Queen of Steele


The late afternoon sun heated the cottage tucked in the hills above Monte Carlo.  A dark-haired man inside sipped his chilled Chablis while he read through one of the reports scattered across the writing desk.  With an economy of motion, he swiftly notated several items before moving on to the next. 

He’d isolated himself here.  To think.  To hurt.  To heal.  On day one hundred twelve, he still hadn’t found peace--although understanding had settled in somewhere around day eighty-seven.

The reports served as a distraction and a way to maintain a living.  The agent he used for his investments had been astounded at his success.  He was proud of his new-found abilities, but they only highlighted the stark voids in his life.  No one here gave a damn if he failed.  

A double-knock at the door startled him.  Grateful for the intrusion, he stacked his papers and locked them in a drawer before answering the door.  He raked his hand though his hair out of habit as he opened it to find a classically dark-eyed Italian man lounged against the pillar holding up the roof of the house, carrying a basket that was sure to contain some sort of foodstuffs.  

With a small grin, he welcomed his friend.  “Gianni, avanti, avanti.”  The Italian words flowed easily from his tongue.

“You’ve been hiding too long.  You don’t answer your telephone, and no one has seen you in town for a week.”

“Are you nagging me?”

“Absolutely not.  But Mamma is sure you’re starving all alone up here.”  Gianni handed over the basket.  “I tell her you cook, but she shakes her head in disbelief.”

“Perhaps I’ll send her my ravioli.”

“Don’t bother.  She wants to see your ugly face around the house.  I do too.  You missed our last game.  Our table needs a fresh source of entertainment.”

He arched a brow at Gianni.  “I didn’t realize your friends had such a need to replenish my purse.  Wine?”

“Naturally.”  The younger man stretched out on the couch and propped his feet on the table comfortably.  “Your luck must change eventually.  We all need a chance to recoup our losses.”  

He poured a glass of wine from the bottle he’d left breathing on the counter.  They had met over a poker table two months ago and had become comfortable acquaintances, if not bosom buddies, in the weeks since.  He didn’t have to think hard about why Gianni had come to call.  “Who are you avoiding now?”

Gianni scowled.  “Mamma is foisting another girl on me at dinner tonight.”

“And you’re using me to avoid entertaining her for the evening,” he stated wisely as he handed his friend a goblet and took an identical pose on the other sofa.  

“This one is too clever for me.  She’ll have me wedded and bedded in a month if I’m not careful.”

He grinned.  “Those are the best ones.”  His smile slipped as the image of a certain auburn-haired woman came to mind.

Gianni peered hard at him.  “So, who is she?”

“She?”  He pretended not to understand.

“The woman that drove you into hiding.”

“Perhaps I like the sun and the quiet,” he prevaricated.

“You’re in your prime, damned handsome according to Mamma, and I’ve seen the way you admire the ladies--you’re not gay.  Yet, you don’t bring anyone to your little piece of heaven here, nor do you partake of theirs.  Only a woman or God can do that, my friend.  Since you don’t strike me as the ecclesiastical type, who is she?”

He didn’t realize that stark pain had flashed through his blue eyes, but he saw Gianni’s reaction as the man sat up in surprise.  

Draining his goblet, he set it on the table before stretching out again.  This time, he let Laura’s image build until he could remember every freckle that dotted her shoulders, the proud line of her neck and the fire in her eyes.  “Clever didn’t begin to describe her.  She is … was … the impossible challenge.”  He touched his lips.  “And in the end, I failed her.”  

His friend furrowed his brow in sympathy.  “How long were you with her?”

“Took me four years to have her.”  Bitterly, he added, “And only four months to drive her away.”  

Gianni watched him thoughtfully for a moment.  “You still love her.”

With an ironic snort, he agreed.  “Yes.  I do.”  

“She … didn’t feel the same?”

“She said she loved me the day she left.”  Thinking about her last regretful look at him--unshed tears bright in her eyes, her shoulders taut and her hand pale as it clutched the doorknob--had him swallowing a lump in his throat, again.  

“What are you going to do?”

“Damned if I know.”  He swallowed a healthy gulp of his drink as he recalled those last few days.  Four months after their questionable wedding on a tuna boat, they’d called it quits.  Laura simply didn’t trust him.  Sharing a bed had been delightful, but not enough to rebuild even the shaky relationship they’d had before.  

He’d known how to fix it--three short words, genuinely uttered.  He couldn’t do it.  And in the end, Laura had drawn the line.  For her own self-respect, she'd said.  She couldn’t live with a man for two years, even to keep the agency, if he didn’t love her.  

She loved him.  She’d told him so that day.  And when he’d been unable to return the sentiments, she’d packed up her few things from his flat and left.  

But Gianni only cocked his head.  “You don’t seem to be the type to retreat from adversity.  I’ve seen you play cards.”

He rested his lips against his knuckle as he propped his arm on the sofa pillow.  “I’ve folded a time or two.”

The other man held up his glass, watching the swirl of wine against the crystal.  “But I’ve never seen you quit the game because you were losing.”

With a slow nod, he acknowledged Gianni was right.  For the first time in one hundred and twelve days, anticipation unfolded its wings.  “Of course.”  



After assuring Gianni that he would join him for a round or two at the table tonight, the Irishman stared at the telephone for nearly twenty minutes before making a decision.  He glanced at his watch.  She’ll be up.  He dialed as he had religiously every two weeks since he’d left Los Angeles.

“Mildred?”  

“Hiya, Chief.  How are you?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I’ve had enough.  Do you think she’s ready for me to come home?”

