Steele Blushing; inserted scene. Steele's apartment, just before the last scene of the episode.

The doorbell buzzed and Steele came from the kitchen. He opened the door to find Laura holding a cardboard box overflowing with magazines, some of which were spilling onto the floor.

"Can you grab some? They're heavier than they look."

He took the whole box from her and carried it into the apartment, placing it on the floor near the couch, while she gathered up the dropped magazines and closed the door behind her.

"I covered all the places that carry Bedside Babes on the west side, assuming the list we got from the publisher was complete. How did you do?" she asked, tossing the loose magazines and her purse on the floor..

He gestured to a large pile on the floor near the fireplace. "I cleaned out all the establishments on my half of the list. I must say, I'm glad this sort of project doesn't come up often in our work. I eventually stopped trying to explain the situation to the proprietors and just allowed them to think what they would. God only knows what conclusions they reached."

She smiled, "You mean this isn't your preferred kind of legwork? I'd have thought you'd like this better than tracking down embezzling accountants and long-lost relatives."

"Hmmm. Bit sordid, even for me," he said. "Why don't you sit down, and I'll fetch us some wine."

He returned from the kitchen a few minutes later to find her looking at the picture of her own face on another woman's body. He chuckled a little as he settled beside her on the floor.

"I can't believe you thought this was me."

"Well, Laura, it's not as if I have a point of reference."

Holding up the magazine, she tapped the photograph in the general vicinity of the woman's large breasts. "And where did you think I keep these? In my purse?"

He looked chagrined. "Well, to be honest, I didn't look at the picture that closely. We were in the office, after all..."

She caught his meaning and nodded, clearly not wanting to descend into a discussion of his possible arousal.

He took the magazine out of her hands and studied the picture. She made to take it back from him, but he held it and said, "Give me just a minute." She acquiesced and he looked at the picture again. "I should have realized that this wasn't you for a number of reasons. The hands are wrong, for one thing. Your fingers are much more delicate. And look, no freckles...the poor girl, like an ice-cream cone without sprinkles. And your hips are more slender, particularly right here where they meet your thighs..."

He was gesturing on the photograph, and she looked away, taken aback by the intimacy of having him describe her body in such detail. "Okay, I get it."

They were silent for a few minutes, and he tossed the magazine into the fire and reached for another.

"You're bothered that I thought you would do something like this, aren't you?" he said at last.

She tossed a magazine and hesitated before answering. "I suppose I am, a little."

He took a breath to respond, but she cut him off. "And don't bring up the fan dance thing. That was...different. It was specific to that time and place, and it wasn't....this is just...." she searched for the right word. "This is just..."

"Dirty?"

"Yes. And I'm not like that. There's a difference between being uninhibited and being cheap...maybe it's a fine line, but...."

"I understand, Laura. And I don't think of you that way. If I'd had time to process this, I would have realized that it didn't make sense, just as I would have realized that that isn't your body."

They were silent again for a time, and resumed tossing magazines in the fireplace.

"I did pose once, but it wasn't like this," she said.

His voice squeaked a little as he said, "Oh?"

"In college. My friend Michael was an art major, and he needed a model for some photographs. They weren't sexual, though."

"Oh?"

She looked thoughtfully at the fire. "They were quite good, actually. He was very talented."

"And he had a lovely subject."

"Hmmm." She shrugged off his compliment.

"Do you have copies?"

"I used to. They must have been lost when my house was destroyed. I hadn't looked at them in ages."

"Would he still have the negatives?"

"I'm sure he would; he was always very careful about archiving his work. And these photos helped him get into the graduate program he was interested in. He got his MFA and has his own gallery now, in San Francisco. "

"You should contact him and ask for prints."

She smirked. "You want to see them, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Laura. Aside from being interested in art, I want to see you naked with approximately the same intensity I have for wanting to draw my next breath. But that's not the point. You were part of creating something beautiful, and you shouldn't let go of that."

"I suppose you're right. And I shouldn't be self-conscious about it now...a few thousand people saw those pictures at the time; they were part of his senior art show."

"So, he was...just a friend?"

"Yes, Mr. Steele. It's possible for an artist to have a professional relationship with his subject. As familiar as you are with the art world, you should understand that."

