A/N: This chapter contains NC-17 material. If under 18 or uncomfortable with such subject matter, please continue to chapter 10 (when it is published).

Chapter 9

As Laura stepped inside their suite at the Plaza, she pressed a finger to her lips, indicating Remington should enter as quietly as possible.

"It looks like Santa's already visited," she whispered, indicating the tree with a finger as he closed the door. He peeked his head around her shoulder as he lay a hand on the small of her back, escorting her towards the stairs.

"And it appears Father Christmas is feeling very generous this year," he observed in an undertone, as they began their ascent.

"And the stores of New York are very grateful," she quietly laughed.

"Cleaned off the shelves, did she?" His laughter joined hers as he stepped around her to open the door to their bedroom. She gave him a wry look as she stepped into the room.

"Let's just say Donald won't be feeling very jolly—" She came to a standstill as he closed the door. "You must really want to see that lingerie," she quipped in disbelief, as she tugged her gloves off. He leaned forward, his lips hovering near her ear.

"Desperately so," he hummed, his warm breath tickling her ear, "But I'm afraid I arranged for the tree weeks ago." Straightening, he removed his gloves as well and tossed them on a nearby chair, then shrugging out of his coat, hung it on the back of the desk chair.

"Surely you're not implying you predicted Laurie Beth…" she left him to finish the thought for himself.

"We're on holiday with six of your relatives, and outnumbered three-to-one. The only better odds we'd be interrupted in some manner or other were if Mildred, herself, were here," he explained as he began to help her from her coat. His eyes widened in surprise. "Good Lord, Laura, you're soaked straight through!" She smiled at him over her shoulder as she walked towards the tree.

"A hazard of a proposal in the snow, Mr. Steele?" she suggested. He retrieved a pair of hangers from the closet and, picking up their coats, stepped into the bathroom.

"Yes," he chuckled. "It appears even I can't outwit Mother Nature," he called to her as he hung their coats on the shower rod.

"The tree is lovely," she complimented, fingering a crystal ornament.

"Not half as lovely as you," he hummed, his nimble fingers relieving her hair of the pins holding it in an upsweep.

"This suite, it was you, wasn't it?" she queried, as he set the pins on the bedside table. He eased an arm around her waist behind.

"A worthy setting in which to celebrate first an engagement then a marriage," he confessed, capturing her left hand in his and lifting it to his mouth to buss her knuckles above the engagement ring – a two-carat flawless radiant cut channel set ring that was elegant in its simplicity. She left her hand aloft, resting it against his cheek.

"I'm almost afraid to ask what else you have up your sleeve." He shifted to scatter a trail of kisses along the column of her neck as he spoke.

"You've an appointment morning after next at Kleinfeld, which the hotel assures me is the place in the City to shop for a wedding dress." He gave the days ahead some thought as he nibbled the lobe of her ear. "It seems the name Remington Steele holds some sway even in New York City," he resumed his attention to her neck, "I've booked what I have been promised is a lovely, historic chapel in Times Square and have secured the services of a minister to wed us."

Turning in his arms, she buried the fingers of one hand in his hair while tilting back her head to give him more access, sighing when he nuzzled a whiskered face into the crook of her neck. Company downstairs or not, there had been no doubt in her mind they'd make love this evening, their antics in the carriage ride back to the hotel from Central Park guaranteed as much.

Not to mention there was an engagement to be celebrated.

She laid a palm against his chest and pressed lightly, then waited for him to look at her.

"I'm just going to go slip into—"

"Another night," he insisted, drawing her close again and palming the back of her head, he rained kisses over her face and lips while backing towards the bed. "There are only two things I wish you to wear this evening: Your ring… and me." He sat down on the edge of the bed, and with his hands clasping her bottom, eased her forward to stand between his legs. As his hands appreciated the gentle curve of her waist to her hips, she drew her fingers through his hair in a way only a lover would do, then dragged them over his shoulders before they grasped an end of his bow tie, and tugged.

"Then it would seem to me you're overdressed, Mr. Steele."

