scenery. The beach is nice. Sand, water, what’s not to like? Laura was too analytical to put much
more description into the Pacific waves rolling on shore where they splashed laughing couples and
raucous crowds of young men and women alike. She did note that the white hotel made a backdrop on
the sand and blocked the view of the rolling hills behind it.
Spring break meant that beer and tequila flowed as freely as the water running back into the ocean with
the retreat of each wave. Teens and young adults sprawled freely across the beach and played in the
water. This wasn’t a time for families. In fact, those with small children who accidentally wandered into
the on-going party generally packed up after a handful of minutes. Apparently, the older generation didn’t
approve of the topless women, rowdy drinking and scores of couples making out in the sand.
Laura had her own beer stashed in the sand beside her, but it was getting too warm for her taste. Four
girls stretched their own tan bodies and slim limbs out alongside, three on her left and one on her right.
The oldest and blondest, Barbara Frick, turned her head and squinted.
“Haven’t you turned your brain off yet, Laura?”
“I’m trying; I’m trying. I’ve been concentrating on scenery for the last twenty minutes.”
“I’m telling you--you’re missing the point of being in Puerto Vallarta. There are plenty of men, plenty to
drink and lots to do. You should be exhausted by now. Look at Sue and Julie.”
Laura groaned. The pair had staggered back to the hotel just after dawn, having found a couple of new
friends the night before from UCLA. Cheerfully complaining about being up “all night long,” both of the
girls promptly crashed on their beds--only stirring well after lunch. Sue had been casually scanning the
beach this morning, hoping to attract “Tim’s” attention again. Even Janet, the quietest of the bunch, had
slipped out with a handsome Latino surfer after dark last night.
It was true that she was a little envious of her four friends. In the past few days, all of them had indulged
in short trysts with perfect strangers--with the results ranging from “nice, but not again” to “where can I
find you tomorrow night?” She’d anticipated something like this might happen here. Back at Stanford,
the girls had little compunction about crawling into bed with a new boyfriend and moving on when the
relationship was done. In Mexico, one didn’t even need the excuse of a relationship to have sex.
As the only virgin, possibly on the entire beach, Laura was distinctly the odd woman out. Her friends
would be surprised to learn that she was more than ready to ditch her innocence, but perhaps a small
modicum of her mother’s standards still remained, and she was annoyed to discover that she wanted
respect in the bedroom as much as she wanted it in the classroom. Perhaps this was the new wave of
women’s liberation taken to a higher level--she wasn’t sure--but it was playing hell with her libido.
She knew she was smart, witty and popular with the boys, but those same boys were increasingly
frustrated by her casual dismissal of their invitations into the bedroom. More than one had their fragile
egos crushed when she flashed her quirky smile and eluded their grasp. Recently, even her girlfriends had
begun questioning her reticence to losing her virginity. Maybe I’m making too much of it. I just need to
let go and get it over.
Barbara interrupted her musings. “Last day, girls! Whom are you going to take home tonight?” She
eyed a muscular blonde as he hefted a surfboard and headed for the water.
Janet rolled over to let the sun darken her back and legs one more time. “Mmm, I want to find me
another one like the last one. What was his name? Miguel? He said he would be at La Vida tonight.”
Barb eyed her. “You gonna take the plunge, Laura? Give up that gold card you’re carrying around?”
“I would if I could find someone that wasn’t all bark and no bite,” she retorted.
“Ouch!” That came from Sue. “So you’re saying you don’t want a puppy.”
“She wants an older man. More experienced, you know,” Julie put in.
“I do not,” Laura insisted. “I just want one that doesn’t act as if he’s twelve.” She eyeballed three boys
in particular who were attempting to finish off a keg of beer by themselves.
Barbara rolled to her side and propped her head on her hand. “Honey, he can act like twelve all he wants
so long as he knows where everything goes. You know what I’m saying?”
Surrounded by the laughter and the increasingly raunchy comments of her friends, Laura closed her eyes
and let the rays soak into her skin. It wasn’t her fault she tended to be attracted to brains over brawn.
Just once, I’d like to meet an intelligent, handsome man who knew where everything was supposed to
go. But all the intelligent ones are complete klutzes in the personal relations department; the handsome
ones are too arrogant, and the rest act like a woman is their personal play thing. And the ones that get
it tend to be light in the loafers. Are a few honest sparks too much to ask?
“Personally, I don’t think she can do it.”
Laura opened her eyes at Barbara’s sly challenge. “Do what?”
“Pick up a guy tonight.” The catcalls of their friends made several bystanders look over and wonder at
the American girls.
“Of course, I can. I don’t want to,” she retorted. Trust me, no one is more ready to NOT be a virgin
than I am. I’ve been itchy since high school.
“Sounds like a cop out. So what’s your criteria?” Sue shot back.
“Besides not acting as if he’s an adolescent?”
“Sure. I’m--we’re betting that if you find him, you can’t take him home.” Julie fished a ten out of her
wallet and waved it in the air.
“I’m in!” each of the other girls chorused.
Laura sat up. “Are you guys serious? You’re betting me that if I find a guy that meets my specifications,
I can’t get him to sleep with me?”
“Sure. You talk the talk, but you don’t walk the walk,” said Barbara. “You’ve got half of Stanford
convinced that you and Milton are a couple, but the five of us all know that he bats for the other team.”
“Is that why he calls you ‘Binky’?” wondered Julie. “I’ve always wanted to know.”
“Yeah, ‘cause she’s his safety net when he goes out with the guys.” Barbara rolled back onto her beach
towel with that statement. “They all think he’s getting it on when half the time they’re doing advanced
calculus at three in the morning.”
