Chapter 21: Sexy
The Saturday following Thanksgiving once again found Laura and Remington working hand-in-hand to turn their home into a Christmas wonderland fit for Santa Claus - or one wife that loved the holiday to distraction. Thanksgiving decorations that covered mantles, sat on hearths and festooned tables were carefully packed away. The autumnal floral displays throughout the house and terrace were repotted and sent to a local domestic abuse shelter – Laura's idea as she couldn't bear to just throw them away and at least at the shelter they would bring a little color to the women and children's lives for a short while. Following her lead, Remington suggested he pack up the substantial leftover's from their Thanksgiving meal and send them along, then giving it more thought took their personal checkbook and wrote out a check for five-thousand dollars. The check was placed in an envelope, addressed to the shelter's director, and provided a brief note.
"Christmas is on us. Happy Holidays. ~ The Steeles"
His wife bestowed a toe curling kiss on him, showing him exactly what she thought about his generosity and kind heart.
Poinsettias replaced the autumn flower arrangement in the urns on hearths, the terrace and the base of the stairway. Potted poinsettias flanked two lighted, white wicker reindeers positioned near Laura's piano. In front of the house, a single reindeer lit with clear lights was positioned near the front door, poinsettias surrounding it. A family of five reindeer were the focal point of the front yard, while alternating lanterns and poinsettias lined each side of the walkway all the way to the front door. Wreaths, painstakingly hand decorated with red and silver balls, flowers, ribbon and a bow by Laura herself, were centered on the front doors and each window that faced the front of the house. The bannister of the stairway inside was decorated with a thick spruce garland from top to bottom, heavily laden with the same red and silver balls, flowers, and bows as the wreaths outside. Equally decorated boughs of spruce were laid across mantles, upstairs and down, and on the top of Laura's piano, red and white pillar candles sitting among them. And, hanging from the mantle in the living room, two white stockings, flocked with white faux fur and trimmed with silver thread.
After a full day's work, the couple sat together on the couch in the living room, admiring their handiwork. The rest was very brief. Laura nudged Remington up from the couch.
"Dinner with Bernice and Jason, remember?"
"Lau-ra," he groused, mostly on principle.
"Save it for someone who's not immune to your whining," she chastised. He came to a halt and turned towards her on nimble feet.
"Remington Steele does not whine," he informed her snootily.
"Well, Remington Chalmers Steele has his moments," she qualified. He grinned at the use of a his full name, as she knew he would. What she hadn't predicted was that he'd step in and gather her close, and kiss her so tenderly and lengthily in that way which curled her toes and breathless. Smugly, he stepped back to peer into her dazed eyes.
"Mmm… so long as you're not resistant to my… charms." Her eyes cleared immediately and she smirked at him.
"I seem to recall resisting your charms for nearly four years," she reminded him. "And unless you get us upstairs to change, buster, you'll find out just how well verse I still am in that when the need arises."
"You wouldn't," he exclaimed, appalled by even the notion.
"Are you willing to risk whatever plans you might have for tonight to find out?" she challenged, brows raised and a gleam in her eyes. He barked out a laugh and swung her up in his arms towards the stairs.
"You can be a cruel woman, Mrs. Steele," he told her, bemused.
"Only when I need to keep you in line, Mr. Steele." He laughed again, and was still smiling when they retired to their room to get ready for the evening.
Saturday evening was a rousing success and was followed by a lazy Sunday morning spent in bed, Remington only departing long enough to whip them up a breakfast of cranberry nut muffins, scrambled eggs and fruit. By the time they departed for the Pipers, Laura was relaxed and looking forward to the visit.
The afternoon and evening passed pleasantly enough. Frances was eager to show Remington and Laura how she'd staged The Steeles' new-old outdoor furniture on her back patio. She fairly glowed under their compliments. The Piper children quickly laid claim to their Uncle Remington, which was par for the course at these bi-weekly dinners, as was Laura huddling in front of the television with Donald to watch the final quarter of the Los Angeles Rams v. New York Jets game, with the Rams putting up a solid win, much to her pleasure. Donald was still riding high on the Packers win Thanksgiving evening, so was more than happy to root on Laura's home team with her. When the game ended, Donald departed for the barbeque grill on the back porch. Dinner would be simple fare that evening: hamburgers or hotdogs, accompanied by homemade potato salad, baked beans and a selection of potato chips for those who wanted them. The meal would be eaten at the picnic table outside. Throughout the meal, Laura found herself smiling with amusement as she watched her persnickety gourmet wolf down two burgers, complimenting Donald on his barbequing skills throughout the meal. Eventually, he'd leaned over to whisper in her ear.