“Way ahead of you, Boss.  She left ten days ago for Cannes.”

It took a few seconds for her words to penetrate.  When it did, elation poured into him.  “She’s coming here?  Does she know where I am?”  

She snorted, the sound carrying across thousands of miles of phone line.  “Other than guessing from the telephone exchange that you’re somewhere in Monaco, even I don’t know where you are.  She traced your passport to Cannes, so that’s where she’s starting.”  Quietly, she added, “If I were you, I wouldn’t make it too hard for her to find you.  Boss ... you won’t get another chance.”

“I know.”  

“Then make the most of it,” she admonished.



He made a point of being seen about Monte Carlo.  He and Gianni began frequenting the better poker games in the larger hotels.  He slipped his wedding ring from his necklace and placed it back on his finger, taking comfort in its sleight weight.  Relief lightened his step, and Gianni commented about his ready grin.

But after two weeks had passed, he hounded Mildred again.  

“Give her time,” she said.  “She’s headed to Nice.”  

“Oh damn, Mildred.  I’m in Monte Carlo.  Can you tell her that?”

“I would, Chief, but Laura only leaves messages for me in the middle of the night.  She’s as bad as you--all secretive about what she’s doing--and we--”  She went silent.

“We what, Mildred.”

“We had a little … discussion … the day before she left.”  

He could visualize the older woman squirming as she confessed.  He pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Would that conversation have involved your thoughts as to the current status of our relationship?”

“Oh, a little bit, perhaps.”  

“Mildred.”  He drew her name out in warning.

“Oh, Mr. Steele.  You should have seen her these past few weeks.  It’s been awful.  She’s snapping at everyone, working fifteen-hour days until she’s exhausted, and the mere mention of you puts her in a mood so black that going to the office is miserable.”

For some reason, her confession made him happy.  He scratched the side of his nose.  “So, what sort of disagreement did you have?”

“I gave her two weeks to pull herself together, or I would give her my resignation.  I can’t work like this, Boss.  It’s been four months already.”

“And she left the next day?”

“Uh huh.  She even--“

“Even what?”

“Nope, Boss.  She’ll have to tell you that part.  When she finds you.”

“Damn,” he muttered, even as a secretive smile lit up his face.

A week later Mildred had to talk him out of going to Nice to trace Laura’s whereabouts.  “The last thing you two need to be doing is chasing each other in circles.  Stay put, Mr. Steele.  She’ll find you.”  



Gianni rapped on his cottage door again, looking elegant in his black and white suit.  “Put on your tuxedo, my friend.  I’ve entertainment for you.”

“What kind of entertainment?” he asked as he laid a dish towel across his shoulder.  With a seemingly careless crumble of herbs into the sauce pot, he gave the concoction a last stir.

“Ever heard of La Reine?” Gianni asked.  

“Only what is bantered about at the game table.”  

“She’s playing tonight at the Metropole Hotel.”

“Not interested.”

“I am.  But I don’t have your connections.”

He frowned at his friend.  “I’ll pass, thank you.  I’ll get you an invitation.”  

“No, no.  If you don’t come, I shall tell Mamma that you’re all alone this evening and pining for company.  I’m sure she’ll oblige.”  Gianni laughed at his dark look.  



The game play had already begun by the time they arrived.  Clad in white tuxedo jackets, they presented their credentials to the doorman.  

“Paul Fabrini, Gianni Bonazzi.  Right this way, sirs.”  The man indicated the room.  

“Paul” nodded curtly, superior to subordinate, as was expected.  The name didn’t sit comfortably on his shoulders anymore.  None of the aliases he’d assumed since he’d left Los Angeles had.  He’d been “Remington Steele” for far too long.  

The host indicated Gianni’s seat near the edge of the room before leading “Paul” to the head table.  As they skirted tables and chairs, he skimmed faces, looking for one in particular.  But he didn’t have time to be disappointed by its absence.

He caught sight of the woman at the center of the game play.  With her back to him, he admired the twisting fall of her dark locks, wound through with glittering strands of gold.  The bronze dress covered her from neck and wrist to ankle--doing nothing to conceal her figure and everything to make one wonder what lay underneath.   

The empty seat across from her was meant for him.  Irritated that every slim brunette he saw reminded him of Laura, he straightened his tie as he rounded the table to take the chair.

With his first look at La Reine, he forgot to breathe.  The woman before him was cool, elegant, diamond-hard--

--and everything he wanted in a woman.  From this angle he could see the reddish glints in her hair, the flashes of hurt in her eyes.  

Ruthlessly, he chained his reflexes so as not to shove the table out of the way to get to his mate.  With icy calm control, he fastened his eyes on her as he sat--curious as to how she would play the game.  Over the cigarette smoke, perfumes and food, he found her scent, inhaled it--and smiled possessively as he arranged himself in the chair.

Cold as ice, her Gallic accent whipped across the table.  “Welcome to the game, Mr. Fabrini.”  A nod to her right had the dealer setting him up for the new hand.  

He started to speak.  “Lau--“  Her eyes slashed across him in warning.  “La Reine, I’m honored to sit at your table.”  

Regally, she inclined her head in his direction.  “I’ve heard much about you, Mr. Fabrini.”

“Good things, I hope.”  

“Interesting ones, anyway,” she acknowledged.  

He found her voice, thick with European tones, disturbingly erotic.  Flashes of their last night in bed together bolted through his memory.  He began to fiddle with his wedding ring in discomfort but remembered the game and settled for staring at his cards again. 