Julie raised her eyebrows. “No wonder they blow the curve in all their classes. Okay, Laura. Come
clean. What do you want in a man?”
“Tall, dark and handsome, smart enough to play the game, slick enough to win and sexy enough to score
when he wants.” She paused, then added, “But respectful. I’m not a slut and I’m not a toy.”
Sue whistled. “That’s a tall order for a one night stand.”
Barbara sat up and held out her hand to Laura. “Shake on it. We’ll help you scope out the guy, and you
have to get him to sleep with you before we leave tomorrow.”
Laura eyed a couple making out on the sand nearby. The girl was topless and he was less than discrete.
Oh, what the hell. “Done.”
* * * * *
The Latin music in La Vida pounded loud and hard enough to reset the rhythm of Laura’s heartbeat.
From the staircase leading to the mezzanine of the packed bar, she and her friends scoped out the action
above and below. An enormous circular bar dominated the center of the ground floor. Barstools created
a second circle, and for every person perched on one of the backless chairs, two more squeezed up to the
railing. Periodically, amid the whistles and claps of the appreciative men, girls climbed onto the bar to
dance to the beat.
Fifteen minutes after arriving, Laura’s skin had a thin veneer of sweat. Hot spring air barely drifted in
through the open windows, and the miasma of perfume and smoke mingled in the air before dropping like
a heavy fog onto the crowd below. A dance floor jammed with perspiring men and women rubbing
bodies together to the salsa and the mambo made a third ring around the bar. Disco lights skimmed the
crowd, titillating the senses with the brief glimpses of naked skin and couples locked at the lip and hip.
The sensuality of the scene was dizzying to all but the most jaded. Laura, at nineteen, wasn’t quite there
yet.
Growing warmer just from watching those on the dance floor, she did her best to ignore the action at the
top of the stairs. Even a brief glance revealed the writhing bodies on the second floor, some of which
were more clandestine than others.
Her girlfriends flanked her but were soon distracted and slunk away to the dance floor or the bar below.
Barb was the last to leave. “I’m watching, Laura. I’d better see your lips locked with someone before
the night is through.”
Comically, she saluted, “Yes, ma’am!”
As Barbara took the arm of a flirtatious college student, the pool tables at the far end of the enormous
room caught Laura’s eye. Cautiously, with eyes averted, she drifted to the other side of the mezzanine
where she could watch the action. Out of the corner of one eye, she noted the drugs flowing freely in
places and made sure she smoothly skirted those tables and avoided any attention. Still, she had to turn
down two propositions with a firm shake of the head before ordering a tequila sunrise from the bar
wedged into the corner on the far side.
Glass in hand, she propped herself against the railing to watch the game play below. The smooth drink
cooled her heated face and eased the knots in her stomach as she surveyed the men. How arrogant. I’m
supposed to pick a man out like an apple at the grocery store. Two cha-chas and a tango later though,
three men stood out--two with brown hair and one with black--as the balls clacked and tumbled into the
pockets. She watched all three of them win handily at their individual games before chalking up their
cues for another round. That was good. She was attracted to men who could win.
The first fell out of favor with her as he rudely copped a feel from a passing waitress. The second lost
his chance when he sulked after losing his game. But the third … pocketed his winnings with a nod to the
loser and then slipped a tip into the apron of the waitress with a full complement of drinks before relieving
her of his own. Halfway through his next match, while waiting for his opponent to make a play, the dark-
haired man suddenly looked up and pinned her with a hard look. He’d noticed her watching him--
impressive in a room this size.
She knew it helped that she wore fire engine red tonight. The satin blouse had a peasant neckline and
sleeves that gathered at the wrist. The bodice though, instead of hanging loose, skimmed her ribcage and
clung to her hips as it flowed into the matching skirt that flirted with the tops of her thighs. Out of
inspiration, she’d snatched a pink hibiscus on the walk to the bar and pinned it into her long hair.
Strappy, gold stacked heels, a simple tennis bracelet and gold pendant earrings finished the outfit. Her
throat was as bare as her legs, and her skin glistened in the sparkle of the disco ball.
Laura nodded slyly and toasted him with her drink before knocking it back and draining the glass. Then
she waited. She didn’t see his answering grin but felt it clear across the room and continued to watch as
he annihilated his opponent. When he finished, he racked his cue and, flicking a quick glance at her,
began navigating determinedly toward the bar.
The next time he looked up, she had vanished. He smiled to himself as he worked his way through the
throngs of dancers. He’d come here tonight looking for an interesting diversion. It appeared he’d found
one. Until now, his only amusement had come from relieving rich college kids of their play money over
the pool table or making easy bets on other people’s stupidity. He was flush with cash at the moment,
but the real money would come tomorrow. An interesting conversation with a bartender had resulted in a
contact willing to share information for a split of the take.
His eyes had an inner glow to them from anticipation--of the heist. And of the satin-wrapped brunette he
had every intention of unwrapping tonight.
He was in his element here--amidst the cynical and the naïve, the sober and the smashed. Appreciation
for the breasts and buttocks that rubbed against him as he edged to the bar failed to distract him from his
goal. With his usual finesse, he scored a barstool in time to see the vision in red wedge herself between a
blonde with hair hanging to her waist and her date. The latter copped a feel of the vision’s ass, only to
yelp as her heel came down on his instep. Good girl. He grinned. He preferred a woman with attitude
and gumption.
