VARIATION ON A STEELE: THE STEELE AFTER

By: Susannah 2K

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Summary: Remington and Laura try to deal with each other and the new developments in their relationship. (ADULT CONTENT WARNING)

Disclaimer: This “Remington Steele” story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. The author and this site do not own the characters and are in no way affiliated with “Remington Steele,” the actors, their agents, the producers, MTM Productions, the NBC Television Network or any station or network carrying the show in syndication, or anyone in the industry.

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Laura’s personal relationships — the real ones — had often been so chaotic or conflicted that to cope she’d developed a pattern of spending a lot of time running through them in her head. The nuances of this, the meaning of that — she could occupy herself all day and part of the night for a week at a time trying to decode significant, and insignificant, things that happened in her life.

That’s where most of Saturday and all of Sunday had gone. Saturday morning had been nice — tense, but nice, sitting around Steele’s apartment, eating breakfast, reading the paper, pretending to have a good time ...

That was unfair, though. For all she knew, Steele had been having a great time. His behavior and demeanor suggested he had. She should have been having one. If she had been able to say something — anything at all about what she meant, what she felt — things might have been different: Better, worse, who could tell? Who could tell, with him? When he was being honest, when he was concerned, when she had the real Steele — whoever that was — before her eyes, she thought she knew him. The big problem was, Laura was afraid to know him. Afraid to know some part of him that might be like her father.

So Saturday morning had been nice enough. When she went home, though, that was when the brain went into overdrive. Remember, analyze, conclude — she’d barely had time to eat.

When Monday morning came, she got up as usual and went to the office. Laura had a knack for work; no matter what was going on in her head, she could always manage to take care of business. Work was the focus of her life; it took a lot to drag her away from it, and she’d been surprised to find all day that she wasn’t getting the accustomed pleasure out of concentrating on it. Something had weighed on her mind.

It had been a relief to confide in him, even though she feared he would never understand. How could he, when she did only barely? God knows, she never wanted to hurt him, not really, anyway. And he hadn’t run away. She hadn’t driven him away. Laura wondered at that, wondered whether this was the ultimate test. Steele was always claiming that she devised stupid little tests for him, tests of his loyalty, tests of affection. Well, she didn’t invent that one. For that matter, she hadn’t ever wanted to give him that test.

When Steele proposed dinner — “somewhere simple perhaps, some place quiet” — she said no. Then, feeling stupid and helpless, she said yes.

Loosening his tie, he’d told her, “Nothing’s changed, Laura. Except we’ve turned a corner into a new road, that maybe has a few more opportunities for entertainment or comfort.”

“Oh, God,” she sighed, as he handed her her purse.

They ended up not in some place quiet, but in some place noisy, which finally had the same effect. Pizza and beer, amid a bunch of college students and video machines, made for an intimate dinner. Laura consulted the menu and made a choice, all the while looking at Steele with new eyes. Not the eyes of fantasy any more — what was he really like, how was he in bed — but with the eyes of knowing, at least a little bit. She had worked very hard all day to focus on the professional Remington Steele, and not the intimate one.

He hadn’t changed — not much, anyway. He was still the same old Steele — a bit more open, maybe; a bit more — something. She couldn’t say.

They had always been close. This much, Laura would grant their relationship. They’d been close in the way that partners are close, their very lives, sometimes, depending each on the other. In that way, they knew each other better than most people ever knew their husbands or wives.

Laura could talk and eat pizza and drink beer and all the while run through everything that had happened Friday night, a movie in her head that she watched with part of her mind, while the other part watched him.

She rewound the tape in her head. Somewhere near the point of no return, she had hesitated and muttered something about finding her purse, but Steele was already reaching into a drawer. The gentlemanliness of this touched her, the automatic assumption of responsibility for their lives and any future ones. Upon reflection, she realized she shouldn’t have been so surprised; an unwanted and abandoned child might naturally be more inclined to take precautions against creating similar unhappiness.

She’d gone on and off the pill three times in her life, and had been off it this time for almost a year. Since she wasn’t with anybody consistently, her doctor recommended measures that would protect against both pregnancy and disease and had quoted some statistics that had kept Laura, trained in math, essentially celibate for most of the last eight months.

If Steele was careful with her, he must be careful with everyone, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Have you ever — ” Laura began, and stopped.

Steele tipped up a bottle, took a sip, and set it down again. “What?”

“This is a little after the fact, but — have you ever had a blood test?”

“For — ?”

What did he think she meant? Genetic anomalies? She gestured. “You know.”

“Ah.” The light went on. He frowned.

Laura flushed. He couldn’t think she meant she thought he’d ever — with another —

“Yes, actually,” he replied. Then he smiled a little; of course he didn’t think she thought that. “Negative. Perfect health.”

“Me, too,” she said, relieved. “My doctor’s very thorough.”

“Mine, too.”

“I didn’t know you had a doctor.”

“Remington Steele Investigations provides full coverage. I’d be a fool not to take advantage.”

“And I guess you don’t take any chances.”

“No,” he agreed. “I don’t.”

“Me, neither.”

“I was glad to see you were prepared.”

“I’m even more prepared at home,” she said. “But we weren’t at home. My home,” she corrected. Silence hung between them a bit too long. “We don’t — ” she began, and stopped.

“What?”

“We don’t have to be so serious.”

His eyes crinkled a little at the corners. “We can be as serious as you like.”

“I’m not always this serious.”

“I know that.”

“I’m just in some kind of a groove, and I can’t get out of it.”

He shrugged and reached for another piece of pizza. “Laura, I look at it this way — and tell me if I’m wrong. It means something to you — with me, at least, and you take it seriously. You take our partnership seriously. So do I. What’s wrong with that?”

“I want to have fun,” she said, exasperated with herself. “That’s what’s wrong with it.”

“I can do both,” he told her. “And I’ll wager you can, too. For example — ” He leaned forward confidentially. “I could cover myself with chocolate syrup, and let a particular lady lick it all off me, and be very serious about it.”

His words produced a very intriguing mental picture. “Chocolate,” she murmured.

He sat back in his chair. “I’m partial to strawberry jam, myself.”

“You know,” she said as they walked through Westwood, “you’re pretty good. Where it counts.”

Hands jammed in his pockets, he smiled and looked away. “That’s good to hear. I was afraid I was out of practice.”

“Which means what?” she asked. “A week? Three weeks?” She hugged herself against the evening chill. “Not that it matters … ”

They walked on a little before he said, suddenly, “Four months.” Then he said, “Five, actually.”

“Oh,” said Laura. “Six for me. Well, almost seven.” She refused to confess to eight.

“I thought I was too nervous,” he said presently.

“No, that was me,” said Laura.

Steele laughed and tipped his elbow out to her. Laura linked her arm through his and hugged him closer.

“I’d like to get some sleep,” she told him.

He seemed to understand what she meant, and he didn’t pull away. “I know.”

“I haven’t been able to.”

“No?”

“My mind — ” She made a fluttering gesture with her hand. “ — just won’t shut off and I keep going over it and over it.”

“Which part?” he asked.

“The good part,” she answered. “And what led up to it, and what happened after, and on and on — ”

“ — and on. I know the feeling.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yes.” Untangling his arm from hers, he put it around her shoulders. “It occurred to me I’d bullied you into it. And maybe that’s why you weren’t returning my calls.”