For the next hour, La Reine held court.  Throughout the game, she flirted with ease, challenged her contenders, and toyed with them as she steadily accumulated a pile of chips.  He watched her precise movements as she added to her stack from the hands she’d won.  

He drank in the view, remembering every caress and every taste of her.  He listened to her intelligent banter and remembered how much he’d missed their daily byplay and challenges.  But all of her mischievous nature had been burned away, leaving the brilliant gem sitting across from him.  

At last, he caught her looking at him with stark hunger in her eyes.  

That look dissolved all of Remington’s remaining illusions about love.  He’d foolishly believed that if he’d told Laura he loved her, he’d be a lesser man for it.  Love had brought kingdoms to ruin and kings to their graves.  He’d stupidly given up his partner, his whole life, because he’d needed to keep some part of him selfishly locked away.  Looking at the woman she’d become, he knew he loved every frustrating, irritating, and lovely inch of her.  Living without her had been pure misery.  

As the game wore on, he had to admire her tactics.  She had him at a disadvantage, and they both knew it.  Ruthlessly, she used every secret, every tell she’d learned over the years, to anticipate his next move.  She neatly outwitted him on a number of key hands.  Unless he cheated, he wasn’t going to win tonight, not at the table anyway.  Desire unfurled in his belly, growing stronger each time she challenged him.

When she called his bluff yet again and forced him to fold, he smiled reluctantly.  It was soft and genuine, as it was for Laura alone.

She called him on that too as the dealer shuffled the cards.  “Does something amuse you, Mr. Fabrini?”

Lazily, with all the erotic heat she’d generated in him by merely being five feet away, he caught her eyes.  “Yes, indeed.  I find a great deal of … amusement to be had.”  Deliberately, he let his eyes pause at her throat, reminding her of the last time they’d made love.  

She didn’t blush, but her face blanked for an instant before resuming its icy composure.  “That’s quite interesting.  I thought this a mere diversion, a moment of pleasure only,” she countered.  

“Some pleasures are meant to be savored, endlessly examined for the delicate nuances hidden within.”  

“And some are fleeting, not to be experienced again.”

By now, the whole room had fallen quiet, listening to the exchange between La Reine and her companion.  La Reine tolerated insolence from no man.  Her dismissal of even the wealthiest of men had become fodder for the gossip papers.  

The dealer laid out the cards, waiting for the parties to place their chips on the table to play the next hand.

He pushed a small stack to the center.  “You have … aroused … my curiosity, madame.  Only one has accomplished that feat in a very long time.”  

“Interesting choice of words, Mr. Fabrini.  Words can mean a great deal … or they can mean nothing at all.”

“So I’ve learned as of late, La Reine.”

Abruptly, she waved off the dealer and stacked her chips.  “I believe I will retire before the pleasure of this evening becomes spoiled.  Thank you, gentlemen.”  With a last imperious look at him, she quit the table.

A murmur from the crowd followed her through the door.  He let out an uneasy breath, wanting to dash after her, to stop her from leaving--anything that might bring her back to him.  But he couldn’t go after her now without looking like a fawning supplicant.  Irritably, he took his temper out on the hapless players remaining at the table.  A half hour later, he quit as well.  

Gianni caught him in the hallway.  “La Reine seems to have captured your attention,” he scolded lightly.  “I’m not one to cast stones, but is she the wisest choice considering your current … predicament.”

He swore.  “Do you remember me telling you that she was the impossible challenge?”

Gianni nodded.

“La Reine … is my wife.”

His friend’s pole-axed expression followed him all the way to the elevator.  


*****


Laura paced the balcony, forgetting to admire the Mediterranean from her penthouse suite.  

He’d come.  He’d sat at her table, and they’d matched wits once more.  For a single precious hour, she’d felt alive again.  She’d wanted to throw herself in his arms, to kiss him senseless, and then to have him locked up for making her ache this way.  

“Damn.”  The curse slipped out as she rubbed her arms.  For a black moment, she hated herself for loving him, for feeling like a silly girl throwing everything over for a man.  But knowing what life had been like without him had driven her to give them one last chance--if he would take it.  If he didn’t, she would move on.  Her pride--her sanity--demanded it.  

Letting her gaze rest on the nighttime ocean glimmering in the moonlight, she wondered if he would come.

Somehow, she’d known he would return to this shining world of wealth and games.  For weeks she’d gently teased information out of the various players and men who flirted with her.  Eight days ago, she’d uncovered a lead about a Paul Fabrini staying in Monte Carlo.  His reputation at the table had preceded him.  Confident she’d found him, she had set up the last piece of an elaborate ruse designed to attract his attention.  Now she waited in silence, hoping he would come, terrified he wouldn’t, and wondered what to do in either case.  She stared at the water.  

And suddenly, he was there--on the corner of her balcony behind her.

She sensed him before she saw him.  His familiar cologne wafted on the breeze.  She tried not to inhale it like a drug but drew in a deep breath anyway.  She fought for control, won, and turned to take her first good look at her partner in half a year.

Six months hadn’t been enough to change his appearance, but she saw the tension in his frame even as he leaned casually against the railing he’d leapt over.  He stayed to the shadows with his hands in his pockets.

His voice washed over her, sending a rush of longing through her.  “La Reine suits you.”

“Thank you.”  Her voice came out cooler than she’d intended, but she didn’t apologize.  Her heart might have insisted on her coming for him, but her head demanded at least a small amount of dignity while doing it.  Still, he had come here.  She held on to that thread of hope.

“What brings you to Monaco?” he asked with impeccable courtesy.

