(Conclusion)
Laura woke shortly after dawn, typical of her no matter what time she went to sleep the night before – well, except after a night of a little too much drinking, that is. That was alright with her though. She loved the serenity of early mornings. There was no where she had to be immediately, and would have already determined the course of her day the night before. A cup of coffee, some time with her thoughts or the most recent novel she was reading, every once a while a turn at the barre were each a perfect way to start the day. This morning, she simply wanted to appreciate the weekend that now lay behind them, while anticipating the day ahead. Breakfast with Murphy, Bernice, Sherry and Jason. The 42nd Street matinee that afternoon. Dinner with Steele at a location he was keeping closely under wraps. Then tonight, home. Her own things, her own bed. As much as she'd enjoyed her time in New York, at the end of the day she was a homebody.
She took a moment to appreciate the man sleeping next to her, although wrapped around her would be a more apt description. They fell asleep each night they spent together in the same manner: her wrapped around him. Steele on his back, she tucked into his side, head on that place between shoulder and chest that seemed made for her specifically, arm wrapped around so her fingers could touch his side, and a leg slung over his. Most mornings when they woke, she found him spooned against her back, a hand cupping her breast, the other hand lying on her hip, with one of his legs wedged between hers. But, every once in a while she would wake and find them as she had this morning: both on their sides, facing one another, her head using one of his arms as a pillow, that arm wrapped around her and his hand resting on her ribs, legs tangled, one of her hands resting flat against his chest, and her other hand entwined with his. Certainly she could not complain about the view this position afforded her, as she was greeted with an eyeful of delicious chest when she'd woken. Before she gave into the temptation to thoroughly explore that chest, she carefully extracted various limbs and appendages from his and wriggled around until her back was facing his chest. She gave a small shake of her head and her lips twitched with an amused grin when in his sleep his arms found her and drew her snug against his body again.
In the thousand fantasies she'd had about him – she half-grimaced when she realized that number was substantially more if you counted the dreams she'd had at night – never, not once, had she imagined this about him. No, in this she'd expected him to be like Wilson. Wilson who'd made it clear the first time they'd made love, shared a bed: your side, my side, and never the twain shall meet. Oh, she hadn't minded, not really. Normally she preferred to stretch out, to have plenty of room to move throughout the night. Sure, it would have been nice to snuggle in the aftermath once in a while, but, all-in-all she'd been fine with it.
But her Mr. Steele? No, Remington, she reminded herself, still trying to get used to the name rolling off her tongue. She'd never pictured him as a cuddler. He, the connoisseur of women, the aficionado of the one-night stand, the man who had always avoided commitment at all costs, who, by his own admission, never alluded to an interest in more by word or act… a cuddler. Yet, now that she thought about it she was surprised that she was, well, surprised. After all, this was the same man that found a myriad of reasons to touch her throughout the day. Why, in, bed, would that be any different? With a silent chuckle, she carefully extracted herself from his arms and slid out of the bed. Nicking his robe from the chair it was draped over, she wrapped herself in it as she moved with cat-like silence into the living room, closing the bedroom door quietly behind her.
A quick phone call to room service saw coffee and tea on the way up to the room and a glance at the clock on the desk showed they had an hour or so before she'd need to awaken Steele so they could get ready to meet everyone else for a final breakfast before they went their separate ways. Flipping on the gas fireplace, she settled herself into a nearby chair, tucking her legs up underneath her.
Murphy married, a father. To twins at that. Bernice a mother, now married. The corners of her mouth lifted and she laughed quietly. Both of their lives had changed so much in the three years since they'd left the Agency. Bernice, the jaded, still chasing after the fairy tale had finally found it. Murphy, the traditionalist who had never stopped believing in the fairy tale had captured it. Their lives had moved at warp speed towards the future after they'd walked out the Agency's doors while hers?
A change of address. Necessitated by her house being blown up, not from a desire for change. The Agency had grown in both stature and revenue by leaps and bounds. But other than that? She was certainly not married or a mother. Truthfully she didn't know for certain if she wanted either of those things, so it was neither of those things that were bothering her. It was far more simple than that, this thing that had been nagging at her most of the weekend. It was that her life had not moved ahead at warp speed during those same years. If anything, it had remained stagnant. By choice. Her choice. Readjusting herself in the chair, she pulled her legs up against her body, and rested her chin on them.
She could pinpoint in her head the precise moment that she'd frozen the two of them in place and time. It had been the second that Murphy and Bernice had left the agency, taking their net of safety with them. While they'd been there, there had been a certain security which had allowed her to conduct a flirtation with Steele, to explore their attraction… to let him in. Had things moved from enticing to disastrous, Bernice and Murphy would have been there to pick up the pieces alongside her. To put her back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty, she thought with a small, sardonic chuckle. All the King's horse, all the King's men… But unlike Humpty Dumpty, Bernice and Murphy could have helped me put myself back together again and, at the very least, made certain the Agency didn't likewise crumble around all of us in the aftermath.
But after they'd left? She'd already been in too deep long before that, and, after, had found herself suddenly waiting for the precarious sandbar underneath her feet to shift dumping her in waters so treacherous they might drown her. There were days that she'd step off the sandbar and find herself floating in a sea of tranquility, the gentle lap of the water surrounding her body. On those days she sank into those tantalizing kisses of his, was relaxed enough to cuddle on the couch with him while watching a movie, would openly share her more intimate thoughts and memories with him. Then there were the days that she felt as though the sandbar suddenly gave way, dumping her into a churning sea that left her flailing in storm roughened waters that threatened to pull her under. Millicent. Anna. His return to his deceptions in Cannes. On those days, she'd extend her boundaries. It reminded her of the buoys that would be put out by lifeguards indicating where it was safe to swim and where it was not. Eventually she'd surrounded herself with buoys and there was, in her mind, no place safe left to swim. Everything represented a risk that she was terrified to take.
