Chapter 4: An Invitation

Laura woke slightly disoriented, a hazard of the trade when they traveled, it often taking a few seconds for her to recollect where they'd found themselves sleeping this time. Blinking her eyes a couple of times the pieces fell into place. Of course, the warm body spooned against her backside, the arm wrapped possessively around her, and the hand resting over her breast provided a few pertinent clues. She wriggled around so that she could look at Remington, noting that he'd readjusted himself in his sleep to keep her near, his leg tucking between hers, his arm slung over her hip, his hand resting on a cheek of her bottom. She bit down on her lower lip, gnawing it thoughtfully. We've definitely dispelled with the idea that I'd wake after we'd gone to bed together and find him gone, she noted to herself with some relief.

She tilted her head back to look at him. Unable to resist the impulse, she touched her lips to his, chuckling silently and lips lifting in a smile as he returned the brief contact even while he slept. He mumbled her name, almost unintelligibly, before shifting a bit and settling back in. His hold on her remained unchanged. She had not a single doubt that he knew precisely who it was with whom he slept.

Loving him had been everything she'd ever imagined it would be, and so much more. His kisses had always set her blood on fire, his touches shooting sparks across her skin. Yet, when she'd dreamed about them – and she had more often than she'd ever admit – crossing that line between boardroom and bedroom, she'd never conceived of where he'd touch her first, how he'd touch her, or the feelings that each touch would convey. She hadn't anticipated the way he'd needed to stay connected to her, whether lacing their fingers together or by pressing his forehead against hers or the way he'd bury his face in her neck when he found himself lost in her… or that he'd be determined she find her pleasure multiple times before he found his even for the first time. How the emotion lying ever present under each action had made her feel… Dare she even think it? Her teeth found her lower lip and she closed her eyes, forcing herself to acknowledge the truth. Loved. I felt loved.

She drew in a deep breath and lay her forehead against his chest, watching her fingers as they drew pretty patterns there. She shook off the notion as being fanciful, and focused on matters now at hand. If Remington wished to continue their… what to call it, she wondered… and she assumed he would, based on the evidence at hand, there would have to be rules. Very firm rules. Their… insert word here, she thought to herself… could not be allowed to either cross over into the workplace or interfere with Agency business. She started ticking guidelines off in her head as they came to mind. No stolen gropes, no sex in the office. Period. The same went for stakeouts, or any time they were on a case. Business and professional would have to be strictly separate. She mentally cut the air in front of her with her hands, indicating the finality of her decision. There were work nights to con—

She gave a shriek of surprise when a pair of hands suddenly dragged her upwards, lifting her then plopping her down on top of a very sexy body to straddle it. She threw back her head and laughed, as Remington flashed a toothy grin at her.

"Well, I guess the question of whether or not it would be awkward waking with one another after the first time has been answered," she pointed out, laughter dancing across her words. He stroked her hips with his hands while raising a brow at her.

"Had you thought it would be? Awkward, that is? Seems to me we've woken near one another dozens of times before."

"Near to, not with," she pointed out. She leaned down and brushed her lips against his, then climbed off him and the bed, gathering up her clothing from where it was scattered on the floor. He propped himself on an elbow, appreciating that she was as comfortable in her nudity as he.

"Have an appointment to run off to, Miss Holt?" he inquired in a teasing voice, though she caught the confusion lying beneath his words.

"We both do. Mildred will be here in about twenty minutes. Dinner, remember?" He uttered a growl of disapproval.

"Perhaps we could plead exhaustion?" he suggested hopefully. She paused by the bathroom door to look at him.

"The way I see it, Mr. Steele, we have two choices. First, we can clean ourselves up the best we can, throw on our clothes and restore the bedding to some semblance of order, then accompany Mildred to dinner, in which case her curiosity won't be aroused." The look on his face said he'd already discarded this plan. She quashed the urge to smirk at him. "Or, we can do it your way. Plead exhaustion, stay huddled up in here all night, then spend the entirety of the flight home being given sidelong glances, which of course, will extend to the Agency for God only knows how long, as she tries to pry from both of us confirmation of what she suspects, which of course, will only be followed by knowing looks and an outpouring of well-meaning advice and questions about when we intend to make things more official." This time, she did flash him a smug little smile as he swallowed hard at the thought of the latter. "The choice is yours."

"Ah, dinner," he told her, scratching at his chin, as he slipped out of bed to gather up his clothes, "Come to think of it, I could stand a bite to eat."