The second tequila sunrise she’d consumed on the way down the stairs gave her a dash more confidence
than she might have had otherwise. The resultant buzz was enough to loosen her tongue but not her
reflexes as evidenced by her lightning-fast reaction to the stray groping on the way to the bar. Emerging
from the gauntlet of dancing bodies, her target was settled at the bar. Now he toasted her with his drink
and she blushed, realizing he’d seen her retaliation and apparently approved.
As she approached him, she took automatic note of her girlfriends who’d suddenly appeared at the edge
of the dance floor. Barbara and Sue dragged their dates to the far side of the bar. Rapidly, she assessed
the man’s grin and settled on a bold tactic to gain his attention. As if planned, he extended his hand to her
as she ascended the steps, releasing it when she turned to lean with her back against the bar. Rigorous
control kept her from flexing her fingers where sparks still danced from that momentary touch. She kept
them distracted by slipping them under her sleeve to retrieve a twenty, which she laid on the bar in front
of him.
Now she perused him from head to toe. With the haze from the smoke and the dancing lights, it was
impossible to determine his nationality, but he had his hair slicked back in the Latino fashion and sported
a slim mustache. The white slacks paired with the silver and black shirt gave him a rakish, worldly look,
albeit a rather annoyed one.
He frowned at the money on the counter, “¿Qué usted desea?”
Growing up in southern California gave Laura some ability to speak at least broken Spanish. “Necesito
un favor. Do you speak English?”
At his short nod, she leaned close to his ear. “No insult. The twenty is because I have a couple of
girlfriends who bet me I couldn’t pick you up. I don’t want to lose. If you’re not interested, I’ll buy you
a drink.”
He flashed a wide grin, showing his white teeth that gleamed in the dark light. “I’ll have both.” He
caught the bartender’s attention and held up two fingers. Promptly, two shots of tequila were delivered
and he held one out to Laura. With an unspoken toast, they drank and dropped the shot glasses upside
down on the bar. Smoothly, he drew her between his legs and cupped her face in his hands, stroking a
cheek with his thumb.
The small portion of her brain not soaked in tequila noted that, at this close range, he definitely wasn’t
Hispanic. For a second or two, she began flipping through her mental file of various nationalities to
determine where he might fit. He caught her assessing look and distracted her the best way he knew how.
Sparks. Oh. Just as they did at the scorching contact of his fingers on hers, sparks flew when they
touched lips. Crap. These aren’t sparks; it’s a bonfire. He definitely knew how to kiss. She moved in,
running her hands over his shoulders, noting the lean, hard muscles on his slender body. Her buzzing
brain dropped lower and wondered what she would find below.
Bugger me to the nine circles of Hell and back again. The fiery sprite in his arms lit him up.
Experienced beyond his years, he’d kissed a respectable number of women. None so far had ignited the
fire in his belly in the way this slip of a girl was managing to do at the moment, which simultaneously
terrified and thrilled him. Without breaking their connection, she pressed her body to his. He skimmed
his hands down her satin-clad back, marveling at her slender form and tiny waist. He teased her lips with
his tongue and she opened her mouth instantly, darting her own into his mouth. He shivered in response.
Abruptly, she clutched his shoulders and lifted herself into his lap, wrapping her legs around his hips. He
nearly lost his balance on the barstool, caught it with his shoe on the footrest, and then had other things to
worry about. Her warm lithe form sat squarely where his rising erection was cradled against her apex.
Whatever heat was in the club didn’t compare with what was emanating from his lap at the moment.
They settled into a rhythm of slow rocking while kissing. Uncharacteristically, he lost track of time as he
let his mouth discover her secrets. She tasted of citrus and sunlight; he feasted as if he’d been deprived
of both for a decade.
Laura was lost. Lost in a tequila-induced haze. Lost in the dizzying sensations of this mystery man
sharing kisses ranging from light and teasing to deep and devastating. Lost in the feel of his hands sliding
over her hair, down her spine and back again. Her core was on fire from the mere parody of the sexual
act. She ached to have him touch her, to make her come apart in only that way a woman can. Ignoring
the throngs of people surrounding them was easy. Her world had narrowed to the one man who was
doing things to her body she had only fantasized about in her own bed.
When she tore her mouth from his to pant from excitement, he slid his hands under the satin fabric of her
skirt--only to discover unexpectedly lean, muscled thighs and buttocks--and shifted her a fraction closer to
him. And there, in the center of the Puerto Vallarta bar, with his hands on her ass and his lips to her
throat--with smoke in the air, lights flashing and the music still mercilessly pounding away--she went up in
flames. As he felt her legs tighten around him and her whole body vibrate, he closed his own eyes against
the greedy urge to possess her then and there. They flew open again when she leaned into his ear and
murmured over the din of the crowd, “Take me upstairs.”
He didn’t hesitate. But he didn’t take her to the main staircase. Instead, he pushed her toward a tiny
stairway hidden in the corner behind the pool tables. At the top, she barely registered that they were still
on the mezzanine but opposite the sensuous mayhem on the other side. Here, only a handful of other
couples were present and all were well-occupied. He backed her into a corner where he resumed his
exploration of her body. He cupped her small breasts, teasing the nipples through the satin until they
stood in hard peaks. A simple tug dropped the sleeve off her shoulder. Another tug at the chemise left
one breast bare for him to feast upon. Further exploration revealed that she was wearing only a strip of
red floss for panties. When she kicked them off, he stuffed them into the pocket of his slacks.