Laura detected a faint suggestion of unease in his voice.  Good.  She wasn’t the only one nervous about the outcome of this conversation.  “I’m not certain yet.  A challenge, an answer--solace perhaps,” she responded.  “One never knows what she’ll find in a place like this.”

“You play well.”  

She was sure he meant more than just at the poker table.  “From you--that’s a high compliment.”  Her soft laugh hung in the air.  

“I meant it.”  He closed the distance between them, the shadows sliding away to reveal his handsome face.  His bow tie hung limply, and the throat of his shirt gaped open.  

Her mouth went dry.  She stiffened her spine, yearning for--yet dreading--his caress.  But she held her ground, refusing to retreat.   

He reached out, then dropped his hand.  “I’ve no right to touch you.”  

She shivered from the lack of contact.  “That never stopped you before.”  

“No.  I suppose not.”  With an opaque look, he leaned against the railing beside her, facing the sea.  The pain evident in his voice, he asked, “Are we going to do this polite little dance around the subject, Laura, end up in an argument and let all of this hang unresolved between us?”

“I’d rather not.  It would make for a wasted trip,” she said with deliberate good humor.  “But we can make civil conversation for a few moments if it will make it easier.”

“Perhaps it will at that,” he admitted.  “I’ve been hearing about La Reine for a couple of months.  What did you do with the agency?”

“For now, I’ve turned it over to Mildred and a pair of new detectives.  It was easier than I thought to manage without you.”  She shrugged, trying to forget about her last interview with INS.  “Not as much fun though.  We’ve told everyone that I’m undercover for a long operation.”

“With Remington Steele?”

“If you like.  Mildred lets the clients draw their own conclusions.”  

“What … did you do with the flat?”

“Sold it.  Let the lease go on my loft.  Sold everything except the Auburn.  Mildred’s driving it and loves it.”

“You what?” he asked incredulously.  

But Laura only turned her hands out.  “I thought I’d try living your way for once.  No things, no one to tie me down.  I’d be stupid to let the agency go, but all the rest--”   She couldn’t admit yet that she’d needed to get away from daily reminders of his absence.  Working at the agency without him had been hard enough.  

“Where have you been living?” he interrupted.  

She deliberately misunderstood him.  “Here and there.  Playing cards.  I landed in Cannes a couple of months ago, stayed in Nice for a while, and came here a few days ago.”  

“I didn’t know you played poker,” he admitted.  

She arched a brow, echoing a favorite expression of his.  “You never asked.”

“How do you like it?  The lifestyle, I mean?”  

The intensity in his darkened blue eyes made her uncomfortable.  This was it--the moment the conversation changed from friendly and polite to deeply personal.  Laura tried to keep her emotions buttoned down but knew he could read her as easily as she did him.  “I should say that’s it glamorous, the scenery is gorgeous, and the company quite entertaining.”

“But you won’t.”

Crossing her arms, she swore softly.  “I hate it.  I hate not having a home.  I hate not having a place to go.  I want my own bed, my kitchen with my things, my own bathroom.  I want nasty LA smog and to drive to the agency in the mornings knowing that I love what I do.  I’ve lived out of suitcases, in hotels with room service for months.  I never imagined I could grow tired of it all, but I had by the second week.”

“So why are you here?” he asked.  She could hear the hope threading through his words.

“Why do you think?” she said sharply.  There.  She threw it out between them and waited to see what he would do.  

He reached out to stroke her cheek.  The caress made her dizzy.  “I want to go home,” he told her.  “I want you in our bed.  I want our kitchen so I can make you crepes in the morning and duck at night.  I want to argue with you over movies, where to eat on Friday nights, and golf shots.  I don’t miss the LA smog, but I miss going to the agency with you and seeing what kind of trouble we can get in and out of in a day.“

She waited.  He trailed a finger down the fabric covering her throat.  His touch electrified her senses, sending crazy shocks through her body.  Before she could control the impulse, she swayed toward him.  Taking that movement as an invitation, he snatched her to his chest.  His mouth descended on hers, and she took it greedily.  One of his elegant hands slid down the silk of her dress to palm the curve of her buttocks; the other took possession of a breast.  The heat from his palm burned through the fabric, and Laura wanted to cry out from the exquisite familiarity.  

Giving into the need that had begun raging through her the moment she laid eyes on him across the poker table, she yanked his shirt open--spilling studs across the terrace--to lay her hands on his bare skin.  She clutched the mat of hair before skimming hands down the nubbins of his nipples to his waistband.  Impatient now, she loosened the fastenings on his pants and dragged the zipper downward.  

He sucked in his breath, his stomach tightening into hard ripples.  “Laura, wait.”  

But she didn’t wait.  At the moment, she was so frantic to touch she hardly paid attention to his hands urging her to stop.  She tugged away the material, and his erection sprang free.  Knowing exactly how he liked to be stroked, she curved a hand to run up the length of him and swirled a thumb across the dampened tip.  Her breath grew as ragged as his.  

He slid one hand into her hair and tugged so that her head tilted up.  The kiss scorched her senses, overwhelming them.  She floundered in a quagmire of sensation until she discovered that one of his hands had been pulling up the skirt of her dress until he found the hem line.  Without further ado, he yanked at the scrap of lace underneath until it came free, leaving her bare to his touch.  
She knew she was wet.  Memories of their lovemaking had done that over cards.  Where his fingertips slid along her legs, she burned and raised one leg to rest on his hip.  Without preamble, he buried two fingers deep inside her sheath, stroking hard from the first touch.  Her hands flailed; she had nothing to hold to support herself as she lost her ability to think.  

