(Chapter 2)

Laura's eyes drifted open as she stretched like a cat in his arms. Typical of how she found herself in the mornings when she spent the night with him, she was spooned into his body, her feet tucked in between his legs, one of his arms wrapped across her waist the hand resting against her hip, and the hand of the other arm? As expected, cupping her breast. She was baffled for a moment to find herself wearing only a scant pair of panties. Backrub, she remembered, then felt a moment of remorse when she realized she must have fallen asleep on him. That would explain the poking going on at her nether side, she realized with a small chuckle. Lips lifting in a mischievous smile, as she considered a most delightful way to wake the man behind her while having the handy little side effect of relieving what was clearly a large, pressing need of his. Her eyes wandered to the alarm clock, to determine how long they would have to play…

Laura bolted up in the bed, tossing Steele's arms off of her in the process.

"Oh, no!" she cried out, lunging out of the bed and scrambling out of the bed towards the closet. Steele shot to his feet, looking around for whatever miscreant, whatever danger must be lurking in the room.

"What? What is it, Laura?" His heart was pounding as adrenaline surged at the sound of her panic.

"It's seven forty-five!" she told him urgently, while ripping a pair of pants off a hanger and shoving her legs into them. Steele paused to look at her as though she'd lost her mind before falling back into bed.

"I know you like to rise early, Laura, but really, it's not sleeping in until it's well after the ten o'clock hour," he told her, clearly cranky for the interruption to his sleep. Turning back onto his side, he drew the sheet up around him and sat back up sputtering when a pair of pants hit him in the head. "What the bloody hell, Laura?!" he demanded, put out now.

"Breakfast with everyone at 8:30, remember? Church at 9:30? Wedding at 11? Reception at 12:30? It's seven forty-five, Mr. Steele. We should have been up an hour ago. We should be in a cab, right now!"

"Will you calm down?" he asked, annoyance and ebbing adrenaline putting a harsher edge on his words than he'd intended. "It's breakfast, not the wedding itself." He rubbed at his bleary eyes, then stripping his pajama bottoms shoved a leg into his pants. Laura quickly secured the buttons of her shirt and ruthlessly tucked it into her pants, while shoving bare feet into a pair of heels

"It's her wedding breakfast. I'm a bridesmaid. It's my responsibility to be there." Grabbing a suit jacket from the closet, she shoved her arms in as she hurried towards the bathroom. Steele wandered in behind her, pulling out razor and shaving cream. As he lathered up he watched as she attacked her hair with a brush, yanking it up into a ponytail almost brutally. He couldn't help but wonder how she had any hair left on her head after she was done. Turning, she rushed back out of the bathroom, as he noted a missed chunk of hair hanging down, not caught by the band. He opened his mouth to tell her, then clamped it shut, rather certain she might skewer him with the closest instrument at hand if he said anything at all.

In the bedroom, Laura took her garment bag sheathed bridesmaid dress from the closet and tossed it on the bed before snatching up the receiver of the phone. Dialing down to the front desk, she requested they have a cab ready to pick them up in five minutes. A quick grab at her overnight bag saw her shoving bra, shoes and stockings into it, before she returned to the bathroom. She flashed an annoyed glance at Steele, noting he was not yet finished shaving.

"Cab's picking us up in about four minutes now. You need to get a move on," she snarked at him, as she tossed makeup, brush and hair product into her bag. Rinsing off his razor and setting it on the counter, he began chanting to himself icy calm, old sport, icy calm. Losing your temper will serve neither of you well. Taking a deep breath and wiping his face down with a towel, he turned to her.

"Laura, if we left ten minutes from now, we would be no later than we normally would be," he tried to point out logically. She saw red at his words. Grabbing her bags from the bed, she stormed from the room, Steele on her heels once more. He caught her by the arm before she could open the front door.

"Laura, stop, just stop. What's gotten into you?" Pulling her arm out of his hand, she yanked open the door of the suite, slamming it into his bare foot in the process.

"Two minutes, Mr. Steele," she told him, then slammed the door behind her, leaving Steele hopping around on one foot, grabbing at the bruised one, while flicking his other hand at the door in utter frustration.

Laura had given him three minutes – from door to cab. When there was no sign of him after the third minute had ticked past, she'd given him another two. After five minutes had passed, she told the driver to head towards the restaurant. She stewed the first twenty minutes of the drive. As calm descended and rationality returned, guilt began to set in. There are times I don't know what is wrong with me. I was upset with myself, but, once again, took it out on him… Good job, Holt, she gave herself a sarcastic pat on the back in her mind, the man spends who knows how long working out the kinks in your muscles, you fall asleep on him, then he wakes to a raving lunatic. Damn my temper, anyway, she sighed. By the time she reached the restaurant she was resigned to the fact there would be a round of questions about where Steele was, and she realized she had no idea, whatsoever, what she'd say.