Bending down her head, she caressed his lips with hers, as his hand reached for the zipper of her dress…

Braced on his elbows over Laura's slim frame, Remington touched his lips to her throat, then, still panting slipped from her body and shifted slightly downward, before collapsing against her, laying his head between the gentle swell of her breasts. He took pleasure in the still rapid rise and fall of her chest and the staccato beat of her heart, knowing he was responsible for her current state. Flinging one arm over her eyes, Laura's other hand found the damp hair of his head and stroked her fingers through it, absently, as she tried to restart the brain that had sputtered then stalled in answer to Remington's sensual assault on her body. Always an ardent and giving lover, he'd been particularly attentive this evening, determined to wrest every ounce of pleasure from her body that he could. The result had been a trio of mind-blowing climaxes that left her body still twitching… and already itching for more.

It had taken only a handful of nights sharing a bed with Remington for Laura to realize he not only used lovemaking to express his feelings in a way he might never be able to with words but that how he made love to her was choreographed by his mood. A lighthearted, buoyant Remington meant there would be a good deal of chatter, laughter and playing involved, while a pensive, troubled Remington meant a prolonged round of lovemaking in which few words were spoken as he lost himself in her body and her touch. A Remington whose jealousy had been aroused meant his lovemaking would take on a possessive edge, keeping her body molded closely to his, prolonging every kiss, every touch, determined to leave her a mass of quivering flesh and nerves, a potent reminder she was his and his alone. And then there was the Remington of this evening: The attentive lover who showered her with supple kisses, whispering touches and breathy compliments as he lingered endlessly in his worship of her body, bound and determined to make her understand, to make her feel his love for her. These nights would often last until the sun breached the horizon and they fell into an exhausted, sated sleep.

Not that she was complaining, mind you, for any woman would be lucky to have such a devoted lover… but one also willing to turn the reins over to her at any time she wished? Well, that was a rarity she could appreciate.

As passion stalled synapses began to fire, her brain kicked into gear. Dropping the arm that had been covering her eyes, she held up her hand and studied the ring that had taken up residence there. He'd been inordinately fascinated with her hands this evening and if the possessive glint in his eyes when he'd looked up at her through his lashes was any indication, she suspected she knew the reason why.

The ring: Tangible proof that he was bound to her – and she to him - in some very real way.

Her brow knitted together and her hand stalled in his hair. But did he really understand the full implications of what he'd asked? For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, until death they do part? The proposal, straight from a scene in one of his movies: The carriage ride, the park, a quartet, flowers, and him down on one knee. A wedding in a historical chapel on New Year's Eve, before the stroke of midnight. All of it would appeal to the romantic in him. But had he considered the practicalities? 'Until death' was a long commitment for anyone, let alone a man who'd spent a lifetime rarely spending a mere few months in one place, as one—

Remington suddenly shifted, stretching his lean frame over hers and pressing her into the mattress as his fingers dove into her hair. Somebody's found their second wind, in record time, she mused. Merriment danced in her eyes as his blue eyes flickered over her face.

"Laura, I can't quite believe we're betrothed," he murmured, tracing the curve of her cheek and jaw with the back of a pair of fingers. With widened eyes and a big smile, she fingered back the unruly lock of hair that fell over his forehead.

"With a proposal like that, how could I possibly say no?" she teased, fondly, drawing a splayed hand down his back. "You must have gone to a good deal of trouble to arrange everything," she remarked in a casual tone, although her intent was quite purposeful. He grinned down at her.

"You know my fondness for…" he lifted his brows "…worthy settings." He appeared confused when she wedged her palms between them then pushed, but he complied anyway, stretching out on his side next to her. The grin reappeared when she slung a leg over his hips, and a soft hand guided him to lay face down on the bed. She settled herself on his bum, then whispered her fingers through his hair and down his back, drawing from him a hum of appreciation.

"I do," she drew out the words, dragging her fingers through his hair again as she bent down to draw her mouth over the flesh of his shoulder. Shifting beneath her to get more comfortable, he closed his eyes, knowing what she had in mind. Since they'd become lovers, she'd done such on a handful-and-a-half of occasions – this part seduction, part massage routine – and he'd found it to be not only one of the most sensuous acts he'd ever experienced, but also one of the most intimate. She, on the other hand, knew he was inclined to be more open when she muddled his senses with touches both loving and arousing. "Still, I can't help wondering when you had the time to arrange it all." Her fingertips traced his sides and she smiled as he drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly in response.

"I believe the answer to the when of it involved a stern lecture on drawing a line on my sneaking off more than once weekly," he provided, lips twitching with an amused smile, imagining she was scrunching her face with displeasure at herself at that moment, which she was. She mentally shook loose her contrition and focused on the task at hand. Bending over, she trailed supple kisses over his shoulder again, her eyes honed in on the fingers that flexed against the sheets.