As if he read her mind, he muttered, “Put your hands around my neck, Laura.  Hold on to me.”  She did, and in one smooth motion, he lifted her so that she could sit on the edge of the little marble table intended for al fresco dining.

She wrapped her legs around him and demanded, “Now, Remington.”  

He took her at her word.  With a flex of his hips, he drove deep.  She had to bite her bottom lip to keep from screaming as he filled her, taking away the emptiness she’d carried inside.  There was only sharp pleasure that had her raking her hands through his hair while he made long strokes inside her.  It didn’t take much after their long separation.  With his hot body under her hands taking hard possession of her, his voice in her ear, and the intoxicating scent of him filling her senses, the orgasm ripped through her.  Only his hands held her upright as she arched backward, her inner muscles drawing him deep, clenching down hard around him as she shuddered and gasped for breath.

He exploded within her depths, making her cry out this time, accompanied by his own guttural moan of her name in her ear.  

She wasn’t sure how he had the presence of mind not to move, but if he had, she would have tumbled off the table.  He kept a grip on her waist as they found their balance once more.  

“Good God, Laura, I’m--"

“Don’t apologize,” she interrupted.  For a moment, she could only bury her face in his shoulder.  She wanted the comfort of his touch but knew she’d done nothing to deserve it.  Mortified by her own lack of restraint, she deliberately shifted so that he slipped free of her.  They both winced at the loss of contact.  She didn’t look at him as she shook out her skirt.  When she turned away to enter her suite, he gently caught her by the elbow.  

“Laura, please don’t walk away.”

“Again, you mean?” she asked unhappily.  She saw he’d straightened his own clothing, although his hair was mussed and most of the studs were missing on his shirt.

“Why did you come find me, Laura?  Was it to prove that you can still have me?  That I’ll come running when you snap your fingers?”  His irritation was clear in his clipped voice.

Shocked, because nothing could have been farther from the truth, she denied the accusation vehemently as she backed away, stumbling on the threshold in the process.  “No, not at all.”  

“Then why, damn it?”  He followed her inside and slammed the door shut, making her jump.  

He leaned against it in frustration and shakily dragged a hand through his hair.  “Bloody hell, Laura.  I came here because I miss you.  Not to argue with you.  Not to trip the light fantastic on the terrace.  But I don’t have an ounce of will when it comes to you, do I?  You’re the one with the steel spine.  I haven’t even had the bloody strength to quit wearing a sham wedding ring because it links me to you.”  He unhappily eyed her bare left hand.  

Laura stood in the middle room, listening in astonishment.  When he reached to pull the band from his finger, she took two steps and stopped his movement.  He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his face pinched with distress.  

She reached behind her neck to unfasten the buttons at the collar of her dress.  Out of it, she drew a long necklace with the chain threaded through her wedding band.  “La Reine was only a role I played, Remington.”  When she let go of it, the ring hung between her breasts, where the fabric would hide the slight bump.  “I didn’t take it off until I arrived in Cannes.”

He touched it with his fingers.  When his knuckles grazed her breastbone, she inhaled swiftly as the light pressure caused need to course through her veins all over again.  

Hating herself for forcing the issue but needing the right answer, she moved away from his touch.  She could feel the tears threatening and the strain in her own face as she made herself say, “I have to know, Mr. Steele.”

The words came without hesitation.  “I love you, Laura.”  He handed her an envelope from his tuxedo jacket.  

“What’s this?”  Her hands trembled, and a drop of wet escaped her lashes.

He used his thumb to wipe it away.  “Proof.”  

Inside the envelope was a one-way ticket to Los Angeles dated for two days hence in the name of Remington Steele.  Laura stared at it in astonishment.  “You were coming back?”

“I was ready to return weeks ago, but ... a friend told me to wait.  I didn’t know you were La Reine, or I would have found you sooner.  Waiting has been bloody awful, but she insisted that I give you time to find me.  I bought the ticket so I wouldn’t lose my mind in the process.”  

“Mildred.”  Laura shook her head as she swallowed the rest of her tears.

He grinned, his first one since he’d come.  “She is rather convinced we belong together.”  

“Don’t I know it,” Laura muttered in annoyance.

“Got to you, has she?”

“Have you met my mother?”

He arched a brow.  “Several times as I recall.”

“Mildred made her look like an amateur.”  Laura shook her head, remembering.  “She thought I was being foolish and told me so daily.  Between her and my mother--”  She pressed her lips together in distress, not wanting to think about the arguments she’d had with both.

“Is that why you’re here?  Because you thought you had to make up for leaving?”

“Something like that.”  Then Laura looked away, wanting to be honest.  “No.  I needed to see if you might have changed your mind about ... certain things.  If you hadn’t, I could … move on.”

“Easily?”

She let out a low sarcastic laugh.  “Nothing about you has been easy.”

“Did you ever consider a divorce?”

Laura reached to flick an invisible piece of lint from his jacket.  “Think about it--yes.  Consider it--no.  I--I had to find you first.”

“I’ve been a bloody fool for not telling you how I felt before.”  

“Yes, you have,” she retorted insolently.

“My apologies for my shortcomings, La Reine.”  He clicked his heels and bowed over her hand before grazing a kiss along the knuckles.

A bubble of laughter escaped her as he smoothly stepped into her embrace.  “I love you.  I’ve always loved you, I think.  I never stopped loving you, not for a moment,” he whispered in her ear.    

When a tear rolled down her cheek, he kissed it away.  


