GRAPPLING STEELE - AN ADDITION
BY: Phaedra Phelan
SUMMARY: What may have happened when Remington and Laura went back to his place after the Crunch Kramer case appeared to be solved and how that evening finally may have ended.
DISCLAIMER: This "Remington Steele" story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. The author and this site do not own the characters and are in no way affiliated with "Remington Steele," the actors, their agents, the producers, MTM Productions, the NBC Television Network or any station or network carrying the show in syndication, or anyone in the industry.
Laura and Remington rode along in the limo attempting to collect themselves after the excitement at the soundstage. They were elated at what appeared to be the resolution of the case. Laura's cheeks were flushed as she recounted the events of the evening.
"Laura," Remington said, catching her by both her hands and drawing them close to his chest, "why don't we spend some . . . quality time together this evening . . . unwinding. I'll make late supper at my place."
"At your . . . place?" Laura's eyes opened wide.
"Yes. Come home with me."
"Sounds like a winner to me," Laura said brightly.
"I certainly hope so, darling." Remington knew that they had been very close since returning from London, but it seemed that that magic moment continued to elude them even though they both knew that it was coming. "We need to find . . . find the time, Laura, time to be together."
"I know." Laura settled back into her seat, suddenly quiet.
As they reached his place, Remington placed a kiss lightly on her forehead before she got out of the limo.
As Laura went with Remington, she was extremely agitated . . . as she anticipated what lay ahead. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to come closer to Remington. After all, they had both acknowledged their commitment to one another. Why did she fear further intimacy? Since coming back from London, she more and more had dropped any pretense of reticence with him. She had not capitulated yet, but they had come very close.
For nearly four years they had done little more than stare hungrily at one another and kiss passionately on a somewhat regular basis. Previously Remington had endeavored to restrain himself in their encounters, to shield her from the intense response of his flesh to her. But lately he had allowed himself to relax his guard to some extent, and Laura had come face to face with the full force of a very passionate Remington Steele on a number of occasions. Each time she had begged him to hold up, give her time and he had done so, but with increasing difficulty.
As she entered Remington's apartment, Laura contemplated the rest of the evening ahead. She knew that Remington was close to the breaking point, that his passions were distracting him even more since they had begun to finally touch each other more intimately, and her knowledge of men told her that even a man of infinite patience could only endure so much.
Remington immediately went into his kitchen and put a pair of Cornish game hens into the oven. Along with a large salad it would make a simple late supper that did not require a lot of time and attention in the final phase. After he put the two tiny fowl into the oven and decanted a bottle of sauvignon blanc to accompany them, he excused himself and went to change into something more comfortable. As he stood contemplating himself in his bathroom mirror, he talked to himself.
"You're in rather bad shape, mate... This woman . . . she's the toughest one you've ever encountered, all the baggage she's carrying and yet you want her. She's all you want. And now, since she's begun to let you come so close to her, you're intoxicated with her. You've got to calm down, Bubby. You don't know that anything is going to happen anytime soon."
Remington felt his chin and, realizing that his beard was coming out, decided to shave again. After those difficult teenage years when he was rarely able to bathe or shave and had no clean clothes or place to stay, he was scrupulous about his toilet and did not want to offend Laura with his five-o'clock shadow. When he reached for his razor, he realized that his hands were shaking and was forced to put it down on the sink for a moment before he could continue.
"Take it easy, mate. You're the chap who was never supposed to lose your heart-rolling stone and all the rest. You've never loved anybody. But you're done for . . . completely done for. You are in love with her. You're going to have to tell her sooner or later."
Remington stopped, closed his eyes and gripped the black marble edge of his bathroom sink.
"I can't say the words. I'm terrified that she'll use those words to hurt me. Where's that blasted psychologist-what was her name? Sherrie . . . Sherrie Webster. Yes, I need to talk to her now."