Shaking her head, she told him, “No.”

“Good. That’s good. But I thought about it all the same.”

“You didn’t. Or if you did — ”

“Yes?”

“Well, maybe that’s what I needed. Not exactly. But you know.”

They traded cars in the underground garage. Remington kissed her good night — fondly, chastely, recalling her stated desire to go home and sleep — and was surprised to find her tongue against his teeth and through them.

“Come home with me,” she said.

“What about — ”

She shook her head. “I can sleep any time.”

It would have taken less than that kiss to interest him in her plan; for that reason, he’d held himself slightly apart from her when saying good night. Until they’d settled into this new aspect to their relationship, every step was fraught with peril, and Remington wanted to take special care.

“Give me ten minutes’ head start,” said Laura.

He watched as the Rabbit roared away.

Despite her nerves and her ever-working brain, Laura had dressed for romantic success underneath her business suit, so there was little to change. She brushed her teeth and retouched her makeup, found her diaphragm (and struggled briefly with it), and set out a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. Then she lit a bunch of candles in the bedroom and sat down to compose herself.

Steele was on her doorstep pretty promptly, and when she slid the door back, he took in the scene with appreciative eyes. Laura knew she was still a little tense — okay, a lot tense — and made a conscious effort to relax.

He made it easy. At first, his kiss was merely that of friendly greeting. Then he cranked it up slowly until he was pressing himself against her in the kind of embrace he’d seldom allowed himself before, the kind that made unmistakable his interest and desire.

After a moment, Laura gave herself to the kiss. It was what she wanted; it wasn’t unfamiliar; there was no reason to hold back. She rocked herself up on her toes and down again, her hip nudging him suggestively.

“Champagne?” she asked, when she came up for air.

This seemed agreeable; she sat down on the sofa while he uncorked the bottle.

As he poured, he asked, “What shall we drink to?” Meeting her gaze, he added, “The future? Eh?”

“The future,” she agreed, hesitantly. What did that mean, to him? “And tonight.”

He smiled. “Tonight and the future.”

She drank hers a little fast. Why couldn’t she calm down? Trying to take it a little slower, she managed to spill some.

As she brushed at her shirt, she said, “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

“Ah. I would have thought clumsy with desire.”

She looked into his eyes. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s say that.”

She wasn’t so clumsy with desire that she couldn’t get him out of his shirt and tie. Even with the tangle of arms — Remington trying to unbutton her blouse, she pinning his arms as she tried to drag his sleeves off — and interference of snatched kisses, she was able to achieve that goal. The hair on his chest was silky under her hands, his skin warm.

Leaving her blouse half undone, he scooped her up and carried her up the steps to the bed. He laid her out on the quilt, and she reached up to unfasten his belt and unzip his trousers.

He’d left his shoes and socks behind already. Laura peeled him out of his slacks. Underneath, he was wearing the kind of underwear that makes a man look good in his clothes.

Their first night together was kind of a blur to Laura. She didn’t remember looking at him particularly, just that suddenly she was ready for him, and as suddenly she was with him in every possible way. When she got him out of his briefs, it was like seeing him for the first time.

“Oh!” she said, as the hardened tool, released from the constraining cloth, leapt up under her hand.

Steele, his fingertips resting lightly on her shoulders, took half a step back. “What?”

Blushing hotly, Laura shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “I just — ” She didn’t want him to think she was anything less than admiring of what she saw. Putting her hands on his hips, she smiled up at him. “Let me look at you.”

He seemed amenable to this, suspending his efforts to undress her. First, she looked him up and down. Then she stood up, her skirt falling to her ankles; she stepped out of it and kicked it out of the way. She walked around him slowly, drinking in the contrast between the warmth of color in his skin where the sun had touched it, and its natural, pale translucence.

Standing close behind him, she reached around and moved her hands up his thighs. Steele leaned back against her for balance as her fingers passed lightly over him. A shiver shook him, and Laura caressed and soothed him, rubbing his abdomen and chest with slow, easy strokes.

Then she nudged him onto the bed. Kneeling beside him, she grasped him in both hands and with her thumbs, tentatively drew back the foreskin the rest of the way. Her right hand slipped down and gathered his balls. They were warm and heavy in her palm.

“I never looked at you before,” she explained, making light of the anatomy lesson. “I’m not used to — well — ”

His brow furrowed. Was she the first woman who’d ever mentioned this? “But the other night — ” he said. “When we — ”

“I wasn’t looking,” she repeated. With a delicate finger, she traced the length and then around. “Who knows what I was doing.”

Of course she should have guessed. He wasn’t American. He was Irish, for God’s sake. Just because all her other boyfriends had been American, with standard-issue American equipment, was no excuse for being provincial.

She had seen men like him only in pictures, or as sculptures in museums. Fascinated, she leaned closer and realized he smelled kind of like soap. He must have gone back up to the office and washed before coming over. Considerate? Fastidious? Hopeful? Whatever, Laura had to love him for that.

“It’s nice,” she said, in case she was giving the wrong impression, but that sounded pretty lame. “I mean, you look good. You look as good out of your clothes, as in them, Mr. Steele.”

With the foreskin pulled back, the glans was slick and wet, raw looking, almost. Curious as to what he tasted like, she put out her tongue.

Her reward was a faint moan from Steele and the shivery sensation of his fingers brushing her leg in a light caress. He propped himself up on his elbows as she settled down to her work; she could follow his expression out of the corner of her eye. After a moment, he shifted on the bed, and she felt his hand work in between her thighs to cup her warmth through the silk.

He tasted good to her, and soon she began to feel him tense and throb. Then he put his hand on her head, and she was really ticked off and disappointed in him before she realized he was pushing her back, away from him.

Anger and disappointment were transformed into puzzlement. Laura shook back her hair. He didn’t like her technique? Granted, she was a little rusty; this wasn’t the usual way she’d start a round of lovemaking, and she certainly didn’t offer it to the occasional guy she brought home from a bar or the gym. Still, she thought she was pretty good at it. Unless — Maybe he was really sensitive under there; maybe she was too rough?

“What’s wrong?”

He swallowed hard. His long fingers traced her lips, the line of her throat. “Don’t,” he said in a hollow voice, “let me get too far ahead of you.”

It was all right, then.

She offered a lingering kiss. “I’m not worried,” she whispered. “I think there’s enough to go around.”

When he awoke from this extremely pleasant dream, Remington found Laura nestled close by his side. Her hand was still on him, and he realized with a start that it wasn’t a dream. This was reality, wonderful, astonishing reality!

A revelation, was more like it. Laura was considerably less inhibited than he expected, not, in fact, inhibited at all. Why did this surprise him? He’d heard all about the old, wild Laura, a passionate creature who’d hidden herself away after a stupid man had left her. He’d seen a bit of that Laura himself, so he had no reason to expect her to be shy. How often had she stripped down to a slip, or less, to divert attention from something or someone? And without giving it a moment’s thought! She’d once tried to save him from a beating that way.

