LICENSE TO STEELE - AN ADDITION
By: Phaedra Phelan
Summary: Remington and Laura meet and the sparks do fly.
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.
"Michael O'Leary" went into his hotel room and closed the door behind him. He was feeling a definite sense of satisfaction at Keppner and Neff being arrested for the murder of that poor bloke Ben Pearson. Those two had left a trail of bloodshed all the way from Capetown and across Europe to America. They would deserve whatever the American judicial system would throw at them. Hopefully they would be extradited back to South Africa where the prison system would not be nearly as comfortable as in the United States.
O'Leary picked up a piece of paper on the dresser and dialed the number on it. He needed someone to relax with this evening and his old friend from his pickpocketing days, Candy, had promised to drop by. She had always been ready and willing for a romp and a romp was definitely what he needed tonight. Chasing after the lavulite had involved all his time for the past few days. It wasn't till he met Laura Holt that he suddenly was acutely aware that he was in dire need of a woman's attention. He was caught completely off guard. When he met her along with that office secretary, Miss Fox . . . Wolfe, it was that sexy full-bosomed brunette who seemed to have struck his fancy. She had made her availability quite evident in fact. But it was Laura's face that had lodged in his mind and held him back from taking the brunette up on her obvious, but unspoken offer.
Michael O'Leary pulled off his tuxedo and looked for something casual to change into. Candy was just a common sort who was good for what he needed at the moment. Surely a night with her would take care of the ache in his loins.
After changing into a soft pair of jeans and a polo shirt, O'Leary sat down in the leather-covered recliner with a glass of single malt scotch. He was still quite keyed up and needed to relax and reflect a bit.
'I wonder what our Miss Holt is doing about now. Wonder if she has some bloke in her life? That chap Murphy Michaels seemed a bit proprietary, but I saw nothing from her side of it. I dare say he fancies her, whether she fancies him or not. And I know why. There's something about her. What is it? Her spirit? She has plenty of that. Good Lord! I've never been attracted to a woman because of her 'spirit.' A shapely arse, knockout legs, a hefty rack with plenty of cleavage . . . that's all I need. But she was interesting. Blast! She was beautiful in an offbeat sort of way. What I felt when I was with her it was so basic, so chemical. I've never felt such a powerful attraction to a woman. And mingled with such curiosity as well. I think she felt it as well. I know she felt it. Her vein in her wrist was just throbbin' when I took her hand. But she certainly tried to hide it.
'Lord, I nearly died when they announced me as 'Remington Steele' tonight. She was so angry. Thank God we were in a public place, or she would have tried to deck me for sure. And what was I thinkin'? What was that daft movie reference-'years from now'-from 'Tea and Sympathy' about? Am I thinkin' I'll be with her down the line somewhere? I'm not plannin' to be 'with' anyone on a permanent basis. There's too much out there just waitin' to be tasted. And I'm not about to be limited that way. There's always another bird waitin' in the wings.
'But it wouldn't be a bad thing to sample her wares. Just a sample, mind you. A woman with all that fire should be quite a handful in the sack. She won't give in right away, probably give me a run for my money, but I'd enjoy the challenge of a lass like that. Beauty? Oh, yes, but not the glamour girl type by any means. No nail lacquer-not even with that knockout gown she was wearing tonight. But the hair, that beautiful chestnut hair-the scent of her hair when I was dancing with her, like fresh rosemary mingled with her perfume. I think it was Je Reviens. She wore it well. And the fresh scent of her skin, unlike any woman I've been close to. I would have loved to kiss her for a wee while and really get that scent going. Seeing her in that strapless frock with all those freckles everywhere . . . I wanted to take her in my arms and show her what makin' love with a good man could do for her. I'd wager she'd vibrate like a wild one if you got to usin' her.'
At that point, there was a knock on the door and Michael went to admit Candy. She was attractive in a bright blue cocktail dress that complimented her fair skin and long blond hair.
