HoltingOutforaSteele

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 again 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 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. Maybe 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 women are their personal play things. 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.

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. She 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.

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 her target'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 understsand 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. She flipped through her mental file of various nationalities to determine where he might fit. He caught her assessing look and moved in--thoroughly distracting her.

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 as he zipped his pants after crumpling the condom in a handkerchief from his pocket.

When she stood 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, “Including 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 vacation in his bed.”

Sue’s eyebrows flew up. “That good?”

“That good,” Laura confirmed.

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.

*****

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 scoped 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 took several pictures of the people standing behind her children. When his viewfinder came to rest on a pretty brunette in an unattractive grey suit on the far side of the street, 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. After following the grey-clad woman to her office, he ducked into his car for a change of clothes before reentering the building.

“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.

The other man eyed him suspiciously. "I'm his associate, Murphy Michaels."

His gaze shifted from Murphy to the woman and back again, but his mind never wavered from her. "Have we met before?" he asked Murphy . 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
edited 12 August 2010