"I do. I just think that if the artist in question is a college-age boy and the subject in question is you, it seems unlikely that there wasn't some degree of lust directed your way."

"Michael's gay."

"Ah," he said.

"Don't be smug."

They continued feeding the magazines into the fire, watching them slowly curl up and turn to ash.

"You know, you went to great lengths to keep me out of this Veenhoff business. It may be presumptuous of me to say, but your concerns about my misconceptions regarding this magazine seem a bit, well, excessive."

She sighed. "It is presumptuous of you to say, but not entirely inaccurate. I suppose, after my experience with Wilson, I'm overly sensitive to being thought of as..." She didn't finish her thought, and he waited for her to continue.

"After the Acapulco trip, Wilson and I had a big fight. He blurted out that I had acted like a slut, which is a word I really despise, as it is only applied to women who sleep around, and never to men. Not to mention that I wasn't sleeping around; I was always faithful...never so much as held hands with another man while I was with Wilson."

Again, he waited for her to go on. "He apologized, but it was clear that this was just one more case of us disappointing each other. A few weeks later, he left."

After a moment he took her hand. "I dislike that term myself, Laura. It's hypocritical for men to enjoy women's sexuality and then disparage them for it. That said, I think I am uniquely qualified to testify that you are not, by any stretch of the imagination, a slut."

He smiled at her and ran his fingers down the side of her neck, but she didn't return the smile. "A tease, then?"

He took his fingers away and looked seriously at her. "No, Laura. While I have, at times, been frustrated by the pace of our relationship, I understand your reasons for being conflicted. I know that I've given you cause to mistrust me, and you want to be certain that sex between us won't ruin everything you've worked for with the agency. I don't happen to share your concerns, but that doesn't mean I don't respect your right to put me off. Besides, I find those sorts of labels for women to be odious. Prude, slut, tease...they're all terms that try to force women into a very narrow course of behavior. And I find that the sort of men who use them tend to not like women very much. Not to cast aspersions on your cowardly, flaccid, misogynistic ex, of course."

She smiled. "He really wasn't like that. He just had a lot invested in his career, and banking is about as conservative a field as there is."

"Remind me never to go into banking, then. My instincts aren't suited to it. I still can't quite grasp how Wilson didn't propose to you on the spot."

Shaking her head, she said, "No, he was right. And he made me realize that I had a lot to lose, too. Reputation is everything in business, and I was trying to build a name for myself as an investigator. I had put everything I cared about--personally and professionally-- at risk with one evening of indiscretion."

"Remarkably provincial mores you have in America. In most of Europe, no one would bat an eye."

He picked up another magazine and looked at the cover. "You know, by that same token, posing for a magazine like this may be a bit tacky, but that doesn't make it immoral. I don't particularly like women who listen to country music and wear polyester pantsuits, either, but that's not a moral condemnation."

She took the magazine from him and leafed through it. "You're right, of course. Every woman has her own ideas about what is acceptable, and I have to respect that. I do feel bad for the women who were just trying to do something romantic for their husbands and wound up on public display, though. Veenhoff took a sweet gesture and turned it into an embarrassment for them, and that's sad."

"It is. Taking advantage of something done out of love is cruel."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment as he tossed another copy of the magazine into the fire.

"I suppose you're wondering why I went to Veenhoff in the first place," she said.

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"It all started innocently enough. I needed a portrait for the alumni journal, and--"

"Of course you did."

"You see, that's what I mean. That's exactly why I didn't come to you about this in the first place. I needed a portrait. He took a portrait. I didn't know anything about Veenhoff's boudoir business until he came to me with this problem."

Steele smiled, glancing at the picture in the magazine. "The alumni journal, eh?"

"Perfectly legitimate."

"Oh, the alumni are going to be delighted with this, aren't they?"

Laura watched him for a moment, then grabbed the magazine from him to toss it into the fire. She threw herself on top of him and kissed him passionately as his arms wrapped around her body.

The kiss deepened, and he ran his hands up and down her back. Her hair draped them in a soft curtain as their tongues explored each other's mouths. His hands made their way down to her hips and he pressed her more tightly against him, eliciting a small groan from her.