*****


Remington closed his eyes when he tasted the salty drop of water.  And then he buried his face in her hair and held her to him.  For all the élan he’d acquired over the years, no one could scatter his brains quite like Laura Holt.  In each rare moment she’d stepped in close, he had stumbled--fumbling the words or making an ass of himself.  The wonder of it was that she kept giving him one more chance to get it right.  

He’d promised himself to keep his hands off her until they'd cleared the air between them, but instead,  he’d lost his mind and rutted like a bull with hardly any consideration for her or the issues standing between them.  Yet, here she was in his arms again, tangling her fingers through his hair, stroking his neck, and laying kisses below his ear.  

“Bloody hell, Laura.  I can’t think when you touch me that way,” he confessed.  

“Then don’t think.”  She slid her hands under his shirt again.   

He might have argued, but he wanted her too damned much.  Sex had never been a problem between them.  But this time he would take his time to do it right.  Taking her wrist in his hand, he brought it to his lips where he suckled the flesh on the inside.  She curled her fingers as she gasped from the sensation.

A knock on the door interrupted them.

In frustration, Remington stalked to the terrace door and stared at the sea while Laura spoke with someone outside.  Quietly, she closed the door and came back, hugging her arms where she stood.  

“I’m sorry.  That was the personal maid the hotel assigned to me.  I told her to get some sleep.”   

He turned around again.  “You have a personal maid?”

“I can’t get in and out of this dress without help.”  

Remington grinned.  “Perhaps I might offer my assistance.”

Drily, Laura replied, “I thought you might.”

Awkwardly, the two took mincing, hesitant steps toward each other.  Remington shrugged out of his jacket, laying it on a nearby chair as he kicked off his shoes.  He reached out, and Laura put her hand in his.  

The iciness of her fingers gave him an idea of how edgy she was.  He had to admit he wasn’t much better.  “Laura, I don’t think I was this nervous at Ashford Castle.”  He referred to their first night together.  

“You’re nervous?”  Her lips parted in surprise as he blew on her fingertips and warmed them in his hands.  

“Petrified.  What if I don’t impress you?”  He was only half joking.

Her eyes softened.  “You already have.”  She slid her warmed hands along his furred chest and nudged the gaping shirt off his shoulders.  Remington could only think about how her hands felt … good.  He shook the sleeves off his wrists and let the shirt fall to the floor.  Her breathing sped up as she took in the naked expanse of his torso.  

For a moment he admired the line of her dress and the way it hugged every curve without being indiscrete.  “La Reine suits you,” he said again.  “I shall endeavor to be worthy of you.”  

Uncertainty flickered in her eyes as he moved behind her to finish unfastening the long row of buttons that ran from the nape of her neck to the curve of her rear.  As the gap widened, he touched the pale skin beneath.  Each freckle he revealed deserved its own bit of his attention.  Laura shivered as he laved her skin with his tongue.  

When the back gaped open, he stole one hand beneath the fabric to caress her belly and hips.  He knew exactly how sensitive the flesh was at her waist and took his time relearning her curves.  As he touched, her skin flushed pink, making him smile as he nudged the fabric off her shoulder and pressed her to him.  Knowing Laura as he did, it wouldn’t be long before she turned the tables on him.  But he had her trapped at the moment and took advantage while he could.  

If he thought her hands felt good, having her bare back flush against his chest was incredible.  He had missed her physical presence enough to feel an ache in his belly.  Eager to rediscover her body, Remington dropped one hand between her legs, letting the other roam across her bare breasts while he fastened his mouth to the elegant line of her neck.  When his sensitive fingers found her soft folds, he nudged the wet flesh aside to find the swollen nub hidden beneath.  

Laura let him pluck at it for a moment until she shivered; then she smoothly drew her hands out of the dress and let it fall to the floor.  She stepped out of the soft pile of silk, leaving her shoes behind and her body entirely nude.  

Remington grinned, appreciating once again that Laura had no inhibitions when it came to sex.  Any reservations she might have had were left at the bedroom door of Ashford Castle.  She lightly clasped him about the shoulders.  He took the hint, picking her up into his arms to carry her the short distance to the bed.  

Now the real challenge would begin.  

Never a passive lover, Laura loved to see how hard and high she could push him in the bedroom.  Time and again she would use any tool in her arsenal--her body, mouth, or words--to evoke exquisite pleasure in him.  He had to use every ounce of his cunning to take her on the same journey.  

The moment he set her down, she pulled him to the bed and straddled him, deliberately trapping his erection between them.  His eyes nearly crossed, but he drew her head down to rain kisses across her face before sucking on her bottom lip and taking possession of her mouth with flicks of his tongue that made her hips twitch. 

For six months Laura had suffered through midnight memories of Remington.  Knowing exactly what kind of skills her partner possessed had been infinitely worse than all her previous years of wanting him.  No fantasy could outstrip reality.  Now, with the hard planes of his stomach under her fingertips, she ached to possess him, to feel him buried hard and deep within her.  

The interlude on the patio had only temporarily eased the ache.  Now it roared back with a vengeance, and Laura had to reign in her impatience.  Taking a deep breath, she slowed, letting her eyes and fingertips caress his face--tracing the hard angles of his cheekbones and jaw line.  Remington never shifted his eyes from her.  They burned blue-white with desire.  

Laura smiled with impudence.  “Oh, I forgot about that.”

“What’s that?” he asked.  His hands played with her hair before stroking along her spine, making her arch in response.  

“That look.”  

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re toast.”  