Laura felt herself spiraling down into the sensual miasma, her inability to think only exacerbated by the
alcohol. She felt. She craved. Urgently, she tugged at the buttons of his shirt--managing only to open
the top three before her mystery man unfastened his own slacks. Before she could ask, he covered
himself with a condom and pressed her against the wall. His clever fingers plucked and probed until she
shivered with need, and as she began to fly, he pulled her to him and sheathed himself in her in one swift
move.
She couldn’t help the little gasp of discomfort--not from the flimsy barrier of innocence that only
momentarily impeded his movement--but from the sheer newness of the sensation. Her body felt
impossibly full of him, and she involuntarily tensed up--accidentally squeezing him more tightly in the
process.
He froze and then began muttering curses in a combination of Spanish and English that left her confused.
Dredging up control from some place unbeknownst to him until this moment, he held utterly still while her
body adapted. He kissed her again, deeply and searchingly. Long seconds later, the tension in her frame
released as heat curled around her again. Needing to move, needing to feel him move, she whispered,
“Please?”
“Of course.” He dropped his arm to curl around her back and stroked one of her legs that she had
wrapped around his hip with the other hand as he began moving inside her with smooth, strong strokes.
With new understanding, she lifted her other leg as well. The now familiar ache grew until her hips
pumped hard and fast, taking him with her as she flew. He swallowed her screams with his mouth and
they fell, spiraling down in the same dizzying pattern they’d set from the beginning.
For some time she could only shiver in his arms. Gingerly he held her, stroking her hair and satin-clad
back until the shudders receded. He caught her wince as he eased from her body, despite the care she’d
taken to cover the expression. One shrug of her shoulder shifted her chemise and blouse back in place.
Another tug settled her skirt. He was equally quick, leaving the shirt unbuttoned and zipping his pants
after crumpling the condom in a handkerchief from his pocket.
As she stood up from readjusting her shoe buckle, he stroked her cheek. “Por qué?” he asked. Why?
“Because you were the right man. Thank you.” She leaned up on her toes and melted him with a last
devastating kiss. His hand tangled in her hair as he savored citrus and sunlight once again.
When she turned to go, he stopped her with a brush of his fingers on her arm. “What’s your name?” he
asked in oddly-accented English.
“Tracy.” Then she was gone.
Barbara and Sue met Laura at the front door, and after they found their other two friends, the five
wandered home. By the time they reached the hotel, the roar of the tequila had settled into a low hum in
Laura’s head. Barb made comment on her friend’s mussed hair and outfit, and the other girls solemnly
handed over her winnings, but Laura waived them all off.
“No bets. It was worth every second.”
Janet asked, “Was it worth the wait?”
A glow touched her face in remembrance. “I can see why some women throw away everything for that.
It’s a good thing I can’t find him tomorrow. I might spend the rest of my life doing anything I could to
stay in his bed.”
Sue’s eyebrows flew up. “That good?”
“That good,” Laura confirmed. And for the rest of the semester, she had dreams of a tall, dark,
handsome man with a worldly countenance and the oddest flash of blue in his eyes. For years she
wondered if it was real or just the disco lights that night.
As he walked home alone, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and drew out the left one. He pulled out
only his pocket lining. A sharp laugh erupted as he discovered his vision in red had nicked her underwear
from his pocket before taking flight. From his other pocket, he drew out her earring. Ah, lass, we’re
even at least. He frowned as he noticed something on the back of the earring. L E H--her initials?
* * * * *
From time to time, he thought of her and wondered.
* * * * *
In 1980, Laura opened the doors of Remington Steele Investigations. To create the illusion of a boss, she
rented a condo, purchased a limousine and gave it the license plate ‘R. Steele.’ Then she went shopping
for clothes to hang in the closet for her fictitious mentor. After a solid hour of debating his size, in
desperation the tailor asked her to hold up her hands in various ways to describe his form. Firmly
squelching thoughts of that louse Wilson, she held up her hands and the tailor began making detailed notes.
* * * * *
A year and a half later, a blue-eyed Irish con man was scoping out the security setup for the Royal
Lavulite jewels. With his camera in hand, he persuaded a young mom to let him snap photos of her
family. In reality, he was taking pictures of the people standing behind them. When his viewfinder came
to rest on a pretty brunette in an unattractive grey suit standing behind the small family, he nearly
swallowed his glib tongue. Only his innate professionalism allowed him to rattle off the pleasantries that
sent the mother away smiling. Bugger me. I am not this lucky. It can’t be possible.
Later, when the opportunity presented itself, he dressed in a decent suit and walked into her office.
“Hello?" He tapped on the inner office door and opened it. "Anyone about?" The woman in gray was
putting on her shoes, and her eyes widened as he walked in. Does she recognize me or did I startle
her? He held out his hand to the man standing near her. "Mr. Steele--"
Smoothly, the woman interjected, "I'm sorry. Mr. Steele's out of town."
Nope. No recognition at all.
He noted the other man’s suspicious smile as he introduced himself. "I'm his associate, Murphy
Michaels."
The man looked at Murphy, his gaze shifting from him to her and back again, but his mind never
wavered from her. "Have we met before?" he asked the man. He really wanted to ask her the same
question.
"I don't think so," answered the detective.
"Odd. You look vaguely familiar," he said to the man. Yes, you look very familiar, he thought at her.
"I've got that kind of face.”
"So you do." He dismissed Mr. Michaels and turned his full attention to the young woman. Oh, yes, my
vision in red. We’ve met.
She held out her hand. "Laura Holt."
L.E.H. Laura Holt. You’re mine now.
5 May 2009
Puerto Vallarta, 1975
Laura brushed the crumbs of sand off her polka-dotted beach towel before rearranging herself to lie on
her stomach again to let the sun saturate the other side of her body. She rested her chin on her crossed
arms and tried once more to stop thinking long enough to enjoy the scenery.