"I thought you might," she answered, her laughter trickling through the room as she entered the bathroom.

In short order, they managed to pull themselves together enough not to arouse the suspicions of a keen-eyed Mildred Krebs. While Remington was finishing up in his adjoining room, Laura pulled the bedspread back up on the bed, then sat down at the end of it. Left alone with her own thoughts, the same old fears that had made her keep Remington at arm's length for years had begun creeping back in. Had she made a mistake? Just because he was there when she woke this time, didn't mean the same would hold true the next. For years they'd been unable to figure out a way to make their personal and professional lives mesh together. How would now be any different? Would they be able to conceal their personal involvement from clients, or would she be tagged as the little… her lips curled at the thought, secretary… sleeping her way to the top? Would the respect she'd struggled to obtain, and still fought for daily, be compromised? She frowned. This was all presuming he was coming back to LA with her in the first place. She'd assumed, but hadn't asked. Her fingers found her brow and began to rub.

She wasn't the only one plagued with questions. As Remington had quickly scrubbed down his body, taking care not to wet his hair lest he rouse Mildred's suspicions, his own doubts and fears began to surface. Now that they were lovers, would she continue to hold him at arm's length? Would she continue to put business before them at all cost? This was, of course, assuming that there was a 'them' or that she would allow their physical relationship to continue once they were back in LA. He frowned. If he even found a way back to LA. After all, he was a man without a passport, a bit of a requirement to travel transcontinental. Would she go home without him? The thought of losing her again so soon, especially now that he knew what it was like to have her, settled a black cloud over what should be a time of pleasant reflection.

It was with these heavy thoughts on his mind, that he returned to her room, attired in his suit, and propping a couple of pillows against the headboard, stretched out on her bed. That she was sitting at the end of the bed, a contemplative look on her face, and had barely glanced his way when he entered told him she was dealing with her own morass of questions as well. He could only hope that whatever it was that she was masticating on in that complicated mind of hers didn't include regret for what had occurred here this afternoon.

He tried to ease into conversation, to feel her out.

"Ironic, isn't it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light. "I come here to find out my real name, offer it to you as proof of my commitment, and now, not only are we still in the dark as to who I am, but I no longer know who I was."

"I tried," she answered, clearly distracted by her thoughts, "but Inspector Lombard won't give back your passports."

"Do you like London, Laura?"

"I haven't exactly hit the usual tourist attractions," she pointed out wryly.

"Well, it seems to me, if our relationship is to continue, it will have to be here." He shifted on the bed, still attempting to keep the mood light but searching for answers he needed.

At the knock on her door, she couldn't help the conspiratorial smile that crossed her lips. Swinging it open wide, Mildred came barreling through.

"Miss Holt. Bos-" The name she'd called him for years faded away on Mildred's lips when she saw him reclining on the bed. Remington shifted uncomfortably, sitting up straighter, and looking all the world like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"It seems you haven't forgiven me my deception yet," he grimaced. Mildred looked from him, to Laura then back to him.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know how I feel. I guess it's gonna take some time to- straighten all this out. Anyway, here you go." She shoved the present she'd entered the room carrying towards him.

"What is this?"

"It's sort of a consolation present from us for not ending up the son of an Earl," Laura answered.

"Just what I need to get over my trauma. Another shirt." He opened the box, giving it a queer look when no shirt lay there then began peeling back the tissue paper a layer at a time. "Or a handkerchief? Socks, maybe?" His hand stilled, shocked by what he found at the bottom of the box and unwilling to hope what it might contain inside.

"I guess you earned it," Mildred coaxed with a smile. Remington took the passport out of the box and opened it almost reverently, flummoxed and touched to his toes when he looked down at the American passport issued in the name of Remington Steele.

"Many happy returns, Mr. Steele," Laura smiled at him. Remington could only beam as he closed the passport.

"Oh, girls, I'm touched," he told them sincerely, as he gathered both women in his arms for a group hug. "Thank you."

All three heads turned at the sound of a knock at the door in the adjoining room. Raising his brows, Remington rose from the bed and went to answer it. When he returned to Laura's room he had an envelope in hand.

"Bellhop," he provided looking at Laura. "A note from the Earl."

"Well, open it," she directed, her curiosity getting the better of her. She moved to stand next to his side, peering over his arm. Sliding his finger under the flap, he opened the envelope and extracted the contents, glancing with raised brow at a slip contained within a sheet of paper. Handing it to Laura he skimmed what the Earl had written. Laura's eyes grew wide when she looked at what he'd handed her.

