The boat rocked.  Laura still wasn’t exactly sure Mr. Steele knew what he was doing, but he called out orders from time to time that she had to follow; he seemed to be having a great deal of fun in the late summer heat.

They’d been hired two weeks ago by an up-and-coming divorce attorney by the name of Josie Alvarez.  She was funny, sharp and deadly in the courtroom.  She’d wanted Remington Steele Investigations to follow an errant husband as he dodged court orders and subpoenas throughout Europe, ostensibly to locate him so that papers could be served but really to take as many incriminating photos as possible of the louse.  She wanted proof of his lavish lifestyle and the string of mistresses he kept.  His high-profile
wife was about to take him to the cleaners, and Josie was about to have her reputation made as a cut-throat attorney.

The trip had been unexpectedly enjoyable.  Neither of the detectives had been to Miami, and South Beach had turned out to be just as beautiful as advertised.  Mr. Steele had escorted Laura to some of the swankiest clubs in Rio de Janiero as they followed their prey to Brazil.  The trip was made entirely on billable hours, thrilling Laura and her agency’s checking account, but even she couldn’t deny they were having a grand time on Ms. Alvarez’ dime.  The photos they’d taken so far were couriered back to the
attorney after the first week, and Josie had begged them to follow her client’s soon-to-be-ex for another before heading home.

Laura maintained her cool professional demeanor and accepted the extension, but when she hung up the phone, she did a little wiggle of joy.  “She wants us to keep this up for another week.  Dining, dancing, sightseeing and taking the occasional picture--I don’t know that I’ve ever had this much fun on a case!  I wonder where we’ll end up next.”

Steele held up a pair of airplane tickets.  “I found out an hour ago and took a chance.”  He wiggled his brows at her.

“Where are we going, Mr. Steele?”

“The French Riviera.”  He laughed when her jaw dropped, and then her eyes softened in dreamy anticipation.

“I’ve always wanted to go back.”

“It seems, Miss Holt, that you will get your wish today.”



They spent the next six days following the trail from Monte Carlo to Cannes, and somewhere between Monaco and Nice, Remington’s uptight associate had surprised him by becoming more relaxed than he’d ever seen her.  She hadn’t lost an ounce of her professionalism and was as cool and collected as always while on the job--but once the photos had been snapped, all bets were off.

In whatever guise they had assumed while on the case--lovers or spouses--he watched her have fun.  She zipped through marketplaces and bargained with a sassy smile that skewered the salesmen.  With Steele she flirted with an ease that had his blood humming and never questioned the motorcycle he’d rented, just wrapped her arms around him a little tighter than necessary.

The clothes she wore were anything but prim.  Tiny white shorts, tied up t-shirts and sleeveless tanks showed off her increasingly tan body.  Her burnished legs looked a mile long and generally distracted him every five seconds or so.  And her hair.  He knew it was wavy; once or twice he’d even seen it damp with ringlets hanging loose.  But without merciless straightening with a hair dryer and brush, Laura’s mane was positively curly.  Wild tresses danced about her shoulders and she barely kept them confined
with a clip or band.  He couldn’t help playing with the spirals and grinning.

The first night in Monaco he’d knocked on her door to find her in a strappy little white number with auburn curls lying loosely about her collarbone.  His throat immediately went dry.  She’d noted his reaction with a sly grin and since then hadn’t bothered wearing it any other way.  He rather thought she looked like a woodland fairy, but he wasn’t about to tell her that or he’d never see her hair like this again.

Sleeping with her had been out of the question.  He’d learned long ago that the agency came first, and as long as they were trailing the fellow, she wouldn’t allow herself to become distracted by him.  Instead, he had concentrated on enjoying her company and keeping her slightly off-balance.



