- Steele Holting My Heart
Date: Thursday, June 01, 2000
- Linda <firstname.lastname@example.org>
Steele Holting My Heart
*"I love you," he whispered into her ear, knowing that
no words could everbegin to express the intensity of his feelings
*"And I love you," she replied, brushing his cheek
with hers as she tightly closed her arms around him. She had
never meant the words more as her love for him grew with each
She sat at her desk, writing feverishly, but furtively. Muffled
sounds of Mildred working in the next room drew her attention,
and she instinctively covered her work with her hands. But since
she remained undisturbed, and the words were practically writing
themselves, she kept going.
*They closed the door behind them, entering their own private
place. As the plane soared through the sky and the night grew
dark beneath the clouds, the couple knew only each other. Their
love, the depths of which only they could
ever understand, took them to places where no one else could
Oh, this is good, she thought triumphantly. What a great
feeling to finally finish it, and just in time for------
A soft <click> interrupted her thoughts and she looked
up to find Remington Steele, his hand still poised on the knob
of their shared door, regarding her quizzically. "Working
hard?" he asked, a winning smile on his lips. He was unprepared
for her reaction. Steele watched, perplexed, as she hurriedly
gathered the reams of lined paper littering her desk. Jamming
them into the middle drawer, she looked back at him, a nervous
grimace betraying her uneasiness.
"Yes----no! Personal business. . . ."
"Ah." Willing himself not to be hurt by her brusque
manner, he turned to more pleasant subjects. "Still on for
dinner tonight? My place, say around 7:30?"
Laura sighed. The male ego, and this one in particular, could
be so fragile. If he thought for one minute she was going to
tell him what she'd been writing. . . . Was dinner still on?!
Was he kidding? Not only hadn't she forgotten, but her favorite
dress was back from the cleaners, and the luxury of a lunch-hour
pedicure made her toes almost dance under the desk. Ok, deep
breath, Laura, she reminded herself. Her ability to stick with
their Cannes resolution was at its ebb, and if she played her
cards right, they could be making new resolutions together by
Laura thought the two months since Cannes had been harder on
her than on him. Having him so near, day in, day out, but yet
having sworn off the possibility of love was almost unbearable.
She wanted to turn back the clock, to be standing in that hotel
corridor in Cannes once again, but this time, when he opened
his door, it was only the two of them. No misunderstandings,
no crossed purposes, just passion and promises. For Laura, love-making
and commitment still traveled hand-in-hand, even in her fantasies.
She pushed back in her chair, rose, and met him more than halfway.
Deciding to tease him with a working-hours version of a drop-dead
kiss, Laura reached up to administer his consolation prize. But
Steele surprised her, instead treating her to the kind of embrace
one doesn't usually dispense to one's associate in one's place
of business. When he met no resistance, but rather willing participation,
Steele made unmistakable his intentions. For the first time in
a long time, it seemed that they were on the same page,
and willing to turn the next one together. In his arms, Laura
dreamily let go, and then-----
"Oops. Sorry guys. Client on line one, for you Miss Holt."
Mildred bustled through the other door, intent on breaking up
their romantic moment. Or at least so it seemed to Steele at
the time. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold on Laura, but he
felt her cling to him. Their eyes met for an instant, and
then. . . the spell was broken. Laura disentangled herself and
stepped back into business mode. She turned to the desk, picking
up the telephone receiver. Steele, meanwhile, threw a dark look
at Mildred, who responded with her patented smirk and retreated
to her post in the outer office. He waited, and in a moment Laura
finished her telephone call.
"Mr. Zales wants to meet us on Monday. Seems he's not entirely
happy with our security arrangements. He----" Steele listened
while Laura droned on about business details that couldn't begin
to sustain his interest. Not after that kiss, anyway. What did
own his attention was the promise of
tonight. After Cannes, he'd had his own reason to carry a grudge.
As ecstatic as he had been by the notion that for one elusive
moment Laura was finally ready and willing to make love, he was
angered by her lack of trust in him. He was also more than a
little tired of her heavy-handed need for control. Stewing for
the last two months, he'd reached an interesting conclusion.
Laura claimed she wanted honesty, a declaration of his feelings
for her. But did she really? What would happen if she got it?
Not long afterward, they both decided to dispense with the charade
of a full day's work; too many emotions were coming to a head.
Following chaste pecks on the cheek in full view of Mildred,
they separated and headed for home, Steele to his dinner preparations
and Laura to her personal preparations. By the time 7 o'clock
tolled, Laura had washed, shaved, perfumed, and coiffed herself
within an inch of her life. Steele, on the other hand, labored
over dinner and the perfect table-setting until nearly that hour,
and then hastily ran for the shower.