Remington shook his head and patted sandalwood cologne on his smoothly shaven cheeks. He went into his bedroom, found a pair of charcoal slacks and a comfortable striped cotton shirt to put on, and proceeded to check on dinner.
Remington turned down the heat on the Cornish hens and put a favorite Sinatra tape on the stereo system, his heart racing in anticipation of what perhaps lay ahead of them this evening. Laura's heart was beating just as erratically as Remington's. She had wanted to be with him this evening. It wasn't just a case of pure animal magnetism between them now and she knew it as well as he did.
"Laura, come here . . . please." Remington reached for her and drew her up from the sofa where she sat. He kissed her on both hands and then each cheek.
"It's getting late, you know."
Remington nodded, acknowledging that it was indeed late.
"I'm making something rather light. I hope you will be pleased."
"I'm always pleased with whatever you make. You know that."
"Are you pleased with me, Laura?"
She looked at him, a question in her eyes.
"Do I please you?" Remington repeated the question, his cobalt blue eyes peering deep into hers.
"You know that you do. Why are you asking me that?"
"Because you please me very much, Laura . . . in every way . . . in every way that it is possible for a woman to please a man."
He drew her close to kiss her on her mouth and, along the way, Laura lost any last vestige of will to resist him. She wrapped her arms around him, giving herself completely to his kiss till they both had to come up for air. Remington's face flushed darkly as he stared at Laura and he drew her so close to him that Laura could feel his heart beating in his chest, his manly parts pressing against her.
Remington knew the effect he was having on Laura. He saw the blood vessel on the side of her neck throbbing and the color rise in her cheeks. He could smell her perfume and he could smell the scent that was simply Laura and he knew that she was as lost in him as he was in her.
"I am only a man, Laura. Please forgive my excitement, but I-I am only human."
He kissed all over her face, a powerful fervor overtaking him, and Laura moaned helplessly in his arms as they stood entwined in the middle of his living room. When Laura pulled his shirt up out of his slacks, he stopped her.
"Laura, do you want to do this now? Please, love, don't let us go too far. When you say 'stop,' you know that I will stop, but I will be in agony."
"Maybe . . . maybe we should eat first, slow things down."
Remington nodded and loosened his embrace.
"Perhaps a glass of wine," he sighed as he exhaled raggedly. "God knows I think that I need something stronger."
Remington kissed Laura's hand and then held it as he led her back to the sofa before going to pour her a glass of wine. He started to pour a glass for himself but then changed his mind and poured a single malt scotch instead and brought the glasses back to the low table by the sofa.
"Dinner smells wonderful."
"Just something quick-Rock Cornish hens and salad. It is rather late, after all."
"Yes, it is . . . rather . . . late."
Laura reached for her glass and sipped nervously and set it down on the table again. She was supremely aware of Remington Steele who lounged easily against the pillows of the sofa, his legs parted, staring at her with that penetrating blue gaze that seemed to strip her bare at will. When Laura moved forward to reach for her glass again, he stopped her.
"Come close to me, Laura," he said.
"Mr. Steele, you . . . you are affecting me so tonight."
Laura felt as if all her will had drained away and simply obeyed his request, as he nodded and drew her onto him and into his embrace.
"Don't you think this is much better, darling?"
"Yes," Laura responded in a voice just above a whisper.
Remington touched Laura's face tenderly and kissed her.
"You are very lovely tonight. I beg you 'stay with me.' I-I care so for you." Remington struggled to speak his heart. "Please stay with me tonight, and every other night of our lives. We have been coming to this point for quite a while, Laura. You and I both know this."
"Yes, we have. And . . . and I want this to happen."
"Do you want it to happen tonight, darling?"
Remington kissed her tenderly upon her temples, upon her forehead, upon her throat, pursing his lips to find the sensitive spots, his hands caught up in her long hair, wooing her masterfully till Laura capitulated, threw her arms around him and kissed him full on his mouth.
"Yes, yes . . . tonight. I want it . . . tonight. I do, I do."