Scenery. The beach is nice. Sand, water, what’s not to like? Laura was too analytical to put much
more description into the Pacific waves rolling on shore where they splashed laughing couples and
raucous crowds of young men and women alike. She did note that the white hotel made a backdrop on
the sand and blocked the view of the rolling hills behind it.
Spring break meant that beer and tequila flowed as freely as the water running back into the ocean with
the retreat of each wave. Teens and young adults sprawled freely across the beach and played in the
water. This wasn’t a time for families. In fact, those with small children who accidentally wandered into
the on-going party generally packed up after a handful of minutes. Apparently, the older generation didn’t
approve of the topless women, rowdy drinking and scores of couples making out in the sand.
Laura had her own beer stashed in the sand beside her, but it was getting too warm for her taste. Four
girls stretched their own tan bodies and slim limbs out alongside, three on her left and one on her right.
The oldest and blondest, Barbara Frick, turned her head and squinted.
“Haven’t you turned your brain off yet, Laura?”
“I’m trying; I’m trying. I’ve been concentrating on scenery for the last twenty minutes.”
“I’m telling you--you’re missing the point of being in Puerto Vallarta. There are plenty of men, plenty to
drink and lots to do. You should be exhausted by now. Look at Sue and Julie.”
Laura groaned. The pair had staggered back to the hotel just after dawn, having found a couple of new
friends the night before from UCLA. Cheerfully complaining about being up “all night long,” both of the
girls promptly crashed on their beds--only stirring well after lunch. Sue had been casually scanning the
beach this morning, hoping to attract “Tim’s” attention again. Even Janet, the quietest of the bunch, had
slipped out with a handsome Latino surfer after dark last night.
It was true that she was a little envious of her four friends. In the past few days, all of them had indulged
in short trysts with perfect strangers--with the results ranging from “nice, but not again” to “where can I
find you tomorrow night?” She’d anticipated something like this might happen here. Back at Stanford,
the girls had little compunction about crawling into bed with a new boyfriend and moving on when the
relationship was done. In Mexico, one didn’t even need the excuse of a relationship to have sex.
As the only virgin, possibly on the entire beach, Laura was distinctly the odd woman out. Her friends
would be surprised to learn that she was more than ready to ditch her innocence, but perhaps a small
modicum of her mother’s standards still remained, and she was annoyed to discover that she wanted
respect in the bedroom as much as she wanted it in the classroom. Perhaps this was the new wave of
women’s liberation taken to a higher level--she wasn’t sure--but it was playing hell with her libido.
She knew she was smart, witty and popular with the boys, but those same boys were increasingly
frustrated by her casual dismissal of their invitations into the bedroom. More than one had their fragile
egos crushed when she flashed her quirky smile and eluded their grasp. Recently, even her girlfriends had
begun questioning her reticence to losing her virginity. Maybe I’m making too much of it. I just need to
let go and get it over.
Barbara interrupted her musings. “Last day, girls! Whom are you going to take home tonight?” She
eyed a muscular blonde as he hefted a surfboard and headed for the water.
Janet rolled over to let the sun darken her back and legs one more time. “Mmm, I want to find me
another one like the last one. What was his name? Miguel? He said he would be at La Vida tonight.”
Barb eyed her. “You gonna take the plunge, Laura? Give up that gold card you’re carrying around?”
“I would if I could find someone that wasn’t all bark and no bite,” she retorted.
“Ouch!” That came from Sue. “So you’re saying you don’t want a puppy.”
“She wants an older man. More experienced, you know,” Julie put in.
“I do not,” Laura insisted. “I just want one that doesn’t act as if he’s twelve.” She eyeballed three boys
in particular who were attempting to finish off a keg of beer by themselves.
Barbara rolled to her side and propped her head on her hand. “Honey, he can act like twelve all he wants
so long as he knows where everything goes. You know what I’m saying?”
Surrounded by the laughter and the increasingly raunchy comments of her friends, Laura closed her eyes
and let the rays soak into her skin. It wasn’t her fault she tended to be attracted to brains over brawn.
Just once, I’d like to meet an intelligent, handsome man who knew where everything was supposed to
go. But all the intelligent ones are complete klutzes in the personal relations department; the handsome
ones are too arrogant, and the rest act like a woman is their personal play thing. And the ones that get
it tend to be light in the loafers. Are a few honest sparks too much to ask?
“Personally, I don’t think she can do it.”
Laura opened her eyes at Barbara’s sly challenge. “Do what?”
“Pick up a guy tonight.” The catcalls of their friends made several bystanders look over and wonder at
the American girls.
“Of course, I can. I don’t want to,” she retorted. Trust me, no one is more ready to NOT be a virgin
than I am. I’ve been itchy since high school.
“Sounds like a cop out. So what’s your criteria?” Sue shot back.
“Besides not acting as if he’s an adolescent?”
“Sure. I’m--we’re betting that if you find him, you can’t take him home.” Julie fished a ten out of her
wallet and waved it in the air.
“I’m in!” each of the other girls chorused.
Laura sat up. “Are you guys serious? You’re betting me that if I find a guy that meets my specifications,
I can’t get him to sleep with me?”
“Sure. You talk the talk, but you don’t walk the walk,” said Barbara. “You’ve got half of Stanford
convinced that you and Milton are a couple, but the five of us all know that he bats for the other team.”
“Is that why he calls you ‘Binky’?” wondered Julie. “I’ve always wanted to know.”