It was not until he'd left for London that she'd realized that the shifting of the sandbar was never the real danger. The real danger lay in the sea around her suddenly drying up, becoming a barren desert of nothingness as she stood safely on the cropping of sand underneath her feet. Alone. Without him. No danger of drowning then, but no hope of the gentle lap of the water soothing her body or her heart either, for it was gone.
It was only then that she'd realized her analogy had been wrong from the start. She'd foolishly envisioned herself standing on a sandbar, which by its very nature was unstable. What she should have been doing was picturing herself standing on the shore. From there she could dip her toes into the water, and once she felt comfortable with the water lapping at them, could have moved a little further ahead, until the water swirled around her knees. And so on and so on, until at last she swam freely in the water, confident in her ability to navigate it with ease while it surrounded her in its intoxicating presence. That's what it had been like since London. First the toes, then the knees, eventually the hips then the waist. The question that swam through her mind right now was: Am I ready to move ahead to chest deep, where my footing in the sand beneath me is equally as much under my own control as the occasional wave that comes along?
Laura lifted her head at the gentle rap on the door of the suite. After signing the check, she poured herself a cup of coffee, then set it down to wrap herself in her coat. Cup in hand again, she made her way out onto the balcony, curling up on a chaise lounge there and cocooning herself in her coat to ward off the chill of a late winter morning. Taking a sip of her coffee, she stared out at the city in front of her, noting that the streets below were still quiet at this early morning hour, only an occasional horn heard.
He wants more time. So do I. She closed her eyes while she allowed her admission to sink in. Are we ready for more? We've been doing well enough, despite some bumps in the road, a couple of missteps. Would another night or two…"
"Laura…"
Her thoughts were interrupted by Steele calling for her from somewhere inside. Unraveling herself from her coat, she stood and walked back towards the suite to meet up with Steele at the doorway. He looked at her askance, before lacing a hand around behind her back and scooting her inside.
"You've seemed to have developed a habit of late of trying to catch your death of cold, Laura," he lightly admonished. Taking a hand in his he began to warm it in between his palms.
"I'm fine," she laughed, removing her hand from his. "Hold this for a second, if you don't mind." Steele held her coffee cup as she peeled off her coat and laid it across the back of a nearby chair. Taking her cup back she moved to the room service cart to top it off as well as fix him a cup of tea. His eyes ran up and down her body, tongue flicking against his lips, before he smiled bemusedly.
"The mystery of where my robe got off to is solved, I see." Looking down, she flashed a dimple at him before handing him his cup of tea. With a light touch to the small of her back, they walked over to the couch where they each settled into a corner.
"It appears I have picked up on your light-handedness across the years. I didn't expect you to be up so soon. Sorry," she shrugged off-handedly.
"Mmmm," he hummed with a nod as he took sip of his tea. "You never need to apologize for nicking my clothing. I find the sight of you in them remarkably… appealing." Laura's teeth caught her lower lip as warmth infused her, oddly pleased with the notion.
"You do?" His eyes roamed her body again, the glint in them a curious mix of tenderness, hunger and possessiveness.
"Do you have to ask?" She watched his eyes, the look in them taking her from merely warm to simmering. She felt a flush spread up her neck to her face, drawing a soft, pleased laugh from him. "So, what precisely is on our agenda for this morning, Miss Holt?"
"After breakfast? Nothing whatsoever until the show this afternoon. Why, do you have something on your mind?"
"Perhaps. You know what they say. When in Rome…"
"Need I point out that we're in New York, not Rome?"
"Ahh, Laura, always focused on the most minute of details," he teased. "Alright then, shall we say there are a few sites of the city we should visit before departing?" She looked at him with an assessing eye.
"Why do I have an overwhelming urge to ask what you're up to?" With a smile he took a final swig of his tea, then after setting his cup on the coffee table, stood and held out a hand to her. Setting her own cup aside, she took his hand then once standing looped her arms around his neck.
"Just trying for a little romance, Laura," he assured her, as he swayed her in his arms. "Now, how 'bout a proper good morning, eh?" Tipping her head up, her fingers pressed against the back of his neck, although he needn't be given a hint. His lips skimmed over hers before settling briefly then departing. He smacked his lips and grinned down at her. "Mmmm, yes, that'll do. Perhaps we should get ready, before you make us late for breakfast."
"I'm not always late," Laura sputtered, releasing him and walking in front of him towards the bedroom.
"Professionally, one could set their watch by you. That's true enough. Elsewise, most days you give a whole new meaning to the term fashionably late." He handed her into the bathroom in front of him, neither giving a thought to sharing the space while they prepared for the day.
After years of living in one another's pockets they were comfortable with one another's morning routines, and the Four Seasons' large bathroom with double sinks certainly did not lack for room. He shaved while she pulled her hair back in a French braid and carefully, but efficiently applied a light layer of makeup. As he brushed his teeth, he watched in the mirror while she popped open a little plastic case and swallowed a pill dry. Her eyes caught his in the mirror and she tilted the case towards him, then watched as his eyes darkened. Setting his toothbrush on the counter, he took a step towards her and took her face in both of his hands and gave her a ravenous kiss. When he pulled away she stumbled slightly, off balance from both the suddenness and intensity of the kiss. He held on to her arms until she found her feet. A smile played on both of their lips, recognizing the significance of the moment. With a touch of his lips against hers, he turned to right his hair.
"What should I wear for these mysterious plans of yours," she called over her shoulder. He mulled her question over.
"Casual, comfortable. Plan on walking a bit."
In the bedroom standing before the closet, Laura pursed her lips wondering what, precisely, he had on his agenda. With a shrug of her shoulders, she pulled her khaki jumpsuit from the closet, a dark belt and a pair of low heeled boots from the closet. It wasn't as though she had many options and she only brought a single casual outfit along with her for the trip, unsure of what the attire would be for Bernice's bachelorette party. Steele paused for a moment to admire the pert little bum wriggling into the outfit, before plucking a pair of khaki colored chinos, a khaki, grey and white checked shirt and his own boots out of the closet. Now it was her turn to let her eyes peruse his lean form as he dressed. Catching her at it, he grinned.