From past experience, Laura knew Mr. Steele had spent a great deal of time playing and “working” up and down the Côte de Azur, as the French called it, but now she realized that if there was any place he might call home, this was it.  “Paul Fabrini” had dozens of friends he dropped in on while they were there.  She learned that he spoke French beautifully, had a great deal of fun squiring her about, and gave the distinct impression to his acquaintances that he and Laura were more than just lovers.  Any number of eyebrows lifted and shoulders shrugged when they realized the Irish lothario had succumbed to a fiery American sprite full of sass and prim manners.

Many of those friends had tipped them off to the whereabouts of the gentleman in question, and he was easy to follow as he made plans and purchases.  A few dozen photographs with a telescoping lens scored the very details Ms. Alvarez wanted and, in Cannes, Laura had happily overnighted them to the attorney’s office.  Josie had been ecstatic the next day.

Laura was in such a good mood that it hadn’t taken much effort on Mr. Steele’s part to convince her they should stay in Cannes through the weekend.  She wondered if the next few days would be the same as the previous two weeks.  Granted she was having a fabulous time, but they’d been in some of the most romantic, seductive places in the world and he hadn’t once mentioned going to bed together.  However, in public, regardless of what guise they wore, he made it crystal clear that Laura was his.  The kisses they shared on street corners and in clubs while on stakeout had her nerve-endings humming.  His hands held hers more often than not, and either stayed around her waist or played with her hair the rest of the time.

More than once she wished he would make a move on her just so that she could yell at him.  A good argument was a great way to work off the “itchiness” and he wasn’t obliging her at all.  She couldn’t comment about the way he was treating her.  His public demeanor was appropriate for the disguises they wore, and privately he treated her with his usual care.  Not once had he stepped out of line--even when she was hoping he would.

He was beginning to remind her of Nero.  The cat had spent hours watching his prey, every fiber of his being attuned to its movements.  His sleek form stayed relaxed and still until that moment when he flashed into motion and snatched his lunch.  And like the tip of a cat’s tail that betrayed the feline’s burning desire for his quarry, not for one moment did Mr. Steele let her forget how much he wanted her.  She could see it in his eyes, taste it on his lips and feel it as he dragged his fingers along her bare skin.  
Laura was feeling like a tasty little mouse.  But he never said a word. …



Remington smiled to himself when she agreed to extend their stay.  Their last trip here had been a disaster and this time he wanted to leave her with a different impression.  And perhaps even a different outcome--maybe even the one she’d originally intended for them.  He’d talked her into taking a sunset sail around the île Saint-Honorat, just a mile or so south of Cannes.  She thought he meant they would take an evening cruise.  He’d found a sailboat instead.

“This doesn’t look like a tour boat, Mr. Steele.”

“No, Miss Holt.  But come aboard anyway.  You might like it.”  With a raised brow, she took his hand and stepped onto the pretty white deck of the cruiser.

“Do you know how to sail this thing?”  It seemed a little big for him to manage by himself.

He grinned at her.  “Nearly as well as I drive the Auburn, Miss Holt.”  With a roll of her eyes, she started to take a seat in the bow, but he caught her elbow and aimed her to the center of the craft.  “Sorry, Laura, this is a working cruise.  I need you to help me man the boat.”

Her jaw dropped.  “Me?  I’ve never sailed before.”

“So you’ll learn.”

“But what if I capsize it?” she said, not a little worriedly.

“You won’t.  You’ve me as a teacher.”  He kissed her on the cheek and caught her around the waist for a quick hug before pulling the ropes free of the dock.

So now she was in charge of the tiller while he reset the sails each time they tacked across the sea.  From her vantage point, she rather enjoyed the view of Mr. Steele moving about the deck barefoot, wearing loose white linen pants and a soft grey linen shirt that he’d unbuttoned at the same time he kicked off his shoes.  Her own sandals lay on the floor of the tiny cabin where she’d tossed them.  The bed inside seemed hardly big enough for two children, but he swore it was; there were even an icebox, a complete navigation system, and a head down there as well.  She arched her brow at him and decided she wasn’t that desperate for a bathroom.  

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself, Mr. Steele.”