Just because she had delayed, for her own painful and complicated reasons, the consummation of their relationship, it didn’t necessarily follow that she would be hesitant once she got going. It shouldn’t have been any kind of a surprise to find her carefully working him over with her tongue — but it was, a happy one — nor that she was now providing a lot of help as he pulled the silk slip over her head. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that his weren’t the only hands dragging her panties off.

There had been enough clues left lying around that Laura Holt had something more than one dimension to her personality. Remington had long believed that if somehow he could release the real Laura – in the same way Laura struggled to learn the reality of Remington Steele – they would be happy.

Here was some proof.

It didn’t take much of this fondling and struggling with her dainty undergarments to ready him for another round, but he ignored the call to action. She was fumbling with the hook on her bra, but he captured her hands in his. The contrast of skin and lace, as with her stockings and garters, fetched him; he was content to kiss what he could reach.

He had long fantasized about what Laura had on under those business suits, and to discover that his dreams were close to reality — what a woman she was!

Her ribs were ripples under his fingertips as he slid off the bed; holding her by the hips, he pulled her closer. With a long sigh, Laura pressed her toes against his shoulders and let her legs fall open. For a moment, he gazed at her most intimate self, framed for him by black lace and garters.

His tongue flicked at her navel, barely revealed under the garter belt; the curling hair below tickled his cheek as he planted kisses along her inner thigh.

Laura sat up suddenly. “Wait!” she exclaimed. “Oh, wait. Don’t, all right? Just — don’t.”

Startled, he demanded, “What? What’s the matter?”

She pushed herself back on the bed and drew her knees up. “I didn’t think — ” she began.

Stop thinking, Miss Holt, is what he thought.

Shaking her head, she covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t think.” She fell straight back on the bed, muttering, “Stupid, stupid, stupid … ”

Remington stroked and caressed her; at least she didn’t spurn him, didn’t turn away from his touch. He kissed her forehead, kissed her fingers, kissed her hard, and one by one peeled those fingers back from her eyes.

She stared up at him, her dark eyes wide and startled.

“Will you at least,” he whispered, “give me a chance to audition?”

“Stupid,” she said again. “I forgot about the taste.”

“The taste?” he repeated. He lifted his hand and licked tentatively; his fingers, sticky from his explorations, tasted salty, a little musky — specifically, he tasted Laura.

“I put my diaphragm in before you came,” she was saying. “I didn’t want to be bothered later. And I forgot — because it’s been so long — that the gel tastes funny. On the box, it says it’s odorless and tasteless, but that’s a lie.”

He was willing to give it a go. “What does it taste like?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Chemicals. It tastes like chemicals.”

“I haven’t detected any chemicals yet,” he answered, smoothing a hand down her belly and tangling his fingers in her hair. “If I do,” he added, the taste of her still on his tongue as he kissed her, “we can raid the kitchen for some jam, eh?”

She laughed at this, or at least made the pretense, but he could feel that the easy rhythm of their lovemaking, so well begun, had been broken.

To regain it, he got up on his hands and knees and dropped his head to barely brush her lips with his. He saw her eyes turn down for a glimpse of his erection; she reached up for him and clung to his neck. Then her hands moved down his back to his hips, exploring and squeezing and trying to press him down to her.

“Ah, not yet, love,” he smiled, turning off to the side. “I told you not to let me get too far ahead. There’s still,” he added, slipping his hands under her to unhook her bra, “so much to do.”

“Oh, my God,” she sighed, as he kissed and sucked at her breasts, testing his teeth lightly against nipples already contracted and stiff.

Regaining his former position by the bed, he stroked her delicately up one side and down the other and watched for her to gape and moisten a little more. As he licked at the bud of her clitoris, her whole body stiffened — he expected another command to stop — then relaxed again. Could he have brought her off that quickly?

Though she was clearly aroused, Remington could sense that she was not entirely at ease. Tracing the hollow in the muscles at the top of her thighs, he said, “Breathe, Laura. There you go. It’s hard to relax if you’re not breathing.”

“Sorry,” she said. She ran a hand blindly through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he told her. “Could be me, eh? Not knowing you, not knowing what you like. This, for example.” He lapped at her in a long stroke, and then back again with the under side of his tongue.

She gasped and shivered, murmuring something he couldn’t quite catch.

Okay. All right. Don’t wake up. Just stay asleep — a little while longer …

If she didn’t open her eyes, everything would be fine. She would get up and face another day, as long as she could keep this dream going for five more minutes …

Another wave of pleasure rippled up through her heart.

Just a few more minutes, thought Laura. Please, just let me finish this dream …

It could only be a dream, right? It wasn’t possible that it could be this good — that he could be this good — just because she’d hoped it would be, hoped he would be. And it wasn’t possible, was it, that barely two strokes of his tongue could put her over the top like that. Especially considering how she’d dulled herself out, lately, with do-it-yourself methods.

Another jolt popped her eyes open. She looked; she had to look.

It didn’t all dissolve into stark reality. Rather, the stark reality was that that was his head of thick black hair; those were his blue eyes peeping up at her through his lashes, those were his lips ... She reached down and smoothed his hair, and pressed his hand where it cupped her hip. Then, because the pleasure became so intense it was almost painful, she turned away from him.

The first time, he had acted on Laura’s desire — at least, the way he read it — to proceed directly to the main event. They hadn’t taken any time to play. A few moments of very hot kisses, a quick shedding of garments, and it was clear to him that she was more than ready. He would have spent more time on the niceties, but Laura’s hands had pulled at him, pressed him, brought him into her almost before he had time to think.

Now he had a chance to prove his talent. There was always something to prove, with her. He minded it less, now that she at least had explained some things, now that he knew it wasn’t him — or rather, that it was him, but that it was also really all about Laura.

What a bloody long, hard road he’d traveled to reach this point! It was a relief to know that it hadn’t been easy for her, either; he’d sometimes entertained the thought that Laura enjoyed teasing him, and time and again he’d had to wrestle that thought away. More often, the idea had crept into his mind that she was cold and he was just the man to warm her up, but the fantasy hadn’t been particularly satisfying, and he was always left puzzled and frustrated.

Not any more. Here was Laura at last, open, exquisitely sensitive, only a little resistant to the pure pleasure he was offering, only a little reluctant to put herself totally in his hands. She did relax, finally – or it might have been exhaustion that left her slack and limp on the bed. Her feet unclenched, and she turned onto her side, drawing one knee up almost to her chest.

Although she’d said something about a diaphragm, Remington continued to make caution the better part of love. As he lay down behind her, he tried not to regret that her heat came to him at a slight distance. She shifted, perfectly in sync with him, and pushed her backside up against him. He ran a hand the length of her body, from her shoulder to her thigh and back again, then spread her open gently and brought himself to the mark.

“Oh, Mr. Steele,” she sighed, as he pressed into her. Laura could feel every inch of him as his probing tool stretched muscles tightened by pleasure. As he withdrew a little, she clamped down hard upon him, and he gave a little groaning laugh and pushed in again all the way. Not yet completely comfortable with the position, she reached back awkwardly to pull him even closer. Then she rocked with him, shifting so that his thrusts hit her just right. Even this wasn’t quite enough, though, and her hand slipped down automatically to make it better.

Catching her at it, Steele put his hand on hers and took over. He whispered something in her ear, and she struggled to untangle herself, to turn over, because she wanted to hold him, to look at him, to feel his heart beating against her own.

