Répondez Steele Vous Plait
Monday morning found Laura buried in paperwork. They had closed
case after case the previous week, and now Mr. Steele had disappeared
to parts unknown, leaving her to clean up the reports. Smiling to
herself in amusement, she had to admit that he’d done more work in the
past seven days than she thought possible.
Of course, they’d wrapped up the last case on Saturday afternoon, and she hadn’t seen him since.
She missed him. Even paperwork seemed to go a little faster when she knew he could pop in at any time with a question, a challenge, or merely to annoy her because he was bored--and a bored Mr. Steele could cause all kinds of interesting things to happen.
They hadn’t been bored much this past week with a murder to solve, a security system to install, a stolen car to recover and no less than four skip-traces to conduct. Laura had dumped the last on Mildred’s desk while she and Mr. Steele worked on the rest. Laura hoped this week would be calmer. She enjoyed the frenetic pace of jam-packed weeks, but when they stretched on too long, tempers grew short around the office.
Mr. Steele appeared well after Laura and Mildred shared a quiet lunch at the Mexican restaurant near the office. He draped his coat over the back of a chair before sitting across from her. He propped his feet on her desk and idly rifled through the stack of files before selecting one. He stole a pen from the several she kept in a cup near her lamp. She caught herself perusing the long lines of his body, half wishing he’d left the tie off so that she could peek at his throat while he worked. Meanwhile, his writing hand flew across the file propped against his knee. She knew his apparently casual notes were anything but. He may not like paperwork, but he could whip through it with neat thoroughness that still occasionally surprised her.
The conversation stayed casual and light throughout the afternoon as they steadily worked through the pile. She picked up the final file with a smile. “Last one.”
He paused in his writing, watching her with an intensity she didn’t understand as she opened the folder. Inside, an invitation--written on thick, handmade paper--lay on top of the case files.
“What’s this?”
“Read it.”
In Mr. Steele’s bold handwriting, she read, Your presence is requested for an evening of dinner and seduction on Friday at eight of the clock. She looked up in shock to discover him standing beside her.
“No need to R.S.V.P. at the moment, Laura, but if you accept the invitation, I’ll expect you stay the night.” Mr. Steele reached for her hand, turned it over and laid a kiss along the pulse in her wrist. Involuntarily, she clenched her fingers at the erotic sensation. He released her and disappeared through their connecting door with a smile.
Her ability to concentrate for the rest of the week had been utterly compromised. Thank goodness the agency hadn’t taken on any cases of significance, although Laura would have preferred the distraction. Instead, she’d dwelled on the invitation with all its intrinsic implications.
After the conversation they’d had at the Friedlich Spa about moving their relationship forward, declining it wasn’t an option--not without a damned good reason. Despite her annoyance at being backed into a corner, she had to admit that Mr. Steele had forced her hand in an extraordinarily lovely way. He’d given her five full days to think about exactly where their relationship might go. The time and care he’d taken to plan out the invitation showed her that he hadn’t extended it without a great deal of thought. He’d gone on to behave as a perfect gentleman throughout the week. No double entendres, no wiggling eyebrows, no wandering caresses. Last night, she’d called to accept his invitation. He’d replied graciously without a trace of conceit.
Now, with only six hours left, Laura had to relocate her gumption from wherever she’d stashed it after Wilson had left.
In the quiet of her own office, she put her head in her hands and admitted for the first time that she loved Mr. Steele. She couldn’t even accuse him of stealing her heart. She’d kept it carefully locked up all these years, well-defended against intruders. But that hadn’t stopped the love she had for him from blossoming into something that wouldn’t stay hidden much longer. Her heart ached.
At
the
moment
she was terribly grateful Mr. Steele was spending the
afternoon at the cinema. With her defenses stripped, she didn’t
want to see him right now. To keep herself occupied, Laura worked
up a new advertising scheme for the coming quarter. It took all
the rest of the day.
*****
At precisely eight, Laura knocked on Remington’s door. Nervously, she tugged her cocktail dress straight while she waited. She didn’t think she’d overdressed for the occasion, but how did one dress for an assignation with one’s partner? Casually to reflect the comfortable relationship they’d developed over the years? Dressy because of the import of what was to occur? In the end, she took her cue from the formality of the hand-lettered invitation.
When Remington opened the door, resplendent in a black suit, his face brightened. He held out a hand to draw her inside. “You wore red.”
Self-consciously, she started to protest. He stopped her with a hand to her cheek and a thumb on her lips, caressing. “You look … stunning.”
He didn’t try to kiss her. Perhaps he knew she would feel awkward at this moment, knowing what was to come. Instead, he led her to the kitchen where a bottle of wine breathed on the counter. As they passed the empty dining room table, Laura frowned. “I thought we were eating dinner?”