"So Mother's announcement of the trip is what inspired you to…" she leaned further in and lightly nip at his ear before whispering "…pop…" she sat back up and drew her hands down his back again "…the question?"

"To the contrary, only the locale changed not the intent," he laid down the trail of breadcrumbs and waited for her to follow. It didn't take long.

"Aspen?" she guessed. "You were going to propose in Aspen?" Reaching back, he captured her left hand in his and drew it forward, then pressed his lips to her palm in silent answer. Above him, she blinked hard and gave her head a small shake. Reclaiming her hand, she kneaded his shoulders. "But you started talking about closing the office for the holidays in September," she noted aloud, a bit dazed by the news. In celebration of his thirty-fifth birthday, she'd whisked him off to a secluded bungalow at one of the better Maui resorts. The last night they were there, they'd been walking on the beach, when he'd quietly squeezed her hand and suggested stealing a bit of time for themselves at the holiday. "You've been giving this some thought for a while then," she surmised, receiving another hum of confirmation.

She mulled the thought, as she focused on the man beneath her, dragging the tip of her tongue along his skin, blowing softly on the wetness and trailing kisses and soft nips over his flesh as her fingers danced through his hair, over his shoulders backs and sides. He luxuriated in her attentions, alternately trembling and grunting his approval at her ministrations, his breaths coming more quickly, growing more shallow as his ardor built. When she estimated they'd come close to the point where he'd flip her over and take back the control, she sat up and returned to the gentle, teasing strokes of her fingertips against his skin. He shuddered beneath her, and voiced his disapproval.

"Lau-ra," he groaned.

"All in good time, Mr. Steele," she replied with a throaty little laugh. "Have I ever told you the story of when I knew that you'd unequivocally become Remington Steele?" He looked back over his shoulder at her, a single brow cocked in question.

"Can't say that you have." Shifting to kneel at his side, with a gentle hand, she urged him to his back. He caught her hips, easing her down, his eyes nearly crossing at the sensation of her thighs nestling his burgeoning erection between them. She drew splayed hands up and over the familiar planes of his abdomen and chest.

"It was the night I told you I thought we needed to take some time apart." Palming his cheek in her hand, she bent down and teased his lips with hers, wandering away when he pressed an elbow into the mattress and pushed himself upwards as his hand cupped the back of her head in anticipation of taking charge of the kiss and deepening it. A smile flitted across her lips as they slipped away.

"You realized I'd become Remington Steele and that made you decide we needed time apart?" he asked as he fell back to the bed, thoroughly baffled.

"No," she breathed, as she peppered soft, lingering kisses to his cheek and jaw. "Not before, when, as in as I was telling you… my decision." Leaning back, she fondly fingered back the lock of hair lying on his forehead. "Your eyes can never lie to me," she told him softly, then looked away, staring at the wall before her. "Confusion… hurt… rejection," she whispered, "Then the look that I couldn't let go of, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself I hadn't seen it…"

"What look?" he prodded when she appeared lost in thought. She blinked a pair of times then looked at him with regret clouding her brown eyes.

"Loss," she decided, with a singular, definitive nod of her head. "Our license was in tatters at our feet, so our professional life was gone, and by suggesting we take time apart on a personal level, I'd severed all ties: Ties to me, ties to the Agency… and in doing so, I'd taken away Remington Steele. You confirmed as much after I found you in London."

"… when it seemed our time together had come to an end, I realized that Remington Steele was just another name I had borrowed. And if I had to give it back, I should have to replace it with something that was truly mine."

Picking up her hand, he pressed his lips to her palm, then lay it against his chest in hint. The sobriety of the moment was broken with the gesture. She laughed quietly and twirled her fingers through the thick matting of hair on his chest.

"Better?" she queried, with a jaunty lift of her brows and an amused smile.

"Marginally," he quipped. She ran her tongue around her mouth and humor lit her eyes at the impertinent response and its implied challenge.

"Is that so?" Leaning forward, she brushed the tips of her breasts against his chest, making his body twitch. Wrapping her in his arms, he held her firmly in place as her mouth began wandering over the flesh of his jaw and neck.