At the sound of her name, Laura jerked awake and turned over. Steele stood beside the bed, buttoning his shirt.

“Good morning,” he whispered, leaning down for a kiss.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Half past six. I’m going home to change.”

She sat up, squinting.

Steele shook his head. “Go back to sleep,” he told her. “I’ll see you at the office.”

Don’t go, was what she thought. What she said was, “Okay. See you,” and tried to push away the indestructible suspicion that she was seeing the back of Remington Steele for the last time.

He was at the office before she was, drinking his tea, reading his paper. The door was wide open; Laura could see him as she came in.

“Boy, he’s early,” Mildred remarked.

Laura walked into his office and closed the door behind her. Steele looked up. “Ah, Miss Holt,” he said. “Good morning.”

She went over to his desk. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For waking me up this morning. For being here at — ” She looked at her watch. “ — quarter to nine.”

This he passed off as entirely by the by. With barely a glance spared from the news, he explained, “I didn’t want you to imagine — ”

“I know,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

He looked at her in a way he hadn’t, before, or at least, in a way she hadn’t noticed. She sat down at her desk feeling strangely happy and ashamed, and tried to focus on the happiness.

She went out at lunch time to follow up a lead, and it was a relief to drive along with the top down, radio blaring, alone with her thoughts. Studiously keeping them in check — no jumping to conclusions, no automatic assumptions, after all Steele hadn’t left yet, and he’d had several chances — she spent the next three hours on business. Business and pleasure, she thought, jotting down a few notes. Think of that.

He’d been working, too. When she got back to the office, she found that between the two of them, they’d pretty much wound up the case.

She’d insisted on going off alone, which, he supposed was all right. The whole case was pretty mundane; there was no drama and no glamour here. Do her good, he thought, to get some fresh air and put her thoughts in order. It gave him a chance to think, too, and to get a little work done, always a plus with her. When she came back, they compared notes and began to write up a report for the client.

As they filed away the last piece of paper, Remington said, out of the blue, “My fantasies were fulfilled.”

She put the folder down and smiled. “Mine, too.”

He eyed her speculatively. “How many times have I sat here, imagining what you might have on under those suits, what you might be like — and reality was as much or better than anything I dreamed of.”

“For me, too,” she assured him.

“Not exactly,” he contended. “Something in your mind, I think, had to be re-shaped, something about Remington Steele didn’t quite fit the mental image.”

“A minor point.”

“Don’t,” he warned, “say minor.”

Laura smothered a laugh. Leaning back against his desk, she drew a finger down his sleeve. “It might be,” she admitted, “that an — aspect — of a major object of interest turned out to be slightly different from what I imagined. But I was far from disappointed.”

“Ah.”

“In fact,” she went on, “it just shows that Remington Steele isn’t entirely of my creation. He’s as much yours as mine.”

“Only your Remington Steele, Laura.”

At this, she glanced away. “When I said you were pretty good, I didn’t mean that.”

“No?”

“I meant — ” A faint blush rose on her cheeks. “I meant, you’re terrific. Best ever. Fantastic, is what I meant.”

He knew he was blushing, himself, and turned away, tugging his ear to hide it. “Laura, there’s nothing you could say to me as gratifying as that, except,” he added, turning back to her, “of course, that you love me.”

His words transformed her. She stiffened and, folding her arms on her chest, moved toward the door. Not quickly, not obviously, but she was now closer to the exit than to him.

In a strained voice, she said, “Of course I do.”

“Then say it,” he asked, swiveling in his chair to keep her in view.

She looked at him, deer in the headlights.

“I have,” he prompted.

Her brow furrowed. “Mr. Steele – ”

“What? You didn’t hear me the first time?” He came around the desk. “Friday night?”

“Friday night?” she whispered. “When?”

“Friday night,” he repeated. “Plainly, I thought, in the midst of a long discussion.” After a moment, he added, “Although I admit you were a bit overwrought at the time.”

She still seemed to draw a complete blank. Her face flickered with a variety of expressions: uncertainty, doubt, disbelief.

“Well, then,” he insisted, “what about last night, eh? Or do you carefully ignore what’s said to you in bed?”

“People say a lot of things they don’t mean.”

He’d grant her that. Actions spoke louder than words in his book, and he knew perfectly well that something murmured in the height of passion wasn’t necessarily something one wished to be reminded of later.

This was different. Couldn’t she see this was different, that things were different now?

“All right,” he agreed. He spread his hands. “Here we are, fully clothed, broad daylight, on our feet. Laura, I love you. Can I make it any plainer than that?”

Something in her expression twisted. “Look, you don’t have to – ”

For all his good intentions, he could feel his blood pressure rising. How to deal with such a ridiculous woman? Gently, he reminded himself, but he was starting to fume.

“You’re right,” he told her. “I don’t. I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to stay here. I don’t have to be Remington Steele. I don’t have to love you. Do I? But I do. Is that good enough?”

“It’s good. It’s great. It’s nice. Can we leave it at that?”

Remington threw up his hands. “Fine. We finally open the bedroom door, go in, have a perfectly marvelous time — and then what? Nothing?” Frustrated, he began to pace. “What do you think it’s been like all these years? Wondering whether it’s me you want, or some part of me, or not me at all. Rejected at every turn — ”

“Rejected? When you’ve had the power all along?”

“Oh, the bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “Every advance I made you rebuffed, for this or that reason. That’s a hell of a lot of power in a relationship, isn’t it?”

“The timing wasn’t right.”

“Wasn’t right for you! And I respected that. I waited; I didn’t push — ”

“Oh, didn’t you?”

“No! I didn’t! I just went along, suggesting. Always nicely suggesting. And by the way, Laura,” he added, “you don’t know what it’s like to spend an evening, hoping, teased along, and then be sent away.”

“Don’t I?”

He laughed. “No. You don’t. You don’t know the kind of pain you inflict, with your long kisses and your regretful goodbyes. Or maybe you do!”

Her skin flushed red, then drained of all color. “How dare you!” she exclaimed.

“Me? You want honesty in a relationship, well there it is!”

“Honesty?” she repeated. “You’re not being honest. You’re just being mean and hostile!”

“Maybe I am!”

Snarling, she said, “Fine!” Then she went to the door and yanked it open. In two strides he was beside her. Mildred looked up from her desk as he grabbed Laura’s arm and dragged her back. The door slammed shut. Remington let go and took a deliberate step away from her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head as she rubbed her arm.

“Go on, if you want. I didn’t — I shouldn’t have — Damn it, Laura, I am sorry!”

“This is what it’s like,” she said. “This is what I was afraid of! That it would turn out like this!”

“Like what?”

“Like this! Shouting and – ” She cut herself off, turned away, took a long shuddering breath.

“Shouting and what?” he asked of the back of her bowed head and hunched shoulders.

Abruptly facing him, she blurted, “Shouting and leaving.”

At once the atmosphere in the room seemed to clear.

