A/N: This chapter contains NC-17 material. If uncomfortable with such subject matter or under 18 years of age, please continue to Chapter 37.

Chapter 36: Free

Wednesday, June 17, 1987

Laura sat back in her desk chair, feet reclined on the corner of the desk, rubbing her tummy while biding her time before leaving the office for the day. Remington had departed with Brandon to test the security system at a large pharmaceutical manufacturer they'd taken on after a series of incidents in which a drug in testing stage seemed to continually take feet and walk out the door, placing at risk the company's substantial financial investment and future revenues, should a competing company find the drug in their possession. Once the system was given the all-clear, her husband and partner was due back in the office for a one o'clock meeting with new client – or so he thought, for there was no such creature to be found. Instead, when he arrived Bernice would inform him Laura had gone home for the day. As watchful as he'd become as her pregnancy progressed, there was not a single doubt he'd race home to find out what had sent her home early.

The answer to that was the surprise she'd carefully planned for him. They'd originally been scheduled to depart for Greece on Sunday the twenty-first for not only Roselli's trial, but also to celebrate their first anniversary where they'd been wed: in Oia. But, she'd made a few changes to those plans. They'd depart the following morning for Ireland where they'd stay at Ashford Castle until Sunday morning, where a second surprise awaited him. Greece would yet hold more surprises in store for him. His father and Catherine would arrive on Sunday evening so Thomas might celebrate his son's first anniversary with him… as would Mildred, in part to make up for her missing their wedding in Greece, but even more so because she was Remington's 'other mother.' She smiled to herself now, thinking it would take Remington considerable planning to outdo her, as he'd done on every occasion and holiday previously, thus far…. Except one.

On one Friday night in mid-May, they'd departed the office for dinner… or so he'd believed. Instead, she'd driven them straight to the heliport where a 'whirly-bird' was waiting ready and fueled… and at their disposal all weekend. She'd reserved them a private villa on Catalina, the same place they were to have gone to 'cross that line' before his attempts to wed Clarissa had turned their worlds on end. She couldn't help the wide, dimpled smile that lit up her face as Remington had looked once, twice… three times, from her, to the 'copter, then back to her again. It had been a wonderfully romantic weekend: private, catered, breakfasts and dinners; long walks on the beach; frolicking in the water and dancing under the stars. All peppered with rounds of making love, of course, leaving them breathless and content.

He'd understood what the trip conveyed without her ever giving voice to the words: While May 10, 1986 would never be, in her eyes, the day they married, it had marked a pivotal turning point for them. Had his foolishness not lead to a series of disastrous events, there was every chance that instead of preparing to celebrate their first wedding anniversary, instead of eagerly anticipating their first child, that they would still be dancing around 'those words' and the future each had dreamed about. Even more importantly, the trip announced with absolute finality, that he'd been truly forgiven for his actions the year prior, and the day would never be spoken of with malice again. On their final evening there, he gave her his own wordless answer to her statement, as they stood, wrapped in one another's arms, the waves lapping gently at their calves, when he'd cupped her face in his hands, his eyes bright with emotion, and had drawn her lips to his for a kiss so tender, poignant, it had left her hands trembling on his waist in the aftermath.

Yes, she felt fairly confident she'd finally, truly surprised him… had outdone one of his surprises for her.

It hadn't been easy, for on the night they'd returned home from Venice Beach, she'd been stunned speechless, at first, by the display she'd walked into. Dozens upon dozens of white tulips, displayed on every flat surface on the bottom floor of the house. Leaning down at the credenza to smell one, she smiled to herself: the flower of seeking forgiveness. Dropping her purse next to the vase, she started in surprise when Remington bussed her cheek as she stood.

"Go. Shower," he suggested. "I need fifteen minutes or so."

"Alright," she agreed.