“Yeah, ‘cause she’s his safety net when he goes out with the guys.” Barbara rolled back onto her beach
towel with that statement. “They all think he’s getting it on when half the time they’re doing advanced
calculus at three in the morning.”
Julie raised her eyebrows. “No wonder they blow the curve in all their classes. Okay, Laura. Come
clean. What do you want in a man?”
“Tall, dark and handsome, smart enough to play the game, slick enough to win and sexy enough to score
when he wants.” She paused, then added, “But respectful. I’m not a slut and I’m not a toy.”
Sue whistled. “That’s a tall order for a one night stand.”
Barbara sat up and held out her hand to Laura. “Shake on it. We’ll help you scope out the guy, and you
have to get him to sleep with you before we leave tomorrow.”
Laura eyed a couple making out on the sand nearby. The girl was topless and he was less than discrete.
Oh, what the hell. “Done.”
* * * * *
The Latin music in La Vida pounded loud and hard enough to reset the rhythm of Laura’s heartbeat.
From the staircase leading to the mezzanine of the packed bar, she and her friends scoped out the action
above and below. An enormous circular bar dominated the center of the ground floor. Barstools created
a second circle, and for every person perched on one of the backless chairs, two more squeezed up to the
railing. Periodically, amid the whistles and claps of the appreciative men, girls climbed onto the bar to
dance to the beat.
Fifteen minutes after arriving, Laura’s skin had a thin veneer of sweat. Hot spring air barely drifted in
through the open windows, and the miasma of perfume and smoke mingled in the air before dropping like
a heavy fog onto the crowd below. A dance floor jammed with perspiring men and women rubbing
bodies together to the salsa and the mambo made a third ring around the bar. Disco lights skimmed the
crowd, titillating the senses with the brief glimpses of naked skin and couples locked at the lip and hip.
The sensuality of the scene was dizzying to all but the most jaded. Laura, at nineteen, wasn’t quite there
yet.
Growing warmer just from watching those on the dance floor, she did her best to ignore the action at the
top of the stairs. Even a brief glance revealed the writhing bodies on the second floor, some of which
were more clandestine than others.
Her girlfriends flanked her but were soon distracted and slunk away to the dance floor or the bar below.
Barb was the last to leave. “I’m watching, Laura. I’d better see your lips locked with someone before
the night is through.”
Comically, she saluted, “Yes, ma’am!”
As Barbara took the arm of a flirtatious college student, the pool tables at the far end of the enormous
room caught Laura’s eye. Cautiously, with eyes averted, she drifted to the other side of the mezzanine
where she could watch the action. Out of the corner of one eye, she noted the drugs flowing freely in
places and made sure she smoothly skirted those tables and avoided any attention. Still, she had to turn
down two propositions with a firm shake of the head before ordering a tequila sunrise from the bar
wedged into the corner on the far side.
Glass in hand, she propped herself against the railing to watch the game play below. The smooth drink
cooled her heated face and eased the knots in her stomach as she surveyed the men. How arrogant. I’m
supposed to pick a man out like an apple at the grocery store. Two cha-chas and a tango later though,
three men stood out--two with brown hair and one with black--as the balls clacked and tumbled into the
pockets. She watched all three of them win handily at their individual games before chalking up their
cues for another round. That was good. She was attracted to men who could win.
The first fell out of favor with her as he rudely copped a feel from a passing waitress. The second lost
his chance when he sulked after losing his game. But the third … pocketed his winnings with a nod to the
loser and then slipped a tip into the apron of the waitress with a full complement of drinks before relieving
her of his own. Halfway through his next match, while waiting for his opponent to make a play, the dark-
haired man suddenly looked up and pinned her with a hard look. He’d noticed her watching him--
impressive in a room this size.
She knew it helped that she wore fire engine red tonight. The satin blouse had a peasant neckline and
sleeves that gathered at the wrist. The bodice though, instead of hanging loose, skimmed her ribcage and
clung to her hips as it flowed into the matching skirt that flirted with the tops of her thighs. Out of
inspiration, she’d snatched a pink hibiscus on the walk to the bar and pinned it into her long hair.
Strappy, gold stacked heels, a simple tennis bracelet and gold pendant earrings finished the outfit. Her
throat was as bare as her legs, and her skin glistened in the sparkle of the disco ball.
Laura nodded slyly and toasted him with her drink before knocking it back and draining the glass. Then
she waited. She didn’t see his answering grin but felt it clear across the room and continued to watch as
he annihilated his opponent. When he finished, he racked his cue and, flicking a quick glance at her,
began navigating determinedly toward the bar.
The next time he looked up, she had vanished. He smiled to himself as he worked his way through the
throngs of dancers. He’d come here tonight looking for an interesting diversion. It appeared he’d found
one. Until now, his only amusement had come from relieving rich college kids of their play money over
the pool table or making easy bets on other people’s stupidity. He was flush with cash at the moment,
but the real money would come tomorrow. An interesting conversation with a bartender had resulted in a
contact willing to share information for a split of the take.
His eyes had an inner glow to them from anticipation--of the heist. And of the satin-wrapped brunette he
had every intention of unwrapping tonight.
He was in his element here--amidst the cynical and the naïve, the sober and the smashed. Appreciation
for the breasts and buttocks that rubbed against him as he edged to the bar failed to distract him from his
goal. With his usual finesse, he scored a barstool in time to see the vision in red wedge herself between a
blonde with hair hanging to her waist and her date. The latter copped a feel of the vision’s ass, only to
yelp as her heel came down on his instep. Good girl. He grinned. He preferred a woman with attitude
and gumption.