Steele never even attempted to either give chase or to meet Laura within her two-minute warning period. Big toe throbbing from where the door had hit it, he gimped his way across the living room to the bar in the dining room. Fishing a couple of ice cubes out of the freezer in the mini fridge, he wrapped them in a bar towel then tottered over to the couch where he propped the injured foot up on the coffee table. Setting the ice atop his toes, he leaned back against the couch and threw and arm over his eyes.

Hell of a thing being woken up by a shrieking woman, believing something terrible had come about only to find out all the fuss was over waking a little late. Then to find yourself with a face full of your own pants? He chuckled mirthlessly. Adding insult to injury that is. Well, if she thinks for even a moment that I'm going to go racing off across town in chase of her, the woman's lost what little sense she has left after this morning.

He managed to hold tight to his righteous indignation for fifteen minutes or so. When he felt it beginning to wane, he lifted the ice from his foot and stared at his now swollen and black and blue toe, willing his irritation to return. Instead, he thought about Laura arriving at the restaurant, alone, the inevitable questions that she'd face, the flush that would spread across her skin in her embarrassment, making those glorious freckles stand out. Then as the day waned on that humiliation would turn to anger, and by the time she arrived back at the hotel that afternoon she'd either freeze him out cold or he'd face a fury that would make this morning look like a gentle wake up call.

With a sigh, he removed the ice bag from his foot, then stood and walked gingerly to the bedroom to get ready. He absolutely refused to believe his choice had anything to do with having a furious Miss Holt on his hands. No, he preferred to believe it was the memories of those freckles that had him capitulating now.

Those freckles and the alarm clock he could have set, avoiding all of this.

Laura had plastered a smile on her face throughout breakfast. When asked where Steele was, she'd said he was tied up at the hotel, on the phone with a client who was angrily demanding an update on their case. Everyone had bought the excuse, thankfully. Everyone except Murphy, of course, who she'd caught several times throughout the meal staring at her, his face reflecting his concern. When breakfast was over, the party had gathered outside to flag down several cabs to take them to the club house where the wedding and reception were to take place. Murphy had neatly handed her into a cab, he and then Sherry following. She'd successfully managed to ignore his speculative glances throughout the ride and kept up a fluid conversation of small talk with Sherry about their twin boys on the way to their destination.

She'd just heaved a sigh of relief that she'd managed to avoid an interrogation by Murphy when he whispered something in Sherry's ear and she departed the cab, shutting the door behind her. Laura crossed her arms and put a frown on her face, to show her displeasure at being shanghaied.

"Okay, pal. Quit with the flimsy cover-up stories. What's he done now?" Laura exhaled in frustration.

"He hasn't done anything. You may not be able to say the same thing very shortly if you think you're going to corner me in a cab and interrogate me." Murphy shook his head at her.

"Sorry, partner, not buying it. You were moody and distracted all throughout breakfast, Steele was nowhere to be found. I know the signs all too well. Now spill." Tipping her head up and turning it away, she fought to keep her temper tamped down. It had already caused her more than enough trouble for the day. Then she remembered her promise to herself on the way to NY, that if Murphy continued his dogged criticisms of Steele she was going to set him straight once and for all. Turning back to face him, she'd just opened her mouth to do just that when something caught her eye. Or someone. She glanced back again and saw Steele leaning against a light post, working a toothpick between his teeth.

"Murphy, I need to go get ready for Bernice's wedding and I think someone's getting impatient waiting on me out there in the cold," she told him, nodding towards Steele. "So, if you don't mind letting me out?"

Murphy turned to look over his shoulder and confirmed Steele was, indeed, waiting on Laura. With a huff of frustration, he opened the door and climbed out, then held the door as Laura alighted. With a cursory nod towards Steele, Murphy met Sherry on the steps at the front of the club and escorted her inside.

Laura walked cautiously towards Steele, stopping a foot or so before him. He stood and watched her, both of them silent. He sighed and took the toothpick from his mouth, stashing it in a pocket.

"Do we want to do this the hard way, with long drawn out explanations, or simply admit that we both could have handled this morning better?" Laura gave him a rueful smile, then stepped to him.

"I'm sorry. I was angry with myself for forgetting to set the alarm and took it out on you." He gave her a lopsided grin and circled her waist with his arms.