"I don't see what you find so amusing. I'm quite certain this will be regular fare, once we have children of our own." He stealthily pressed a hand to her abdomen, grinning when she flushed. "I may as well learn to enjoy it."
After dinner and cleanup, the extended family adjourned to the den so the children could enjoy "A Charlie Brown Christmas" while the adults spoke. With a persistent tug on Remington's sleeve, Laurie Beth's favorite uncle stretched out on the floor next to her, where they colored side-by-side in the Christmas coloring book Frances had purchased for her earlier in the day as a reward for her behavior at church that morning. When asked what she wished for Santa to bring, Laurie Beth talked his ear off about the ponies she was hoping to find under the tree Christmas morning. As she watched the scene unfold, unconsciously she pressed her hand to abdomen as she was reminded what a remarkable father he would be, despite his fears otherwise.
"Laura, are you listening to me?" Frances's voice broke through Laura's reverie.
"Um, sorry, what were you saying?"
"I was telling you that I simply don't know what I'm going to do on Saturday. Donald is proctoring practicals, and Mindy and I are supposed to be attending the Mother-Daughter tea at the Junior League. Danny will be at Andrew's working on their science project and both of our baby sitters are already committed elsewhere. Mindy's been looking forward to the tea all month, and is going to be absolutely be heartbroken when I tell her we can't go!" Frances wrung her hands then dropped the bomb. "Could you and Remington watch Laurie Beth?" she asked, speaking faster and faster. "I wouldn't have to drop her off until noon, the tea is from two-thirty until five which means I could be at your house no later than six to pick her up."
"I don't know, Frances," Laura hedged. "Remington and I had planned to go Christmas shopping on Saturday since I'll finally be off the crutches—"
"Oh, Laurie Beth simply adores to shop. It makes her feel like such a big girl! She'd love it and be absolutely no trouble at all!" Frances pressed.
Laura glanced in Remington's direction, hoping for his quick mind to create a ready and plausible excuse. Instead, the man only shrugged a shoulder in her direction. Instinctively, she knew what she'd hear if she pulled him aside: 'It's family, Laura.' Finding no help from that corner, she lifted fingers to brow, looking for a way out. Then, watching Remington return to coloring and conversing with Laurie Beth it occurred to her that she'd never questioned how he would fare as a father, but questioned incessantly whether or not she had what it took to be a mother. Her attempt at getting her feet wet with the Gallen children had been an unmitigated disaster. Ten months ago when Remington had volunteered them to care for her nieces and nephew overnight while Frances and Donald worked through some issues, was also nothing to write home about. In both cases, they'd taken on multiple children at once. She had to wonder if trying her hand with just one child might answer some of the questions she had about her own parenting readiness.
"We'd be happy to have her over for the day," she found herself saying, then promptly wondered if she'd lost her mind.
By the time they'd walked out the front door she was prepared to turn right back around and rescind the offer. Knowing his wife as he did, Remington kept his hand firmly on her waist and guided her to the car, chuckling all the while. He received an elbow in his side when he'd released her to open the car door, but all-in-all felt the amusement he'd derived from her panic well worth the cost.
"We're not buying Laurie Beth a pony for Christmas, Remington," Laura told him firmly as they were getting ready for bed that evening.
"Be reasonable, Laura. It's the only thing she could talk about all evening—"
"Reasonable? Me? Be reasonable? You're talking about buying our six-year-old niece a living breathing pony when that isn't even what she wants!" she retorted.
"Of course it is. She talked my ear off all evening about wanting her little pony for Christmas." She nearly growled in frustration.
"My Little Pony," she corrected.
"Precisely. Her little pony." In the bathroom where she was taking off her makeup Laura tossed her hands up in the air. "Did Laurie Beth tell you what color she wanted her pony to be?"
