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Holt Fast, My Love
Part 7: Discoveries
Forty-five minutes
later, she could see a moving dot coming in low on the south
horizon--the same direction the plane had gone. She paced inside
the house as the boat closed in. Remington hadn’t said how he
would be coming to get her, but as the yacht began to round the island
to mate with the dock, Laura could see a blue-and-white helicopter
cruising in from that same direction.
Yacht or helicopter? Helicopter,
she decided. Light and speedy, it caught up with the yacht in
moments.
It was too late
to leave the house by way of the doors without being seen by the boat,
so she opened a window on the opposite side and slipped through.
A palm tree gave her a hiding place to watch the docking of the yacht
and three men spilling out. One of them motioned toward the
helicopter as another headed inside.
Laura took a chance and dashed behind the house to wave both arms at
Remington, hoping he would see her.
He did, veering
the helicopter to the right and descending as she ran straight into the
water. The beach didn’t slope much here, and she made it a fair
way from the house before shouts came from behind her.
Remington dropped down near her and opened his door. She grabbed
the strut of the helicopter and climbed on. Something pinged off
the metal, and she snapped her head around in shock.
“Laura, take my hand,” Remington ordered. She reached up and
clasped wrists. He yanked her into his lap as another bullet
bounced off the cockpit door. “Hold on.”
She straddled him and held on to the seat behind him as he yanked the
joystick over, forcing the little helicopter into the air and away from
the island. Laura buried her face in his neck, brutally holding
on to both the seat and her self-control while Remington carried them
to safety.
*****
Only when the
island was out of view did Laura crawl out of Remington’s lap and into
the passenger seat where she strapped herself in. She stared out
the window while he flew back to a ragged airstrip outside Caracas,
landing a few yards away from the jet that would take them home.
She didn’t--or couldn’t--move. He rounded the helicopter to open
her door. When he did, he discovered her hands were shaking
violently. She’d bitten her mouth so that she wouldn’t cry.
The sight of that swollen lower lip had fury raging through him as he
unsnapped her seatbelt and helped her to the ground.
Laura glanced around in confusion. “Where are we going?”
“Home.” He indicated the waiting jet.
The second set of pilots had kept the aircraft at ready after taking on
a load of fuel. The original crew members were already snoozing
in their bunks as the detectives boarded.
Laura moved to the rear while Remington rapped the cockpit door.
“Let’s shag it. I’d rather not hang about here too long.”
“Aye, sir. I’ve already radioed for clearance.”
“Excellent, mate.”
With just the two of them in the main cabin, Remington found Laura
staring out the window again as the plane taxied down the runway.
He sat next to her, wondering if he should offer comfort or leave her
alone. As the aircraft gained speed, he took her hand and held it
between his own.
The moment the wheels lifted off the ground, he found himself with an
armful of Laura. “You found me.” Tears of relief slid down
her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“Of course, love.” He held her close, ignoring the damp on his
own lashes.
She raised her head and opened her eyes wide. “I know. I
never doubted you, Remington.”
He fisted his hand in her hair and kissed her--not with sweet
seduction, nor a teasing taste. Raw need had him grasping her
head as his mouth roamed over her face. His hands slid down her
back and up her arms to her hair again.
And for a wonder, he realized Laura wasn’t resisting in the
least. She had the buttons on his shirt open and her hands
skimming across his chest before he discovered her intentions.
Not one to take advantage of a woman in any sort of distressed state,
he tried to stop her explorations even though he temporarily despised
his own nobility. “Laura … I don’t know that this is exactly the
right time for this sort of thing.”
Her wet lashes
swept upward, revealing brown eyes glazed with desire. “This
plane has a suite in it? Toward the back?”
“Ah, yes, I believe it does.”
“Fully stocked?”
“Of course.”
“With condoms?”
He nearly swallowed his tongue. “Ah, actually, I believe
so.”
She rolled her eyes. “Really, Mr. Steele, is there anything you
haven’t done?”
He reassessed her mood in an instant--and made a snap judgment as he
stood and lifted her into his arms. “A great deal. But I’m
about to correct all that.”
“Excellent thinking.”
He kicked the door shut behind them.
*****
Laura woke
because she couldn’t breathe. They’d started out sleeping with
fingers entwined as they faced each other across a very small
distance. Now Remington sprawled over her--his torso smashing a
breast, an arm draped across her other one, and his heavy thigh thrown
over her hips.
For a minute she debated between wanting to inhale and enjoying the
comforting weight of his body. Then she rolled her eyes and
shoved hard. There were other ways of snuggling.
“Laura, really, if that’s your bedroom etiquette, we have much to
discuss,” he muttered. But he raised up on an elbow, a small
smile lifting his mouth. He drew his fingers over the taut flesh
covering her ribs.
“Mmm.” She rolled so that she lay on her stomach. He took
her movement as an open invitation and began making little nip-kisses
down her spine. Her legs parted, and he found her deliciously
moist. He tapped at her pearl, inviting it to come out and
play.
“Remington?”
“Yes, Laura?”
“I want you.”
He didn’t tease her this time, didn’t having her body writhing in
ecstasy a half-dozen times before shouting his climax. He settled
over her and filled her by inches, one slow thrust after another.
Together they climbed, oblivious to their surroundings, conscious only
of the melding of one into the other until they found every nerve
screaming for release.
Remington tried
to keep up the measured pace. He knew Laura was close. He
could hear it in her soft moans and feel it in the tightening of her
buttocks against his skin. He wanted to feel her body explode
under him. But when she reached out to clasp hands with him, he
faltered. The rhythm took on a mind of its own, and in a moment
he found himself at her mercy, thrusting wildly as he had to possess
her. “Mine, Laura, you are mine. No one will take you away
from me. Not now, not ever.” He buried himself in her, his
body pulsating--then driving yet deeper again as she climaxed and
pulled him in.
He did try not to squash her this time, but it wasn’t easy.
Finally, he rolled off and collapsed on the bed, fingers still laced in
hers as she turned to lie on her back.
“Bugger it, Laura. If we’d been doing this for the last four
years, the agency would have never been built.”
She laughed
under her breath, turning over to look at him. “That doesn’t bode
well for the next four.”
He lazily swept
a look along the length of her body; then those blue eyes peered
intently into hers. “No. But we have four. And four
more. And four more after that … love.” He said the last
part deliberately. Laura flushed with pure joy, and Remington
began tracing all the freckles that popped out as a result.
She propped her head on her fist. “So tell me, Remington, what
are we going to do now?”
He arched a brow. “I’ll need your help.”
“Of course.”
******
With Remington
manipulating the security system like a piano player coaxing a
beautiful song from the keys, Laura slipped inside Ari Tigano’s house
and found his special vault buried deep in the basement. She
noted a small Rembrandt landscape, a priceless Gainsborough portrait,
and numerous other pieces missing from the art world. She snapped
photo after photo, then vanished without a trace.
Remington personally developed them and mailed a set to Tigano with a
note: Next time, I’ll let Interpol
add you to their collection, and your pretties will be in the museum of
my choice. I’ll enjoy spending the finder’s fee.
Author’s note: Yes, cell phones did exist
in 1986. Check out the history on the Motorola DynaTEK 8000x, the
model that Laura discovered in the pantry. I did take liberty
with both the placement of a broadcast tower in Caracas, Venezuela and
the island’s location. I don’t know if Caracas had cellular phone
coverage at that time, but it’s unlikely based on my research.
Also, to the best of my knowledge, the string of islands to the north
of Venezuela are over twenty miles (not ten) from the city--too far for
a broadcast tower of that era to reach.
15
January
2010