“I am.  I haven’t sailed in quite a while.”  He made a final adjustment to the sail before coming over to sit next to her at the tiller.  “I may have to get a boat for real this time or at least borrow one more often.  The Pacific’s more challenging than the Mediterranean, but that has an appeal in and of itself.”

“You like the sea.”

“I do.  I don’t think I could live for long without being near it.  Dublin, London, Monte Carlo, Rio de Janerio, and Los Angeles--all the major cities I’ve lived in for any length of time are on the ocean.”

“I forgot that you lived in Rio.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t in the areas we visited this time.  I’ve come up a few steps since then.”

“Is that where you hooked up with Barney?”   

“One of the places anyway.”  His expression darkened and Laura didn’t ask any more questions about it.



The sun dipped as they rounded the western tip of île Saint-Honorat, and a few minutes later Remington pointed out the fortified abbey that sat on the southern tip of the island and had served as a watchtower since the early fifth century.  “The Irish have a soft spot for the Abbey Lérins.  It’s said that Saint Patrick himself studied here for a time.”

“Mr. Steele, you keep the most interesting trivia in your head.”

“It’s not trivia; it’s history, Laura.  No offense, love, but America is perilously short on history.  I’m not saying what you have isn’t important, but most of you can’t imagine a city that’s been around for two hundred years, much less one that has been inhabited, fought over, destroyed and rebuilt over and over again for fifteen hundred years.  And cities such as Jerusalem and Cairo--they have all that going back nearly ten thousand years.”

“Take Monaco.”  He pointed to the northeast.  “The Grimaldi family has ruled there since 1297.  It’s a tiny country sandwiched between France and Italy and should have succumbed to one or the other centuries ago.  But instead, here it is.  Imagine a single family having influence such as that for nearly a millennium.  I can’t even tell you who my parents are.”

Laura’s brain was still stuck on the endearment and she almost missed the sorrow in his voice.  She brushed the lock of hair out of his eye and kissed him long and hard.  He broke away with a chagrined smile to reset the sails again.

“Angle the tiller that way.  We’re heading for that little rock out there.”

“What is it?”

“île Saint-Féréol.  We’ll drop anchor and have dinner.”



And that’s what they did.  Remington retrieved a salmon salad from the ice box and a chilled bottle of wine.  He broke apart a loaf of bread and handed her a chunk before sprawling out on the bow with her.  The sunset scorched the ocean red before disappearing.

As night settled and the stars popped out overhead, Laura turned to him with wide eyes.  “Um, Mr. Steele, how are we getting back to the hotel?”

He chuckled and leaned over to kiss her.  “We could sail there, but we’re not.  We’re spending the night here.  You haven’t lived until you’ve seen the Milky Way from the water.”

“But we can’t--“

“Why not?”  A brow lifted in challenge.

“Because we … there’s no … I didn’t bring any clothes.”  Then she winced because she knew what was coming.

“Now, Laura, why ever would you think that should be a problem?”  She tossed her bread roll at his head.  He caught it with a grin and took a bite, despite the increasing darkness.

“That’s the first lascivious remark I’ve heard from you this whole trip.  You’ve been remarkably well-behaved.  I knew it couldn’t last,” she retorted.

“We were working.  Now we are playing.  All bets are off.”  He gave a maddening Gallic shrug to his shoulders.  “Don’t worry about clothes.  The maid at the hotel packed up a bag for you and had it delivered to the boat before we arrived.  It’s in the cabin below.”

Only slightly relieved, Laura relaxed a fraction and looked over the horizon as the last stray glow of the sun disappeared.  The sailboat was left in darkness and she could only see shadows around her.

“Mr. Steele?”  She heard a sigh come from his direction.

“Laura, will you pick a name for me?  I’d prefer Remington since you chose it for me, but if you can’t use it, pick something else.  I’ll answer.”

“Remington, then.”

“That will do.”

“Do you have a flashlight?  It’s a little dark out here.”