"Keep that up, Laura, and we'll most assuredly be late for breakfast," he warned playfully. Leaving the casual button up untucked, he began to pull on his boots then paused when she spoke.
"Promises, promises, Remington," she teased. The easy use of his first name coupled with her flirtatious remark, caused an immediate reaction. In two quick steps, he grabbed her by the waist, spun and dropped them both to the bed, she under him. As his mouth lowered to hers, in a neat little move of her own she slinked out from underneath him in time for his lips to meet mattress. Turning his head, he gave her a disgruntled look as she stood back up and laughed.
"Uh-uh, Mr. Steele," she wagged a finger at him. "I'm not going to be blamed for us being late." Steele pushed himself up from the bed into a sitting position and reached for his boots again.
"I'm sure you'll still manage to be exactly that, Miss Holt," he predicted.
"No way. I'm just about ready," she disagreed.
Thirty minutes later, which would place them twenty minutes late at the restaurant, Laura was satisfied everything was in its place and they headed out the door of their suite, a smirk on Steele's face being met with a warning look by her.
"Don't say it," she cautioned him.
"Of course not," he responded, a look of faux innocence upon his face. "I am far too much a gentleman to point out that we're going to be late…again."
"I think you just did," she noted dryly.
"No, not, not at all. Just pointing out that I wouldn't dare to point it out," he argued.
"Let me point out that by pointing out that you wouldn't point it out…"
The door of the suite shut behind them.
"Bye, Murph." Laura gave her former partner a tight hug, then released him before allowing the hand that had been tugging at hers to pull her away. Bernice dragged her several steps from the rest of group, as Laura looked back helplessly at Steele. He'd, in essence, been abandoned to deal with Murphy on his own.
"Look, Laura, I meant what I said Friday night," Bernice told her in an undertone. "Go for it. That man's not going anywhere." She glanced at Steele surreptitiously, running her eyes over him from head-to-toe. "And let's face it. Like a good wine, he's only gotten better with age."
"Oh, I have every intention of going for it," Laura assured her. "And when I do, I have four years worth of 'itchiness' that I plan to make up for. He's not going to know what hit him."
"It's about time!" Bernice winked. "Don't forget, Laura, I expect details." With a quick hug, Bernice scurried to join her husband in the taxi. As the taxi pulled away, Bernice leaned her head out the window and yelled a final reminder, "Details Laura!" Laura laughed and waved, then turned and joined Steele. When she arrived at his side, he reached down and linked his fingers through hers.
"Travel well, Michaels," Steele told him with the shake of a hand, before bussing Sherry on the cheek. "Always lovely to see you Sherry."
Steele and Laura watched as Murphy and Sherry loaded themselves in the taxi waiting for them, then sped away. Laura turned to face Steele, taking his other hand in hers as well.
"So, what's our first stop?" she asked with a tilt of her head.
"Anticipation…" he told her, his lips brushing hers, "… only heightens…" his lips skimmed the length of her neck "… any experience." He handed her into the waiting limo. Once inside she turned to him.
"You know I'm not a big fan of surprises, Mr. Steele," she reminded him with a small frown. "They often have a way of turning sideways on you." He only hummed what could pass as tacit agreement. "Seems to me the last time you tried to surprise me with a romantic gesture on a trip, we ended up with half of the San Francisco Police Department trying to kill us." That caught his attention.
"I seem to recall a certain young woman telling me that particular… err… gesture… was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her," he reminded her
"Romantic though it may have been, those were still bullets being fired at us. What's it to be this time? The NYPD or the mob?" she asked, only half-kidding.
"Look, Laura, will you just relax," he exhaled in frustration. "No reason to work yourself into a dither over what is meant to be a pleasant day." Laura sat up, back ramrod straight, and placed several inches between she and Steele.
"Work myself into a dither?!" she demanded, clearly affronted. With a swipe at his hair, he turned to face her, holding up his hands to her.
"I'm sorry, Laura, I'm sorry. That was out of line" He took a deep breath, and reached for her hand, voice softening. "Can you please just trust, for a moment, that disaster will not befall us and that perhaps, just perhaps, things will work out as planned? Eh?" Laura's eyes darted to and from him several times, before her hand turned over in his and she let out a long held breath.
"I can do that. But if bullets fly, be ready for an I told you so." Steele threw back his head and laughed, Laura joining along shortly after.
"So noted, Miss Holt, so noted." The limo slowed and came to a halt. At the driver's tap on the privacy glass, Steele looked out the window. "Our first destination awaits." He turned to open the door, then thought twice about it. Turning to her he gave her hand another squeeze. "Remember, a little faith." With that he turned back to the door and swung it open, then gave her a hand out before reminding the driver to return for them in 45 minutes.
Laura stood on the sidewalk staring with dismay at the stores around her. Surely, he doesn't think the idea of showing me a good time is having me tag along while he adds to his already extensive wardrobe? Tit-for-tat? He accompanied me yesterday, so today I return the favor? It took considerable will power not to audibly groan. Pasting on a smile she turned to face him. He saw through her in an instant, and chuckled lightly.
"Shall we?" he asked, indicating they should cross Fifth Avenue, thankfully not very congested with traffic yet.
They jogged across the street, then with a hand on the small of her back directed her to a storefront. Laura glanced up at the sign, puzzled.
"Do you need a new watch?" she asked. He appeared baffled for a moment, then laughed again.
"Not at all. Come along," he encouraged as he held open the door of Tiffany & Co.'s for her.
Strolling around the glass cases, he finally settled upon one. When a sales woman approached he pointed to a pair of art deco, antiqued gold earrings that were nearly bronze in color with a dark garnet tear drop encased within the intricate design of the metal. The saleswoman carefully assessed the couple in front of her and deemed them trustworthy, then removed the pair of earrings from the case and presented them on the counter in front of them. Laura looked dubiously from the earrings to him.