“Ah.” He ran his tongue over his lips. “I didn’t realize shouting was involved with the leaving. I thought the leaving was always a sneaking away sort of thing.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Compared to that,” he suggested, “shouting seems a positive step. You’ve shouted at me before. I’m still here. I’ve shouted at you. Clearly, you haven’t gone anywhere. Except for right now, although I hope that was only a temporary, door-slamming sort of thing.” He smiled a little in expectation, tried unsuccessfully to coax a smile out of her.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He doubted it, but let it pass. “Then what?”

“It’s like a drug,” she said. “It’s like dope. If I stay away, I’m fine. But once I’ve started, with someone I care for — all right, with you! — that’s it. It’s all I think about. I can’t get enough of you, and — ”

“And that’s bad? You think I don’t love hearing that? Laura — ”

She moved away from him again, rigid and tense.

“I want you too much,” she told him. “I need you too much. Nobody can stand that. I realize that. That’s why people go away, that’s why it never works.”

“That’s a pretty big leap, isn’t it?” he asked her.

“It’s why I never could,” she whispered. “Because I knew this would happen.”

“What, eh? What’s happened?”

“Sooner or later … ”

He studied her a moment, then went to the phone. “Mildred,” he said, “Hold all my calls.” He offered no response to the sputtering and inquiring tone in which she agreed. “And all Miss Holt’s calls as well. Thanks.” Taking a seat on the sofa, he patted the cushion beside him. “Come here,” he coaxed. “Tell me.”

She didn’t sit beside him; she sat warily in the chair opposite.

“All this time,” she explained, “I’ve tried to tell myself that I don’t need you. I don’t need you, I don’t need anybody. Because if ever once I let myself go, I’m in too deep, and I take the other person down with me.”

“I’m a pretty fair swimmer,” he replied. “I can hold you up.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It is,” he insisted. “It is what you meant. You’re afraid of being too much. Too much woman, too much anger, too much need, too much devotion, too much — something. Am I right?”

Her eyes narrowed, and then she looked away.

“Maybe you were too much for those others, the ones who left you. Because maybe they weren’t enough for you, and they knew it.”

Laura shook her head.

Remington reached across to take her hand. “Did it ever occur to you that I want to be needed?”

“Not like this.”

“Maybe just like this,” he proposed. He drew her out of the chair and made her sit beside him. “Give me a little credit, eh? I know you. I’ve known you for years.” Taking her hand, he squeezed and patted it. “I’ve known you when you’re up, and when you’re down, and when you’re smart, and when you’re unreasonable. I’ve seen you drunk, I’ve seen you exhausted, I’ve seen you frightened, and I’ve seen you so brave it was an honor just to know such a courageous person.” When she looked up at him, her eyes doubting and hopeful, he promised, “I love you, all of you, and you don’t frighten me. So go ahead. Go on. Just remember what I said.”

She got up and went out to the lobby.

“Everything okay, Miss Holt?” asked Mildred.

Laura filled a cup from the water cooler. “Fine,” she replied. “Just need something to swallow some aspirin with.” Then she went to her office and sat down.

It was true; he wasn’t gone yet. And she was the one running from a fight, so something had changed. She shook an aspirin out of the bottle, then two, then three. They went down in a lump, and she coughed and swallowed some more water.

Mildred had left some accounts on her desk, and she looked these over. Deciding the aspirin needed a chaser, she hunted in the back of a drawer for her secret stash. A little box of See’s chocolates, still sealed in its wrapper, lay ready to work its magic on a bad day.

“Bad day, huh?” said Mildred, bringing in another set of accounts.

“It started out pretty well,” Laura told her.

“Good night, Mildred,” Steele called.

“Good night, chief,” she replied, passing by him.

He leaned in at the door. “Good night, Miss Holt.”

Laura looked up and smiled. “Good night, Mr. Steele.”

A minute later he was back. “Laura,” he said. “I was thinking ... ”

It was his idea that they pretend to be an old married couple and just sleep together. “The operative word,” he explained, “being ‘sleep’.” It was a novel suggestion, one that came into his head on the coattails of the realization of just how much he loved her. He’d known for a long time that Laura was dearer to him than anyone in the world, that life would be empty without her, that he’d lay down his life to save hers, and that that wasn’t just rhetoric, but he’d hesitated to frame it in exactly those terms.

What prompted the revelation that this love was deeper and wider than he’d ever suspected was how little real anger or irritation he felt at helping her work through her problems. Not long ago, he’d have been fed up and furious after a lot less of her confess-and-deny tactics. Not long ago, he would have walked away – not far, he wouldn’t have gone far – from one of these hideous conversations. Now, though, he actually felt a surge of joy somewhere underneath. If he could just keep the floodgates of her emotion open, they’d finally get to the bottom of her fear and erase it.

Normally, Remington didn’t waste much time studying himself and his motivations. Considering how deeply rooted Laura’s concerns were, though, and how tentative she was about admitting to them or revealing them, he thought it might be worth it to look at himself and his behavior – always a touchstone with him, what people did; he didn’t give much credence to what they said if it diverged from their deeds – and how he might have contributed, albeit inadvertently, to Laura’s worldview.

A lot of how Laura felt about him she made up in her own mind. Of this, he was convinced. Still, there were significant parts to which he had directly, or indirectly, contributed. There had been times when he’d been cavalier about her feelings, mostly in retaliation for what he perceived as ridiculous or hurtful behavior from her. There were other times when people who knew him had plausibly deceived her. He had no way of knowing how plausibly, or how cleverly they had played upon her fears, but he might have guessed; they were con artists by trade, after all.

So he embarked on a new plan, a return to normalcy project.

“What do you say?” he suggested. “Dinner at home, an evening in front of the TV, and then off to the land of nod.”

“I think it would be better if — ”

That was his Laura: never willing to give him credit for having a good idea.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“So am I,” she sighed.

“Let’s call it a day, then. Go home, mine or yours … ”

She reached back in her desk and came up with a mostly empty box of chocolates and held it out to him, a peace offering.

“Just keep your hands off me,” he warned. “I don’t want to contribute to your addiction, and frankly, I need more than just forty winks to really be at my best.”

She eyed him closely; he could almost see the gears turning, trying to figure out the angle.

“Laura,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and not quite shaking her. “There’s more to us than that. You know it. I know it. Yes, we’re starved for each other. We’re making up for lost time. But that’s not all there is, is it? I’d like to know you can see me with other eyes; that you still see me as your partner and your friend.”

“Of course I do.”

“Of course you do. So why don’t we be Darby and Joan tonight, eh?”

She didn’t understand the reference.

“Just sit at home like two old married people. Just be easy and comfortable together, like we were before.”

“When?”

He conceded that on the occasions he was thinking of he’d been primarily interested in putting moves on her; those were some of the occasions he’d been thinking of when he made that awful remark. “Except without that,” he proposed. “Just you and me. Talking. Relaxing. Sleeping. Old friends, like we are.”

“Everything is so hard,” she sighed.

“Not at all, Laura. Everything is easy. Life is rich. You just have to relax.”

She couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. She was making everything harder than it had to be because she just couldn’t take things as they came. She had to keep working things over in her head, over and over, looking for clues as if her life were one big case and she could figure it out if she just knew where the information was hidden.

Nevertheless, she agreed to let him come over to stay for a couple of nights and to spend the weekend at his place. She drew the line at a trip out of town. She wanted to — oh, God, how she wanted to — but no matter what he said, she was afraid of burning him out.

