Part I: Steele Up In The Air

Remington flipped off the switch on the boombox stationed on Mildred's desk. Mildred had gone undercover at 14 KROT, the radio station, as a phone in sex therapist, leaving he and Laura to run the offices on their own and it wasn't setting well with him, not well at all.

"I'm going blind, and she's playing Sigmund Freud, PI," he griped.

"Well, you're the one who encouraged her to spread her wings."

"Yes, but not at the expense of the nest, for…" He left the thought incomplete as he stood to pace in irritation behind the chair in which Laura was seated. She was staring at the monitor equally baffled and miffed that she couldn't pry the information from it she was wanting. "I mean, whatever happened to good old Mildred? Sweet, adoring, servile?" he finished, leaning against the back of her chair.

"She found out her boss is a fraud, remember?" she retorted.

The harshness of her words left him doing a doubletake at the back of her head, a displeased look settling on his face. It was the third time on the day that she'd taken a shot at him where Mildred was concerned: earlier when she'd given him sole proprietorship of 'creating a monster'; just a moment before with the 'spread her wings' crack; and now, tossing the blame on his doorstep for being revealed a fraud. He bit down a biting retort of his own, something along the lines of it was she who revealed his past to Mildred, quite without his permission, he might add. Instead, he observed…

"Sometimes the truth can be so . . .unnecessary." That he wasn't joking was lost on her. Swiping the comment aside, she frowned again at the monitor.

"I don't mean to inconvenience you, Mr. Steele, but could we focus on our background check of Doug West?" she suggested, indicating the computer.

He pressed his head next to hers and stared at the computer screen, as she tapped another series of keys for nothing of value to appear, again, and again… and again. Thoroughly bored, he allowed the alabaster skin of her neck, dappled with those delightful sprays of tawny color, to draw his attention. Memories of that skin beneath his lips, the taste of it in his mouth, her enticing sighs, her body shifting restlessly at his ministrations, tramped through his memory. What's a man to do when such temptation is so near? He blazed a trail of whisper soft kisses down her neck, feeling the swift intake of air against his lips.

"People can see," she reminded him breathily, waggling a finger towards the door.

"Mmmm hmmmm," he hummed, then abruptly left her side. Her brows raised when she heard the snick of the lock at the doors, and looked up just in time to see an outstretched hand appear over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" she asked, twirling around in the chair to look from his hand to his face. He presented the hand again, and raised a pair of full brows at her.

"I've made an executive decision," he answered, as she took his hand. Drawing her to her feet, he tugged her towards his office.

"Oh, and just what might that be?" she inquired, amusement dancing on her lips as he shut the door behind them.

"It's time for a coffee break," he answered, sitting down on his couch and pulling her down into his lap. She laughed silently and made a display of looking at coffee and end tables.

"But you've forgotten the coffee, Mr. Steele," she drawled out playfully, while her fingers walked up his tie.

"Seems that I have. I supposed we'll have to settle for something far more…" He swept her hair over a shoulder and cupped her neck, drawing her lips to his for a scant moment, "…invigorating." His lips covered hers again, only for two hands to plant themselves against his shoulders so she could pry herself back.

"You want to neck?" she clarified.

"Wonderful way to get the heart pumping, blood rushing, synapses firing on—"

"To leave a detective or two frustrated," she cut in. He waggled his brows at her.

"I'm willing to risk it if you are." He bent his head again, only to find a set of fingers on his lips and a pair of amber eyes regarding him.

"We're not having sex in the office, in the middle of the business day," she warned. Pursing his lips, he gave her a solemn nod.

"I give you my word, my hands will not journey, even for an instant, beneath your shoulders," he vowed. She eyed him skeptically. "Unless, of course, you're worried you'll be unable to control yourself," he taunted, a smirk lifting his lips. Eyes narrowing and giving him a tight-lipped smile, she grabbed his shirt and yanked him to her, her lips connecting with his.