The gesture, frankly, baffled her. Neither of them were prone to giving one another extravagant gifts. Thoughtful gestures here and there, certainly. Her kitchen had been outfitted with pots and pans and 'proper' stemware by Steele across the years, after he'd proclaimed her careless selections at the local discount store 'abominable' and 'truly a travesty.' She'd certainly added to his movie collection and his library of tomes on classic movies over the years. But only once in her memory could she recall him presenting her with a gift that was less than a practicality: the necklace with the heart shaped pendant that she wore only on special occasions. Otherwise, when he'd gone out of his way to 'do something for her' in the past, there had been an angle involved. Remembering this, she looked at him suspiciously.
"An apology for something you've done or about to do?" she asked. He simply shook his head in amusement at her.
"'You can always tell what kind of a person a man thinks you are by the earrings he gives you.'" He watched and saw the moment it clicked in Laura's mind.
"Breakfast at Tiffany's, Audrey Hepburn, George Peppard, Jurow-Shephard, 1961." Her amber eyes twinkled up at him when she realized he was paying homage to one of her favorite movies.
"Hmmm," he hummed in acknowledgement. "I thought these would go splendidly with the dress you bought for this evening, while also serving as a small keepsake of our time here in New York."
Bending over to look in a mirror, she held one of the earrings up to her lobe. As usual, his taste was impeccable when it came to such matters and the earrings would serve not only as the perfect companions to her dress that evening, but were also practical enough for her to wear at other times as well. Straightening she brushed her lips against his cheek.
"Thank you," she told him softly.
"You're quite welcome, Ms. Golightly," he told her with a smile and a nod.
Handing off his credit card to the saleswoman, he and Laura wandered nearby display cases. He was not surprised that she never expressed interest in the dazzling array of diamond jewelry on display, but was instead drawn towards the greens and reds of emeralds and rubies. When they perused a case containing watches, he pointed to a watch that was similar to the one he'd intended to buy her for Christmas that year, a gesture that had been prevented after Dancer and gang had taken them hostage. As he began to raise his hand to call the saleswoman back over, Laura placed her hand over his and pressed it down with a shake of her head. Purchase made, they left the store in time to see the limo swing around the corner, the driver undoubtedly circling the block while waiting for his clients to appear. Handing her off into the limo once more, the limo accelerated towards their next destination.
"I guess it would be useless to ask where we're off to next," Laura asked, brow raised.
"I might be swayed to give you a hint," he replied with a waggle of his brows. A dimple flashed and Laura turned in to him, raising her lips to his, stopping a hairsbreadth before contact.
"However will I do that?" she teased, her eyes dancing with merriment. A splayed hand running up her neck and across her cheek into the hair on the side of her head, turned the moment more serious.
"'Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time'," he whispered against her lips. She leaned into his lips, allowed herself to get lost in a kiss where lips explored and tongues glanced, retreated and returned to touch once more. When they moved apart, sultry amber eyes met steamy blue ones. Drawn to him, she laid her lips against his neck, then answered him in a soft breath.
"Ingrid Bergman to Humprhey Bogart, Casablanca, Warner Bros., 1942." He hummed in acknowledgment as his hand cupped the back of her head, while he rested his own against the back of the seat as her lips moved in small increments up his neck. When her lips reached that spot under his ear that drove him mad, he nudged her away drawing a laugh from her.
"That won't do either of us a bit of good at the moment," he reminded her. Sitting back against the seat, she leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Two movie references within an hour, Mr. Steele? You're outdoing even yourself."
"May well go for the trifecta then, eh? It's 'the closest thing to heaven in this city.'"
"Is that my hint or another movie reference?"
"Yes, on both parts." Laura mulled the sentence over, the turned her head and grinned at him.
"Not even a challenge, Mr. Steele. We've only watched it a dozen times. An Affair to Remember, Cary Grant, Deborah Kerr, Twentieth Century Fox, 1957. And we're going to the Empire State Building."
"You're getting quite good at this, Laura," he praised only to be met by a roll of her eyes.
"Quotes from three movies that we watch all the time? If I can't get those correct, I'll never learn to speak your language," she laughed.
"Speak my language? What a novel way of describing the use of references to movies when they have a bearing on a case at hand." She rolled her eyes.
"Or no bearing whatsoever," she laughed.
"Why Laura, you wound me." He held his hand to his chest to emphasize his words.
"Mmmm, mortally, I'm sure," she laughed again, as the car pulled to a halt, a tap on the window again signaling their arrival at their latest destination.
They strolled the lobby of the Empire State Building, hand-in-hand for the better part of an hour, Steele entranced by the art deco architecture, most especially that of the ceiling panels gracing the ceiling of the three story entry way and the aluminum relief of the way the building originally stood without the peak upon its top. He explained to Laura in intricate detail the use of marble and limestone throughout the structure, how many pounds of steel were utilized to create it, how many bricks had been laid. Clearly she had discovered a new aspect of her Mr. Steele, in that his fascination for art deco extended well beyond furnishings and jewelry design. It was only when he exhausted his knowledge that they took and elevator to the 102nd floor.
They walked the perimeter of the observation deck with his hand at the small of her back. Once more, he played the enthusiastic tour guide pointing out New Jersey to the East, Connecticut to the Northeast and Pennsylvania to the South. When they looked out over Central Park he lamented his failure to include a carriage ride through the park on their tour of the city.
"Oh, to get you under a blanket again," he'd waggled his brows. She in turn took the conversation up a notch on a mischievous lift of her brow.
"Depending how long this tour of the city lasts, you might be able to get me back in the sheets before the show," she teased, then laughed as he blanched when his blood rushed southerly.
"Lauraaaaa, you have to stop doing that," he moaned, taking her in his arms anyway and kissing her voraciously until she too was sharing in the angst.
"No fair," she whispered against his lips when they drew apart.
"I know," he whispered back, before taking her lips under his again.