He arrived with a garment bag and a satchel. “Evening, darling,” he said, bussing her cheek as she rolled the door shut.

“Hi,” she replied.

“Hard day at the office?” he asked, passing by her to go up the steps and hang the bag on the closet door.

“We don’t have to try that hard.”

“Just having a bit of fun.” He smiled at her. “You might consider taking your own advice.”

Laura took a deep breath.

“All right. I know it would probably make things easier if we had some work to do. But these have been easy cases lately. Barely meriting discussion. Which leaves you and me.” Looking around, he rubbed his hands together. “What’s for supper, eh?”

She blinked. “You’re asking me?”

“Ah. Right. Division of labor, and that comes down on my side. Well. Let’s see what we have to work with.”

The refrigerator revealed an assortment of yogurts, some lettuce, zucchini, tofu and a dozen eggs. The freezer offered a bit more variety, but not much.

“Slimming?” he suggested.

“This is my gym night, Mr. Steele,” she explained. “And after the gym, I usually stop off at the market.”

“Ah. Now there’s an idea.”

“What?”

“A tour through the local supermarket. That’s a very dull excursion for your average couple. Just what I had in mind.”

“Mr. Steele — ”

He held up his hand. “We’re not at the office now, Miss Holt,” he said meaningfully.

“Remington,” she said. Then she lost her train of thought. Pressing her lips tight together, she turned away.

“What?”

Laura shook her head. Then she couldn’t stand it any more and burst out laughing.

Mystified, he demanded, “What?”

“I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. It just — It sounds so strange. It’s not — That’s not how I think of you.”

“No? How do you think of me?”

“As Mr. Steele.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s been enough.”

“At night, in your dreams — Mr. Steele?”

“Yes.”

“And in your prayers, God bless Mother and Frances and Mildred — and Mr. Steele?”

A strange idea, coming from him, but essentially correct. “I guess so. Yes.”

“Astonishing.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s so formal. It’s what you’d call your boss, if you had one. It’s what you’d call some old bloke because you’re nice and polite.” His eyes narrowed. “In your mind, I’m always ‘Mr. Steele’?”

“It’s what I call you,” she reminded him. She took his hands and smiled up at him. “And you’re not my boss, and you’re not some old bloke I’m polite to. You’re — Remington,” she added, hesitantly.

He smiled at this, positively brightened, as if it meant something to him, this name he’d appropriated.

The alarm went off, and his hand snaked out automatically to slap it. “Snooze,” he muttered. “How long?”

Laura turned over. “Nine minutes.”

“Nine minutes.” Did she really get up at this ungodly hour? Every day? It occurred to him that he ought to get up, soon, now, quick, before she —

Too late. She was snuggling closer, enfolding him in a warm embrace, and she couldn’t help but notice. Something lit up in her eyes. Smoothing a hand over his chest, she reached down a little further until she found what she was looking for.

“Mmmm,” she sighed, letting go long enough to work his pajamas off his hips.

“Laura — ”

She covered him with her hand again, as if taking his measure, then swung a leg across him.

“Look. You don’t have to — ”

“What if I want to?” she asked, guiding him to the mark.

There was an impish, yet determined, look about her eyes, and who was he to deny her if she —

“Oh, my God,” he groaned.

She was hot already, hot, dripping, and she sank down onto him with agonizing slowness. Without taking her eyes off him, she pulled her nightgown up to her waist to give him a clear view of their connection. Black curls mingled with auburn, and then she raised herself off him. Slick now with her moisture and almost painfully hard, his erection emerged from her nook.

Leaning back, Laura supported herself with one hand on his thigh; with the other, she teased him from the root right up to where he vanished into her. Then she began to massage herself. Fingernails scratched him lightly as her hand worked back and forth around the center of her pleasure.

Laura moved her hips in a slow, small circle, all the while holding his tool very tight. Remington pulled her down to him so he could drag the nightgown over her head and pushed her back up so he could reach her breasts. Then he pushed her hand away to offer the direct pleasure himself. She came before he did, but not by much; the sudden contraction of muscles already tightly clenched, not to mention the awareness that this was their first time, skin to skin, brought him straight to the crisis.

“Oh, my God,” he said again. “Ah, Laura … ”

“Good morning, Mr. Steele,” she smiled. Then, “Remington,” she corrected, slipping off him. Her bare feet landed with a smack on the floor. “Me first,” she told him, disappearing into the bathroom.

“Fine, yes, take your time,” he replied, still trying to catch his breath.

Laura stared at herself in the mirror. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, pulse racing, flooded with hormones and endorphins and everything else that made life worthwhile, the old Laura smiled back at her. The Laura who never knew when to quit, the Laura who threw herself headlong into love and everything else, the Laura who sent men fleeing …

Shaking off the thought — what you’re flooded with, Laura, she reminded herself, is Mr. Steele — she got into the shower and let the water beat down on her shoulders. She lathered herself up, washed him off, wondered how much more of this he could take — how much more she could take.

Bundled in a heavy bathrobe, her hair wrapped up in a towel, Laura opened the door. Steele, stark naked, unself-conscious, was making up the bed. Muscles flexed under smooth skin as he bent to tuck in the sheets. She felt herself beginning to tingle, just at the sight of him.

There was work to be done, and she put the thought aside. As he plumped up a pillow, he happened to turn in her direction, and she said, “All yours.”

He came over to her, looked her up and down. Hooking his finger in the belt of her bathrobe, he jerked her to him and said, “Swear?”

Breakfast was pleasant. Goodbyes were pleasant as they got into their separate cars, but by the time he arrived at the office, Laura had cooled off considerably. This was fine as far as it went, since it enabled him to keep his mind on the client, but once the client was gone and Mildred was firing up her computer for a search, it began to smack a little too much of previous behavior.

When he called her on it, she backed away. “This is what happens,” she said. “I told you. This is how it is, this is what I become … This morning — ”

“Do you hear me complaining?” he demanded.

“No, but you said — ”

“What?”

“You said no sex. You said let’s just be like before, just friends, or like some bored old married couple, just get some sleep. And look what happened.”

Remington considered this. “If I’d asked you to stop,” he said, “would you?”

“Yes,” she replied, clearly offended. “I wouldn’t force myself on you.”

He laughed, and realized he wasn’t supposed to. “I know you wouldn’t,” he told her. “That’s why it’s fine. Yes, I said let’s just get some sleep, but that was for you, Laura. To give us a chance to calm down and not run away. To let you know it’s all right. I wanted to be sure you understood that it’s not just about sex. That that’s not all I want from you.”

“It’s not all I want from you,” she answered. “You know that.”

“I do know that.”

“But I want you so much. Now that we’ve — Well. Now that we’ve been together, it just hurts so much that we weren’t, before.”

He couldn’t deny that.

“But it’s not — ” She choked herself off.

“What?” he asked gently.

“It’s not –-- ” Somehow, she couldn’t finish her thought and gazed at him helplessly.

“Right?” he offered. “Are you saying it’s not right?”

“No! No, not exactly.”

“Then what?”

“It’s –-- ”

“Wrong?” he suggested.

“No! No, that’s not it.”

“Then what?” he asked.

In a minute, she’d be pulling at her hair. “I don’t know. It’s too much, I guess.”