The second tequila sunrise she’d consumed on the way down the stairs gave her a dash more confidence
than she might have had otherwise. The resultant buzz was enough to loosen her tongue but not her
reflexes as evidenced by her lightning-fast reaction to the stray groping on the way to the bar. Emerging
from the gauntlet of dancing bodies, her target was settled at the bar. Now he toasted her with his drink
and she blushed, realizing he’d seen her retaliation and apparently approved.
As she approached him, she took automatic note of her girlfriends who’d suddenly appeared at the edge
of the dance floor. Barbara and Sue dragged their dates to the far side of the bar. Rapidly, she assessed
the man’s grin and settled on a bold tactic to gain his attention. As if planned, he extended his hand to her
as she ascended the steps, releasing it when she turned to lean with her back against the bar. Rigorous
control kept her from flexing her fingers where sparks still danced from that momentary touch. She kept
them distracted by slipping them under her sleeve to retrieve a twenty, which she laid on the bar in front
of him.
Now she perused him from head to toe. With the haze from the smoke and the dancing lights, it was
impossible to determine his nationality, but he had his hair slicked back in the Latino fashion and sported
a slim mustache. The white slacks paired with the silver and black shirt gave him a rakish, worldly look,
albeit a rather annoyed one.
He frowned at the money on the counter, “¿Qué usted desea?”
Growing up in southern California gave Laura some ability to speak at least broken Spanish. “Necesito
un favor. Do you speak English?”
At his short nod, she leaned close to his ear. “No insult. The twenty is because I have a couple of
girlfriends who bet me I couldn’t pick you up. I don’t want to lose. If you’re not interested, I’ll buy you
a drink.”
He flashed a wide grin, showing his white teeth that gleamed in the dark light. “I’ll have both.” He
caught the bartender’s attention and held up two fingers. Promptly, two shots of tequila were delivered
and he held one out to Laura. With an unspoken toast, they drank and dropped the shot glasses upside
down on the bar. Smoothly, he drew her between his legs and cupped her face in his hands, stroking a
cheek with his thumb.
The small portion of her brain not soaked in tequila noted that, at this close range, he definitely wasn’t
Hispanic. For a second or two, she began flipping through her mental file of various nationalities to
determine where he might fit. He caught her assessing look and distracted her the best way he knew how.
Sparks. Oh. Just as they did at the scorching contact of his fingers on hers, sparks flew when they
touched lips. Crap. These aren’t sparks; it’s a bonfire. He definitely knew how to kiss. She moved in,
running her hands over his shoulders, noting the lean, hard muscles on his slender body. Her buzzing
brain dropped lower and wondered what she would find below.
Bugger me to the nine circles of Hell and back again. The fiery sprite in his arms lit him up.
Experienced beyond his years, he’d kissed a respectable number of women. None so far had ignited the
fire in his belly in the way this slip of a girl was managing to do at the moment, which simultaneously
terrified and thrilled him. Without breaking their connection, she pressed her body to his. He skimmed
his hands down her satin-clad back, marveling at her slender form and tiny waist. He teased her lips with
his tongue and she opened her mouth instantly, darting her own into his mouth. He shivered in response.
Abruptly, she clutched his shoulders and lifted herself into his lap, wrapping her legs around his hips. He
nearly lost his balance on the barstool, caught it with his shoe on the footrest, and then had other things to
worry about. Her warm lithe form sat squarely where his rising erection was cradled against her apex.
Whatever heat was in the club didn’t compare with what was emanating from his lap at the moment.
They settled into a rhythm of slow rocking while kissing. Uncharacteristically, he lost track of time as he
let his mouth discover her secrets. She tasted of citrus and sunlight; he feasted as if he’d been deprived
of both for a decade.
Laura was lost. Lost in a tequila-induced haze. Lost in the dizzying sensations of this mystery man
sharing kisses ranging from light and teasing to deep and devastating. Lost in the feel of his hands sliding
over her hair, down her spine and back again. Her core was on fire from the mere parody of the sexual
act. She ached to have him touch her, to make her come apart in only that way a woman can. Ignoring
the throngs of people surrounding them was easy. Her world had narrowed to the one man who was
doing things to her body she had only fantasized about in her own bed.
When she tore her mouth from his to pant from excitement, he slid his hands under the satin fabric of her
skirt--only to discover unexpectedly lean, muscled thighs and buttocks--and shifted her a fraction closer to
him. And there, in the center of the Puerto Vallarta bar, with his hands on her ass and his lips to her
throat--with smoke in the air, lights flashing and the music still mercilessly pounding away--she went up in
flames. As he felt her legs tighten around him and her whole body vibrate, he closed his own eyes against
the greedy urge to possess her then and there. They flew open again when she leaned into his ear and
murmured over the din of the crowd, “Take me upstairs.”
He didn’t hesitate. But he didn’t take her to the main staircase. Instead, he pushed her toward a tiny
stairway hidden in the corner behind the pool tables. At the top, she barely registered that they were still
on the mezzanine but opposite the sensuous mayhem on the other side. Here, only a handful of other
couples were present and all were well-occupied. He backed her into a corner where he resumed his
exploration of her body. He cupped her small breasts, teasing the nipples through the satin until they
stood in hard peaks. A simple tug dropped the sleeve off her shoulder. Another tug at the chemise left
one breast bare for him to feast upon. Further exploration revealed that she was wearing only a strip of
red floss for panties. When she kicked them off, he stuffed them into the pocket of his slacks.