"As a matter of fact, pink with a blue and white mane and tail," he called back from the closet.
"And you didn't think that odd?" she challenged.
"Don't be absurd, Laura. Of course I found it odd. Reminds me of that ridiculous poodle on board the plane during the Platinum Airlines case last year. I really hope you're not suggesting we—"
"It's a toy, Remington," she finally shouted, finally losing all patience with him. "My Little Pony is a toy! Made of plastic, and nylon tails and manes. They come in every color of the rainbow. What they are not is living, breathing animals!" In the closet he scratched the side of his nose, baffled.
"Well, that doesn't make sense. Why would any little girl want a plastic pony?" he returned.
"Because they are the 'it' toy for little girls right now, that's why." He considered this while removing his pants.
"Are you certain?" he called to her again. "Not that I'm questioning your knowledge of plas—"
"I'm sure, Mr. Steele!" She yelled. "There has been at least one commercial about them during every movie we've watched on television the last six months."
"No need to get snippy, Mrs. Steele," he rejoined, as he tossed pants and underwear into the hamper. "No one pays attention to commercials, except to curse their very existence as they interrupt quality programming."
"Why did I marry you?" she lamented, tossing her brush down on the bathroom counter and pressing the fingers of both hands to her forehead, as he entered the bathroom.
"Because you love me," he answered, stepping behind her and lying his hands on her shoulders. "And, if I recall the conversation last evening correctly, because you like me," he reminded her as he eased the collar of her robe back over her shoulder. "And what was it you said to me years back?" he asked, pretending to ponder. "Ah yes, because you find me very… 'sexy'." His lips trailed over a bared shoulder.
"I did not! I have never used that word in my life," she denied vehemently.
"I assure you, you did just that. The Dannon case?" She shook her head at him.
"Never happened," she said confidently.
"As we walked around our fountain one evening?" She shook her head again.
"Sorry…"
"As you extoled all the virtues of your fictitious Remington Steele, that I'd begun living up to?" he prodded. She frowned at him in the mirror as a distant memory began to take fabric.
"You know, you're rapidly becoming the man I envisioned when I created Remington Steele. Honest, courageous, caring, good humored… Sexy."
Closing her eyes, she covered her face with her hands and groaned. Dropping her hands, she looked at him in the mirror again. "Someone must have slipped something in my drink at the memorial service," she suggested.
"I think not," he denied with a flick of his brows. "As a matter of fact, unless my memory fails me, you only recently used that very word to describe a specific part of my anatomy as explanation for accosting it during a round of golf," he mused. She didn't need more of a hint than that this time.
"I merely couldn't resist caressing that very sexy bum of yours, displayed in all its glory in those pants during your swing."
"I can't be held responsible for that. I was under extreme duress at the time… saying things out of character because of the stress." He laughed out loud at her excuse.
"Duress?" She nodded her head, lips twitching with amusement in the mirror as she looked at him.
"I was being stalked at the time. Can't hold me to a thing I said," she shrugged. He raised a brow at her in the mirror.
"Ah, I see. So, are you saying, then, that you don't find me… sexy?" Using the counter, she turned herself around carefully, forcing him to step back at the same time. She eyed him critically from head-to-toe, requiring every bit of the self-control she'd acquired over the years not to let him see the desire just looking at him stirred with her. She gave a careless shrug.
"You're fairly attractive," she answered with a straight face.
"Fairly attractive?" he repeated in mock outrage. She rolled her eyes at him.
"Fine, fine. I'll give you…" she tapped her fingers against her lips while perusing his body again, "…more attractive than the average man." This time he grunted with dissatisfaction at her assessment.
"More attractive than average?" Quick as a cobra's strike, he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her over his shoulder as she shrieked with surprise, then carried her into the bedroom where he tossed her on the bed amid much laughter on her part. He pounced, stretching his length atop of her, and securing both wrists in a hand. "No touching, Mrs. Steele… until you confess the error of your ways."
"You're forgetting, Mr. Steele, my iron will when it comes to your attempts at seduction," she reminded him.
"Ah, yes," he grinned down at her, "all those years of practice, wasn't it?" She wagged her brows at him in answer. "Well then, we'll just have to see if I've learned these past months how to smelt that will of yours, eh?" he asked, leaning down to suckle beneath her ear.