“We are.” His blue eyes twinkled. “But not at the table.” He poured, then handed her the goblet of rich red wine. Picking up his own, he offered, “A toast.”
“To?”
“Us.”
Laura hesitated, still unsure of the moment. His smile didn’t falter while he waited for her to tap her glass to his. “To us.” She drank while watching him.
He didn’t seem to mind her scrutiny as he set a small pot of bubbling cheese on the kitchen island, along with a plate of French bread squares and chunks of apple. She reached out for one when he captured her hand with his own. “Let me.”
He swept a piece of fruit through the fondue and held it to her mouth. She bit, closing her eyes as the cool, crisp flavor of the apple mingled with the mild taste of cheese seasoned with half a dozen ingredients. She couldn’t identify them all--that was Mr. Steele’s expertise--but she could enjoy them all the same.
When she opened her eyes, Remington wore a diabolical grin. “I only hope I can find other ways to put that particular look on your face.” He drew their joined hands together and skimmed a kiss across her knuckles before letting go.
She returned the favor, dipping a bite-sized square of bread into the cheese. She held it up, and he deliberately closed his lips over her fingers, warming the tips as he took the morsel from her. Tingles traveled the length of her arm.
She had to tell herself not to move away. Long ago she’d drawn a line for herself. Whenever she found herself slipping into the wildly passionate Laura who wanted to throw caution to the wind, she’d stepped back. She suspected Mr. Steele knew exactly how to push her to that point and had made it a game of seeing how many ways he could get her there.
He must have seen his effect on her because he gave an odd tilt to his head, as if in disbelief, while he cupped her face with both hands. With delicate care, he brushed his lips to hers before releasing her and reaching for his wine glass. At the moment, her body begged her to stay and partake of the banquet before her. Her heart agreed, but her brain--her damnable brain--tried to make a list of all the reasons that this was a bad idea. She shivered, conflicted.
She saw it then--the faint tremor of his hand, the echoing ripple in the wine. Reassessing in an instant, she said in surprise, “You’re nervous.”
Blue eyes shadowed, hardening as he put up his defenses.
And that, Laura discovered, changed everything. She made herself think about why this night might be a good idea. Shocked by her own thoughts, she found the courage to hold her ground. Laying a hand on his chest, she purred, “I believe you promised me dinner and a seduction.”
“Laura--”
She stopped him from speaking by putting her fingers to his lips. “I’m hungry.”
The tension in his eyes eased as he fed her a bite of cheese-laden bread. This time, she captured his thumb and forefinger, sucking lightly. Remington’s eyes darkened, the irises deepening in a manner Laura had seen only on the rarest of occasions. She’d long been aware that the color of his eyes could range from the iciest of blues to nearly indigo. Tonight, they enchanted her with their rich sensuality.
“Remington?” He jerked in surprise at the name. “The cheese and bread are nice, but I want more.”
“Ah, oh, the steak is almost finished. Bit on the rare side yet, unless you’d like it to ‘moo.’” He turned to peer under the lid.
“Turn it off.” He looked back in surprise at her order. Laura finished off her wine and set it on the counter. “That’s not what I want.”
With jerky movement at odds with his usual smooth demeanor, he raised his eyebrow. “And what does Miss Holt want this evening?”
“You.”
*****
Deep
in
the
night, the cheese had congealed into a solid mass; the steak had
long since grown cold in the pan. But the two lovers picked out
bits of food anyway and fed them to each other between kisses and heady
touches, drunk on bubbling passion--all the while laughing in that way
only good friends can do.
*****
On Monday, Laura breezed into the office, singing. Remington appeared an hour later in an unusually good humor. He behaved himself that day, keeping his hands to himself and his mind on the business.
Mildred went home at five, and Laura closed her files. She casually strode into Remington’s office where he had his feet propped up on his desk. “Done with the paper yet?”
He raised his eyebrows and folded the newspaper neatly before laying it down. “Certainly.”
“I need to talk to you.”
Remington’s mouth thinned. Clearly he expected the worst sort of news from her. He sat up, dropping his feet to the floor. “Laura, surely you can’t take exception to my behavior today. I’ve done my best to treat you as a professional on all levels. I thought I’d done an admirable job keeping our personal life private.”
She sat on the edge of his desk. “Well, that has presented a problem.”
He clenched his jaw. “What sort of problem?”
“Since September of 1982, I’ve had all sorts of vivid ideas about what it would be like to work together and be lovers. So far, a whole day has passed and not a single one of them has come to fruition.”
Eyeing her suspiciously, he prompted, “And--”
“And I think we have to set a few rules around here.”
He cocked his head as the light began to dawn. “What sort of rules?”
She leaned down, close enough to smell his cologne. “Half the fun of working with you is my not knowing what you’re going to do. Don’t change.”
12 August 2010
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