Chapter 8

Laura jolted awake, while Remington roused begrudgingly, when pounding on the door of the cabin disturbed what had been a peaceful slumber.

"What in the bloody hell," he mumbled against the top of her head, before she rose from where she'd been sleeping splayed partway across his body.

"Is anyone in there?" a man's voice yelled from the other side of the door.

"Yes, hold on just a minute," Laura called back, as she located her thermal pants and shirt, discarded the night before, and tugged them on while she tossed him his undergarments so he could do the same. She hastened across the room, then glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was decent before she unlatched the door and swung it open. She immediately lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the brightness of sun and snow.

"Looks like we have them," one of the men yelled towards who she didn't know.

"Miss Holt?" the man at the apex of the of the triangle, inquired. "Miss Laura Holt?"

"Yes, that's me," she confirmed.

"Brian Beckwith with Pitkin County Search and Rescue," he introduced himself, as he peered around the door and spotted Remington. "Remington Steele, I presume?" he sought to verify. Remington's eyes narrowed a bit, somewhat insulted the man had no idea who he was.

"One and the same," he answered, blithely.

"Yup, it's them. Call it in," the man yelled bellowed towards the snow again.

"We've been out looking for the two of you for the last thirty-six hours," Beckwith informed them, as he unzipped his ski jacket, and fished a memo pad from its interior pocket. "A… Miss Krebs… has been calling every law enforcement agency in and around Aspen, demanding rescue crews be dispatched to find you." Laura turned to face Remington.

"Mildred," she said, elongating their long-time secretary's name, while lifting her brows and giving him a dimpled smile that clearly said 'I told you so.'

"Yes, and sending people to interrupt us in abstention now it would seem," he grumbled, only half in jest. He wasn't ready to let go of their time here, yet, and a part of him bloody well resented he'd have to do just that.

"We can be ready to go in ten minutes," Laura informed their rescuer. "Make it fifteen if you'd all like a hot cup of coffee," she offered, welcoming them inside.

Thirty minutes later, four rescuers and two rescued, trudged outside in the snow where four snowmobiles awaited them.

"Miss Holt, if you'll just climb on behind me, Mr. Steele can ride with one of the other men. Unseen by Laura, Remington's brow furrowed at the thought of her legs wrapped around another man, in any form. He grabbed her hand and hauled her back before she could climb aboard.

"What…" she sputtered.

"I'm afraid we can't do that," Remington declined. "It's a long-standing policy of the Agency that, as partners, we stick together, no matter the circumstances. If you'll allow us to use one of your vehicles, we'll just follow along behind."

"That's not our normal policy, sir," Beckwith countered. "We have some rough terrain ahead of us—"

"Not to worry. Miss Holt's a veritable expert at navigating one of these…" he waved his hand at one of the snowmobiles. To Laura's credit, no one would have guessed that she was thinking the man had finally lost his mind. Which is precisely what she said to him after he'd convinced Beckwith to let her 'have at it,' and he'd climbed on behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Have you lost your mind, Mr. Steele?" she demanded in an undertone only he would be able to hear. "I've never driven one of these things before, let alone have achieved expert status."

"I put my life in your hands nearly every day, when you, what some might optimistically call… drive," he prevaricated, while saying a prayer they made it through things in one piece. "Much rather take my chances with you." She stared down at the dash of the vehicle, looked over the gears, located gas and accelerator. She shrugged her shoulders. Why not?

"Alright, Mr. Steele. I'm game if you are," she agreed.

"And Laura?" he called to her as she started the engine.

"Yes?"

"By all means, feel free not to be as committed to this endeavor as you were when testing the veracity of Artie's story," he cautioned, as he reached up and pulled his googles down, positioning them on his face.

"Why Mr. Steele, where would the fun be in that?" she challenged, as she put the snowmobile in gear and opened up the gas. He'd tilted backwards, saved from tumbling off the back of the machine by an arm that blindly grabbed for her waist.

Perhaps not one of your best ideas, old sport.

Mildred was on top of Laura and Remington in a second after they'd stepped through the Aspen Chalet's lobby door.

"Oh," she clasped her hands on her cheeks and rushed forward, "Let me see you kids." She hugged them both, before taking each of their faces in her hands and evaluating what she saw there. "You don't look none the worse for wear," she noted.

"We're fine, Mildred," Laura reassured, giving her another hug. "We found a cabin, took shelter and just waited it out." Mildred smiled wide, looked from one to the other.

"Waited it out?" she asked with a flirty wiggle of her brows. "Or waited it out?" she said more solemnly, with a gesticulation of her hand.

"Just waited it out, Mildred," Laura answered in that tone which said, 'We're done discussing this.' She rubbed her hands together. "I'm starving," she announced. "What time is it, Mr. Steele?" Shrugging his watch free of his sleeve, he looked at the face.

"One-twenty," he supplied. She smiled at Mildred, then lifted a jaunty brow to Remington.

"Care to join me for lunch?" He nodded, taking his cue from her.

"I suppose I could be convinced, so long as they're not serving stew," he replied, with a pointed look at Laura which left her laughing, and Mildred looking at them with open curiosity. He held out an arm. "After you, ladies."

"Okay, give," Mildred demanded of Laura, as they walked towards the restaurant. "What's the boss got against stew?"

