Chapter 2: Not Another Assignation
Remington leaned on an arm propped against his bathroom counter, and rubbed his face with his free hand, while regarding his image in the mirror.
Laura had shocked him that afternoon. She'd appeared in his office, all business at first, then had eventually led up to their plans for the weekend: Dinner that evening, golf and dinner on Saturday, and a trip to the Venice pier where she might indulge her craving for cotton candy on Sunday, followed by a lazy afternoon of movies and wine at his place. He'd watched, avidly, as she'd paced his office floor, wringing her hands, while he waited her out, fretting about what might be on her mind. Had his little escapade with Buckner's car been a step too far? Had her decision to resume their personal relationship been nothing more than a reaction to watching his assault? Without realizing it, he lifted a thumb to his mouth, gnawing at a nail, his eyes never leaving her.
"I've been thinking…" Something which rarely bodes well for me, he thought to himself, "…about what you said in Cannes." Not for the first time, he damned to perdition the time they'd spent in the South of France and the decisions he'd made while there. He slowly rose to his feet, and walked around the desk to lean his backside against it, as she continued to pace the room.
"It seems to me a great many things were said in the South of France, most of which I'd prefer to forget," he prodded, flinching inwardly at his entirely too glib tongue. She turned to face him, rubbing at her arms as she did so.
"About… giving you no input on…" her skin heated, much to her mortification "…consummating our relationship."
"I mean, take last night, for instance."
"What about last night?"
"It was typical Laura Holt. You decided, without discussion, that we were finally going to consummate our relationship."
"Well, isn't that what you wanted?"
"Yes, but I'd like to have some small say in the matter."
Bloody hell. In a rare showing for the two of them, they hadn't taken care the least bit of care with their words, saying whatever it was on their mind, much of it blatantly honest, some of it unkind. Of all the things he'd spent a great deal of time regretting, he'd forgotten this particular detail. Foolishness by half on his part, as he should have known she'd ruminate on the accusation, dissecting it piece-by-piece. Now, he could only wonder how much part in her decision those words had played.
"Laura—"
"I don't want us… frozen in place, again," she continued as though he'd never spoken, rubbing at her arms again. "I want us… to move forward." He swallowed hard at the words, trying not to read too much into them, but finding it difficult not to. Gaining his feet, he approached her when she stilled.
"As do I..." He ducked his head, trying to make eye contact. She averted her head and paced away, leaving him staring at her back and rubbing at his face with uncertainty.
"I was thinking—" she stopped with a shake of her head, determined to choose her words carefully. Resolutely, she tightened her arms around herself, and turned to face him. "I was wondering," she gesticulated with a hand, "Since we're spending most of the weekend together anyway," her hand returned to her arm, her fingers clutching it, "If you'd like to stay at my place tonight." Heat suffused her skin again, as she was left feeling like a teenaged-virgin asking her boyfriend to come over for the weekend while her parents were out of town. He eased cautiously towards, lest she skitter away again. Cupping her face in his hands when he reached her, he drew her lips up to his, brushing them with his in a featherlight kiss.
"I would like that," he answered, quietly. "I would like that very much." He kissed her again for good measure, then embraced her. "I'll pick you up for dinner," he added when he felt her relax slightly against him.
Which is how he'd ended up here in his bathroom, packing his grooming bag. With a final rub at his mouth, he zipped the shave kit close and walked into his bedroom. Tossing the kit into his overnight bag, his eyes fell upon the small, brown paper bag which still awaited packing. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he drew his hands through his hair as he recalled his trip to the local pharmacy. He'd felt utterly ridiculous, like a lad in knickers making his first purchase of condoms. He, the man who'd bedded more women than he could recall, who'd made similar purchases innumerable times, reduced to a bundle of nerves in that simple act. Unheard of for any other assignation.
But this isn't any other assignation, is it, Steele, old sport, he questioned himself.
This was Laura. The woman who'd captivated him from the moment their eyes had first met in what was now his office. The woman who'd inexplicably made him leave behind his quest for the Royal Lavulite, some instinct telling him he'd found something of infinite more value. The woman whose fiery temper simultaneously vexed, challenged and amused him. The woman who, from the start, had looked past his appearance and mannerisms, to the man lurking beneath all the personas. The woman for whom - despite all her frustrating fears, doubts and inhibitions - somewhere along the way, this man had fallen hard for…
The same man who'd fought hard to earn this life that was now his.
The same man who knew he'd be unable to keep his heart from her once he knew all of her and was terrified she wouldn't find it worthy enough to keep.
Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly as he stood. Picking up the brown bag, he tossed it in his overnight case.
No, this is not any other assignation, at all.