At first, they teased one another, a nip here, a caress there, but then on mutual hums, the kiss turned serious. His hand burrowed in her hair, to press her lips more firmly against his when she touched a tip of her tongue against his lips, then explored his mouth, his taste, slowly, leisurely. He laughed deep in his throat when her hand glided down a shoulder, across his chest and nimble fingers began releasing buttons on his shirt. Bracing her face with his hands, he broke the kiss, his lips hovering mere millimeters from hers.

"Above the shoulders, Miss Holt," he reminded her, then settled his mouth over hers, only for her to back away this time.

"I never made any such promise, Mr. Steele," she reminded breathily. He was chuckling when his lips claimed hers, and this time took ownership of the kiss. He fed on her lips and mouth, shifting his mouth this way, then that, relishing her taste, the feel of her tongue playing with his without reserve. His blood hummed, his body felt electrified, much as it had that day in the winery, the first time she'd ever permitted… encouraged… him to kiss her with unrestrained passion. She felt, as much as heard, the growl rumble deep within in his chest, when her hand darted between the opening she'd created in his shirt, and caressed his chest. Ending the kiss, his lips left sparks in their wake as the traveled along her jaw then down her neck.

"Ah, Laura, two can play that game," he warned gruffly next to her ear, latching his mouth over the skin below it, suckling softly, lathing the tender skin with his tongue then blowing upon the wetness, smiling when he felt the shiver course through her slim frame. He was prepared to fly the flag of the victor when she hummed audibly at the feel of his lips moving down the column of her neck, towards the sensitive patch of skin at its base, almost realizing too late her hand had slipped from his shirt and was streaking in a most southerly direction.

Her laugher carried through the air when she found herself unceremoniously tossed onto her back on the couch, and the perpetrator quickly placing a half-room's distance between them as he buttoned his shirt.

"Is something wrong?" Smoothing down his shirt and tucking it in, he gave her a queer look.

"Not at all. Hearts pumping…" Madly, he silently added to himself "Blood's flowing…" Hard and fast in a definitely southern trajectory "Synapses firing on all cylinders…" And then some. He stretched his back and thumped his chest with the palms of both hands. "Yes, yes. Since it seems the stated goal has been met…" And exceeded "it's time to get back to the grind, don't you think?" Leaning up on her elbows, she smirked at him. Thought you'd have the upper hand, didn't you, big guy? she silently mused.

"You? Suggesting we stop…" she waved her hand at where they were sitting, "… and work?" The very idea sent laughter trickling through the air again.

"Merely wanting us to avoid a potentially awkward moment, Laura," he retorted, feigning affront. Two more seconds, I'd have been prepared to sweep everything off my desk, lie you on it and have my way with you, only for you to skitter away. Aye, very awkward. Her smile grew.

"Oh?" she lifted her brows at him, her brown eyes dancing with merriment. "And what 'potentially awkward moment' is that?"

"Mildred returning from the station and finding we were unable to convince that bucket of bolts to give up the information we've been seeking, of course," he answered smoothly. Suppressing another laugh, she took on a serious pose as she stood up and smoothed her skirt. Nice try, Mr. Steele. Not buying it.

"Well, we can't have that," she agreed and after patting down her hair, walked towards the door. When she stood next to him, she paused and frowned, pretending something was amiss.

"What is it?" Remington asked quickly. Laura pursed her lips as though in thought and stepped towards him. Reaching for his tie she pretended to adjust it, then drawing it tight pulled him down until his ear was even with her lips.

"We both know, Mr. Steele, you don't give a fig about those reports," she challenged, bemused. He nearly noosed himself when her small hand ran over his bottom and gave it a squeeze, making him jerk upwards when a jolt of pure desire shot through him. Releasing his tie, she left the room, her laughter following in her wake.

"You're a wicked woman, Miss Holt," he called after her, slipping a finger between tie and neck, loosening it so he could freely breathe.

"Be careful what you wish for…" she chortled back.

He could only chuckle as he returned to the reception area and unlocked the door. This. Laura playful. Daring. It was precisely the part of her he'd dreamed for years that she might one day let him see, enjoy. He wouldn't have her any other way.