Laura's laughter trickled through the air.

Speaking of stew, by the time the hour hand had reached eleven, Remington was doing a bit of stewing of his own.

Laura and he had dined with Mildred and her date du jour that evening – a makeup session for the dinner date they'd missed when the snow storm had first rolled in. Much like lunch that afternoon, Laura had provided subtle remarks, looks, which indicated she wished to keep the change in status of their personal relationship under wraps. It puzzled him, that, for she was still the same woman who'd informed Mildred of merely her plans for them to cross the line in Cannes, before, of course, that trip had turned into an unmitigated disaster.

"Have you been to the gardens, Mildred? Lovely vista, beautiful walkways"

"That's for lovebirds like you."

The comment had tweaked him at the time, for he was already a bit put out with Laura for deciding, wholly on her own, it was time for their relationship to progress into the bedroom. Not that he hadn't wanted, wished for exactly that, for he most certainly had – desperately so. It was the unilateral nature of the decision which had drawn his affront. Two years! Two years spent romancing her, trying to convince her to erase the boundaries she'd established and he'd had no voice, none whatsoever, in the decision that the time was now.

Then to discover Mildred had known even before he? Well, that had bloody well taken the cake! A command performance it was to be, it seemed, in which he was the unwitting star.

So, he'd enjoyed watching Laura's discomfort when Mildred's hapless comment and knowing looks served as an announcement he hadn't even been the first person she'd told of her decision.

But that whole bit in Cannes certainly made events now more than a bit confusing, as she'd made it clear she didn't wish Mildred to know of the quiet turn their personal relationship had taken, whereas he… he… wished to make it clear his Miss Holt was spoken for.

Thus, when she'd appeared in the doorway of his bathroom wearing a decadent gown of black satin and white lace with matching robe, his eyes had barely flicked over her image in the mirror as he tapped his razor on the side of the sink and reached for a face towel. Her brows furrowed.

"What's the matter?" she asked, directing the question at his back. Setting the towel down on the counter, he turned to face her. Leaning his backside against the counter, he crossed ankles and arms.

"Care to enlighten me as to why you appear so determined Mildred not know of the… recent change… in our personal relationship?" Her brows lifted in surprise.

"Frankly, I thought you'd appreciate the discretion," she commented, as she turned and walked into the room. He followed in her wake.

"Is that the only reason?" he challenged. "Or should I expect when we return to LA our personal relationship also returns to its former status quo? Hmmmm?" She whirled around, taken by surprise again.

"That has nothing to do with it, at all," she defended, crossing her arms and tipping her chin up a notch. "Contrary to the company you normally keep, Mr. Steele, I'm not exactly the type of woman who engages in a casual fling while on holiday then bids her lover adieu when that holiday comes to an end." She gave her head a short shake. "I thought you understood that. Perhaps I was wrong." With a sharp nod of her head, she turned towards her room, planning on making a dignified exit. His hand closed around her upper arm, before she could make her escape.

"You know I do," he answered quietly. "Which is what makes it all the more puzzling that you seem determined to sweep what's happened between us under the proverbial rug." She easily extracted her arm from his grip, as she reversed course and walked across the room. When she came to a standstill, she turned to face him, lifting a hand to rub at the base of her throat.

"We already have to figure out how this change of our personal relationship will work within the confines our professional one," she pointed out. "I thought we could both do without Mildred's knowing looks, her little quips… her interrogations… until we've done exactly that." He shoved his hands in his pockets, and pursed his lips, thoughtfully.

"Is that the only reason?" he sought to verify. She threw up her hands then dropped them.

"Isn't that reason enough?" When he appeared to remain unconvinced, she approached him, laying a hand on each of his bare shoulders. "I don't want have to answer questions about where we stand now, where we're heading…" She frowned, softly, then added "… or where, even, we want this to go. I just want to enjoy it." She palmed his jaw and caressed his cheek with her thumb. "Can you understand that?" His stony stance melted beneath her hands, as he slipped his arms around her slim waist.

"I can," he acquiesced. He was rewarded with a wide smile. "Now, let me have a look at you," he requested, stepping back to take in the full view. With a wicked little smile, she let the robe fall to the floor, then spun around to allow him to admire the backless piece of lingerie. "My, my, my," he hummed. "Absolutely enchanting." He stepped to her and stroked a hand over her satin clad side from hip-to-breast.

"I thought you'd find it a considerable improvement over my thermals," she smiled up at him, as she dragged a pair of splayed up his abdomen to his chest, where one hand remained to caress while the other continued its path over his shoulder, stopping to toy with the hair at the base of his neck. Her smile widened as she watched goosebumps course over his skin.

"Oh, I don't know," he disagreed. "I find myself to be inordinately fond of that particular pair of thermals. I've been thinking of having them bronzed, as a matter of fact." He traced the back of his fingers over the lace at her breast. Pursing his lips, he leaned in, let his lips hover just millimeters from hers. "Perhaps some further investigation is needed?" he suggested.

"Well, you know how much I appreciate… thorough investigation," she answered, the sultry layer added to her normally lyrical tone heating his blood.

A laugh from low in his throat quickly followed when she yanked his head down, initiating the kiss he'd been teasing her with the promise of.