"I guess we will," she agreed breathily, reaching for his hair only to find his vice like grip rendered her arms immovable, drawing an arrogant chuckle from him as he prematurely declared himself victor in his mind.
And, thus, the war on her senses had begun. Time and again, Remington took her to the edge of ecstasy only to leave her perching perilously on its edge before moving on, determined to turn in her to a mass of quivering flesh while extracting from her the acquiescence he sought. The battle waged amidst soft sighs and whispers, amongst much laughter and oaths muttered more frequently as time marched on and he left her aching for release again and again. Then, at last, the need to feel this man she loved merging his body with her own triumphed, and she capitulated he was, indeed, 'sexy'… although she vehemently refused to liken his image to that of a Roman God. They spoke one another's names as his body at last joined hers, then words, except quiet Gaelic vows of love, were lost to them all together as they pressed towards Nirvana together.
It was these escapades that were to blame for neither Remington nor Laura remembering to set the alarm before falling into slumber within one another's arms, as well as being equally responsible for them sleeping on well-past the sunrise. They'd likely have slept until mid-morning, spooned around one another in warmth and comfort as they were, if not for the phone's incessant ringing which roused them. Unlike Saturday morning, when he'd condemned their early morning invader for waking them, the call catapulted him from the bed towards the shower to turn it on and then the closet to gather clothes as Laura rolled over to answer the demanding appliance.
"Hello?... Oh, good morning, Mildred," she said into the mouthpiece. "Yes, a late start…"
"Be sure to tell Mildred, the responsibility is yours, unable to keep your hands of me last evening and all," he teased, laying his suit on the bed before turning towards his dresser.
"Shhhh…" She frowned at him and hastily covered the mouthpiece with her hand, only lifting it to speak6 again. "Tell Mr. Scott that Mr. Steele has been unavoidably been detained in traffic on his way from the airport—"
"Mmmm. Where have we been? Some remote island where it was just the two of us? Ah, I have it. The Devil's Playground, partaking of all its tacky sinfulness—" he teased as he leaned over to buss her cheek while tossing his underwear in the vicinity of his suit.
"Shhhhh!" she chastised more firmly, then rolled her eyes at Mildred's tittering on the other end of the line, which earned a reproachful, "Mr. Steele!" from her. He shrugged carelessly in her direction.
"The key to a good lie is the details. I can't very well tell the man I was on a business trip if in fact we were off on a romantic getaway, indulging in one another." Laughter openly sounded in her ear from the receiver this time.
"Tell him Mr. Steele's car had a flat," she told Mildred somewhat desperately, "It's being resolved as we speak, and he'll be there very shortly." Hanging up the phone, she planted fisted hands on her hips and scowled at her husband. The sight of his lovely wife, hair mussed from sleep and their antics the night before, sitting in their bed with the sheet dropped around her waist revealing a full array of glorious freckles, a pair of pert breasts and a deep red mark along her collarbone where he'd claimed her during their lovemaking, all whilst in a fine pique at that? Well, it did a man's heart good and was a fine way to start the morning. He stepped to her and swept her up out of the bed, carrying her towards the shower.
"No time for dawdling this morning, Laura. Your antics last night already have me running behind," he grinned. Her mouth fell open in outrage.
"My antics!" she demanded, swatting him on his shoulder as he set her on her good foot in the shower enclosure and stepped in behind her. Kneeling down he removed the splint from her healing limb then closed the shower door behind them.
"No need to apologize. We'll just let bygones be bygones in this case, eh?" He gave her a toothy grin before turning so that she stood under the running water, his hands on her waist to help her maintain her balance.
"Bygones?! Mr. Steele," she drawled in warning.
"I do love how you say my name in that lilting voice of yours. 'There's a magnificence in you. A magnificence that comes out of your eyes, in your voice, in the way you stand there, in the way you walk.'" His lips feathered over a sudsy shoulder. Laura threw up her hands and rolled her eyes ceilingward, giving up. He was in rare form this morning and when he was in mood such as this she'd found over the years there was little use in fighting it as it would only rev him up all the more.
"The Philadelphia Story, Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn… ummmm," her brain stalled on further details.