Upstairs, she was greeted by roses. A dozen long stems in a vase sitting on both bedside tables, both dressers, on either side of the fireplace mantle, the coffee table in their sitting area, and a final arrangement on the bathroom counter. With another smile, she stripped down and stepped into the shower. The man does know how to put on a display of contrition, I'll give him that, she acknowledged to herself with a laugh. Leaving her hair wet and hanging in ringlets, she dressed in pair of shorts that weren't too snug at the waist and one of his shirts, for comfort's sake, then came to a stop as she saw Remington must have slipped into their bedroom during her absence, for on the bed set a stack of items which hadn't been there only fifteen minutes before. She fingered the delicate throws, and, much like her husband earlier, marveled over the tiny sleepers. When she reached the baby book, hidden beneath the pile, she sat on the edge of the bed and fingered throughout it. She decided to take it with her as she went downstairs to join her husband.

The canard au vin rouge had been as delicious as it was sweetly reminiscent of the first time he'd ever made dinner for her, even if it had gone to waste when a case called. The dancing after dinner had been… mesmerizing. But it was when they were in bed and he rolled first away from her then back to lay two small packages on her stomach, that she was reminded, all over again, why she had been unable not to fall in love with the gentle, sentimental man beside her, who was currently leaning pressed up on an elbow, head resting in hand, as his bright blue eyes twinkled down at her. She nibbled at her lip before easing the lid off the first box, then let out a long, slow breath.

"It's beautiful, Remington. But for a man who believes in hedging his bets, aren't you going all in before the final card is dealt?"

"Open the next, love," he prodded. She did and then laughed. "You ought to know, I always plan for all contingencies."

The silver rattles he'd purchased from Tiffany's, one engraved with 'Olivia' and the other with 'Holt' were safely tucked back into their boxes and stored in her bedside table where they still resided now.

Her attention was fully diverted by the fluttering movement in her womb, where the baby seemed to move from one side to the other. At twenty-one weeks and three days, concealing her nicely rounded, distended belly, was no longer an option, not that it mattered to her. She was as captivated by the changes in her body as their child grew as Remington himself was. A week earlier, she'd felt their child's first movement, as the couple was lying in bed talking. Her eyes had suddenly widened, her hand moved to cover his where it lay on her abdomen and she stared at her stomach with unconcealed fascination.

"What? What is it?" he demanded to know, alarm threading through his voice.

"The baby. It moved," she said with awe. His face lit up then the smile slowly faded.

"I didn't feel a thing," he said with abject disappointment. He mulled that for long seconds, then asked, "What did it feel like?" Tilting her head and staring at her stomach she searched for the right words, knowing if she gave them to him, his vivid imagination would be able to paint the portrait.

"Like holding a butterfly in your hand, and feeling the flapping of its wings against your fingers. Faint, fluttery, fast." He closed his eyes, envisioned it, a smile lifting his lips again.

Two days later he'd gifted her with a small sketch of his hand with a butterfly alit on his palm. He'd entitled it 'First Movement' and had scrawled that night's date below.

The concerns Remington had given voice to, about her reaction to her enlarged frame the further along the pregnancy went or that she'd believed he'd desire her less as her body rounded with their child, were proven to be all for naught. Their love life was as active as it had been since that first night at Ashford Castle. Starting with the day, four days following Remington's attempts to trick her into making love, when Bennett had at last released the restriction on 'no vigorous activity.' Laura remained behind at the Agency while he attended his appointment, she antsy and… itchy, and making sure the staff remained busy and on demand through lunch. When he sailed into her office at twelve-fifty, closed the door and leaned against it, hands shoved in his pockets, and gave her a heated look accompanied by a lascivious wink, she promptly picked up the handset on her phone and called Bernice.

"Bernice, send the phones to the answering service and let everyone know I'd like them in my office for our morning meeting. Please come as well," she told her briskly, then disconnected the line.

"A meeting, Mrs. Steele?" he drawled the question, with no little disdain. "What happened to locking us behind closed doors, hmmm?"