Their mouths joined now and they simply drank from each others lips in a passionate kiss that went on and on and on till they were breathless, caressing and rubbing and clinging to one another.
"Darling, I want you so. I need you so very much, Laura. All day every day, all night every night I need you. Could you possibly need me as much as I need you?"
"Yes, Mr. Steele, I do. You know that I want you."
Laura took the initiative and kissed him, and their bodies seemed to meld as the kiss continued. Laura felt his excitement and she did not fear it at all, but when he wrapped his arms tightly around her she winced in pain.
"Darling, what's the matter?"
"I think that I may have gotten bruised when Dangerous Darrell threw us up against those lockers this evening."
"What? Let me see."
Remington sat her up on his lap and unbuttoned her shirt and gently removed it.
"Good Lord! You're all black and blue, love. The bloody bastard!"
"I didn't realize when it happened. I guess I'll just have to let it wear off. There's nothing that can be done really."
"You're certain no ribs were broken?"
"Nothing's broken. I'll mend."
"Forgive me for handling you too roughly a few moments ago." Remington kissed her bruised back gently and drew her back into his arms.
"I guess it was my turn to get the bruises. I'll be fine."
"I don't want anything to ever harm you, Laura."
"I know that you don't."
"You're a woman. I can't bear the thought of someone throwing you around like a rag doll. You know how I feel about that."
Remington caressed her back, her shoulders. When his hands slipped around her to touch the swell of her breasts above her sheer lacy bra with the very tips of his fingers, Laura gasped as desire for him shook her to her very foundations.
Without him asking her, she released the clasp at the front of her bra, let it slip from her shoulders, and turned around to look directly into Remington's passionate blue eyes. He stared at her, transfixed as if seeing a woman for the very first time.
"You are so beautiful, Laura. Your breasts . . . all these . . . freckles everywhere. Good Lord!"
He gently kissed her breasts all over as Laura held his dark head to her bosom, pushing his shirt up and away so that she could touch and rub his bare chest. He was as helpless as she, nostrils flaring, faced flushed as they embraced with abandon.
"I feel as if I've known no other woman. All my passionate thoughts, all my sensual dreams . . . you. Laura . . . Laura." His voice was hoarse, its timbre altered by his state of intense desire.
"I know . . . I know. I'm ready for this. I'm ready to move forward."
"Laura, Laura . . .we don't have to do this like this," Remington murmured when they came up for air.
Laura stopped kissing him. She smiled at him, well aware of the fervor gripping him.
"So . . . what do you propose, Mr. Steele?"
"I-I think that we should have dinner, enjoy it. We should dance together for a bit after dinner, and then we should spend the night together . . . in a more appropriate place. I have some rather specific ideas about bringing you pleasure, darling, and I'd rather not execute them on this sofa. We've waited a long time for this and I think that we should both enjoy every moment."
Laura blushed and dropped her eyes, but Remington tilted her chin back up so that he could look directly into her eyes, and kissed her.
"Don't you want to enjoy every moment of this?" he whispered into her ear.
"I-I think that's a good idea." Laura reached for her bra but Remington put his hand on hers.
"You don't need that. Leave it off please, Laura," he said, taking her shirt and slipping it onto her bare shoulders and then kissing her breasts again before buttoning her blouse. "I must be insane," he murmured.
"Insane for waiting for this when I am aching so for you. I'm aching, Laura. The anticipation of finally being with you is overwhelming me."
Remington leaned toward her and they began to kiss again, at first tenderly and then the frantic unrestrained kisses of lovers who have no limits overcame them again. When Laura's skirt slipped upward, he gripped her thighs and rubbed them passionately.
"I don't want to wait another moment-not another moment." Laura said and reached to touch his excited flesh.
Remington caught Laura's hand in his and groaned helplessly. At that point a loud buzzer sounded, suddenly jolting Laura out of the intensely passionate moment, although Remington kept kissing her, oblivious to all else around them.