They left their tour of the Empire State Building with bodies on edge, with Steele thanking the stars above that it was coat weather, else they might never have been able to leave. On the forty-five minute ride to their next, and final, destination, they made the most of the privacy of the backseat of the limo. Lips fed on lips, mouths fed on bodies, fingers wandered, hands gave pleasure, leaving them tremoring in one another's arms then scrambling to right their clothes when once again that tap sounded. The blush that covered Laura from the root of her hair to the tip of her toes at her remembrance of a driver in front of them, had Steele exiting the limo in laughter.
His laughter ceased and the look in his eyes changed from the twinkle of laughter, to one of stunned pleasure when he caught Laura looking around them in awe.
"You brought me to Coney Island."
"Mmmm," he acknowledged wordlessly. Laura threw herself at him, body hitting body hard enough to draw a "Ooomph" from him, while he tried to stay on his feet. Fingers tangled in his hair as lips fluttered across his, before settling. With a playful nip of his bottom lip she pulled away.
"Thank you," she grinned up at him.
"Had I known this would be your reaction, I would have searched out every boardwalk in California and Mexico years ago," he chuckled.
"I'm sure you would have. Some secrets are best left just that. But now that we're here…."
They strolled the boardwalk, testing their hands at various carnie games, while Steele continually reminded her that the games were all rigged and how precisely that was done. Still, they'd had some moderate success, passing off the stuffed animals they'd taken away as prizes to children visiting the boardwalk with their families. He learned a new secret, so to speak, about Laura that lazy afternoon: she was addicted to boardwalk food. There wasn't a single stand that he could recall that she had not 'simply had to try some…" type of fare: A Nathan's hot dog here, a gyro there; fried ice cream at this place; and seasoned curly fries at that one.
By mutual agreement they decided to fritter away a little time with a walk along the pier. The serenity of the waves pounding against the shore, the call of the seagulls above, and the smell of the salt air provided a restive atmosphere after the loud and chaotic boardwalk. Laura plucked a chunk of cotton candy off of the cone held in her hand, and closed her eyes, smiling at the first taste. The treat always reminded of her childhood, of the happier times before her father had left. Like the circus, Atomic Man and parlaits, cotton candy held a special place in her heart because of the memories.
Pinching off another piece, she held it up to Steele. "Try some," she offered, holding the pink fluff in front of his mouth. His eyes glinted, and on a turn of a heel, gathered her in his arms before his hand guided the spun confection held in her hand towards her mouth. Her eyes sparkled at the suggestion, and with exaggerated slowness placed the treat in her mouth.
"Love to," he murmured, his lips covering hers, his tongue, without preamble, entering her mouth for a taste. He hummed low in his throat as he tasted her through the sugary treat that held a hint of strawberry. When his lips withdrew he smacked them together several times, before grinning at her, while swiping her hair back from her face. "Very tasty." Laura flashed her dimples at him before taking another bite of the treat.
They meandered down the pier in silence for a few minutes, pausing here and there to share cotton candy enriched kisses until the treat was gone. After the paper cone was disposed of in a nearby trashcan, they linked fingers and continued towards the end of the pier.
"So, is it your love of the food, then, that draws you to the Boardwalk? Or something more?" Laura shifted her eyes to look at him, the returned them to look at the water ahead. She knew by his overly casual tone that he suspected there was a story behind her fascination for the Boardwalk, had known since the moment they'd arrived. After all, why this destination in particular when there were so many other attractions in New York City? What she hadn't been able to put a finger on was how he knew. It was not as though they'd discussed it before. Reaching the end of the pier, she gave him another glance, before releasing his hand, and leaning on her elbows against the rail of the pier, looking out over the water in front of them sightlessly.
"You've seen how things are, between Mother and me." She gave a small shrug and watched in her peripheral vision as he mimicked her, leaning against the rail. "It's always been that way, at least as far back as I can remember. Always a disappointment. I didn't speak the way she wanted, dress the way she wanted, think the way she wanted…" Laura trailed off. Steele waited for her to continue, then hoping not to shut her down completely, gave her a small nudge.
"Too independent?" he speculated. Laura flashed a doleful smile.
"Too much of a tomboy, not enough of a lady. Even when I was five or six it was clear to me that I would forever be a disappointment to her. I wasn't Frances. Frances who loved frilly dresses and bows in her hair. Frances who was thrilled when she and Mother would spend an entire day baking. Frances who played with dolls, combing their hair, dressing and redressing them for hours while pretending to be the little mother." Softly she chuckled ruefully. "No, I was happier in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, hair tossed back in a ponytail and out climbing a tree, riding bikes with boys on the block while Mother and Frances baked. I was too loud. Too outspoken. Too wild. An embarrassment in her eyes." Laura turned her head and looked down the beach, following a couple with their two children as they walked along the water's edge.
"You were a dancer. Surely that made her proud. Don't all mothers want a ballerina?" His voice was low, quiet. Laura cast him a look that said he should have known better.
"I danced, yes. But that as for me, and me alone. I had no interest in dancing in the recitals, once more letting her down. There were no pictures of Laura dressed in her pretty little tu-tu's and sequined leotards. When I was eight, she forced me to participate in a recital, determined to get those pictures, convinced that once I tried one I would be hooked."
"I'm guessing that wasn't the case?" Laura laughed softly in response.
"When I wasn't standing on the stage, with my arms crossed refusing to move, I was crying. It was a miserable experience for both of us. She gave up on me after that. She and Frances were connected at the hip from there forward, me the outsider. But I was okay with that for the most part because I had my father." Steele pushed himself away from the railing and stepped behind Laura. Laying an arm on either side of hers, he leaned into her, laying the side of his head against hers. "My father and baseball, Atomic Man, circuses and boardwalks."
"Spent a lot of time on them then, did you?"
"Uh-uh. Some time, but not a lot. Still enough to leave an impression though. The trips were never planned, at least as far as I know. He'd just look at me and say 'I feel like some cotton candy, Champ, how 'bout you.' And off we'd go." He tilted his head at her.