Still, a fool he wasn't, and took great care to perch on the desk well away from those speedy little hands. Of course, his observant partner didn't miss a thing, and he met her smug snicker with the raise of a single brow. She'd thrown the gauntlet in this seductive little game, and he would be only too happy to pick it up and accept the challenge. To the victor would go the spoils, and he had every intention of being the victor.

Laura's fingers combed through Remington's damp hair, his head laying on her stomach as they both sought to catch their breaths after a vigorous round of lovemaking. Where once that aftermath meant preparing for a graceful exit lest the current evening's paramour mistakenly attribute more to the evening than a pleasant romp, he treasured this time with Laura. Whether it was his head resting upon her stomach, or she splayed across him, her unconscious gentle touches and soft caresses spoke volumes. In these moments, he knew she understood this, between them, was about far more than a roll in the hay, that all those fears, questions which consumed her when left too long with her thoughts, were, for now at least, absent. And, because in these times she believed in them, he could allow his own worries and fears to take a hiatus, and let down the invisible wall he oft erected to protect himself against her taking him to his knees by pushing him away in an effort to protect herself, as she was prone to doing. He was fully vulnerable to her at these times, and those touches, those caresses said she knew he was precisely that.

In truth, he'd been waiting anxiously for her to slam to door on them since she'd returned early from her mother's. There were times, in fact, he was left darn well fidgeting, nibbling at a thumbnail, tucking his hands into pant pockets only to remove them again, helplessly regarding her with a nervous smile. That she'd not only come home much earlier than expected, but more specifically had chosen to come straight to him on her arrival, had been an exercise of supreme trust on her part, he knew. She'd chosen to have faith he'd not only want her there, but hadn't doubted she'd find no competition waiting for her in his bed, or walking through his door. It also revealed that this, them, held great importance in her life… that he held enough importance in her life that he'd been missed. Admissions of such caliber, if even only to herself, could well trigger her fears of being consumed by a man, and, if so, from there disaster would follow. In fact, during their brief trip to Vail, on several occasions he'd felt the slightest of withdrawals, as indecision she thought she'd kept well-hidden left her tense, and he'd made it point to draw her near, to vanquish those fears without admitting he knew what was going on in that amazingly complex mind of hers: a hand grasped, fingers tangling; a hand on the small of her back, thumb brushing soothingly; an impulsive hug; or a kiss that left her breathless. Each time those beautiful brown eyes shimmered up at him in the aftermath of such an act, he knew he'd quelled her fears, had assured her this, they, were very real and in his eyes, very right. But that they'd existed at all, made it impossible to force the words he'd hoped to finally say, for no other reason than fear she'd run and they'd always be between them.

Laura's thoughts followed much the same vein as the man who lay with his head pillowed on her stomach while his fingers absently tangled and untangled with the fingers of her free hand. It was becoming increasingly difficult to believe it was only a roll in the hay he was after, as there were too many signs, at moments like these, which said otherwise: his soft, nearly reverent sigh, when their bodies first merged as one; the emotions that played through his eyes as his body moved within hers; his hands clutching at her, pressing his body to hers when he found his release; and, above all, in the long minutes after when he seemed to need to keep her close as he found his footing again. His every movement, touch, look conveyed the words she longed to hear from him, but never crossed his lips… making her wonder if she was only imagining the rest when left alone to her thoughts.

Vail had only made things more… complicated… in a manner of speaking. They'd attended the Crockett New Year's Eve bash together, then had departed for the airport as the sunrise has painted dazzling colors across the sky. As he'd predicted, they'd spent five days in nearl perfect harmony with one another. Ski trips during which many a bet was made, lost… or won. Long evenings making love before the fireplace, in the hot tub, in the king sized bed… and one truly satisfying encounter in the screening room as Casablanca played out on the screen behind her when she'd straddled him to take him inside. Romantic dinners both at home and in restaurants which offered a panoramic view of Vail valley below. Dancing, lots and lots of dancing. Long walks in the village, and a horse drawn carriage ride when, out from under watchful eyes in LA, those unconscious touches of his had only magnified ten-fold, leaving her body abuzz and making her feel positively cherished by the man whose fingers and hands made certain she stayed near.