"All in due time, Mr. Steele," she answered, evasively, as she stood and pressed a kiss to his lips, then took her customary seat for morning meetings: perched on the corner of her desk. "Care to join me?" she inquired, indicating her chair where he usually sat. She focused on squelching the smile that wanted to play across her lips at his obvious sulk.

"Of course," he agreed, unbuttoning his jacket, and sitting, carelessly resting an ankle against bent knee. "I can't imagine a thing I rather be doing."

Brandon, Zack, Marvin, Mildred and Bernice trickle into the office and took their seats on the sofa and two remaining chairs.

"Alright. Brandon, Zack, Marvin, Mildred – I've spent a good deal of time with each of you this morning, reviewing open cases, gathering details on closed ones, providing recommendations and observations. I'll fill Mr. Steele in on all of it after the meeting concludes. Do any of you have any outstanding questions? Wish to add anything to what we've already discussed?" Four heads shook in the negative. "In that case, Mr. Steele and I have arranged for the five of you to have lunch, on us, at Chez Rives this afternoon." Mildred and Bernice exchanged thrilled smiles at the news. "Claude is expecting you, even as we speak. This luncheon is not only a thank you to Bernice and Mildred for holding down the fort in our absence, but to welcome each of you…" she looked from intern-to-intern, "… aboard. We hope you'll use the time to get to know one another better, as one of the reasons this Agency has been so successful is because Mr. Steele, Mildred and I are as much family as we are employers and employee. That's all."

"Do you want the answering service to return the phone to the office?" Bernice asked, as everyone left the office, preparing to leave for the swank restaurant.

"No, leave them with the service. After I fill Mr. Steele in on what I discussed with Mildred and the interns this morning, we'll man the reception area," Laura directed.

"Should we be expecting a magnum of champagne delivered to our table?" Bernice inquired, cheekily. Laura smirked at her friend and secretary.

"Afraid not," she slanted her eyes at Remington, who gave her a smug look in return. "The only person Mr. Steele will be sending magnums of champagne to these days is me." She returned her focus to Bernice. "But I suspect you might find a couple bottles of fine wine are included in the meal."

"Have I mentioned how glad I am that I came back to work here?" With a wag of her fingers, she turned to leave. "See you after lunch." Bernice poked her head back into the room. "And don't do anything I wouldn't do," she winked, then departed for good.

"The magnum of champagne did the trick, eh?" He flashed her a conceited grin.

"It made a lasting impression on Bernice, at least," she answered dryly, a smile twitching at her lips. "Unless I'm mistaken, it took your four years and several dozen more bottles of champagne before you got what you hoped to get that evening." He comically slapped his hand over heart.

"You're a cruel woman, Mrs. Steele, to remind me of such a torturous time." He paused for a heartbeat, planting cheek against a knuckled fist held up by elbow propped on armrest. "Do you really expect us to work the afternoon through, Laura?" He gave her such a pathetic look, she laughed aloud. Spinning around on her desk, she faced him, and leaned over to toy with his tie.

"What I expect, Mr. Steele, is for you to go lock the front doors," she answered, intense blue eyes catching, holding, her amber ones.

"You mean… here?" he asked in hopeful disbelief. She gave his tie a tug, then locked her mouth over his, pressing her tongue past his lips to delve deep, to tangle, dance with his, leaving his chest rising and falling rapidly when she withdrew.

"Here…" Her laughter trickled through the air as he shot out of his chair and bolted from the office.

Sliding down off the desk, she kicked off her heels, slithered out of her skirt and panties and unbuttoned her shirt, the hem flirting with the garters she'd worn for just this occasion, hoping, praying today would be the day. Releasing the clip in her hair, she shook it free, so it hung loose around her shoulders. This whole scenario that she'd conjured, had planned down to the smallest detail, it… invigorated her. She felt… decadent… wild… free. This was the woman who had existed before she'd allowed her father, Wilson, to convince her that her fire smote all that came near, dousing the flame until she was merely a shadow the person she once was. But not Remington, he craved her fire, stoked its flames, basked in its warmth.