“It is rather a lot, actually,” he admitted. Then, with a grin, he added, “It’s wonderful.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “It is. It’s so wonderful that when it ends — ”

“When what ends?” he enquired.

Laura gestured.

“Don’t borrow trouble, love,” he warned.

“I’m just so afraid … ”

“Of what? Of me? Still?”

“No.” She looked at him, looked hard, and Remington realized that she was seeing him, himself, and not her image of him. Maybe for the first time his own image of himself was coming through to her.

“Divine retribution, then? You think God might notice these little slips from the Protestant work ethic?”

“Not exactly.”

“I think precisely,” he returned. Enfolding her in his arms, he smoothed her hair. “Do you think this is what I want?” he asked.

Her voice was muffled in his shirt. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do know. But in case you’re unclear, let me spell it out: This is what I’ve wanted all along, a way to show you how I feel, a way to be close to you. It’s all I’ve wanted, because I’m not very good with words — not the straightforward kind that you like — and this is the only way I know.”

Still clutching fistfuls of his shirt, Laura stood back from him. “It’s not,” she told him.

“Well, then, I’ve learned from you, eh?”

Her dark eyes clouded as her brows drew together. “No. Oh, no,” she repeated. “Because I never told you. I’ve never been straight with you. I couldn’t believe it, when you said you didn’t know — that you didn’t know how I felt about you — but now, when I think about it, maybe I was always hiding. I was always worried that if you knew — ”

“If I knew … ” he prompted.

“— you’d use it against me.”

There it was. This was what it was about. They both knew it, but Remington winced to hear it spoken out loud. “Use your love?” he said. “Against you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the sort of man you think I am?”

Again she shook her head. “That’s the kind of man I’m afraid of. It has nothing to do with you. I realize that now. It came to me, all of a sudden, the other day. What I’m afraid of is all about me.”

Holding her at arms’ length, he promised, “I’m not going anywhere, Laura, unless you send me away. All right? First, because I’ve nowhere to go.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he was kicking himself. “Because there’s nowhere I want to go,” he emended, spitting out the foot he’d stuffed in his mouth. “But most importantly — I want to be here, with you. If I thought it’s marriage you wanted — ”

“No!” she exclaimed. She got away from him and went to the window; the view seemed to be quite interesting.

“Mmm, yes. I’ve gotten the firm impression that you don’t have much respect for that fine institution.”

“It’s not that. It’s just — It doesn’t ever seem to make any difference.”

“We can discuss that later,” he smiled. He came to stand behind her, looking out toward the ocean. “When one of us is seeing a bit more clearly. I just wanted you to know,” he added, drawing her closer again, “that I’m willing.”

He came over to her loft that night laden with groceries.

“What is this?” she demanded, taking one of the bags out of his hands.

“Provisions,” he explained, puffing with the effort of hauling the load up three flights of stairs. “It’s possible that a little thing like you can survive on yogurt and lettuce. But I need — ” He wrestled two more bags onto the counter. “ — considerably more in the way of sustenance.”

“Yogurt is good for you,” said Laura.

“No doubt,” he agreed, pulling the meat drawer out of the refrigerator and putting the pork chops into it.

While he put dinner together, Laura returned to the task of rinsing out a week’s worth of stockings. Coming out of the bathroom, she saw a little sack, like a lunch bag, on the bed. “What’s this?” she asked, opening it.

“Supplies,” Steele answered from the kitchen.

There was an assortment of flat little boxes, and then a bigger box that held an economy size tube of gel.

“You know, I can go back on the pill,” she told him.

Steele dusted his hands on the apron. “That’s up to you,” he replied. “Until then, we have a little something to choose from.”

“About this morning — ”

He held up a head of lettuce and gestured to a big bowl he’d put on the bar. “I know. You were careful, even if I wasn’t.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Your things are in the drawer,” he explained. “I found them when I made up the bed.”

Pleased as he was with the advances in their relationship, Remington still believed he had to shift the emphasis a little from sex. It was wonderful — fantastic — to hear himself described as the best ever, to listen to thanks and praise from this woman he loved. Certainly, he had heard it all before, from other women, and he had believed it, but this time, now, it meant something. He had no doubt that while Felicia, for example, had mouthed similar words to him over and over again very sincerely, she would have done the same to anyone, insincerely, regardless of talent, if the man had something she needed.

Laura, he knew, was sincere. For one thing, Laura wasn’t much of a liar. For another, he knew her well enough to know what was the truth and what wasn’t from her lips. She really thought he was great, and he was great, for her.

He wanted to be more. He wanted to hear himself described as something more than her partner. “This is my partner, Remington Steele,” she would say, as an introduction, because they were partners, the way cops were partners. Or “This is my associate, Remington Steele.” He described her similarly, and yearned to be able to say more. What did he want to say? “This is my girlfriend, Laura.” No, not that exactly. That sounded rather pedestrian, although he had no objection whatsoever to being Laura’s boyfriend. In fact, it would be nice, to hear her say, “This is my boyfriend, Remington.” Yes. Indeed.

But “This is my girlfriend, Laura.” That didn’t have quite the cachet he was aiming for. “This is my wife, Laura.” That was what was wanted. He wanted to be able to say things like “This is my wife, Laura.” And, “Mrs. Steele.” He wanted Laura to be “Mrs. Steele.”

You are one pathetic lovesick boy, mate, he said to his reflection, but he smiled when he said it.

Not very long ago, he’d have flinched — fled! — from the very idea. When Laura complained about his fear of commitment, she was dead right. Fear wasn’t the word; terror was more like it. He’d been footloose all his life, shrank from anything but the most casual relationships, and why? Because he’d only been safe on his own. He’d never known any other way. He hadn’t known what it was to have an address, a home, people who would worry about him for no other reason than that they cared for him. All he’d ever seen of a sedate lifestyle was a trap. In his life, the ability to vanish had been paramount. There’d never been any place he’d wanted to stay.

Now, he had that: a place to stay, people who cared about him, a home. A reputation, even, although he’d stepped into that, ready-made. For four years, he’d had that sense of belonging. And who was responsible for that? Laura. For all she’d shoved him away, for all she’d made him suffer, Laura had still given him this wonderful gift. She was his friend; of that he’d never had any doubt. He was her partner; more and more she’d taken him into the business, and less and less was he the flashy front man. They were in it together, had been for a long, long time.

He’d longed to be something more to her, more than a business associate, more than a friend — first, because it was a challenge, trying to get her into bed (had any woman ever been able to resist his charm?), and then, later, because he couldn’t think of any other way to show her how much he cared. Hadn’t had the imagination to compromise, hadn’t believed in her trust, since she gave it so grudgingly. Some things, he realized, just took time.

He was in her heart; he knew that. It was possible for Laura to pretend she didn’t know she was in his.

Now that they were in bed, lying chastely side by side, he tried to make her understand that there was still more to it.

“This isn’t the only thing I’m interested in,” he told her.

“I know.”

“I know you know,” he said. “But do you believe it?”

“What are you talking about?”

He brushed a lock of hair off her temple. “Here,” he said. “I know you know it in your mind. But do you believe it in your heart?”

“I want to. I always want to believe you, Remington.”