"I'm sorry for never having thought about setting it. I assure you, I won't forget anytime soon." Laura laughed, then looped her arms around his neck, her fingers toying with the tips of his hair.

"Well, that was painless." He raised a brow at her.

"Tell that to my foot." Laura had the decency to grimace with chagrin.

"Any permanent damage?" He gave her a frown.

"Only calculating permanent damage now are we?" he asked, releasing her hips and taking her bags from the now irritable cab driver. Discretely handing the man a healthy tip, he wrapped his arm around her waist and directed her towards the front of the club.

"I'm sorry about your foot." She told him with flash of dimples.

"Yes, well, I suppose a door to a toe is better than a heel through the foot, at least." Laura threw back her head and laughed, then laced her fingers with his as they walked into the club.

Steele watched as Laura made her way down the aisle. In his opinion, the mint green taffeta dress with matching bolero jacket was hideous and uninspired. He did, however, enjoy watching the gentle sway of Laura's hips as she walked down the aisle, even the particular monstrosity she was wearing unable to hide that.

As Bernice and Jason exchanged vows, he found his gaze constantly wandering to look at her. When, on occasion he felt her eyes move to meet his, he'd had the good sense to look away lest she saw what was in his eyes, something he was sure would send her scurrying away to hide.

Murphy did a double take from his seat across the aisle from the Steele. He'd caught the look the other man had been giving Laura, had seen where Steele's thoughts were taking him and was… stunned. He frowned, reminding himself this was Steele, the consummate conman.

Laura felt Steele's eyes on her, and only when she knew he'd looked away would she dare her own peek at him. Where her thoughts wandered were discomforting enough that she'd had to remind herself time and again that she had once dared to let herself dream about tomorrows, only to find those dreams shattered in a million pieces at her feet.

Better to enjoy the moment. And who better to enjoy the moment with than her Mr. Steele.

Lifting her hand, Steele grazed his lips across the back of her knuckles sending a pleasant shimmer down her spine. "Care to dance, Miss Holt?" he asked his voice as soft as a caress and nearly as sensual as the look shared between them when their eyes met. At the flash of a dimple he stood and held her chair as she rose, threading his fingers with hers as he led her to the dance floor. With the grace of two people that dance together often, he swung her into his arms, tucking her body close to his. With one hand clasped within his, her other traced up his back until it lay at his shoulders her fingers doing a dance of their own as they teased the short hairs at the nape of his neck. With a tilt of her head, she watched as Bernice and Murphy took a turn around the floor.

"She's lovely, isn't she?" It was more a practical statement of fact, than a question though framed as such.

With a flick of his eyes, Steele's gaze ran swiftly along Bernice's silhouette. "Mmm," he acknowledged. "Quite lovely." After laying her hand on his chest, he ran the back of his fingers down the side of Laura's neck. "Not nearly as stunning as the young woman in my arms, however." A smile glinted in his eyes as he watched a blush spread across Laura's skin, making the freckles he adored stand out tantalizingly. With a quick pull of her teeth at her lower lip, Laura playfully swatted his shoulder.

"Poor etiquette, Mr. Steele. Tradition states a bride's beauty should always be acknowledged above all others."

"Never been much for tradition." Steele grinned down at her with a cheeky shrug while reclaiming her hand in his. When he would have continued to extol her incomparable beauty in his eyes, he took note of her distraction as she continued to watch Bernice. Perhaps envisioning herself as a bride, much as I was earlier? he pondered, a smile playing across his lips. When she turned back to him, he quickly schooled his countenance so as not to reveal where his mind had wandered.

"Bernice. A mother. Married. The belle of the ball officially out of the marriage mart," she mused.

"Belle of the ball?" he queried.

"Mmmm," she hummed in answer. "Cinderella, hoping to find her prince by midnight. She kissed a lot of frogs before she found her Prince Charming." He raised a brow at her in amusement.

"Liberally mixing fairy tales, are we?" he teased smoothly. She shrugged slightly.

"Perhaps, but it's still an accurate description of Bernice." She tilted her head to the side in thought. "For many women of the 80's actually, looking in the wrong places then wondering why they can never find Mr. Right."

The back of two fingers brushed against her cheek as he gazed down at her tenderly. "Speaking from experience?" She lifted a brow of her own at him, momentarily wondering if he was trying to gauge the extent of her sexual history. With a shrug, she recognized he already did, although he was not aware.

"No," she answered honestly. "I've never found singles bars to be very appealing, even in my more… wild… days." He cocked his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips, clearly believing he'd caught her in a deception.