“Give it a few minutes.  There’s enough starlight out here that you’ll see well enough before long.”  But he unerringly wrapped up the last of their dinner and placed it in the basket at their feet before lying next to her on the bow.

“You are like Nero,” she murmured.

“Nero?  Your aimless cat that abandoned you a week after you moved into the loft?  I’m offended, Laura.”

She laughed softly.  “Not that way.  I meant that you can see in the dark.”  Among other things.

“You can’t see me?”

“Not really.  I know you’re there, but you’re all in shadows.  I can’t see your eyes.”

“Good, then you can’t panic when I do this.”  He moved away and she heard a rustling sound from his direction.

“Do what?”

He tossed her something soft, and then she heard a healthy splash off the port side of the boat.  “Mr. Steele?  Remington?”  She held up his shirt, then his pants and his … briefs?  Oh damn.

“Come on in.  The water is fabulous.”  His voice floated upward from somewhere behind her.

Abruptly, she flipped to her stomach and found him treading water in front of her.  “Please tell me you’re not swimming in the Mediterranean stark naked in the middle of the night.”   

“It’s the Riviera, love.  Don’t let your American sensibilities get the best of you.  And it’s only about nine, so it’s not the middle of the night.”

Her eyes were adjusting because she could see his face this time and his wide grin.  Seven years ago, she would have stripped down to nothing and jumped in.  Now she lay frozen on the boat trying not to imagine what was free-floating in the waters below.

“Laura?”

“Uh, yes, Mr. Stee--I mean, Remington?”

“Scared?”

“Of course.”

“Is it I or the water?”

“Both.”

“Good.”  He was quiet for a moment and all Laura could hear was the sound of little waves popping against the boat.  In a soft voice, he challenged, “I don’t think you have it in you to swim in the Mediterranean Sea under the Milky Way on a hot summer night.  I dare you to prove me wrong, Laura.”

Shocked at his words, she sat up.

But he wasn’t done yet and continued to press.  “I don’t think you will ever make the move we’ve been waiting for.  I think you will be content dreaming about what might be while you continue to put me through every test imaginable.  I’ve spent more than two years, since the last time we were in Cannes, playing things your way.  It’s time that we play them mine.  We both want our relationship to move forward and I can’t do that alone.  Prove me wrong, Laura.  Prove to me that you can be just as much a woman as you can be a professional without losing either one.”

Remington had one hand on the tip of the bow and watched Laura draw away in the darkness.  With the other he pushed his dripping hair out of his eyes.  He waited long minutes before calling out her name.  The silence from the boat was answer enough.  Bloody, buggering hell.  He pushed off the boat, needing a hard swim to work off his frustration.  He butterflied backwards, right into something soft and warm.

“Hi.”  Arms came around him and he had to tread water again.

“Laura!”

“Last time I checked.”  Her chuckle was soft and sensual.  Her arms retreated and she nipped away, reappearing several yards from him.

His whole being lit up with delight and he streaked after her, missing her by inches.  Obviously, her eyes had adjusted because she came up behind him again and kissed his shoulder before kicking away.  Quick reflexes had him grasping her ankle and pulling her back toward him.  He discovered that locking lips with her in the warm seawater took more brainpower than he necessarily had at the moment.   

“Kick, Remington.  You’re sinking.”  She smirked and broke the embrace, delighted that she was able to still surprise him after all these years.  His hands skimmed down her body as she swam away.  His chest still burned where her small breasts had pressed.

“Laura?”

“Yes?” she called from somewhere near the stern.

“What are the rules?”

“Anything you catch, you keep.”  Her husky laughter floated across the water as Remington ducked under the waves and arrowed toward her.

They played in the dark waters, exchanging kiss after kiss and hesitant caresses that soon gave way to sensual stroking.  With all the blood rushing away from his head, Remington began nudging her toward the boat before he drowned.  But Laura rolled to her back, floating for a moment, to look up into the night sky.  She hadn’t seen the Milky Way since she was a child and was entranced by the view.  In rapid succession, two meteors streaked through the sky.