"MGM, 1940," he finished for her. He nuzzled her neck. "My Tracy," he breathed next to her ear. She indicated she was done bathing, and he helped her to turn to hold his hips for balance as he did likewise.
"Planning to divorce you, am I?" she teased as he lathered his hair.
"Should you, we would only have to remarry for life to imitate art," he pointed out.
"Third times the charm," she countered as he rinsed his hair then fixed bright blue eyes upon her.
"Perhaps for our silver anniversary." He quirked a brow at her, as he lathered his body. "Sans the divorce, of course."
"Ahh, but then life would fail to imitate art," she retorted. His eyes held hers as he rubbed himself down then rinsed quickly. He stepped forward to embrace her, cupping the back of her neck with a hand.
"Sod art. You're mine. I'll not take a chance providence pays to close attention the next time." His lips settled over hers, lingering long enough to convey his ever present desire for her. She hummed softly against his lips. With great strength of will, he broke the kiss and gave her fanny several pats, never aware of the brown eyes which regarded him. He couldn't help but tweak her one last time before he prepared for work. "You're positively insatiable, Laura. Really, one would think you of all people would keep in mind a client awaits," he chided, as he wrapped a towel around her, then retrieved her crutches and handed them to her.
"I give up," she muttered under her breath.
"As well you should," he agreed. "I've an iron will and you will not sway me from my course."
"Sleeping in that big bed alone tonight is beginning to hold a remarkable appeal," she told him warningly.
"Mmmmm," he appeared to agree. "But then where will you sleep?" On that parting shot, he left the bathroom to dress while she envisioned wrapping her hands around his neck and squeezing. She pulled the brush through her wet hair, yanking it almost viciously as she put it up in a ponytail. By the time she'd finished the task, he called to her that he'd be back in ten to get her.
True to his word, he reappeared at the appointed time. She allowed herself a few seconds for her heart to pitty-patter at the sight of him and wondered, as she so often did, if she'd ever take for granted what a truly beautiful man her husband was. It wasn't just the way he filled out a suit, although if she allowed herself to dwell on it at any length, he'd take her breath away. It was his heart, his vulnerability, his gentleness, his courage, his good humor. The whole package simply made her blood hum. In an attempt to cover the emotions that had suddenly swamped her, she brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve, before he swung her up in his arms to take her downstairs.
A glance at his watch in the kitchen saw Remington gulping down his tea, even his own charm no defense to running more than an hour behind. Wrapping his arm around Laura from behind, he pressed the side of his head against hers, as his hand caressed her stomach.
"A week's passed, love. Maybe it's time for us to find out one way or another, eh?" He skimmed the elegant curve of her neck with soft lips, then whispered in her ear. "Think about it, that's all I ask." Stepping back he circled to stand before her, dwelling on the delicate features of her face, her uncertain eyes. When she nodded slowly, he answered in a similar gesture. "I'll be home at one to make lunch, confer with the contractor." A single finger tipped up her chin so he could touch his lips with hers. "Tá tú mo ghrá álainn."
With those words, he departed for the office, leaving her pondering the mornings events. Now, at least, she knew the cause for his mood: his seeming belief that a week passing and she still late had reassigned 'might be' to 'likely was.' Shoving that thought aside she instead focused upon the troubling words he'd spoken while they were in the shower.
Raised in the Church though he may have been, he still placed great weight in fate… kismet… providence. How often had he described their meeting as just that… kismet? She'd never taken his comments too seriously, because she, herself, believed you charted your own destiny. The Agency's mere existence was proof of that. The fact they were here, together – had clung, scraped, fought, battled and raged to make it happen – was proof of that. Did he really believe something as capricious as fate had determined whether or not he was worthy of what he had, of what he wanted? That only in giving providence the slip, could he have anything at all? The mere thought troubled her deeply.
For the moment, however, she set her concerns aside. Today was the last official day of her captivity, and she'd spent precious little time on reviewing the files and facts gathered on Roselli. The New Year was quickly approaching and if she stood a chance at all of swaying Remington to her side, of making him understand why she needed to understand… well, the why… of Roselli's obsession with them, she'd need every morsel of time she could muster between now and then in order to construct an argument that even her husband could not dismiss.
Opening up her briefcase, she got to work.