"You met Wilson in a bar," he pointed out. Laura smiled at him and shook her head.

"I met Wilson in a pub," she corrected, "And technically, it was during a gathering of friends. None of us were on the prowl that night. By then I'd already done, to a degree, the one night stand thing with Marty Klopmann and found that it held no appeal. I wasn't looking for that. I was smart enough to realize that if you cast your line in a singles bar all you're going to reel in is a string of one night stands."

"Ahhhh, in search of the fairy tale, were you then?" he asked lightly. He loved the moments Laura would let him in, share a bit of her own past with him and was intent on encouraging her to continue, but not to push and shut her down.

His question was met with another slight shrug. "When I met Wilson I was. I knew I wasn't interested in another fling, I wanted more…something real. But that comes with its own dangers, of course."

"Being left?" The words slipped past his lips before thought could catch up. He cringed, internally, certain she would shut down now. Instead, she tilted her head, and mulled his question over.

"No, although that certainly happened." Her brow furrowed as she searched for the words. "The daydreams. They're dangerous in their own right. Then, when it all goes away, those dreams fall to ashes as well." He thumbed her cheek when he saw the memory of what was lost when Wilson left her pass through her eyes. Buggering idiot, he thought, not or the first time.

"Stopped dreaming then, have you?" he asked quietly.

"No. Just stopped believing in the fairy tale. It's the 80's, the age of many vices, no convictions. A quick hop in the sack, no ties… hell, in some cases no names. Acquaintances are many, friendships are few; lies are frequent, truth is seldom. We've all, for the most part, just become a bunch of numbers, notches on bed posts… a hedonistic society that only cares about the pleasure they can find in the next moment, uninterested in finding what can stand the test of time. And trust me, those who are looking for something real and lasting… those who still believe in the fairytale or have been become jaded by all the self-gratification surrounding them and dare to believe there might be something more? Only a statistically insignificant number of those are in the single bars hoping to find what they are looking for."

"Jason and Bernice being exceptions to the rule then?" Laura glanced across the dance floor again towards Bernice and Murphy.

"Yes. Two jaded people who didn't believe in the fairytale but found something real anyway in the most unlikely of places." She smiled up at him. "Murphy and Sherry as well, for that matter. All of them, beating the odds."

"And you?" Tucking his head down, he rubbed his cheek against hers, before raising his head up to look down at her. "No longer seeking the fairytale, thus firmly amongst the ranks of the jaded?"

She laughed. "But the jaded are seeking the fairy tale. It's their something more."

With a tilt of the head and a lift of a brow, Steele gave her a puzzled look. "If not a hedonist, a seeker of the fairy tale or one of the jaded, what does that leave?"

"The…."

"Mind if I cut in?" Murphy asked, clapping a hand on Steele's shoulder from behind where he stood. A brief flash of irritation crossed Steele's face at the interruption, but he quickly schooled his countenance in his most affable persona. With a glance at Laura and the brief nod of her head, he stepped back, passing Laura's hand to Murphy.

"Not at all," he answered with a brief bow of his head.

"I guess, seeing as I've been ditched by my dance partner, that means you have the honor of dancing with the bride," Bernice quipped at his elbow. Steele turned to her and held out a hand in that courtly manner of his.

"An honor, indeed, Ms. Wolf," he answered with a quirk of the lips, easily sliding back into their historic banter. Bernice stepped into his frame, placed a hand at his waist, then smoothly matched him step-for-step as he took the lead.

"Fox," Bernice said through clenched teeth, secretly enjoying falling back into this old game of theirs. "It's Bernice Fox. F-O-X. How hard is that to remember?"

"Ah. Independent sort then, are you? Rejecting the assumption of your husband's surname, and all that?" Bernice fairly growled at that, drawing a laugh from him.

"Hawke," she corrected. "Bernice Hawke."

"Exchanging fur for feathers, then, although equally as predatory, eh, Ms. Wolf?" Bernice rolled her eyes at him.

"Okay, give. Four years later and still with the name thing. What is it with you?"

"Beyond the obvious?" he asked on lifted brow. "Fox doesn't suit you, whereas Wolf does. You neither have titian hair, nor beady little eyes. You do not meekly skulk about but boldly go after what you seek. You are not slight of build, but powerful. Yes, Wolf is far more suitable."

"Still the silver-tongued devil I see," she said drolly.

"Keeping with the predatory animal theme, I'm sure you're well aware of the saying about a leopard and his spots," he agreed with a nod. Glancing down at her, he recalled Laura's words earlier. "On a more sincere note… you are a lovely bride, Mrs. Wolf. Jason is a fortunate man."