"Hello, Michael. Been a time since I saw you. Looks like you're doin' well enough for yourself these days," she said smiling and then kissing him lightly on the mouth.
"Well enough. I'm here on some business."
"Did it go well?"
"I'd say so. I didn't get myself killed at least. I had two blighters chasin' me from Capetown to here. They killed the poor bloke I happened to be impersonatin.' "
"Well, lucky they didn't get you? You made a bundle?"
"Not really. I thought I was going to make a bit, but it went a slightly different way-unpredictably really."
"You want to talk about that?"
"No, I had somethin' else in mind."
Michael carefully laid a hundred-dollar bill on the table by the bed and winked at her before he drew a very willing Candy into his embrace and kissed her, first gently and then more insistently.
"Seems like you'll be wantin' to get on to the purpose of this visit, eh?"
"Yes, I'm needin' one thing tonight, Candy, and we don't have to do a lot of talkin' about it either. You and me, we've been down this road enough times. You know me. If you want to be wooed, I'll do you the favor, but it's not necessary. I'm not needin' any foreplay tonight."
"Well, I might be needin' it, Michael. You always was one to know how to treat a girl right."
Candy drew away from Michael, walked to the bed and turned it back. Then she slipped her dress over her head and stood before him in just her red underwear and stiletto heels.
"You always had great legs, Candy," Michael said, looking her up and down as he removed his clothes and came toward her.
He sat down beside her on the bed and caressed the length of each of her legs, ending by removing each high-heeled pump. In a few moments they were so involved that Candy was begging him to come into her. He did and he was gone, completely gone, lost in the rhythm of the connection.
Michael gave Candy time to reach her climax. She was one of the women that he had been with that took quite a while to get there, and he took care to never leave any woman unfulfilled. In addition to that, he felt like he could have gone all night, there was so much sensual need pent up in him. He forgot it was Candy he was with as he used her, his mind taking him into his fantasies, a fantasy of freckled breasts and thick chestnut hair.
"Michael!" Candy sighed, finally satisfied.
"Laura! Laura!" Michael groaned as he found the summit in a flash of blue and white lights in his brain and lapsed into incoherent babbling before he rolled off Candy to lie exhausted beside her.
He was sated, in a state of languor, when he heard Candy get up and get dressed. He was about to roll over and drop off to sleep when he realized that she was standing at the side of the bed looking down at him.
"You better be findin' that 'Laura.' I think you were needin' to be with her tonight. Next time you go find her, mate. See you around."
Michael lay stunned as he realized that Laura Holt's name had indeed slipped out when he was in the throes of ecstasy with Candy. There was nothing to say. And, while he owed Candy no explanation, he owed one to himself.
Candy picked up her money and let herself out of his room, leaving him to try to sort out his feelings for the most recent woman to come into his life.
Remington's loins were calmed, but the comfort of the sleep that he needed would not come. He lay tossing in his bed trying to figure out how Laura Holt had gotten so firmly into his subconscious till he finally fell into a troubled dream-filled sleep.
* * * * * *
Fred was waiting to drive Laura Holt home to her place after the presentation of Hunter's Jetstar 6000 and the events that followed. Laura had been through such a montage of emotions that it was hard to sort out what she was feeling. She was still angry with 'him,' for impersonating Remington Steele. Who was he anyway? He certainly wasn't Ben Pearson. And how did he find out about Remington Steele? How did he do it? And when did it happen? One minute she was going along at a routine public event and the next minute he was being presented as Remington Steele.
As the limo was about to pull off, Murphy came up and got into the car with her.
"You were waiting for me?"
"I just wanted to make sure you were all right."
"I'm a big girl, Murphy. It was an interesting evening, an evening of revelations, wasn't it?"
"Would you tell me who the devil that guy is? He's not Ben Pearson, and he sure as hell isn't Remington Steele."