"Champ?" She smiled and leaned back into him. He shifted automatically, standing and wrapping his arms around her waist. Nestling her head into the spot between shoulder and chest, she linked her fingers with his where they lay on her stomach.
"His nickname for me. Mother hated it even more than our little outings or him taking me to the field to shag some balls."
"Didn't approve?" he wondered. Laura gave the question some consideration before answering.
"Needless to say she didn't approve of him encouraging my interest in baseball. I don't think I really understood why she would get so put out when he took me to the circus, the boardwalk until I was well into adulthood. She was a housewife. Her entire life centered on keeping house, taking care of her family. She would spend most of the afternoon cooking dinner and on those days half the family would wander in late for dinner and stuffed from an afternoon of eating junk food. They had some terrific fights about it. I used to wonder…" She shook her head and let the thought fade. He gave her a gentle squeeze.
"Used to wonder what?" She closed her eyes taking a deep breath then exhaling.
"How much those fights contributed to him leaving," she admitted. He frowned.
"You were a child, Laura. Their marriage was theirs to break or make not yours." She shrugged.
"A child whose parents were constantly at odds over me. I was never enough for my mother, and she blamed my father for encouraging me to act the way I did. My father never understood why she was constantly criticizing me and made it a point to spend more time with me because of it, at least I think. It certainly didn't help." She closed her eyes and unknowingly flinched at the memory that had passed through her mind. "The night of my sweet sixteen… the night he left… they fought over me." She squeezed one of his hands. "I've never told anyone that."
"Not even Frances?" he asked quietly. Laura laughed sadly while shaking her head.
"Especially Frances. We didn't have a very good relationship then. Like my mother, she was embarrassed by me, always asking why I couldn't just try to be like other girls, not be such a rebel…not cause trouble all the time. It certainly didn't help that she was convinced I looked down on her for wanting nothing more than to be a wife, a mother. She saw my need for independence as… I don't know… a criticism of traditional middle class values in general and her specifically. The first time I can even remember us really talking to each other since we were little was when she came out to LA during that dental convention. Even then it didn't start off well. But it was a beginning." She felt Steele nod his head next to hers and fell silent again. Her mind wandered back to the night her father left. The memory had not lost its edge over the years, the harsh words, the anger, the venom still as powerful as it was then. Steele felt her tension as it mounted and nuzzled his cheek against hers.
"Tell me," he implored softly. Her fingers tightened around his, almost painfully as she inhaled as stuttering breath.
"I wanted to try out for the Varsity softball team that fall. As a sophomore. It was unheard of. You didn't make Varsity until you were at least a junior. But I knew that I could be the best shortstop and pitcher on the team. My Father had worked with me for years by then. I played Junior Varsity the year before and it simply was not challenging enough. So I decided to break the rules. Either I made Varsity or I didn't play at all, all or nothing." She fell quiet again.
"Sounds like an attitude I am well familiar with," he teased, trying to prod her into continuing. She smiled briefly.
"Mmmmmm," she hummed in agreement. "How did you put it last week? Hard-headed? No, head-strong." He winced, not realizing she'd overheard his petulant comment. "For better or worse I'm going to do what I want, no matter what the cost… to me… to others." Releasing his hands she took a couple steps forward to lean against the rail again. "My Mother had been after me from the moment I entered high school. 'It's time to stop this foolishness, Laura.' 'It's time to think about how you present yourself to the world. You'll never find yourself a suitable husband until you act like the young lady you were raised to be.' 'Enough with all the math classes, Laura. You need to take home economics like the other girls. You'll never find a suitable husband if you can't cook and keep a home.'" She shook her head and laughed. "I wanted to be more than that. More than…"
"Just flesh," he finished as he moved to lean next to her on the rail again, recalling vividly their conversation on the afternoon when she'd been shot.
"Yes," she agreed vehemently. "I didn't want to be defined by my gender and shoved into the role of housewife. I wanted…"
"More," he finished again, but this time she shook her head almost violently.
"Everything," she corrected. "I wanted to go to college. To have a career that I loved. A husband that was a partner and friend, not someone just to answer to, to be at his beck and call. Someone that knew I could stand on my own two feet, didn't need to be propped up… didn't want to be. To... to… to play baseball, enter a triathlon, sail a boat and not just sit on it as someone's decoration. To be a detective. To own a business that would allow me to not only do what I love but would allow me the flexibility to keep my career and have children one day. I wanted what men have by virtue of just being born a male." She petered out. "I wanted everything. Turning into my mother, Frances, was not going to give that to me."
"You wouldn't be Laura Holt if you didn't want it all. It's one of the things I've always enjoyed most about you, knowing what you want and settling for nothing less." She turned to him and smiled sadly.
"It's certainly never set well with Mother," she laughed sarcastically. "That night, at my party, my father gave me a new fielder's mitt. He wanted me to have enough time to break it in before try outs. It was the best present I'd ever received. In giving it to me he was telling me he believed I could defy the odds and make that Varsity team." She lifted a finger to her brow, began to rub. "That night they fought the worst I'd ever heard them. She was sick of him indulging me, helping me to defy her. It was his fault, she said, that I was the way I was. He was furious. I'd never heard him that angry. I heard something hit the wall, break. He screamed at her that he was sick of her. No one could ever measure up to her standards. It was no wonder I was determined not to fit into her mold, that I didn't want to be like her. He was sick of it all. He was done." She let out a shuddering breath, then finished. "The next morning he was gone, and he never came back." She turned her head to look at him, raised her brows and gave a small shrug to imply it didn't matter to her. He knew better.
"It wasn't your fault, Laura. Clearly they had issues that went well beyond whether or not you played baseball or baked cookies." She shrugged again, and turned to lean her back against the rails.
"Yes, but I certainly didn't help." He turned to face her, leaning a hip against the rail.
"So, did you make the team?" A smile lit up her face.
"I did, as the starting shortstop too." The smile faded as memories invaded again. "But it didn't last long."