She accepted his compliment with a smile and a nod of her head, then watched as his eyes drifted across the room seeking out Laura where she danced with Murphy. She watched as his eyes softened upon finding her, a possessive and pride filled gleam in his eyes replacing the earlier twinkle of mischievousness. When Laura's eyes met his, his lips pursed for a split second, then lifted in an answering smile to Laura's own, before he returned his attention to Bernice when he heard her sigh.

"Well, we can't have that now can we?" he queried, before spinning them both with a few deft movements of his feet. Bernice laughed, then looked at him querulously.

"Can't have what?"

"It wouldn't bode well for my reputation to have the woman I am dancing with sighing with boredom. And when that woman is the guest of honor? No, can't have that at all," he bantered, before playfully dipping her back drawing another laugh. When he straightened he found yet another hand clapping him across the shoulder. Turning them both, he greeted Bernice's husband with a nod.

"Mind if I steal my wife away?" Jason asked on a smile, even as Bernice stepped away to join her husband. Steele lifted the hand in his to tap a kiss on the back of her hand.

"Not at all." He nodded briefly to Bernice. "Mrs. Wolf, it's been a pleasure." He glanced at Bernice, then gave Jason a smile. "You've found yourself a good one."

Jason grinned widely, while taking Bernice in his arms. "Don't I know it."

Released from obligation, Steele strode across the hall to the bandstand. Briefly leaning over to speak in the leader's ear, he gave a satisfied smile at the outcome of the conversation. Crossing back across the room, he leaned casually against a pillar, watching Laura and Murphy while biding his time.

"So, pal, how goes things at the Agency?" Murphy asked Laura as they swayed to the music. Laura pursed her lips and thought about it.

"Busy. We may have to consider taking on another investigator soon, along with Mildred once she gets her license. Which means, of course, we would then be in the market for another major domo as well."

"You've made quite the splash on the international scene this year," he noted.

"All accidental," she laughed. "Believe me, we weren't looking to tangle with a serial killer or assassins in London. It just… happened."

"Never a dull moment, huh? I have to admit I'm much more cut out for the boring and the mundane, but I can't help thinking from time-to-time about some of the situations we found ourselves mixed up in," he grinned at her.

"Breaking into the Federal Reserve."

"Breaking Kirk out of the insane asylum."

"Going up against mobsters, ala The Thomas Crown Affair."

"Chasing murderous ghosts."

"You posing as Remington Steele to catch Hoskins." They both laughed. "We had some good times, Murph."

"We sure did, pal."

"I've missed you, partner." He gave her a rueful look.

"Ex-partner. You've had a new partner for years now," Murphy pointed out. He looked at her with concern. "Is he watching your back, keeping you safe, Laura?"

"The two of you…" she groused, a frown forming between her brows. "How many times do I have to tell you both, that I can take care of myself?" She peppered her question with emphatic stabs at his chest with her finger. Murphy grimaced.

"Well, I certainly don't envy him this," he muttered under his breath, earning him a deeper scowl from Laura. Smiling he shook his head at her. "Truce, okay, truce. I wasn't trying to imply you're not perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. Partners have each other's backs, remember? I just want to know that he's holding up his end, that's all."

With a jerk of her head, she expelled a puff of air. "When are you going to give him a break, Murph?" she asked resignedly.

Murphy began to answer when he noticed her attention was drawn away. Following her eyes, he turned his head to watch the interplay between Laura and Steele. Not for the first time on the weekend, he was left speechless. Laura immediately, unperturbed by the momentary distraction, launched right back in where she'd left off.

"He's been my partner for more than three years," she reminded him, then continued on vehemently. "That man that you're so worried about? Have no doubt: He would lay down his life for me. He's done it time and again. Despite my objections, I might add."

"Whoa, whoa," Murphy told her, releasing her hand and holding it up between them. When she quieted he took her hand again, and continued to dance with her. "I'm not the enemy here, pal. I just can't help worrying about you."

Laura exhaled hard. "I know. But you don't need to, that's the point." She glanced across the room, finding Steele sans Bernice and leaning against a pillar, his eyes on her. Seeing the strain around her eyes, he pushed himself off, and began making his way towards her. "He's a great partner, Murph. The two of us make one a hell of a team." Laura's eyes lit up as she looked over his shoulder. Even without the glance over his shoulder, he knew Steele had arrived to reclaim his partner. Leaning down he bussed her on the cheek.