"He hopes the bank note will cover the costs we've expended in the course of saving him from assassination and wishes our attendance at the ball celebrating his marriage, commencing this evening at nine at the Café Paris." She glanced at the note in her hand again as Mildred gave a whoop of delight from across the room.

"A royal ball? Who knows who we might meet. A baron, a duke," a hand fluttered up to her mouth. "You don't think Charles and Di will be there, do you?" Remington's eyes glanced her way.

"Doubtful, Mildred," he told her shortly and to the point. His eyes met Laura's asking silently what they were to do. He'd hoped for a quiet evening with her after dinner. There will still matters that needed to be worked out between them and he was more than anxious to continue what they'd started that afternoon. If he'd believed that once they made love his appetite for her would be slaked, he was sorely mistaken. His body was already pulsing with the need to have her again. The look in her eyes told him she was thinking similar thoughts.

"We can't very well decline," she sighed. The look of pained resignation on his face said he agreed. She turned to Mildred. "It looks like you and I will need to go shopping," she advised. Behind her, Remington chuckled lightly. Laura Holt hated to shop. She turned back to Remington. "And you, Mr. Steele, will need a tux."

"Oh," Mildred enthused. "Let me just go to my room and freshen up. It'll take no more than five minutes. Imagine! A ball!" Scurrying from the room she closed the door behind her. Remington reached for Laura the instant the door closed, only to clutch at air as she crossed the room away from him.

"One stop shopping, Mr. Steele. Where in London can Mildred and I go to get a gown, shoes and accessories all in one place?" He tipped his head slightly to the side, his brow raised at her back. Avoidance, Miss Holt?

"Harrod's in Knightsbridge should fit the bill," he supplied. He took a couple of steps towards her. "Laura—"

"Is there somewhere locally you can rent a tux on such short notice?" she inquired, still not looking in his direction as she changed out of her heels into a pair of shoes more suited for walking.

"Rent?" he asked with a touch of disdain. "Remington Steele does not rent clothing, Miss Holt." At the nod of her head and quiet snort, her back still to him, he continued, "I've a tailor here that often keeps a thing or two on hand for me. I'll simply pop round his shop." Her back still turned towards him, his frustration continued to mount. A hand reached up to rub the back of his neck. "Laura, we need to talk." Her back straightened perceptibly at the words. For a man that had spent the better part of three years avoiding serious conversations about their relationship, his persistence to do just that throughout the day was making the ground tilt beneath her feet and she couldn't quite find her footing.

"I know we do," she sighed, standing. "But we don't have time right now. Mildred will be back any minute, then there's shopping," she sighed again, "dinner and a ball to attend." She turned to face him, letting out a puff of frustrated air.

It was all the encouragement he needed to step to her and gather her in his arms. He was tempted to remind her she and Mildred were scheduled to return home that next morning, to question what that meant for him, but shoved the notion aside. As she said, it would have to wait and all he wanted in the here and now was to keep her close, remember what it had felt like to make love with her. Tipping up her chin with a single finger, his lips sought hers. He kissed her in that tender way of his that left her toes curling.

"Ready when you ar—" Remington and Laura leaped apart when Mildred walked into the room without knocking. She looked at them, an attempt at a remorseful smile playing on her lips. Truth be told, she loved catching her kids in a clinch. It never failed to give her hope that they'd finally wake up one day and admit what anybody who spent time with the two of them already knew. "Sorry," she offered.

"It's quite alright, Mildred," she told her, walking over to the bed to pick up her purse. "What time should we be ready for dinner?" This was directed towards Remington.

"I should think six thirty would allow us plenty of time before the ball," he answered.

"Count me out," Mildred told them. "I'm going to order up something from room service so I can get all dolled up for the evening. Who knows, I might catch myself a prince!" Remington brightened considerably at the news, and at once his mind started clicking through the various establishments where he might wine and dine Laura.

"Are you sure? We'd love to have you join us," Laura offered.

"Listen, I'm not twenty any more, but I plan to look thirty by the time I'm done. You kids go ahead without me. I'll meet you at Café Paris."

"Alright, if you're sure." She turned to Remington. While she managed to keep her face straight, her eyes were alight with excitement. "I'll see you at six-thirty, Mr. Steele."

"Six-thirty, Miss Holt," he confirmed then watched the door close behind the ladies. Five minutes later he departed his room for his tailor's.