"Why is that?" She crinkled her nose in response to the question.
"I played a few games, and then it just got too… hard. I think a part of me believed he would at least show up for my games. But, after a while I realized he'd not just left my Mother but he'd left Frances and me too. I thought he and I had something special, that I mattered, warts and all, at least to him. Yet, you can only pretend so long. He never wrote, called, came to see Frances or me. He was just gone. When I realized that, I quit the team."
"I can't imagine Laura Holt quitting anything, let alone something she'd worked so hard for," he mused aloud, then grinned as she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his neck loosely. His hands settled on her hips, drawing her closer.
"I needed to step away, focus on other things." Drawing his head down, she kissed him before he could delve too far into that last thought. When their lips parted, it was only so that she could tell him, "I'm hungry." He looked at her as though she'd finally gone berserk.
"How is that even possible, Laura? You've eaten half the boardwalk already." She laughed, then smiled up at him with a glint in her eyes.
"There are three secrets to great boardwalk eating, Mr. Steele." She lifted her lips towards his, then allowed her lips just to hover a fraction of a millimeter from his, as her fingers played with the tips of the hair at the nape of his neck. She watched as his eyes darkened at the sensation, her closeness. He leaned towards her and she dipped away before returning, a hand slipping under his coat so that her fingers could skim the length of his spine. She felt the shimmer run through his body, felt his back arch subtly towards the source of the pleasure. He leaned forward so their lips could connect and she slipped away again, only to return. His lips twitched, the tip of his tongue flicking against his upper lip. The hand from his back slipped around his waist, her fingers drawing feather-light, decadent designs across his abdomen, chest, shoulders, before settling to stroke the side of his neck. His eyes closed at the sensation, the low fire of desire that was always present when she was near threatening to ignite into an inferno. When he opened his eyes, looked down on hers, she saw his dilated pupils, knew she had stirred him sufficiently and touched her lips against his. His hand tangled in her hair immediately, pressed her mouth more firmly to his as his lips took over, teasing, exploring, before a tongue touched her lips and she opened to him. Her fingers deftly loosened two buttons on his shirt without conscious recognition by him. His mouth began to feed hungrily on hers, when with a gentle push of her hand against his chest she leaned her head away and looked up at him.
"First rule, anticipation is everything." He tried to draw her near again and she evaded. His lips quirked even as passion-soaked eyes tried to lure her back. She tweaked a brow at him, then her lips found the skin of his neck. She ran a series of slow, torturous nip-kisses from under is jaw to the base of his neck. He lost himself in her, his arms tightening around her hips, pressed her lower body more firmly against his. Finding the pulse of his carotid, her lips pulled then her tongue lathed. He hummed deep in his throat. Her lips lifted in a smile against his skin as she felt the very clear response of his body against hers. She nibbled her way across the collarbone she bared near his collar, before her lips returned to his. His hands released her hips to take the sides of her head in them. This time he plundered her mouth with fervor. When he ended the kiss they were both breathing heavily.
"Second rule," she managed breathily, "Always nibble to prolong your enjoyment."
"Wonderful rule," he murmured, as his lips found the column of her neck and he began a journey of his own. His lips stalled at the crook of her neck, enjoying the feel of her racing pulse underneath. He gently sucked the skin there in to his mouth drawing a soft gasp from her. He brushed his open lips back and forth across the damp skin before blowing softly against it. "And the third rule?" he asked, as his lips moved to the hollow of her neck. She blew out a soft breath, then forced herself to push away from him, putting distance between both mouths and bodies.
"Always, always…" she spoke huskily, "leave when still wanting more so that you can anticipate your next visit." Grabbing him by the hand, she gave a tug, and he reluctantly followed.
"I must say, Miss Holt, the first two rules are far preferable to the last," he grumbled playfully.
"Mmmm, but just think of all the possibilities the next time may bring, Mr. Steele." She passed a heated glance over the length of his body, watched as he twitched, then laughed.
"Laura," he growled lowly in his throat, then chuckled as well.
As they strolled hand-in-hand back down the pier towards the boardwalk, companionable silence shrouded them. Steele realized that Laura had given him another clue to her past, a big one. He'd known for years that her abandonment issues stemmed from her father leaving, then Wilson. What he'd not known is that at least a part of her believed she'd helped drive him away. Even more concerning? Her words that she'd believed she'd meant something to him… at least. How many people had allowed her to believe that she was not enough, always lacking something? Her mother, father, sister and Wilson, obviously. Each key players in her life. She'd not been enough for any of them. Bloody fools, he thought to himself, how could you not see what a treasure she is?
He learned a couple of things about himself on the boardwalk that afternoon as well. Even in carnie games she was fiercely competitive, often playfully mocking him, and other times getting quietly irritated that he was besting her. He learned that the cinnamon sugar from the elephant ears that he'd kissed off of the corner of her mouth reminded him of the freckles sprinkling her skin. And cotton candy kisses were preferable even over chocolate ones. He made a note to himself to look into where to purchase the spun sugar treat when they returned to LA. Oh, and to make a list of every boardwalk in the state and plan a visit to each one.
On Laura's part, she learned a couple things too. Despite his complaints about rigged carnie games he shot a mean water pistol, trouncing her soundly again and again. He was completely hopeless at the ring toss, muttering each time his ring skittered across the bottles that the game was "most assuredly, supremely rigged.' Yet, when it came to darts, the man could pop those deflated balloons with a hand over his eyes, and by shooting the darts over his shoulder with his back turned to the board. Most importantly however, she learned that cinnamon sugar mean sweet kisses rained across a cheek, starting at the corner of her mouth and ending at her ear. And cotton candy meant soft, teasing kisses that curled her toes. She might need to start keeping a stash at her loft… for desert, of course.
