Chapter 8: Fallout
The remainder of the afternoon became a stuttered haze—bright moments of clarity in a mostly horrible day that Laura would prefer to later forget. Mildred handled some of the unpleasantness—contacting the coroner’s office and making immediate arrangements for Daniel’s body. Laura did the rest, including making the difficult phone call to the Earl of Claridge to explain why Daniel wouldn’t be returning home on Sunday.
She discovered that not only had the two men become fast friends in the preceding nine months, but the Earl had known of Daniel’s illness and offered a final resting place for his friend on his estate.
Remington kept vigil with Daniel until the coroner arrived. Afterward, he insisted on packing his mentor’s things himself.
Laura tried not to hover. She and Mildred exchanged period costumes for their own clothing and packed up their luggage before carrying Remington’s garment bag back to the manor house. She found her partner still in Daniel’s room with a suitcase full of clothing on the bed and pile of pill bottles next to it.
“You knew,” he accused as soon as she walked into the room. He held the gold watch in his hand.
Carefully sitting on the edge of the bed, she nodded. “Yes. I found out on Wednesday. I’d searched Daniel’s room looking for clues as to why he wanted you here. I discovered both the pills and the watch.”
“And you didn’t tell me.” His jaw whitened as he clenched his teeth.
Laura stared down at hands she’d stuffed between her knees. “I wanted Daniel to tell you himself. As long as he was alive, it wasn’t my secret to tell.”
“You would have told me when he died?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Probably. Maybe.” She changed her mind. “Maybe not if all it was going to do was hurt you.”
“I see. It’s all right to keep secrets then. I’ll keep that in mind for future reference,” he retorted.
Laura pressed her lips together, doing her damnedest not to say anything damaging. She forcibly reminded herself that Remington had just lost his closest friend, if not his father. “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I wanted you to hear it from Daniel.”
“So where in the bloody hell does that leave me now? I have to bury a father, not a friend. One who’s been ill for a bloody long time and didn’t bother telling me. I thought better of you, Laura. I thought we were past this sort of thing. Aren’t you always harping that that we need to talk—to share things? Yet you would keep something like this from me?”
Her face paled as she rose unsteadily to her feet. “I did what I thought was right. I’m sorry, Remington.” She walked to the door, intending to give him space to grieve.
“Laura.”
She paused, looking back over her shoulder. The anger was
gone from him, leaving only a bleak sadness. Unsure of what he
wanted, she waited until he held out a hand. Laura took it, wrapping
her arms around him as she closed the distance between them.
While Daniel’s body was flown to London that night, the three detectives returned to Los Angeles. Uncharacteristically, Remington stayed quiet during the flight. Laura and Mildred made small talk as they worked out arrangements for the coming week. Once in L.A., Fred retrieved them in the limo, dropping Mildred at home first before delivering the newlyweds to Remington’s flat.
It wasn’t the romantic homecoming she’d briefly entertained that morning. Her new husband headed straight for the shower without saying a word. Laura set her tote down, wondering what to do. The kitchen didn’t provide many alternatives. After a week, even Remington’s larder was bare. She wasn’t interested in a glass of wine; it seemed out of place at a time like this.
She ended up on the terrace staring across the road into the dark trees of Hancock Park. Remington’s easy smile when he came out startled her. Hair damp, freshly shaven and wearing only a loose pair of silk loungers, he made a delicious picture entirely at odds with the events of the day.
“Going to stay with me tonight?” he asked, his voice humming with sensuality. He trailed fingers along her arm in a sultry caress.
Not knowing what to make of his good humor, she played along. “I’d planned on it.”
“Excellent choice, Mrs. Steele. Or is that Mrs. Holt-Steele?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Do. Care to join me in the whirlpool?”
Laying a hand on his chest, she searched his face for signs of distress. Finding none, she gave a slight shake to her head. “We don’t have to do this, Remington.”
So smoothly she didn’t see it coming, he lifted her into his arms. “Quite the contrary, my lovely.” He carried her through the bedroom door and into the bathroom, where the Jacuzzi bubbled with steaming water.
Disconcerted by his firm suppression of concern for the day’s events, Laura again tried to elicit the expected emotions from him. “Remington, today was—”
“Today is over,” he interrupted, laying a finger over her lips. “Now we have tonight. And we will only have this night once, Laura.”
Unwilling to press further, she tugged her blouse over her head.
Sex in a shower wasn’t a new concept to Laura. Sharing a tub was. She rested against Remington’s chest while the hot water swirled around them. He trailed a thick, soapy washcloth over her shoulders and breasts. The intimacy of the movement made her tense.
“Relax, Laura,” Remington coaxed.
“I’m trying; I’m trying.”
“Do you not like it?”
“I do,” she insisted.
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
She smiled a little. “I’m used to bickering with you, not bathing with you.”
He dipped the washcloth in the water and squeezed it out over her soapy skin, rinsing it clean. “We can do both if you’d like.”
“It might be easier.”
“Then have at it. What particular shortcoming of mine irritates you at the moment?”
Something about his humor washed away her tension. With a devilish grin, she reached back to caress a delicate portion of his anatomy. “Oh, I don’t think it’s very short at the moment.”
“But it’s irritating you?” His voice shifted into a lower octave while he laid the cloth on the side of the tub.
“It’s poking me in the back,” she teased.
Now his slick hands dipped under the water to slide along her belly and the inside of her thighs. “Ah. Perhaps I can find another place for it.”
“What do you have in mind? I might not like it.”
“Well, first I can do this.” He feathered his middle finger along the folds of her inner flesh.
“There’s an idea,” she said—a little breathy, which made him laugh.
“Like that, huh?” He found her center and tapped until she began breathing hard. In the meantime, he shifted her legs so they straddled his, leaving her exposed to the bubbling of the water. Laura’s eyes nearly crossed with the sensuality of it all.
“I do—but you’re still poking me,” she ground out.
He chuckled. “I seem to do that. Let’s try this.” He lifted her in the water just enough to settle her over his erection.
Intellectually, Laura knew sex was possible in this position. The reality of it was nothing like she’d ever anticipated. She was entirely open to his touch. As he swirled a finger over her center, she arched backward—which only pressed her down harder onto his thick arousal. He didn’t even have to move much to bring her to a fast orgasm. The bubbles, his finger and his body did all that.
When she recovered enough to breathe, he did it again. This time, she gasped out his name and pulled his hands away as the sensation became too much to bear.
But he wasn’t done yet. He tugged her back toward him so that her head lay on his shoulder. The heat between them made the water seem uncomfortably hot all of a sudden. He moved, sliding in and out in a steady tempo. The water splashed under the bubbles, dampening her face.
He didn’t touch her now—just let motion push her towards another crescendo. As she approached it, he shortened his thrust, pressing hard and deep. She broke, climaxing hard around him. He thrust once more before his own powerful orgasm took over the movement for the pair of them. His hands held her hips in place until they both strained one final time before collapsing against the side of the Jacuzzi.
Laura let her head rest back against Remington’s shoulder. He held her lightly about the waist, idly caressing her skin—and reminded her of an old conversation.
“So, Mr. Steele. Was that ‘flesh?’ or ‘just flesh’?”
It took him a moment—then his belly rippled under her back as he laughed. “A little of both, I think.”
“I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”
“For certain, Mrs. Steele.”
Laura rested her hand over his and floated in his embrace, thinking that it felt exactly right.
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