"We'll talk later," he told her on an undertone. Taking a step away he nodded at Steele. "Steele."

"Michaels," he returned on a nod of his head, before gathering Laura to him. With a squeeze of her hand, he ducked his head down, his lips brushing against her ear. "Everything okay?" His breath feathered against her ear, sending a delicious shimmer down her spine. Feeling her reaction, he squeezed her waist before raising his head back up to watch her when she spoke.

"Just Murphy being Murphy. You know how he is. It's fine, really," she assured him, brushing her hand across the small of his back.

"Mmmmm," he hummed in answer, as the final strains of Piazzolla's Oblivion faded away. Tucking Laura closer to him, he smiled as the first strands of As Time Goes By trickled through the hall. With a small sigh, Laura laid her head against his shoulder.

"Barcelona," she murmured, her hand journeying up his back to lie on his shoulder. He hummed again in answer while drawing their joined hands up to lay against his chest. They swayed together in silence, both lost in their memories of that magical evening nearly two years prior. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you planned this," she susurrated. As his silence droned on, she lifted her head to look at him. "You did plan this." He ducked his head in answer.

"Anything for my Ilsa," he softly intoned next to her ear, before raising his head to look at her. His heart clenched as sentiment and memories converged in her eyes. Without thought to the public venue in which they stood, his head dipped and he touched his lips to hers.

"They're watching," she sing-songed quietly against his mouth. He brushed his mouth against hers briefly, while looking up from under his lashes towards Murphy and Bernice and their respective spouses. They indeed were all watching, intently.

"Do you care?" he asked on a husky rumble. Laura cocked her head slightly to the side, considering his question. Do I? We haven't hidden that we're committed in LA. Bernice knows about us. Is worrying about Murphy's opinions worth letting this moment pass us by? Freeing her hand from where he still held it tucked against his body, she shimmied it up his chest, her fingers finding the back of his neck, rumpling the hair at his collar. With a gentle touch against his neck, she lifted her lips to his.

"No," she answered on a breath, as his lips barely glanced against hers. They continued to sway together, every few steps interspersed with a tender brush of the mouth or press of the lips, the touch of fingers on a cheek, or a quick graze across the neck… lost in one another and not particularly caring about the interest they had attracted. This moment was for them and them alone and they claimed it without remorse.

For Steele, Laura's decision not to hide what they were to one another was particularly meaningful. Not only did it show her ongoing commitment to moving them forward, as they'd both agreed to during their walk along the beach at Friedlich Spa and after, but even more so, it earmarked the extent of her commitment to him, them. In that first year as they'd moved with uncertainty from recognition of their immediate attraction to one another towards hesitant acceptance that there was more brewing between them than a simple fling, they'd never once disclosed to either Bernice or Murphy the actual extent of their involvement. Oh, they'd suspected, particularly Murphy, but never did they provide proof those suspicions were ever anything other than that. For Laura to allow herself to seize this moment for them touched him deeply, which he conveyed through both look and touch.

At the other end of the room, Murphy found an elbow firmly planted in his ribs.

"Looks like Tavern on the Green is on you tonight," Bernice gloated. Murphy sputtered with indignation.

"Oh, and how do you figure that Bernice? Dancing, a few kisses, doesn't mean…."

"You've lost, Murph," Sherry interrupted him with a laugh, then frowned at him playfully. "I told you it was a fool's bet.

"I have not lost!" he sputtered. "That," he flung his arm towards the dance floor, "isn't proof!"

"Oh yeah, it is," Bernice and Sherry intoned wistfully at the same time.

"Murphy could learn a thing or two," Sherry sniggered to Bernice. "He hasn't looked at me like that since before the twins were born."

"You think you have problem? It's my wedding day and Jason," she indicated her new husband with a sharp poke of her thumb over her shoulder, "hasn't looked at me like that once!" Jason, looking confused by the entire conversation, cringed at the accusation of his lack of romance on the day. A glance at Murphy showed the other man knew he was not fairing much better.

"Absolutely delicious," Sherry drawled.

"Mmmm, I'll say," Bernice agreed. Watching the couple dance, she gave a wistful sigh.

"I haven't lost!" Murphy tried again, his voice leaning towards desperation now.

"You've lost, Murph," the women spoke together once more.

"I'm confused," Jason muttered to no one in particular. "What did he lose?"