It had all served to dazzle her, especially when she'd found themselves opening up and sharing parts of their past with one another, freely and without reservation. She'd told him a good deal about the days she'd dated then lived with Wilson - how she'd changed in an effort to please him, only more often than not to find she couldn't quite hit the mark. She'd even braved admitting the way Wilson would shut her out both emotionally and physically when irritated with her, hoping Remington would understand the parallel to his own behavior when injured or angered. He in turn shared with her the whole of his time with Anna, leaving her stunned and with a new perspective on how his having to watch her flirtation with Beemis, leaving him for Westfield, would have wounded him as deeply as his closing himself off did her.

The combination of how well they'd gotten along and the confidences shared had left her… jumpy and confused when she allowed herself to dwell on it. She was used to a reticent Mr. Steele, not the man who had fully opened himself up to her about a part of his past. She was used to sniping and bickering with her partner, not enjoying days on end of quiet solitude with him. She was used to the man who took little seriously, who was filled with frenetic energy, not the calm, contemplative man who accompanied her. He'd noticed her state of unease, of course, and when he did, would restore her footing somewhat through a gentle touch or with a kiss that left her lightheaded enough that her thoughts packed up and took their leave.

The man on who her thoughts had been focused stirred against her now, grasping the hand he'd been toying with and drawing it to his mouth, so his lips might flutter over her knuckles. Releasing her hand, those same lips blazed a trail from stomach to neck, as he adjusted to stretch the length of his body over hers, taking the bulk of his weight on his arms. A pair of blue eyes twinkled down at her.

"Adoring fan, eh?" he asked with a smile and waggle of his brows. She rolled her eyes heavenward.

"Don't let it go to your head, big guy," she advised on a yawn, while giving him a playful pat against his deliciously bare bum. "I'm sure you'll manage to fall out favor before the week's out." Chuckling, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled until he lay on his back and she tucked herself against his side, splaying an arm and leg across his body.

"Two challenges in as many days, Miss Holt?" he asked, bemused. She blinked heavy eyelids at the comment, then frowned.

"What challenges?" she asked in a voice gone up an octave. Pressing up on an elbow she stared down at him. He automatically lifted her hair out of her face and back over a shoulder.

"Mmmm," he hummed, "First that wonderfully enticing game of one-upmanship in the office, and now, defying me to stay in your good graces for an entire week." Shaking her head at him with a smile, she lay back down against him.

"It would seem to me, Mr. Steele, that accomplishing the first would risk currying disfavor on the second," she pointed out on another yawn.

"Perhaps, perhaps," he agreed. "One might even label it the impossible challenge, and we both know how I feel about those."

"After all, I'm a man who enjoys impossible challenges."

She was unable to suppress the small snort of laughter which accompanied the memory.

"Wake me at eleven?" Nodding, he bussed her on the top of the head.

"Of course." His hand stroked the length of her arm, while silence lingered long, before he swallowed hard and dared, "Or you could stay…" She remained quiet for so long, he wondered if he'd missed that she'd dozed off on him. Tilting his head to the side he looked down at her, and found a pair of brown eyes regarding him. Finally, with a long sigh, she broke eye contact, and nuzzled into his shoulder again.

"I can't." The words had been difficult to force past her lips, and she scrunched her eyes closed when she felt him stiffen slightly beneath her.

"Can't or won't," he pressed, tightly.

"We have an agreement," she reminded him, quietly. No, we have one of your many blasted rules, he corrected in his head, lips tightening. A hell of a thing for a man. Force the issue and she won't return to your bed for Christ only knows how long. What else was there left to say but…

"Eleven, it is."

A frown creasing her brow, her last thought before she fell asleep was, I'm sorry…

(TBC)