Laura felt herself spiraling down into the sensual miasma, her inability to think only exacerbated by the
alcohol. She felt. She craved. Urgently, she tugged at the buttons of his shirt--managing only to open
the top three before her mystery man unfastened his own slacks. Before she could ask, he covered
himself with a condom and pressed her against the wall. His clever fingers plucked and probed until she
shivered with need, and as she began to fly, he pulled her to him and sheathed himself in her in one swift
move.
She couldn’t help the little gasp of discomfort--not from the flimsy barrier of innocence that only
momentarily impeded his movement--but from the sheer newness of the sensation. Her body felt
impossibly full of him, and she involuntarily tensed up--accidentally squeezing him more tightly in the
process.
He froze and then began muttering curses in a combination of Spanish and English that left her confused.
Dredging up control from some place unbeknownst to him until this moment, he held utterly still while her
body adapted. He kissed her again, deeply and searchingly. Long seconds later, the tension in her frame
released as heat curled around her again. Needing to move, needing to feel him move, she whispered,
“Please?”
“Of course.” He dropped his arm to curl around her back and stroked one of her legs that she had
wrapped around his hip with the other hand as he began moving inside her with smooth, strong strokes.
With new understanding, she lifted her other leg as well. The now familiar ache grew until her hips
pumped hard and fast, taking him with her as she flew. He swallowed her screams with his mouth and
they fell, spiraling down in the same dizzying pattern they’d set from the beginning.
For some time she could only shiver in his arms. Gingerly he held her, stroking her hair and satin-clad
back until the shudders receded. He caught her wince as he eased from her body, despite the care she’d
taken to cover the expression. One shrug of her shoulder shifted her chemise and blouse back in place.
Another tug settled her skirt. He was equally quick, leaving the shirt unbuttoned and zipping his pants
after crumpling the condom in a handkerchief from his pocket.
As she stood up from readjusting her shoe buckle, he stroked her cheek. “Por qué?” he asked. Why?
“Because you were the right man. Thank you.” She leaned up on her toes and melted him with a last
devastating kiss. His hand tangled in her hair as he savored citrus and sunlight once again.
When she turned to go, he stopped her with a brush of his fingers on her arm. “What’s your name?” he
asked in oddly-accented English.
“Tracy.” Then she was gone.
Barbara and Sue met Laura at the front door, and after they found their other two friends, the five
wandered home. By the time they reached the hotel, the roar of the tequila had settled into a low hum in
Laura’s head. Barb made comment on her friend’s mussed hair and outfit, and the other girls solemnly
handed over her winnings, but Laura waived them all off.
“No bets. It was worth every second.”
Janet asked, “Was it worth the wait?”
A glow touched her face in remembrance. “I can see why some women throw away everything for that.
It’s a good thing I can’t find him tomorrow. I might spend the rest of my life doing anything I could to
stay in his bed.”
Sue’s eyebrows flew up. “That good?”
“That good,” Laura confirmed. And for the rest of the semester, she had dreams of a tall, dark,
handsome man with a worldly countenance and the oddest flash of blue in his eyes. For years she
wondered if it was real or just the disco lights that night.
As he walked home alone, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and drew out the left one. He pulled out
only his pocket lining. A sharp laugh erupted as he discovered his vision in red had nicked her underwear
from his pocket before taking flight. From his other pocket, he drew out her earring. Ah, lass, we’re
even at least. He frowned as he noticed something on the back of the earring. L E H--her initials?
* * * * *
From time to time, he thought of her and wondered.
* * * * *
In 1980, Laura opened the doors of Remington Steele Investigations. To create the illusion of a boss, she
rented a condo, purchased a limousine and gave it the license plate ‘R. Steele.’ Then she went shopping
for clothes to hang in the closet for her fictitious mentor. After a solid hour of debating his size, in
desperation the tailor asked her to hold up her hands in various ways to describe his form. Firmly
squelching thoughts of that louse Wilson, she held up her hands and the tailor began making detailed notes.
* * * * *
A year and a half later, a blue-eyed Irish con man was scoping out the security setup for the Royal
Lavulite jewels. With his camera in hand, he persuaded a young mom to let him snap photos of her
family. In reality, he was taking pictures of the people standing behind them. When his viewfinder came
to rest on a pretty brunette in an unattractive grey suit standing behind the small family, he nearly
swallowed his glib tongue. Only his innate professionalism allowed him to rattle off the pleasantries that
sent the mother away smiling. Bugger me. I am not this lucky. It can’t be possible.
Later, when the opportunity presented itself, he dressed in a decent suit and walked into her office.
“Hello?" He tapped on the inner office door and opened it. "Anyone about?" The woman in gray was
putting on her shoes, and her eyes widened as he walked in. Does she recognize me or did I startle
her? He held out his hand to the man standing near her. "Mr. Steele--"
Smoothly, the woman interjected, "I'm sorry. Mr. Steele's out of town."
Nope. No recognition at all.
He noted the other man’s suspicious smile as he introduced himself. "I'm his associate, Murphy
Michaels."
The man looked at Murphy, his gaze shifting from him to her and back again, but his mind never
wavered from her. "Have we met before?" he asked the man. He really wanted to ask her the same
question.
"I don't think so," answered the detective.
"Odd. You look vaguely familiar," he said to the man. Yes, you look very familiar, he thought at her.
"I've got that kind of face.”
"So you do." He dismissed Mr. Michaels and turned his full attention to the young woman. Oh, yes, my
vision in red. We’ve met.
She held out her hand. "Laura Holt."
L.E.H. Laura Holt. You’re mine now.
5 May 2009
Steele Holting On
Steele Holting On
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