After a moment she pulled away and moved off of him, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry; I should get home."

He propped himself up on his elbows, and his voice was neutral as he said, "If you like."

She hesitated before blurting out, "Do you really not blame me for this?"

"For leaving? Well, I wish you wouldn't, but like I said, I understand your reasons for it. I'd love it if you'd stay just a little longer, not pull away quite so suddenly, but...well." He sat up and shrugged.

She looked at her hands. "The truth is, sometimes I leave before I want to because I'm worried about leading you on. It sounds so adolescent when I put it like that, but...well, I feel like I owe it to you to be sure that I'm not going to change my mind after things have progressed to a point of no return."

"Laura, there is no point of no return. I'll happily enjoy whatever you're willing to give, and, well, if you're trying to save me from cold showers, it's a bit late for that. I've already taken quite a few showers with you in mind--not all of them cold."

She studied the fire. He looked at the floor. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be so crude."

Shaking her head, she said, "No, don't apologize. I think we need a little bluntness. Being coy hasn't gotten us anywhere."

"I suppose not."

"So you wouldn't be angry if I stayed here for another hour, on the floor with you, drinking wine and kissing and groping and letting things progress as they might, and then got up and went home? You wouldn't call that adolescent behavior?"

"I'd call that progress."

She shook her head again.

"Laura, how about we stop worrying about how relationships are supposed to proceed? We've never followed the rules on that front, anyway. As long as we're both enjoying ourselves and neither of us minds the risk of going home a little hot and bothered, who cares? Do what feels right and stop whenever you need to."

She didn't answer, just stared into the fire for a long time. Eventually he said, "Laura?"

"I almost went to Mexico with William Westfield."

"You...what?"

"The night you left. I changed my mind and came back here, but you were gone."

"Who the hell is William Westfield? Wait...the politician you were doing a background check on? You were involved with William Westfield?" His voice was rising in volume and pitch.

"I was not involved with William Westfield."

"Then why were you going to bloody Mexico with him?"

"I think I was going to have sex with him because I was afraid to have sex with you."

"What the...bloody hell." He got up and started pacing, chugging the remainder of his wine. "Is this some sort of test to see if I stand by my conviction that it's wrong to label women?"

"Would you calm down, please?"

"You tell me that you were going off to Mexico with another man and you want me to calm down?"

"Well, you were going to Australia at the time."

"Not to screw William sodding Westfield!"

"That's good, because I don't think you're his type."

He stood there, hands on hips, nostrils flaring, and looked down at her.

She looked back up at him. "So, do you want to yell at me or do you want to hear what I have to say?"

He thought about it for a second. "I can't do both?"

"No, because if you keep yelling at me I'm going to go home."

He thought for another second. "Fine." He sat down on the couch.

She sighed and took her wine glass off the coffee table. "I'm sorry that I've upset you. I just felt dishonest keeping it from you, even though nothing happened. I probably shouldn't have told you."

He slid back down to the floor and leaned against the couch, and his voice was a little calmer, but still hurt. "I'm glad you told me. But I don't understand it. Why him?"

"Because he was dull and safe and not you. And I've been obsessing about sleeping with you for so long that I was starting to feel like there's something wrong with me."

"Wrong how?"

"Wrong, like why have I wanted you for three-and-a-half-years and yet run for the door every time it looks like we might get past first base? Wrong, like how is it that when I feel your desire for me it scares me as much as it turns me on? Wrong, like how can I keep turning you down and then dream about your body all night? This isn't normal adult behavior. I'm not some teenage virgin, but I act like I'm going to get grounded if my mom finds out I've been messing around."

"You dream about my body?"

She rolled her eyes and went on. "I wanted to prove to myself that my hang-ups are limited to you, which would have let me off the hook. Call it cheap therapy."

"So why didn't you go?" he asked quietly.

"Because it wouldn't have been fair to any of us...you, me, or William. He's a nice guy and deserves better than to be used like that. And you had waited around for all this time, never pressuring me...well, okay, never pressuring me too much. And I didn't want him...I wanted you."

"So...you're saying that your resistance to spending the night with me isn't based on concerns about the agency. There's something else."