"I know what you mean," he informed her, as though there had not been a lull in the conversation. "I once believed when it came time to move on, Remington Steele would just be another role I had played, had even said as much to Mildred not long after she joined us…"

"Oh, I know, I appear to be the super sleuth, with all the answers, dapper, debonair, worldly-but it's all an act. One conceived by Miss Holt that I work very hard to maintain in order to support this agency's image."

"Yet after I left, I couldn't shed who it was I'd become, as I'd done a thousand times before with such ease. Richard Blaine, Michael O'Leary, Douglas Quintaine… even in the most familiar of roles used many times before, it was Remington Steele's voice that I heard in my thoughts, when I spoke." A hand drawn through her hair had her pausing in her ministrations and lifting her head to look at him. "Your voice." He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then buried his hand in her hair. "My God, I missed your lovely, lilting voice."

Held spellbound by the sincerity blazing in his blue eyes, she went willingly when he drew her lips to his. He kissed her thoroughly, tenderly, trying to assuage the ache in his gut that had reappeared with the memory of those days without her. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, then burrowed in his hair, as she instinctively pressed closer, wanting more. When he ended the kiss, she was left more than a little dazed and he took advantage, hauling her upwards to draw the peak of a breast in his mouth. She gasped and pulled away when he began to suckle upon the sensitive flesh.

"Not yet," she admonished, breathily, then shifted downward again as he half-groaned, half chuckled. Still, he couldn't resist a caress of the shapely cheek of her bottom… or dragging a pair of fingers along the damp flesh at the apex of her legs.

"Mr. Steele," she growled, then dug a pair of fingers beneath a rib and tickled. He simultaneously barked a laughed and tried to lurch away from the touch. He flung his arms open wide and let them fall to the bed.

"You win, you win," he conceded, breathlessly, "Although I must protest your use of my weaknesses to have your way about things." She grinned down at him, unapologetically.

"If you'd listen," she cupped his cheek in her hand, and trailed kisses along his jaw on the opposite side, "I wouldn't have to and I could use your… weaknesses…" she touched her lips to his "…to bring you pleasure." She caressed beneath one ear as she nibbled on the lobe of the other. He groaned low in his throat and him arms came up again, so his hands could splay across her back. Closing his eyes, he idly stroked her back as her fingers and mouth worked in concert to evoke exquisite pleasure from every nerve ending she came in contact with.

"Laura, do you remember our chameleon – Frank Dannon?" Her lips paused at the base of his neck and she sat up, flipping her head and sending her hair over her shoulder. She raked her nails lightly across his chest, while bestowing a bemused smile on him.

"A man with five wives and five lives?" she asked with widened eyes and drawing out each word. "How could I forget?" She leaned down to kiss him soundly, then dragged her lips down his throat as her hands settled in to tease his nipples. "Why do you ask?" His fingers flexed against her skin and he moaned his approval when she drew the tender flesh of his collarbone into her mouth and suckled.

"I've no idea what brought him to mind other than I'd been giving marriage serious consideration for near on—" She stilled against him, keying him in to his near gaffe. Careful, old sport, he reminded himself silently, while laughing aloud. He couldn't possibly allow Laura the upper hand by inadvertently revealing exactly how long marriage had been on his mind. "—for a spell," he corrected, grinning at the puff of disgruntled air that passed her lips.

"Exactly how long is 'a spell'?" she murmured, trailing kissed over his sternum, then circling his nipple with the tip of her tongue. He didn't want to share? Well, she was perfectly capable of playing a little dirty to get what she was after. She shifted slightly and drew his nipple into her mouth while a hand teasingly made its way south.

"A while," he retorted, capturing her hand before it reached its target. She snickered against his chest, knowing she'd been caught, and his quiet laugh joined hers. "Ah-ah-ah," he warned, returning her hand to the safer territory of his chest, "Unless you wish this… seduction… to come to an abrupt end, you might wish to put that thought out of your mind," he advised, humor tracing through his words. Not too proud to acknowledge she'd been caught, she sat up and gave him a dimpled smile.

"Go on," she encouraged, conceding the point. She shifted backwards until her bottom rested against his thighs then began to rhythmically drag her fingers up and down his torso, taking a side road every now and then to twirl around a nipple, to tease a belly button, to lean down and press a kiss against his flesh. He closed his eyes, his hands alternately stroking her backside and grasping at her slim frame.

"Suddenly you saw you life was different from that of most men. You didn't have to be trapped in a single identity. No one could tell you what to do."