Bernice patted Jason on the arm, consolingly. "Murphy and I had a bet on whether or not Steele was head-over-heels for Laura. He," Bernice drawled out the word, while rolling her eyes and jabbing a thumb towards Murphy this time, "still thinks that Steele is just trying to pull one over on Laura. I bet that this is the real deal, otherwise Laura wouldn't be… well, like that," she nodded towards the dance floor where Laura's fingers were dancing across the back of Steele's neck as he nuzzled her cheek. Jason watched the couple for a few long moments then shook his head at the other man.

"You're toast, buddy," he told Murphy on a laugh. "If I'd been looking at Bernie like that all this time, she would've married me two years ago."

"Thanks, pal," Murphy retorted sarcastically, "for the backup."

"What can I say. I call 'em like I see 'em. Besides," he joked, while rubbing his hand over his stomach, "I could use a free meal at Tavern on the Green tonight."

"Oh, so you're basing your opinion on who's picking up…" Murphy began to defend himself. Sherry laid a hand on his arm, while shaking her head at him and laughing.

"Now, Murph, honey, I know how much you hate it when I point out that I was right and you were wrong…"

"And here comes the but…" he grumbled to himself. Sherry laughed and patted him on the arm placatingly.

"…But, I told you the first weekend that we met, when we helped them break into the Federal Reserve…"

"Break into the Federal Reserve?" Jason asked, confused again. His eyes widened as he put it together. "You broke into the Federal Reserve of the United States Government?

Three faces stared at him, then with a little wave of her hand towards him, Sherry continued.

"…when Laura fell of the beam, that that man," she nodded towards the dance floor, "would have thrown himself off if it would have saved her."

"Fell off a beam? Why would you need a beam? Never mind, I don't wanna know," Jason quantified holding up his hand. He looked at Bernice. "What exactly did you used to get yourself into, Bernie?"

"Shhhh," Bernice admonished him, enjoying the conversation next to her far too much to be interrupted.

"I never disagreed with you on that point. I wouldn't have left her with him otherwise. But that doesn't translate into anything other than the fact that he doesn't want to see his meal ticket disappear."

"You're a stubborn man, Murphy Michaels," Sherry scolded him lightly. "Alright, just for a minute, suppress your implacable need to see him as a villain and then look at the two of them together. Tell me what you see."

Murphy briefly considered telling his wife to pound salt, but no one could call him a fool. He quickly realized the only thing that would get him was a cold shoulder and a cold bed, neither of which he looked forward to with any form of relish. So, with a sigh of resignation, Murphy watched the couple on the dance floor, leaving his opinions of the man behind.

"What say we leave?" Steele murmured against Laura's ear, before brushing his lips against that area beneath her ear guaranteed to turn her to mush. He smiled as he felt her twitch underneath his hands.

Her fingertips found his cheek, nudging his head up. Pressing her lips against his, she reminded him, "Can't. Bridesmaid." The corners of his eyes crinkled upwards with his smile. The hand pressed against her back toyed with the ends of her hair, as he tilted his head playfully towards her.

"Duty before pleasure then?" She pressed her lips against his again.

"You know it." He lifted her hand to his mouth and fluttered his lips across her wrist, watched as her lips parted and her eyes clouded at the sensation.

"We've quite the audience again," he murmured, as she feathered her fingers down his back, sending shivers along his spine. She bit her lip, acknowledging she'd felt his reaction under her finger tips.

"Jealousy," she breathed, when he stroked a thumb across the palm of her hand, before lacing his fingers with hers and tucking their joined hands back against him.

"Nasty, thing, that jealousy," he mumbled, his lips brushing over hers. Her fingers stroked the base of his neck, then a gentle press hinted he should tip his head down. Running her fingers through the back of his hair, she cupped the back of his head. Her lips touched that place under his ear, then she dared to flick the tip of her tongue against it.

"I want you," she whispered at his ear, before blowing across the wet spot she'd created. His body quaked under her hands as white hot desire enflamed his body. When he lifted his head, she smiled at the combination of tenderness and desire reflected in his eyes.

"My God, Laura, you don't play fair," he told her on a shaky exhale, as she swept that stray lock of hair back off his forehead.

"I know," she laughed softly as he gathered her closer.

"We'll not be leaving this dance floor for a bit," he warned quietly, evidence of why grazing across her abdomen. She lifted a playful brow, a knowing look in her eyes.

"I know," she laughed again, her smile fading to be replaced by desire when he ran a single finger along her jaw then touched under her chin, tipping her head up. Their lips met, pressed, held. When they parted she tucked herself under his chin, laying her head against his chest, while his arm wrapped around her a little more snuggly. Nuzzling his chin on the top of her head, he closed his eyes and let the music guide their motion, both of them losing themselves in the seductive rhythm of the music.