“I--“  

She shut him up and began assaulting his senses--starting with skimming her hands down his throat and chest to play with his nipples.  They contracted under her fingertips, and he groaned as her tongue danced with his.  The softness of her skin cradling his arousal combined with the little nips and flicks of her mouth and fingers sent jolts of pleasure through his lean frame.  

“Laura--“ he tried again, but words failed him as she made a path down his body, stopping to nuzzle his belly button and lick her way to her second favorite part of his body.  Delighted with his response, she stopped and sucked on the soft flesh just above where his erection began.  One hand made feather-light strokes along his flesh.

His voice shook.  “Laura, you don’t have to do this.”  

She looked up in surprise.  “Play with my favorite toy?  Why wouldn’t I want to do that?”

“Because then I can’t do this.”  Quick as a cat, he flipped her over.  A pair of taut breasts topped with hard nipples taunted him as Laura laughed at his deception.  Her chuckle turned into a gasp as he closed his mouth about one, tasting and teasing the peak until she squirmed.  He switched to the other, using a free hand to stroke the dampened tip of the first while he repeated the teasing on the second.  Laura began gripping his hair and shoulders.  

“Not yet, not yet,” she urged.  Need burned, rising and throbbing.  She fought to keep it from spilling over, wanted him before she peaked.  

But he wanted to see her go up in flames.  “Oh yes, Laura.  It’s just the first of many.”  He flicked one peak as he suckled hard on the second.  

“Damn you, Mr. Steele.”  She shuddered as the orgasm swept through her.  Before she recovered and tried to take control, he found her wet, silky folds again.  This time, he buried his fingers between them while he lavished kisses along her neck and collarbone.  

“Not fair,” she insisted.  

“Of course not,” he agreed.  He kept up the steady pressure until she twitched in time with his flicks, then he slid a finger inside her silky hot sheath.  The flesh clasped about his finger, and she arched in delight, spreading her legs wide to take his hand deeper.  Dexterous fingers slid in and out in an erotic rhythm while his thumb tap-danced on the little bundle of nerves that connected straight to her core.  This time she flooded his fingers with her wet heat as she climaxed.  

Panting, she tried to wiggle away.  “Remington, you have to stop,” she insisted, her voice breathy as the quakes still reverberated through her body.  

“I’m not done yet.”  He never stopped, only changed techniques to give her a different sensation.  His hand roamed the length of her body as his mouth found her.  Taking his time, he savored the flavor of her folds with heady pleasure.  He suckled there as he buried two fingers inside her sheath.This time she called his name as she contracted around his fingers, drawing them deep and high inside.  

She pulled his hands away.  “No more.  No more.  It’s too much.”

“Of course there’s more, Laura.”  He stroked her skin from neck to knee, letting the quivers ease from her body even as new ones began to rake her senses.   

But this time she pushed away from him and yanked a sheet from the tousled bed.  She knotted it around her breasts and put her hands on her hips.  He flashed an insolent grin that made her laugh again.  “Had enough?” he drawled as he stretched out on the bed, leaning on an elbow.  

She crawled across the bed, holding the sheet in place.  “Never.”  With a light touch, Laura had Remington lie on his stomach.  He smiled and closed his eyes, knowing what was to come.  He heard the sheet drop to the floor just before she crawled on top of him.  For a minute, they lay that way, snuggling together body to body.  

Then she began to weave her sensuous spell, the one that never failed to leave him utterly dazed.  Kisses along the back of his neck fueled the fire.  She worked her way down his spine, stroking lightly, massaging, caressing and kissing.  Her fingers skimmed his sides, sliding between him and the sheets to catch on his nipples before sliding to his waist.  

He had to adjust his position twice to accommodate a raging erection, and Laura’s soft laugh at his discomfort blew hot air across his spine.  He groaned.  She nipped her way down his buttocks, caressing and laving them while sliding a hand underneath to stroke the hard flesh under his sacs.  He twitched violently and sucked in his breath as her hand played for a moment.  

Then she straddled his hips, letting her wet apex nestle in the small of his back.  She rocked, creating a friction that fired his imagination.  Throughout it all, she toyed with his hair, grazed nails along his spine, and used her tongue to trace lacy patterns on his shoulders.  In time, he could feel the tension in Laura’s thighs as her own movements had her catching her breath.  He couldn’t say why he liked what she did--perhaps that it was one of the rare moments when she utterly abandoned herself to the senses.  But he had a smile on his face when she nudged him to his back.  

She wasn’t done yet either.  Now her hair tickled his thighs, and she dove in, playing with her “favorite toy” as she called it.  Her mouth did magical things as she licked the sides, tracing the individual veins to the top, where she nibbled on the tip of his erection.  Then she engulfed him in her warmth as she stroked him with her hands.  He jerked, grabbing first at the sheets, then tangling a hand in her hair as she set up a rhythm that took him hard and fast to the precipice.  

Only then did she let go of him, just short of letting him fly.  

“Oh bloody hell, Laura, you’re not stopping now.”  

Her sultry laugh made him shiver.  “No.”  Gracefully, she threw a leg over him and positioned herself so that in one long stroke, she took him inside.  He very nearly came apart then and there.  The quick moment on the terrace didn’t hold a candle to what she did to him now.  Staggered by her, he held on with gritted teeth as she rose and fell above him.  

Then, it was all too much.  He gripped her waist with an arm and flipped them without losing their connection.  Laura’s satisfied smirk didn’t stop him either.  He sat on his heels and drew her hips in so that she arched backward onto the bed.  Mindlessly, he thrust into his beloved, taking her with him so that her screams matched his shouts as they found Nirvana together.  