“Two wishes, one for you and one for me.”  Remington murmured in her ear as he treaded water beside her.  “I forgot about the Perseid Meteor Showers.  If we pay attention, we’ll see quite a few tonight.”

“Somehow, Remington, I don’t think we’ll be paying much attention at all.”  She turned in the water and kissed him before smoothly swimming to the boat.  He was hard on her heels and climbed over the rail moments after she did.



Hours later, Laura was sleeping--sprawled out on the blankets Remington had retrieved from the cabin and placed on the bow for their lovemaking.  The full moon had risen and in the bright light, her skin glowed.  He thought she looked like a pagan goddess lying on her back with her spiraling locks spread out across the pillow.  He sat on the edge of the bow, one foot trailing in the water while his thumb traced waves in her limp hand.  Loving her had been everything he’d thought it would be--and much more.

After a moment, she closed her fingers over his and rolled to her side.  Remington was illuminated by the moonlight.  Her breath caught as she opened her eyes.  Not many men could sit in the nude and look comfortable.  Even fewer looked good doing it.  Loving him had been richer and more complex than she’d hoped.  His eyes connected with hers and, in that moment, the shadows in her heart fell away.   

She rose and scooted over where she could sit behind him to wrap her arms around him and rest her head between his shoulder blades.  He laced his hands with hers.  The silence was enough.



Laura scratched her head when she woke to the sun hovering just above the little island.  The dried sea water made her itch.  Remington was still asleep beside her and she smiled.  His head was pillowed on his arms and he was lying on his stomach.  Heavens, he is beautiful.

Quietly, she slipped into the water and swam for a few minutes.  I’m swimming nude in the Mediterranean after making love for most of the night.  She felt deliciously erotic and decadent with the water sliding along her breasts and between her legs.  It felt distinctly odd to swim away from the boat with no other land in sight than the rocky island on the other side of the watercraft.  If it wasn’t for seeing Remington on the bow, it could be lonely.

When she’d stretched out her muscles, a few strokes brought her back to the boat; she deliberately dripped on Remington as she hovered above him, placing kisses along his spine.

“Good thing the water’s warm,” he murmured.  He’d been vaguely aware of Laura's sliding into the water but wasn’t awake enough yet to react.  In his reverie, he’d been congratulating himself on the whole setup.  Really, the boat had been a flash of inspiration.  He’d had it stocked with enough provisions for three days in case it took them that long to work things out.  But it hadn’t taken three days; it hadn’t even taken three hours from the time they dropped anchor.  They still had time to work out the details, such as waking up with each other in the morning--and apparently that one wasn’t going to be a problem.

He rolled over to her smiling face and took his first good look at her in the sunlight.  “Good morning, Laura.”

“Good morning … Remington.”  She shrugged good-naturedly as she settled next to him.  “It’s going to take a few days to get used to calling you that.”

“Practice.”  He ordered with a grin.

“I can do that.  But I do have a request.”

“What’s that?”

“Does this sailboat offer a way to get the sea water out of my hair so that I can stand it or do we have to go back to the hotel?”

“Will washing it result in more time with you on this boat?”

“Assuredly.”

“Do I get a kiss first?”

The kiss turned into a fast tryst that only took the edge off their need.  Afterward, Remington showed Laura the hidden handheld shower wand attached to one side of the deck that was connected to a tank of fresh water below, and he helped her to wash out her thick mane of hair before rinsing himself off as well.

“Now I get why you always wear a swim cap when we take a dip in the ocean.”

“It’s nearly impossible to get all the tangles out if I let it dry with salt water.  That’s why I wet it again this morning.”  She sat cross-legged on the deck while she worked detangling crème into the tresses and combed them out again so they lay in loose spirals on her shoulders.

“How did I not realize that your hair is so curly?”  Remington fingered one of the circles.