"Darling, what's that . . . buzzer?"
"Buzzer . . . buzzer . . . what?"
"Something's buzzing . . ."
The sound finally penetrated Remington's consciousness.
"Good Lord! It's our dinner . . . the timer on the oven."
They both sat up and tried to collect themselves. They were quite dazed, but though it was very difficult for Remington, he pulled himself together and went into the kitchen to see about dinner.
"Darling, will you please turn off the phone while I take care of this. I don't want us to be interrupted any more this evening."
Laura took care of the phone, adjusted her clothes and followed him into the kitchen.
"I am hungry, you know." She reached for the tiny wing end on the Cornish hen, broke it off and began to nibble on it. "Delicious."
"You really want to eat . . . now?" Remington's eyes reflected his desire to continue the amorous activity they had been engaged in a few minutes earlier.
"Sure. We might as well eat. We need energy, darling, don't we?"
"Yes, I'd say so." Remington grinned, pulled her close to him, kissed her hard on her mouth and smacked her on her bottom. "Let's eat, love."
They sat down beside each other and began to eat. Laura offered him a morsel with her left hand and squeezed his thigh with her right hand and Remington jerked involuntarily in response.
"Darling, I love to eat in this intimate fashion, but if you do that again, I will be forced to beg you to move on to the main event of this evening," he whispered.
"So sorry," Laura feigned innocence.
"Don't fret about it. It's wonderful . . . just too wonderful. On second thought, come here, love."
Remington drew Laura over onto his lap and they continued to feed each other pieces of the crisp roasted fowl at the candlelit table till their appetite for food was satisfied, murmuring endearments to one another all the while.
"Lord, I never realized eating a simple baked chicken could be such a sensual experience," Remington said as they ate.
"It's marvelous . . . and I am hungry," Laura said softly as she eagerly accepted another piece of chicken from Remington's hand to her mouth.
"I love a woman who doesn't pretend that she has no appetite. Appetites are there to be satisfied. Do you believe that, Laura?" Remington's cobalt blue eyes were just inches from hers.
"Yes, I believe that," Laura answered.
"I want to satisfy you in every way that a man can satisfy a woman. We have waited so long . . . so long."
"And how will you know that I am truly satisfied, Mr. Steele?" Laura asked teasingly.
"I'll know. You seem to be the sort of woman with the capacity for a very vocal and unmistakable response," Remington said with a grin.
"You are so very bad!" Laura pretended to be shocked. "And you, what am I to expect when you are 'satisfied,' " Mr. Steele?"
"I must confess that I have been known to call upon the Lord rather vociferously at that . . . supreme . . . moment," Remington said, the corners of his mouth turning upward as his eyes twinkled. "Please don't be surprised if you hear some declaration of belief in the Almighty."
"You are blushing!"
"I probably am. And you, my dear, are blushing as well."
"Why don't we dance? I love that number that's playing now."
"I'd enjoy that, Laura."
They each took a generous swallow of the sauvignon blanc from the same glass and then Laura stood up from Remington's lap. When they looked at each other, Remington growled softly and drew her close as they stood there, arms wound around each other and kissed and kissed.
"Laura, Laura, I . . . I care for you so."
"I know. Me too, I . . ." Remington's kiss kept her from finishing her sentence.
"Mr. Steele . . . Mr. Steele . . ."
"You're going to have to think of something else to call me, Laura . . . something more intimate than 'Mr. Steele.' What will you call me when you are in the throes of ecstasy, darling?"
"Mr. Steele?" Laura teased.
"I don't think so."
"Then we will have to wait and see, won't we?"
Remington bent to kiss her neck, her cheek, her forehead, and when he moved to kiss her mouth again, a very flushed and excited Laura reminded him "We were . . . going . . . to dance, weren't we?"