When his ringing doorbell announced Laura, his hair still damp
but everything else impeccably groomed, Steele ran to the door
and threw it open to find Laura looking her loveliest. Ushering
her in, he took her wrap and draped it over a chair, all the
while surreptitiously drinking in the sight of her. She was radiant
this evening, exuding a sense of confidence coupled with passionate
mystery. Laura, meanwhile, appraised Steele's appearance; she
felt as if he had dressed only for her, even if he didn't know
was wearing black denim jeans topped by that deep blue shirt
she loved, with the first couple of buttons carelessly unfastened.
When he stepped closer to her she caught the scent she'd come
to know was his: a clean, musky smell, a
combination of soap, aftershave, and desire, along with, she
imagined, tonight's dinner.
Steele clasped his hands together. "What would you like
to drink? Champagne, perhaps?" When she agreed, he turned
and headed for the kitchen, saying, "Wait 'til you see what
I have in store for you this evening."
Ooh. She knew he meant dinner, but just the same, other possibilities
were more worthy of consideration. When he returned with their
champagne flutes, they toasted, simply, to each other in turn.
Dinner was, as always when created by Mr. Steele, exquisite.
Laura found herself wishing she'd worn a more forgiving outfit
since she acquiesced to second helpings. She helped him clear
the table; in the simple act of washing dishes, they found that
easy rhythm they claimed so readily together. She watched him
dry his hands on a tea towel before pulling a tray of chocolate-covered
strawberries out of the refrigerator. It was then that it struck
her how often and how hard he worked to please her, and how rarely
she acknowledged that.
They adjourned to the living room, Steele carrying the champagne
and Laura the dessert. Sitting on the floor before the fireplace,
they tasted the strawberries and pronounced them delectable.
They talked about nothing and everything, safe topics they'd
chewed over before. Suddenly Steele turned toward her.
"What were you doing when I walked in your office today?"
Before she could stop herself, before she analyzed whether it
was a 'safe' topic to discuss, before she convinced herself she
couldn't tell him, she blurted out the answer.
"I was writing a fanfic story."
"A what?" If possible responses had occurred to Steele,
this wasn't one of them. He was baffled. What was she talking
Laura took a deep breath. No turning back now. Confession time.
She shifted slightly to face him. "Well, it's a short story
I wrote, based on a TV show."
"You're joking." Not the right thing to say. He backtracked,
"What TV show?"
"Hart to Hart."
"Don't watch much TV. What's it about?"
"A couple of glamorous millionaires who are amateur detectives,
Steele contemplated the fact that Laura continued to amaze and
surprise him, and he decided he liked it. "Men?"
"Your glamorous detectives."
"Oh. No, they're a married couple."
"Hmm what?" Where was he going with this? Laura was
almost afraid to ask. She clutched the nearest inanimate object,
a throw pillow, to her chest.
"They sound like us. Except for the 'amateur' part, anyway.
And the 'millionaire' part, of course."
"But they're married."
"Head-over-heels in love?" Steele grinned.
"Anything else in these stories of yours?"
"Oh, I don't know," he replied innocently. "Say,
romance, for instance."
"See? They do sound like us."
Laura didn't respond. Steele paused, taking stock of his feelings,
a rather new experience for him. She certainly wasn't making
it any easier for him, although why should he expect her to,
given their history together? He decided to plunge ahead despite
Laura's noncommittal demeanor.
"I love you, Laura. Can you say the same?" His tone
was simple, guileless, matter-of-fact, but also caressingly soft
and seductive. He waited for an answer.
Automatically, without stopping to think, Laura nodded, slowly,
wordlessly. Her gaze was fixed somewhere past Steele's left shoulder.
Where had this come from? Left field, obviously.
Steele reached over, sought Laura's hand, and held it. She turned
to face him, as her eyes met his. He swallowed hard, once, then
continued. "You and I, we were meant to be together. What
do you say? Shall we get on with the business of being in love?
Or keep dancing around one another?"
Her wits once again her own, it occurred to Laura that his declaration
wasn't out of left field, but was rather a simple confirmation
of the way he lived his life with her. Although still reeling
a little from Steele's confession, Laura stated simply, "I'm
tired of the dance. Let's sit the next one out."
"Indeed." He gathered her in his arms, while Laura
considered the probability that she might soon have some real-life
experiences which would eclipse the fantasies she created for
1. This is dedicated to my friend Anne and to all the other wonderful
Steelefic writers I've met. Ladies, you are great!
2. Thanks so much to my friend Susan Boyle! I borrowed the end
of Susan's story Max's Hart for Laura's prose at the beginning
of this story. For more of Susan's H2H stories, check out
Susan helped me a great deal with
information about H2H, a show, I must confess, I've never seen.