He collapsed on her, rolling so that he cradled her against his side.  Comforted, spent and grateful for Laura’s unfailing love, he kissed her forehead and let sleep claim him.


*****


When his breathing evened out, Laura lay in his embrace for nearly an hour.  She watched the minutes click by while she let the memories of the last six months replay in her head.

At last she slipped from the bed.  Delicately, she tugged the strands of gold from her hair and set them on the nightstand.  Looking back at her lover, all the months of despair, loneliness, need, and anger crashed in at once.  She eased out to the terrace so as not to disturb him.  


*****


Remington snapped awake as she set the golden chains on the table, the slightest unusual sound disrupting his sleep.  He steeled himself, thinking she was going to leave now that she’d won the admission from him she’d needed for so long.  

But she merely walked out to the balcony.

With all the skill he’d developed as a thief so long ago, he silently joined her.  In the moonlight, he could see tears streaming down her face.  Not a sound emerged, nor did her shoulders shake.   

He pulled her into his arms.  “Christ, Laura, I know.  I know how much it hurt.  Every bloody day was miserable.  If Mildred hadn’t told me you were coming, I’d have flown to Los Angeles months ago and begged you to reconsider.”  

Her hoarse voice told him just how much she’d been holding inside.  “I walked out on you, Remington.  You’re everything I want, and I walked away.”  

“I know.  It took me a while to understand why, but I do now.”

She blinked, looking up in surprise.  “You do?”

“I do.”  He stroked her hair as he memorized her features anew.  “Getting married for INS’s sake wasn’t the problem.  Not telling you that I love you and have no intention of ever leaving you was.  If we had nothing between us, marrying to save me from immigration would have been easy for both of us.  But that’s not the case and has never been.

With fingertips, she brushed away the wetness.  Quietly, she asked, “When did you discover all this?”

“Oh, not at first,” he admitted.  “I was too bloody shocked that you’d given me an ultimatum.  I waited a couple of weeks before figuring out that you were serious.  Then I came here.  Damnedest thing too.  I tried to settle into my old life in one of the better hotels and locate contacts that would give me a boost.  Instead, I ended up in a rented cottage down the way.  I’ve been dabbling at the poker table for entertainment and playing with a handful of investments in the meantime.”

“A house, a living and no life of crime?”  She raised her eyebrows .  

“I prefer my own cooking.  It’s difficult to do that when one is on the run.”  

“Now there’s a revelation.”

He smiled at her.  “Here’s another one.  It took me a second month to realize that you might have had a point in all this.”  He rested his forehead on hers.  “Laura Holt makes concessions for no one.  It’s one of your characteristics I’ve admired most.  You held me off for four bloody years because you had set a standard for yourself.  

“And on a pretty day in May, in a matter of hours, you compromised everything you are to help me.  If we were good friends and could treat being married as a lark, you would have been all right.  But we’re not just good friends, are we?”  

She shook her head.  “No.”

“I know.  Somewhere along the way, you fell in love with me.  I’m not even going to hazard a guess as to when, because I’d have to kick myself for being a bigger bloody fool than I already am.  You left because you love me.  You can’t love me and make a lie of the life we were living.  That life meant everything to you.”

Laura blinked back more tears, but one escaped to slide down a wet track on her face.   

Remington only held her a little tighter.  “You had risked everything for me--including what makes you Laura Holt.  I hadn’t risked anything at all except what you’d given me.”  He looked over her head at the water before making a final confession.  “I’ve discovered I can live without you, Laura, without having to go back to the life I once led.  The thing of it is I’d rather not.  Waking up in the morning without you is a miserable way to start the day.  Going to bed without you is a lousy way to end it.  And none of the parts in the middle really matter at all if you’re not there.”  

Stark emotion crossed her features for a moment while more tears fell.  Then she dragged her hand through her hair and took a deep breath to regain her composure.  With a touch of sass, she replied, “For someone who says he doesn’t believe in words, you certainly have made a convincing argument.”

Remington brushed a kiss across her forehead.  “I’ve said a lot of words over the years that meant nothing.”  He framed her face with his hands.  “But with you, I’ve learned that I can tell you the words that mean everything.  I love you, Laura Holt.”


*****


Someone snapped a picture of La Reine and an unnamed gentlemen ardently kissing on her balcony.  The article in the paper speculated wildly as to the identity of her lover.  Heavy odds leaned toward the mysterious Paul Fabrini, about whom extraordinarily little information could be found.  La Reine never emerged from her suite, and even the bellhops couldn’t confirm the man’s name.  

Two jean-and-sweater-clad American tourists boarded the airplane for LAX the day after that.  Remington handed Laura a copy of the paper he’d saved.  

“ ‘Unnamed gentlemen.’  That’s too bad.  I might have been able to collect on a few bets,” she mused.

He wiggled his eyebrows.  “Uh, Laura, where are we going to live?”

“I have no idea, Mr. Steele.”

For some reason, the two of them found that hilarious, and they laughed, perhaps too loudly for the plane.  Dark glares from the other passengers settled them down to grins.  

He gave her an odd look then.  “You sold your piano too?”

She nodded.  “To Mildred--for a dollar and the caveat I can buy it back from her for the same.”

Remington roared with laughter again.  “Damn, you’re good, Miss Holt.”

She eyeballed her wedding ring.  “That Mrs. Steele to you, buster.”



21 November 2009
edited 11 August 2010

Steele Holting On

Steele Holting On