She led him to the center of the living room and they began to dance slowly together to the strains of "I've Got a Crush on You," kissing and nuzzling one another as they hardly moved to the music.
"Not exactly a shabby day's work. Darryl behind bars for the mistaken identity murder of Arthur Shelby."
"Are you sure Darryl's alibi won't hold up?" Laura wondered.
"Hmm . . ." Remington thought on that for a moment and then his mind was drawn back to the circumstances at hand. "Now on the more urgent matters," he said, flushing deeply as he bent to kiss Laura again.
"Pleased?" Laura asked.
"Case closed . . . you in my arms. What more could I ask for?" This time when Laura responded eagerly to his kiss, the urgent need swept over them again. "Hmm . . . I think you just answered my question," Remington said as their lips met again.
There was suddenly insistent buzzing, this time of the doorbell.
"Don't answer it," Laura begged, clearly intoxicated with Remington as she kissed him again.
When the bell continued to sound, they finally moved apart with difficulty and Remington went to the door.
"Mildred!" They responded simultaneously, exasperated.
"Your phone is out of order!"
"For a reason, Mildred," Remington said, his frustration evident in his voice.
Mildred came into the apartment, obviously too preoccupied to realize what she has just interrupted.
"Turn on the TV. Maybe they'll do a recap on the late news."
"A recap of what, Mildred? Couldn't this wait till morning . . . on company time?" Laura pleaded.
"I'm telling you. I am so consumed with the Crunch Kramer case that I forgot to eat," Mildred said going over to the dinner table, picking up a bread stick to nibble on.
"Consumed by what, Mildred?" Remington asked.
"The thought that you nailed the wrong guy for murder," she said, taking a sharp bite from the bread stick.
"What?" Remington asked.
"I'm telling you. When I left the arena, something didn't sit right. So I went home and I did what you did."
"I doubt that very much, Mildred."
Laura cast an embarrassed look at Remington and Mildred looked from one to the other trying to assess the undercurrent that was running between them before she continued.
"I paced back and forth, reviewing every detail. Now we eliminated Crunch's ex-wife because she was with you when Shelby was murdered. So was Whitney's manager, when someone tried to turn out Crunch's lights at Whitney's rehearsal. But what about Darryl, hmm?" She laughed and continued. "And it hit me! Darryl, too, has an airtight alibi."
"He does?" Laura asked.
"There it was on the TV. I caught the last bit of Whitney's Special tonight after the match. They showed her coming down on the big moon . . . and it hit me!" Mildred hit her palm for emphasis.
"Not hard enough as far as I'm concerned," Remington commented with a degree of sarcasm that Laura did not fail to note.
"I picked up the phone and called the sound stage. Sure enough the stage manager told me that the moon is part of Whitney's routine. Yesterday when Crunch Kramer came down on it, it was simply a gag."
"Which means . . ." Laura began.
". . . that the mystery killer assumed Whitney would be sitting there, not Crunch," Mildred finished.
"Meaning that whoever cut the cable was out to kill Whitney. Which leaves . . . Dangerous Darryl without a motive," Laura concluded.
"Pretty good, uh?" Mildred congratulated herself.
"Hmm? Oh, absolutely magic, Mildred. You made a perfect evening disappear . . . just like that!" He snapped his fingers and walked over to the sofa and picked up a small pillow and began to pace back and forth hugging the pillow to his abdomen in frustration.
The case has captured Laura again at this point, her keen mind sorting and analyzing the facts Mildred gathered.
"Now the question is-with Mary Molinski, Todd Myerson, and Dangerous Darryl out of the picture, whom does that leave?" Laura was distracted. "Mr. Steele, would you stop pacing?"
"What? It worked for Mildred."
"All right, think now. Who would have it in for both Whitney and Shelby?" Laura asked.
Mildred shrugged and Remington gave her a blank look.
"Of course!" Laura said triumphantly heading out of the door with Mildred in tow.