Returning to her office, his smoldering eyes traveled over the remarkable vision before him. Snatching her to him, his mouth lowered over hers, one hand burying itself in her hair, the other alternately stroking the curve of her bare bottom and the top of her silk stockings, hungrily taking what she so eagerly offered. She fed, voraciously, on his mouth as her deft hands quickly rid him of tie and belt, released buttons, clasp and zipper, daring him to keep pace. Keeping her mouth melded to his, he toed off shoes, then socks, as he lost himself in the sweetness of her taste, wiggling out of pants and briefs when she shucked them over his hips. She drew her fingers through his hair then wrapped her arms around his neck, a hint he knew. Grasping both cheeks of her bum, he easily lifted her, so she might lock her legs at his back. Taking several steps forward, he rested her back against the wall, then releasing her lips from beneath his, his mouth zeroed in upon a starving nipple. Her back arched and she cried out from the feeling of his mouth suckling, his tongue lathing, teasing, yet shoved at his shoulders, then drew her hands down his back. He gasped against her breast as goosebumps skittered over his skin.

"Not now," she panted. Her hands urged him back upwards, then drug the tip of her tongue along his jaw, down his neck, and drew his earlobe into her mouth to nibble. He threw back his head and groaned, as a hand stroked breast, stomach waist, a silk clad leg.

"Right at it, then?" he rasped, then sucked in a sharp breath when her lips latched over his collarbone and she drew the skin firmly into her mouth. She suckled, pulled, nipped until his fingertips dug into her bottom, then released the skin, leaving a reddened patch behind.

"This time," she breathed, a low moan ripped from her throat when his fingers slipped between then and parted her folds.

"How long do we have?" He nearly praised the saints when he found her hot, and wetter than he could recall her ever being before.

"Three courses and desert." She forced the words past her lips, squirming when he positioned himself at her opening. "Remington," she drew out his name, almost desperately then closed her eyes and clutched at his shoulders when he buried his shaft in her tight warmth in a single stroke.

"M'fhíorghrá."

He groaned the Gaelic endearment against her ear. If there was any such place as heaven on earth, it was here and now, where his wife's body cradled his after far too long an absence. She dragged her fingers through his hair, down his back and caressed a firm bum cheek, using touch to stir his desire further, to make him move. When he pulled out until only his tip remained, she dropped her head to his shoulder.

"More…"

She drew the word out, then gasped as he pressed back in. He adjusted slightly for better angle, better purchase on the floor beneath his feet. He thrust his hips, filling her again, drawing a moan from her lips then withdrew again. With each stroke, he picked up the pace a little, drove a little deeper. He clenched his jaw, hard, when her fingers whispered across his chest, to his stomach, over his side, and she tilted her hips, increasing his pleasure, before they began to move to time with his. She drew a hand through his hair, and leaned down to nibble at his shoulder, panting quietly and every once in while letting a little squeak of pleasure pass her lips.

She needed more. She wanted him to drive her hard and fast to that precipice. Needed to feel her body explode, trembling around him, clenching him. She longed to feel him thickening within her, to feel his final thrust as he found his bliss, to hold him as he shuddered in her arms, lost himself in her welcoming body.

She pulled out the big gun. Pressing her lips against his neck, her hands clenching and unclenching on his shoulders as she tried to draw him ever more near, she whispered against his ear…

"I love you, Remington."

The words. The lilt of her voice. The smell of honeysuckle, grass and sunshine flooding his senses. The touch of her hands. The feel of her breath against his skin. They suddenly all swirled into one sensation, crashing over him like a tidal wave, and he lost control. His thrusts became less steady, faster, harder. He drew in a harsh, staggered breath and pushed her over the edge with words of his own…

"Tá mo chroí istigh ionat, mo chéadsearc."