"Well, he isn't a murderer either, is he? That was a great piece of work, solving Pearson's murder like that."
"Still, who is he?"
"Maybe Remington Steele exists after all," Laura quipped.
"You're not thinkin' of . . ."
"I was so angry when he did that. And, by the way, when did he actually do it?"
"Laura, I don't know. All I know is that one minute we were going along with our game plan for the case, and the next minute 'what's his face' was standing up as 'Remington Steele.' I'm sorry, but I can't connect the dots on this guy."
"Neither can I. He discovered the hotel suite. I know that much because he was in there. Did you see him in that tux?"
"I saw him. But you were the one lookin' at him. You got eyes for him, Laura. And that is downright dangerous. We don't even know who he is? He could be any kind of criminal . . . an ax murderer or serial killer or . . ."
"Oh, Murphy, you know he's not anything like that. Stop being silly."
"I'm scared that you are the one that's being silly, Laura. If you want this guy, just go and screw him a couple of times and get it out of your system. But don't let him into our agency."
"You're being unnecessarily crude, Murphy. And I believe that it's my agency."
"Well, I want you to get the point. I know it's your agency, but if you let this guy in, I'm out! Do you understand my position?"
They were at Murphy's place and he got out of the limousine without waiting for a reply from Laura, slamming the door behind him.
As Fred drove her home, Laura put her head back against the leather car seat and thought about the man with the stunning blue eyes who had quite literally turned her world upside down in just three days.
Laura, you have got to keep your head. He is just an incredibly handsome man who is probably used to having any woman he wants whenever he wants. I don't think I'm his type anyhow. I was so angry with him, when he held me and made me dance with him, but it was hard to stay angry with him holding me like that. He smelled like sandalwood, and his body was so . . . hard when he pulled me up against him. I wanted him. I just wish I'd met him in any other situation. I'd have gone anywhere with him. No, I wouldn't have gone. What am I thinking? I would have only disappointed him. But then . . . maybe he would know what to do to get me going. Lord knows, no man has yet been able to take me over the top. I've read so much about it. And when I hear Bernice describing what happens, I just have to pretend to know what she's talking about. Whenever I've been on the brink, I've stayed right there . . . on the brink.
Fred pulled up in front of Laura's place and got out of the front of the limo to let Laura out. He escorted Laura to her door and saw her safely inside her house before departing.
Laura walked into her bedroom, removing her clothes as she went. She was so warm inside. It had been a while since a man had made her feel like her ersatz 'Remington Steele.' Ever since Wilson Jeffries left her without any warning, she had been in a sort of emotional shell shock, numb to anyone who made any advances of a sexual nature, pushing all her feelings back and away. Now this stranger had come out of the blue and tapped into all of her sensual passions as no man had ever done.
Laura looked at herself naked in the full-length mirror in her bathroom and shook her head as she stared at her slender ballerina's body with its adornment of freckles. She put he hands under her small well-shaped breasts and pushed them up, trying to create a semblance of cleavage, but without success.
'Well, it sure wasn't cleavage he was looking at when he stared at my chest. I was silly to wear that strapless dress, knowing I have nothing to show off on that score. What was he looking at anyway?'
Finally she shrugged her shoulders, slipped a long-sleeved cotton nightgown over her head and went off to her bed. But when her head touched the pillow, she began to cry uncontrollably.
'My goodness! What is wrong with me? This must be what it's like to really be in heat? I thought I had pretty good check on myself. I didn't dare let him know how much I wanted him. But I could hardly hide it from him.'
Laura cried herself to sleep and it was nearly dawn when her own groans wakened her with a start. It was the most vivid passionate dream she'd ever experienced. He was with her in her bed, inside her, rocking her as she had never been rocked before. Laura was panting as if she had been running, completely aroused. She simply lay in her solitary bed, as her passions gradually ebbed, collecting her thoughts of the man whose name she did not even know, but who had stirred her so completely.