Remington looked disconsolately at his living room, his face the picture of frustration and swore softly before closing the door behind him.
It was after two a.m. when finally Al Molinski was taken away by the police and Whitney and Crunch were sent on their way trying to understand what could have turned a loving father into a murderer.
Remington and Laura got into the limo and headed away from the sound stage.
"I guess we have truly solved the case, darling," Remington said as they settled back into the leather seats of the limousine. "It was quite brilliant of Mildred, don't you think?"
"Well, you were obviously not pleased that she . . . interrupted our plans for the evening. Hugging a pillow and pacing like a caged animal, I'm surprised at you, Mr. Steele," Laura teased him.
"You, milady, were rapidly becoming that proverbial 'cat on a hot tin roof' yourself," Remington quickly shot back. "How much longer do you think we can torture ourselves like this? It is torture, you realize, darling."
Laura slid closer to him and rested her elbow on his shoulder.
"I want it as much as you," she said boldly. "Take me back home with you."
"Yes, love," Remington whispered, embracing her against the chill of the early morning hour.
Laying her head on his shoulder, her arm around his waist, Laura promptly fell asleep as the fatigue of the day overtook her.
'Lord, look at us,' Remington mused. "Such a warm little lass, wound about me like this. It feels so good . . . so good close like this. If we can just get together . . . soon. Tonight we were so close to it. I love you, Laura Holt. I love you so much.'
"Mr. Steele, where should I take you and Miss Holt tonight?" Fred asked over the limo's intercom.
"Take us to Miss Holt's place, Fred."
When they arrived at Laura's building, Remington gently wakened her.
"Come, love, I'll see you up." He kissed her forehead as she yawned.
"I'm so sorry."
"It's all right. Fatigue will neutralize the most powerful aphrodisiac. Our moment will come."
They wearily mounted the stairs to Laura's flat. Remington opened her door, followed her into the apartment and stood uneasily for a minute or so.
"You're welcome to stay, Mr. Steele," Laura said sleepily. "I'm exhausted. This has been quite a day . . . and night as well."
"I . . . I think that I'll go along, darling. I told Fred to wait. I'll see you in the morning."
Laura reached for his hand and Remington caught her to his chest.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Steele."
"Do you know I could have strangled Mildred when she rang that bell earlier this evening?"
"I would gladly have aided and abetted you," Laura said, giggling in his arms.
"My, my, we were almost there tonight, lassie."
Remington Steele stared at Laura Holt, his blue eyes seeming more languid and seductive than ever and then he bent to kiss her. The kiss went on and on and he caught Laura's hips with both his hands, pulling her up so close to him that Laura melted completely into him and gripped him back with all her strength. Suddenly they were consumed with desire, frantic for one another.
"Laura . . . Laura . . . Oh, God, babe, I told Fred to wait for me." He kissed her again. "And you're tired." He kissed her again. "And I don't know what I'm going to do with myself if I don't go home and fall asleep right away so that I can start to dream of you."
"I don't want you to go."
"I know. But I think it's best. We have an early call tomorrow. I don't think we could do this event justice. It's nearly three a.m. I'm going to let Fred drive me home. Sleep well, Laura," he said kissing her good night before he reluctantly released her.
Laura stood in disbelief watching him let himself out of her apartment, and then she went up to her bedroom area and fell across her bed in tears. She felt such a mixture of emotions-need, love, disappointment and frustration. Finally she got up, shed her clothes and collapsed in sleep.
When Remington reached his flat, he walked in and surveyed the remnants of the meal he and Laura had shared earlier. He glanced at the sofa where they had been so passionately engaged and glimpsed a bit of lace under the edge of a pillow. It was her bra. Remington picked it up, brought it to his face to inhale the fragrance of the Rive Gauche perfume that she wore and shook his head as he remembered kissing her dainty freckled breasts earlier. Going into his bedroom, he opened a drawer in his dresser, carefully folded the piece of lingerie and put it away.