Across the room, Murphy stood in stunned silence, mouth hanging slightly ajar, at what he'd just witnessed between Laura and Steele. Not even in their college days, that pre-Wilson era when Laura had been as carefree as he'd ever seen her, had he known Laura to be so… relaxed… happy. There was a confidence in her that had long ago been crushed by Wilson during their time together. It was clear in her every interaction with Steele that she was a woman who knew the man holding her was bound to her in every way that mattered. Yet, it had been that look on Steele' face, immediately following whatever Laura had whispered into his ear, that left Murphy speechless and dazed. He'd known that feeling often with Sherry, still knew it now. That feeling which told you this was the person you were meant to spend your life with, the one it would be impossible to exist wholly without.

The man's sunk. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing that the charming, sometimes haughty, conman that had walked through the Agency's doors four years before had been bested by the temperamental, stubborn and intelligent woman he'd set out to con from the start. Yet, as enjoyable as that thought was, there was no doubt he had lost the bet. She's not only got him in the palm of her hand, but has him prepared to shackle himself to her for life. Now that thought certainly took the sting off of how much emptier his wallet would be after this evening. Laura, the independent woman of the 80's, who refused to see herself as belonging to anyone. There, at least, Steele would fail. He laughed aloud.

"Dinner's on me, it seems," Murphy announced, conceding defeat, drawing laughter from the other three people nearby. Murphy raised his brows and turned to give Bernice a smug look. "Up for another bet, Bernice?"

"What do you have in mind?" Bernice smirked.

"Murphyyyyy," Sherry intoned in a warning voice. Murphy tilted his head towards his wife and smiled, while rubbing her forearm in a conciliatory manner.

"Don't worry, hon, I've got this one in the bag." He returned his attention to Bernice. "Do you think there are wedding bells in the future for the two of them, Bernice?"

Bernice glanced at Steele and Laura on the floor and laughed. "Only a fool wouldn't realize there are."

"Seems you don't know Laura as well as you think. If there's one thing she has said time and time again over the years it is that she never, ever plans to marry."

"Murphyyyyy," Sherry warned again.

Bernice's eyes flicked towards the dance floor again, then tapped her finger against her lips thoughtfully. "Within the year," she predicted.

"We have a bet then? If they're not married within the year, you buy dinner the next time we're together," he held out his hand to her. One side of Bernice's mouth lifted in a look that all but screamed "sucker".

"It's a bet," she told him, shaking his hand firmly.

Next to Murphy, Sherry stood shaking her head. Seeing this, he grinned at her. "Don't worry, Sher, this one's a sure win."

"Oh, Murph," she sighed, shaking her head again.

"What?!" he asked, not understanding why she was not being supportive. After all, Laura was his friend and he knew her better than next to anyone.

"You're that confident, huh?" Sherry asked, as an idea began to brew in her mind.

"Absolutely.".

"I think I'd like a little side wager of our own."

"Aw, c'mon Sher, you're supposed to be on my side," he sputtered.

"Oh, so you're not confident then?" she challenged. Murphy looked at her, then at Bernice, who was trying not to laugh. He drew himself up to his full height.

"Oh, I'm confident alright," he bluffed.

"Alright, then. I say they're married within six months. Loser gets the boys ready every morning for three months." Murphy hesitated for a moment. Their twin sons were fifteen months old now, and already hell on wheels to corral long enough to dress, get socks and shoes on, hair combed, jackets on before they managed to strip themselves down again in a flash of an eye. Many mornings, it would leave the two of them, working in tandem, exhausted by the time the task was complete. Then knowing with absolute conviction that Laura Holt would never tie herself to a man with a piece of paper, he grinned and held out his hand to his wife.

"You're on," he shook her hand, already daydreaming about an extra hour in bed while Sherry tended to the boys.

Bet settled, Jason who'd been chewing on the earlier discussion broke in. "Would someone mind filling me in on about this bit about the Federal Reserve and Laura falling off a beam?"

Bernice's eyes flicked across the dance floor to where her mother was waving at her frantically. With a pat on Jason's shoulder, she told him, "Later. Based on my mother's, uh, near hysteria, it's time to cut the cake now." She nodded with her head towards her mother, then watched as Jason's shoulders drooped.

"Fine, but I'm not going to forget, Bernie." Grabbing his hand, Bernice dragged him behind her as she made her way towards her mother.

"That's fine. It's a good story," she told him. "You wouldn't believe the amount of trouble the two of them can find."

Jason's brows only raised higher at Bernice's words.

(Continued)