They reluctantly left the boardwalk at two-thirty to make the trek across town in order to arrive at the matinee of 42nd Street on time. Sated by their little rendezvous in the limo earlier, a substantial amount of midday sun, a considerable amount of walking and, on Laura's behalf, an enormous amount of food, Steele leaned back into the corner of the seat in the limo, stretching out his legs across the seat and pulled Laura between his legs to recline her back against him. They dozed that way until a tap on a window turned to a loud rap, waking them both. Groggily they pulled themselves from the limo, and gracefully stumbled their way into the Majestic.
The Broadway rendition of the show, they both agreed, far surpassed the performance by Toni and Teri that they'd seen two years before.
They arrived back at the hotel with an hour and half to spare, during which time they would need to shower, dress for the evening and pack up their belongings in preparation for their return to LA that evening. Laura had insisted upon separate showers, knowing that a shared one would only lead to more explorations of one another's bodies which would all but guarantee they would miss their dinner reservations. She did, however, agree that they share the bathroom for their preparatory rituals. They were on schedule and even a couple of minutes ahead, when she slid into her dress, and he slipped into his suit.
It was then that bright blue eyes caught her in their sites and ran hungrily over her body. In the blink of an eye, she found her back tucked against a chest, an arm around her waist, and a pair of lips worshipping the freckles across her shoulders. Her hand traveled across a shoulder to lay against the back of his neck to rumple the hair against his collar.
"We don't have time for this," she sing-songed to him.
"We're on vacation. There's always time for this," he disagreed, his warm breath trickling across her shoulder as he spoke to be chased by soft lips, stirring up delicious sensations in her abdomen.
"I'm hungry," she told him between presses of her lips against his neck. That gave him pause. Lifting his head from her shoulder he gave her a sidelong glance.
"You can't be serious," he uttered before he could stop himself, and was answered with a laugh.
"Very hungry." With an exaggerated sigh, he bussed her on the neck, then stepped away to pick up her coat. Holding it out, he assisted her into it, lifting her hair over the collar, before stepping to her side.
"Dinner awaits, then, Miss Holt." Pressing a hand to her back, he guided her, albeit it reluctantly, from the suite.
Dinner at the famed New York restaurant, the Four Seasons, was another fine affair, and a perfect way, in Laura's opinion, to wrap up their time in the city. Still, by the time they were on their way to the airport, both she and Steele were more than ready to get back home. After arriving at their departure gate, Laura was dismayed when it was announced their flight had been delayed while a minor problem with the plane was addressed. Two hours later, the planes wheels finally touched off the tarmac, its nose pointed towards the west coast. Given the early hour at which they'd awakened that morning and their very active day, both were content to simply lean into each other and doze lightly, even forgoing their traditional champagne toast. Steele gained a second wind about an hour into the flight and decided to take a shot that a sleepy Miss Holt would be a pliable Miss Holt. When he brushed his fingers lightly against her cheek, she tilted her head up where it lay against his shoulder and looked and him groggily.
"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, nuzzling the top of her head with his cheek. She blinked, slow to respond.
"It's Sunday. Tomorrow's a workday," she reminded him, as sleepy fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt. Picking up her hand, he caressed the pads of her fingertips with his lips before clasping it in his hand and tucking both hands against his chest.
"It's just one night, Laura. I don't want to let you go yet." She squeezed the hand that held hers.
"I don't want to either. But we have an agreement." He sighed deeply, regretfully, at her words, knowing she'd not relent.
"That we do. Sunday night our time together comes to an end." She nestled her head against his shoulder.
"You know our motto." His lips quirked.
"All too well, I'm afraid. Business before pleasure. Can't break with tradition." She nodded sleepily.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Mr. Steele." He bussed the top of her head.
"So am I, Miss Holt. But I suspect we'll both survive our disappointment." She laughed softly.
"Yes, I suspect we will."
They dozed on and off the rest of the flight, then wearily trudged their way through the airport to collect their luggage before flagging down a taxi at the curb. They both battled the urge to fall back to sleep on the twenty minute drive to her loft. When the taxi at last pulled up to the curb, Steele climbed out wearily, followed by Laura.
"The next time we get invited to a weekend wedding bash in New York, remind me not to eat everything in sight," she complained as the driver came round to open the trunk. Her stomach had been churning miserably since dinner, the unfortunate side effect of overstuffing herself across the day.
"You certainly took quite the bite out of the Big Apple," Steele agreed, wearily. "Ate everything except the worm I'd say." He turned to give the driver instructions. "Just the lady's bags, thank you very much." Slinging her overnight bag over his shoulder and grabbing her suitcase in hand, he followed her as they both trudged slowly up the steps on the outside of her building, stopping at the front door. "Nothing personal, Laura. I just don't think I've the energy to coax you into a romantic interlude."
"That's alright," she assured him. "I don't think I've got the energy to thwart your attempts anyway."
"Oh, well, on the other hand, I think I just got my second wind," he teased half-heartedly. Laura gave his attempt at humor a small smile, before kissing him goodnight.
"See you in the morning," she told him, taking her suitcases from him.
"Yes, of course," he said, finding himself still disappointed although the matter had already been decided on the plane. "In the morning. Why break tradition, eh?" Laura nodded.
"Exactly."
She entered the building as Steele made his way back down to the taxi, smacking his lips, still tasting her on them. He returned to the taxi sluggishly, gratefully folding himself into the seat and shutting the door. "The Rossmore," he instructed the driver, then leaned back and closed his eyes for the fifteen-minute drive.
Stepping out of the elevator on the fifth floor of the Rossmore, Steele paused, trying to wrap his head around the yellow police tape cordoning off the door to his apartment. Walking up to the door, he curiously fingered the recently installed padlock on his door. Hearing the phone ringing inside, he pulled his pick kit from his pocket and worked the lock. Getting the door open in short order, he headed directly to the phone, but picking it up found the caller had already disconnected. Returning to the front door he flicked on the living room lights then could do little else but stand there and frown in disbelief at the taped outlines of two bodies on his living room floor, dried blood staining his carpet where the heads would have been.
Little did he know, but he and Laura were about to find themselves living on the streets he had lifted himself out from many years before.