“I work at it.  It’s not very professional, so I’ve been in the habit of blowing-drying it straight in the mornings.”

He looked at her hair and then in her eyes.  “Will you … every so often when it’s just the two of us, will you wear it like this?”

Warmth flooded her.  He was talking about the future with her--meaning that this idyll wouldn’t end today.  “I can do that.”

He smiled and raised a brow.  “What would you like to do?  Stay here and soak up the sun for an entire day?  I have provisions for that.  Or we can sail around the island and go back to the hotel whenever you like--if you would like dinner and a real bed?

Shyly, Laura looked at her hands.  “I don’t want to go back yet.  Maybe in a few hours.”  Her maple-brown eyes connected with his and held a sexy gleam.  “How long will we have privacy out here?”

“The first tour boat arrives at eleven.”

“Perhaps, Remington, we can make the best of our time until then.”  She trailed a finger across his collarbone and down his bare chest.

“Of course, Miss Holt.  It would be my pleasure.”  His hand slid into her hair as he leaned in for a long and searching kiss.



* * * * *


On Monday, Laura was at her desk at just after eight in the morning.  She’d left Remington soundly sleeping in her bed.  She couldn’t blame him.  They’d been awake for nearly seventy-two hours--all because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.  Food and sight-seeing had been hopeless attempts at buying time to recover from their antics.  Sleep came only in snatches when both of them collapsed out of sheer exhaustion, only to be disrupted when one or the other woke again with need.  They’d snoozed on the flight home and found themselves energized enough to indulge moments after locking the door to his flat yesterday afternoon.

Last night they made each other promise to give each other at least six hours of sleep, and Laura’d had to slip out this morning to keep her end of the bargain.  She smiled to herself as she sorted through messages and the mail that had accumulated on her desk.

Mildred came in an hour later and was delighted to find Laura had returned.

“Miss Holt, how was the trip?”  She cocked her head and sat down across from her.  “You must have spent a great deal of time in the sun.”  The younger woman’s face was tanned and her hair was streaked with red highlights.

“Oh, you know, for the most part it was routine.  Follow the suspect; take incriminating pictures.  It was actually fun with all the places we went.  I’m still writing up my notes.”  She tapped her pen on the file in front of her, but she couldn’t keep the grin from dancing around her lips.

Mildred narrowed her eyes.  Miss Holt was in an extraordinarily good mood this morning, which was unusual considering she and Mr. Steele had spent two solid weeks in each other’s exclusive company.  Normally, Miss Holt would be pulling her hair out in frustration.  “And for the other part?”

“It was … enlightening.  I saw a great deal of where Mr. Steele lived for a number of years.  Did you know that he can sail?”

“Really?  I didn’t know that.”  Mildred crossed her arms and waggled her finger at Laura.  “What happened between you two?  You normally come back cross as a bear after a long case like this with HIM.”

“Remington,” she paused to let the other woman take note of the name change, “is still recovering.  In my loft.”  Laura had to bite her lip to keep the smile from taking over her face.

Mildred let out a whoop of delight just as the man himself walked into the office, perfectly turned out in a suit and tie.  She noted that the couple’s eyes connected immediately.

“Good morning, ladies.”  He leaned against the doorway, stuffed his hands in his pockets and tried not to stare at Laura.

“You’re in early, Boss.”

“The siren call of paperwork, Mildred.  I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s a good thing.  There’s a stack of it on your desk.”

He shot her a wry grin.  “So what were you two discussing when I came in?”

Laura looked at her desk.  “We were … talking about the trip.”

“Discussing the case?”

“Sort of,” answered Laura.

He stood up and turned to go.  “Be sure to tell her about moonlight on the Mediterranean, love.”



**Author’s note: I took literary license here.  The full moon actually rose at 7:34 p.m. on August 19, 1986--it’s amazing what you can find on the Internet--and would have obscured most of the night sky, including the Milky Way and the Perseid Meteor Showers.  But that wouldn’t have been any fun now, would it?



7 April 2009