"Hmmm," she mulled, lifting her eyes towards the ceiling as she considered the thought, "I suppose I never considered the parallel between your lives." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Although," she continued, breezily, "I had better warn you: It won't go very well for you…" she poked him in the chest "…should I discover you have five wives tucked away out there, somewhere." The comment earned a bark of laughter and a wide smile.

"Don't be ridiculous, Laura," he grinned, clasping the back of her neck with a hand, "There's only one woman I've ever wished to be wed to." He drew her down, and kissed her soundly, a trio of times.

"So, what about Frank?" she wondered, stringing another trail of nips and kisses, down his neck and over his collarbone.

"Recalling our conversation, I realized I never felt 'trapped' in the identity of Remington Steele…" He knew by the sudden tension in her back that he'd caught her undivided attention, not that she'd acknowledge as much.

"Oh?" she feigned nonchalance as she established a teasing pattern of stroking her had up and down his torso, each downward caress ending at a bit more southerly point.

"Mmmm," he confirmed in a hum, allowing her to believe she'd gotten one past him. "To the contrary, I found your Remington Steele… Freeing, I suppose you could say." She didn't bother with subterfuge this time, sitting back up and peering at him with open curiosity.

"Freeing?" she asked, in disbelief. She fingered her cheek and pursed her lips, then mused, "Funny, I seem to recall you reciting an endless litany of ways you found the role too confining." A wide smile split his face: Only Laura Holt would dare to question his veracity at such a time. Pulling her down to him, he wrapped his arms around her then rolled them over. Bracing himself on his arms, he fingered back her hair, then pursed his lips comically and tipped his head back and forth.

"Granted your version of the man was a bit boring-"

"Boring?" she protested. "I'll have you—" Turning the tables on her, and using her own tactics against her, he covered her lips with his, smothering the rest of the thought. He teased her lips with soft, undemanding caresses before slipping his tongue past her lips, and swirling it with hers in a decadent dance. Only when she buried her hand in his hair and arched upward with a hum, did his lip flee hers.

"Boring with his constant committee meetings and tedious work ethic," he finished, as he scattered soft kisses over her face. "But I discovered I found the idea of helping people, bestowing a bit of justice, remarkably appealing." He briefly returned to her lips, then shifted to his side, opening her body fully to his touch. And he made use of the sudden lack of restrictions, drawing a hand over her side from breast-to-hip while his mouth found the tender flesh of her neck. "And that becoming the man allowed me unrestricted access in my pursuit of you. Well… what objection could I possibly have to that? Hmmm?"

"What objection, indeed," she breathed when his hand strolled upwards to cup her breast.

"It took our disastrous trip to Cannes to realize just how much I'd come to value this life," he continued as he teased the tip of her breast and tasted her freckles. "I not only liked the man I'd become – despite my occasional stumbles – but I enjoyed knowing I'd see you each morning at the office, and, should I be fortunate enough, I might spend time with you in the evening, as well. I'd grown inordinately fond of coming home each night to a flat I'd put my personal touches on and to the kitchen I'd designed… To the same bed I'd been sleeping in for years," He pressed up on and elbow then leaned down to kiss her again, wagging his brows at her when their lips parted "Although I'd have been far happier had a certain young woman been sharing that bed with me."

"Good things come to those who wait, Mr. Steele," she retorted with a smug smile and a jaunty lift of her brows. He smiled at her, a devilish glint sparkling in his eyes.

"Indeed, they do, Miss Holt," he hummed, then shifted to take a pert nipple between his lips. Her back arched and she drew in a sharp breath as he teased the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue. He toyed mercilessly with her breasts, his mouth moving from one to the other then back to the first again as he lay long, sensual strokes over the bared flesh of her petite frame. He waited until her fingers were tangled in his hair and she writhed beneath him, then, with a breast in his mouth and another in hand, he carefully positioned himself over her and his mouth began a slow descent, while a pair of talented fingers tweaked and pluck at a nipple to keep her distracted. It might have worked, if not for the sly smile she spied in the instant before he dropped a kiss on her throbbing mound.

"Not yet," she growled, grasping his head and drawing him upwards, then with a sure pair of hands against his shoulders, flipped him to his back while he laughed – a laugh that sputtered to a stop when she straddled him again and, with purpose trapped his erection in her hot, wet silky vee.

"Laura," he panted, taking her hips in hand, encouraging to move just a bit so that he might bury himself in her warmth. She was having none of it.