She threw up her hands. "I don't know. I think it started with concerns about the agency. But it's also fear that I'll get too deeply involved with you and then you'll disappear, and I'll..."

"You'll what?"

"Never mind."

"You don't trust me."

Now she looked angry. "Well, when I came back here that night, you were gone. So you can't say that that particular concern was a figment of my imagination."

"You know why I went."

"Yes, I do. Now. But at the time I was standing here, staring at your empty closets and your empty bed, and thinking that I'd never see you again. So, yes, there are limits on how much I trust you these days."

"I didn't know you'd come back here that night."

She took a sip of wine and didn't speak.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why do you think?"

After a moment he took her wineglass and placed it on the table, then held her hand and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Laura. If you can try to forgive me for taking off without telling you, I'll do my best to forget that William Westfield ever existed."

She squeezed his hand. "I suppose I can live with that."

Gently rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, he said, "I'm sorry if my leaving the way I did set us back."

"Well, you left, at least in part, because of my speech about needing time apart." She sighed. "Do you think we can just move on from here?"

"I think that as long as we're together, there's reason to be optimistic about our chances." He kissed her gently on the temple. "Do you want to go home now? Or will you stay a little while longer?"

She placed her other hand over his and traced the veins with her finger. "Did you mean what you said? About not minding where we leave off?"

"Yes."

She didn't move, and after a moment he shifted his legs and pulled her between them, gently easing her back against his chest. He took the barrette out of her hair and began running his fingers through it, massaging her head and neck. He slowly worked his way down to her shoulders and tilted her a little bit away from his so that he could rub there, saying, "You're tense."

"Mmm."

After a few minutes, she giggled a little and said, "Wow...just this?"

"What?"

She cleared her throat meaningfully.

He got what she was saying and said, "Actually, Laura, it takes a constant effort on my part not to get aroused by the sight of you answering the phone or the scent of you from across the office. So, yes...'just this' will do it, I'm afraid."

He made to extricate himself from behind her, but she stopped him. "Oh, no you don't. No more being coy, remember?" She turned sideways in his arms and pressed against him with her hip as she ran her hand up his neck and into his hair. He groaned deep in his chest and pulled her more tightly against him before seeking her lips with his own.

He gently explored her mouth with his tongue, and she reciprocated. Their breathing quickened, and she began teasing his nipple through his shirt. His fingers danced across her throat, stroking and caressing. Long minutes passed as they took their time, kissing and touching, not pushing any more boundaries. At last he began unbuttoning her shirt, but then broke the kiss and whispered, "Is this okay?" She nodded and he untucked her shirt and finished the buttons, but didn't make a move to take it off, instead returning his hand to her neck and the top of her chest.

Moving her lips to his neck, she shifted against him, causing him to gasp. His hand made its way lower and held the slight weight of her breast, his thumb running lightly over her hard nipple through the pale blue satin of her bra. Shuddering against him, she grabbed a handful of his hair, and he slid his hand under the elastic at the bottom of the bra and onto her bare flesh.

Suddenly, she pulled away. "Wait...I'm sorry."

With a ragged breath he took his hand away and released her from the embrace. "Time to go?" he asked.

She looked distressed as she nodded. "I'm sorry."

He sighed. "Laura, stop apologizing. I've enjoyed you immensely tonight." He gave her a shaky smile and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Button up. Can't have you heading out like that; my doorman would likely follow you home."

She looked at him. "You're really not upset with me?"

"No, I'm really not. I told you to stop when you needed to, and you did. We're fine. There will be other nights."

Standing up, she began to button her shirt. While her back was turned, he stood up, a little painfully. He ran his hands through his hair and adjusted his trousers. When she turned around, he smiled at her.

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she walked slowly to the door, and he followed.

"I'll...see you in the office tomorrow. We have an appointment with a new client at nine-thirty," she said.

"Okay. I'll be there."

She moved to leave, but he grabbed her and pushed her firmly against the wall, holding her wrists above her head and pressing his body fully against her. He kissed her softly but deeply, and then stepped back and smiled devilishly at her. "Sweet dreams, Miss Holt."

After she opened the door, she paused and gave him a smirk in return. "Enjoy your shower, Mr. Steele."