She shattered on a gasp, followed by a deep guttural moan from low in her throat. Her legs tightened around his waist, her short nails buried themselves in his back, as her muscles clasped and clenched rhythmically around him, as her body arched, and twitched. He could hold on no longer, her body dragging his over that most sought after cliff right after her.

"Laura…" he breathed against her neck, his arms encircling her, crushing her to him.

He wondered, vaguely, if he'd passed out, for when he became fully cognizant again, he'd slipped from his petite wife's body, and she was avidly pressing soft kisses to his shoulder, neck, jaw. Of course, given they were not prone in a pile on the floor, he knew no such thing had happened. Dropping her down, he swung her back up in his arms and carried her to the couch, lying her down before leaving her. She nibbled a lip while admiring his sleek form as he disappeared into his office, presumably to lock the door there, then moved to her door to do likewise. He caught the licentious look in her eyes, playing on her lips.

"Something on your mind, love?"

"I don't know if I'll ever get over what a truly beautiful man you are, Remington Steele." Caught completely off guard by the statement, a smile of pure pleasure lit up his face. Shrugging off his shirt and dropping it to the floor, he offered her hand so she might sit up while he divested her of her shirt as well.

"I certainly hope not, for I'll never tire of your loveliness," he returned the compliment. Lifting her chin with a gentle finger beneath it, he bestowed a tender kiss on her lips, before easing her back and stretching his slim length over top of her. "My turn, now," he asserted. "And, love?" She fingered the hair above his ear.

"Hmmm?"

"This is going to take a while," he forewarned, tasting her lips again. "A long…" a brush of his lips on her right cheek "Long…" then on the left "…while." His lips trailed over her brows, whispered over each eye.

"I thought it might," she answered impishly, drawing her fingers down his back, smiling when he automatically arched into her touch.

And it had, he recalled now, walking into her vacant office and reliving that afternoon. He'd pleasured her three times by hand and mouth before giving in to the pressing need to merge their bodies as one again. The last tremble hadn't even left her body before she'd fallen into a light doze, from which he'd roused her. He'd assisted her in pinning up her hair, before nudging her into the shower, then helping her back into her clothes and easing her back down onto the couch. He'd waited until she slept deeply before he took his leave, closing her office door behind him. Bernice hadn't even bothered to hide her shock when she found him sitting at her desk, prepared to greet any clients who might arrive.

"Where's Laura?" she asked suspiciously. Given Bennett's office had called the day before to confirm his appointment, she had a good idea why the entire staff sans the Steele's were suddenly treated to lunch.

"Napping on the couch in her office. The babe is zapping the energy straight out of her," he answered, smoothly deflecting her curiosity. She wasn't buying it and cut down the small hallway in front of her desk, then swung open Laura's office door. Sure enough, her friend and boss lay sleeping soundly… fully clothed. Still, there would be a conversation to be had with Laura once she woke.

Today, however, it was Remington's turn to wonder where Laura Steele had gotten off to. Crossing back through his office, he returned to Bernice's desk.

"Have you any idea where Laura is? We've a new client arriving in," he glanced at his watch, "eight or so minutes."

"No, you don't," Bernice disagreed.

"I assure you we do. Mrs. Steele was very clear I was to meet her here at one o'clock sharp, so we might conduct the interview together as is our habit," he countered.

"Uh uh," she refuted again, then with a smug smile handed him a folded over piece of paper. Frowning, he flipped open the note.

Mr. Steele, he read, As of this moment, you and I are on vacation on until June 29th. Come home, sweetheart. Love, L. The note had been a bit of last minute improvisation on Laura's part, not wanting him racing home believing something was amiss with her or the baby.

"Perhaps you're correct then, Mrs. Wolf," he grinned, then rapped three times on her desk, drawing a scowl from her. "We'll see you at month's end."

He whistled happily all the way to the elevator, wondering what his dazzling bride had up her sleeve this time.