Whether you do or not, he smiled to himself. “How can I convince you?”

“You can’t,” she sighed. “I have to convince myself.”

Remington pressed a kiss against her hair. “Sleep well,” he whispered.

Friday rolled around again after a long, wonderful, difficult, wonderful week. “Is this too much?” she asked, when he opened the door.

Steele’s blue eyes took in the two suitcases. “Not at all,” he replied, grabbing them for her.

“I mean, it’s not even five miles to the loft, but … ”

He carried them into the bedroom. “Maybe you’ll want to leave something here, eh?”

“I’m not moving in with you.”

Leaning in the doorway, he said, “Okay.”

Laura sighed and rubbed a spot between her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know. I know.” A timer chimed in the kitchen, and he went off to check on dinner. “Feel like an evening at the cinema?” he called. “Paper’s on the couch.”

She picked it up and looked through it, then followed her nose to the kitchen.

Steele put a lid back on a pot. “See anything you like?” he asked.

Setting the paper on the counter, she answered, “You know what I like.”

With a sly grin, he replied, “Well, I’m learning, anyway.”

“Actually, I’m kind of tired,” she confessed. “Do we have to go out? I’d just like to sit with my feet up.”

“And talk?” he suggested, dropping some butter into a saucepan.

“Sure. Talk. Whatever.” She reached across and popped a slice of carrot into her mouth.

“Fine,” he agreed. “No, we don’t have to go out. Although tomorrow night, UCLA has a special screening of The African Queen.”

“Which you’re dying to see.”

“Yes, actually. Restored print, improved sound. Can’t wait.”

“You know that thing you did the other night,” she said.

The duck was halfway out of the oven.

“With the lotion,” she clarified.

Steele blinked at her. “Massage?”

Laura nodded. “Can you do it again?”

“Of course.” He smiled. “More thoroughly.”

“And then I can do you.”

“Ah, yes, Miss Holt,” he agreed. “You can indeed.”

They didn’t run out of conversation. As usual, they were a little too full of conversation, and dinner was barely over before they were going over the same thorny path.

“Would you stop thinking about yourself for a change?” he demanded.

“I’m not thinking about myself. I’m thinking about you!”

“Why do I have the feeling that whenever we’re talking about my past, we’re really talking about yours?”

Her fists were clenched; with effort, she unclenched them. “All right,” she agreed. “I’m sorry.”

“Fine. All right, then.” He went to the window and glanced out, as if something from his past might be waiting for him. Then he turned around abruptly. “Here’s the whole story,” he announced. “I ran away from home when I was ten. Home,” he repeated. “Ha! From a place where I wasn’t wanted and I’m sure no one ever missed me. I hit the streets running, and I ran until I ran into Daniel and he took me in. Just about everything that happened since then, you know. I never killed anyone. I was never in prison, not even arrested. Suspected, yes. But never caught. The only time I’ve spent behind bars is since I met you, Laura,” he added with a smile. “And since I met you, everything is changed. Four years with you, here in Los Angeles, is four years longer than I’ve ever spent anywhere.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her.

“Maybe I’ve said ‘I love you’ to a hundred women and not meant it. Maybe I’ve fucked a hundred women and gotten no more out of it than an hour’s pleasure. That is the past. Dead. Gone. Pfffft.” His hand described smoke trailing into the sky. “I could never say it to you, because you were different. Whenever I said it before, it didn’t mean anything, and I didn’t want to say some pointless, meaningless words to you.”

Doubt clouded her eyes, and he forged onward. He couldn’t stop; if he didn’t explain himself now, he feared he never could.

“Laura, here, now, when I say I love you, when I make love to you, I’m speaking a different language. Of course you doubt me. Okay. But think about it. Think about four years when I couldn’t say it, because it was different with you. Think about what four years mean in my life, in anybody’s life. Think about what one night means. If Daniel’s right, if all I wanted was another notch on my bed post, I’d be gone by now.”

“You think I believed Daniel Chalmers?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “You believed him — Felicia, too, I suppose — because it’s what you were afraid of. Cons work like that, you know. Reinforcing a person’s fears is a great way to earn their trust.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust me, either. All this time, all this talk about commitment.” He sat down and took her hands. “Now, then. Let’s talk about it.”

Laura turned this over in her mind. Before she could stop herself, she heard her own voice saying, “What’s your name?” She bit her tongue, but it was too late.

He answered her, “Remington Steele.” He said it again. “The name you gave me. The only one I need any more.”

If the mood were ruined, she had ruined it. It was possible she was being unreasonable. It was possible that something that meant so much to her meant nothing to him, or that it meant as much to him in a completely different way. What difference would it make if she did know who he was, where he came from? Either she believed him or she didn’t, and it occurred to her that maybe it was painful for him to remember, that maybe she was thinking about herself, like he said, and not about him.

She gazed at him a long time. It was hard to believe that all of a sudden, all he wanted — that all this conniving con man, this jewel thief, this glamorous philanderer and ladies’ man wanted — was a home. Still, if he was her friend — if she loved him — she should be able to believe him, and to allow him this one secret. And if she didn’t love him, if he wasn’t her friend, what did it matter? Why was she breaking her heart over him?

“It’s always easier,” he was saying, “for you to believe other people, and not me. Why is that, I wonder?”

“I don’t want to be a fool,” she told him.

“You’ve been a fool,” he replied. “All this time, and so have I.”

The stereo was on, softly, and Laura sat with her legs across Remington’s lap. He slipped her shoes off and ran his fingertips lightly along the bottoms of her feet. Laura shivered and smiled.

“Have I told you,” he asked, soothing her feet now with careful pressure, “how glad I am we’ve had these little chats?”

The shiver that ran through her this time was one of tension.

“Granted, they’ve been very painful. For both of us. But they’re getting us somewhere, aren’t they?”

Her eyes far away, Laura ran her tongue over her lips. Finally, she said, “Yes. I think so.”

“Don’t let me push you, Laura,” he told her. “Make me stop when I get too close. Because I’ll try, and I’ll keep trying. You’re not the only one who never gives up.”

“Oh, it’s hard,” she sighed, leaning forward to put her arms around his neck. “I never wanted you to know how hard … ”

“But now I do,” he reminded her, “and the world didn’t fall apart. Did it? Eh? Everything’s still okay. The office is okay. You’re okay. Everything is just — ” He slid down to lie on top of her. “ — that much — ” He kissed her as she wrapped her arms around him. “ — sweeter.”

It wouldn’t take much more than that to make him ready for her, but since he didn’t feel her hands wandering down to his ass, he merely lay there with her for a long time.

“What would I do without you?” she whispered finally.

Remington smiled into her hair. Nuzzling her ear, he answered, “Ah, Laura. I ask myself that very same question.”

She hugged him tighter. Then she said, “Let me up.”

He did, and she got off the couch and went into the bedroom. He heard the bathroom door go shut, so he put his feet up on the coffee table and closed his eyes.

Laura was gone a long time. He awoke to the pressure of cool fingers at the back of his neck.

“Come here,” she said.

Laura took his hand and led him into the bedroom. The lights were turned down very low, and some candles flickered on the dresser.

“If you’ll get undressed, Mr. Steele,” she said, “I think we were talking about a massage.”

END