"I need to say something to you," she puffed, as she bent over and peppered his face with kisses. He groaned his disapproval.

"Later," he insisted, clasping her head in his hands and drawing her lips to his. He kissed her with such longing that for the span of a pair of heartbeats she forgot her intent. Digging her hands into the mattress, she pushed upwards and parted their lips apart with a pop.

"Listen to me," she panted, then groaned when his hand claimed a breast. Instinctively, she thrust her hips, driving the head of his shaft against a most sensitive bundle of nerves. Sensation ricocheted to her very core, and dropping her forehead to his shoulder moaned, "Oh, God." She was perilously close the edge and ached to shift ever so slightly and take his body inside hers.

"I won't be able to if you keep doing that," he rasped, as he drew his thumb over the tip of her nipple. A gasp, another thrust of her hips that left both of them twitching.

"Then you," she swiped his hand away from her breast, "Have to stop doing that." Head hanging, she fought for control, but found her eyes drawn to the desperate look on his face while his hands clutched her hips in an attempt to keep them still. "I don't need it," she breathed, then covered her lips with his.

"Need what?" he managed around short breaths when their lips parted. His eyes met hers and he drew her lips back to his again.

"A name," she breathed, as they exchanged kisses, "A piece of paper." She hummed as their lips met again then trembled above him and closed her eyes, when his lips left hers to caress a path down the column of her neck. "Remington Steele, Johnny Todd, Richard Blaine or Harry, married or not married, I love you. I—" Her words broke off when he crushed his lips fiercely to hers.

"And I, you," he pledged, fervently. She nodded her head rapidly in acknowledgment, then opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I know." She drew in a sharp breath then panted when a wandering hand whispered over her bottom, and her hips thrust again. "You don't have to marry me," she announced. He captured her face in his palms, and lifted her head until their eyes met.

"Ah, but I do," he dissented, with a smile as he dragged a hand through her locks. "It's a requirement for some new roles l wish to take on." Pushing up on an elbow, he kissed her lustily, leaving her blinking and all rational thought preparing to go on hiatus.

"What roles?" she managed to ask, as she shifted to take his shaft in hand, giving it a firm pair of strokes.

"Lau-ra." He breathed heavy and fast at the feeling of her hand wrapped around, stroking him.

"What roles?" she repeated, her face a mask of concentration as she twirled her thumb around the engorged head, then lifted up on her knees to position him.

"Husband," he gasped, a tone of desperation in his voice, some small part of him wondering if he didn't answer would she back away. "Expectant fa—" Her heart stumbled and stalled when she realized what he was about to say. Unprepared to have that discussion yet, not even sure how she felt about it, she sank down on him, taking his entire length in a single stroke then bent over him, planting her hands in the mattress on either side of his head, her hair fanning out around them.

"No more talking, Remington," she whispered, then merged her lips with his…

Spooned around Laura's body, Remington's thoughts grew hazy as sleep beckoned him to surrender. The woman might well be the death of him one day. The thought conjured up a memory that made the corners of his lips twitch upwards in the early vestiges of a smile that he didn't have the wherewithal to complete.

"But I'm sure you know how she is. Impulsive. Uninhibited. Absurdly passionate."

Impulsive. Uninhibited. She was both of those things between the sheets. But absurdly passionate? Mmmm, never that. Delightfully, intoxicatingly passionate, he corrected. Just as she was his perfect match out of bed, as he'd always suspected, she was his perfect match in bed as well. In his estimation, if he spent the rest of his days loving her, it still wouldn't be enough. He unconsciously nuzzled the top of her head with his cheek, as his eyes rolled backward and the sandman swept him away.

Only to be woken what seemed like seconds later when Laura suddenly jerked then stiffened in his arms.

Adrenaline rushed into his bloodstream and his eyes flew open, instinctively searching for the room for potential threats.

"What? What is it?" he hurriedly asked, pushing up on his elbow to look around the rest of the room.

"Mildred's going to kill us!" she bemoaned.

Confused, he turned to look down at her with knitted brows and parted lips, then a split second later her meaning clicked in his head, and he slumped back down, closed his eyes then wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Mmmm," he agreed with a hum. "Hopefully I have a little something up my sleeve to take the edge off that murderous impulse…"

A/N: No, the mention of Kleinfeld in this chapter is not a nod at Say Yes to the Dress! In fact, my mother bought her wedding dress there decades ago :)