Steele Sweet Scrap Scene
(Pick up end of scene in Laura’s loft):
"Well, whatever the reason, I think the hotel is our only starting point." She joins him at the island.
He’s holding the dental impression. "Splendid. I’ll use my Dr. Bridges identity," he says as he whips the name tag out of his pocket. "You know – blend in, investigate without arousing suspicion."
"In that case, I’ll need a cover too."
"Exactly. Now …"
Remington extended his arm above the louvered doors to the dressing room, “Here are a few more to try on.”
“I told you ‘NO tube tops’” Laura’s quickly ejected two of the garments back over the door and into Remington’s face.
“Not even this leopard-print one?” He answered, somewhat disappointed.
“Why couldn’t I just be a dental assistant?”
“Isn’t that what Abigail tells your grandmother about you?” Remington replied, gently pushing the right button to persuade Laura to stick with his plan.
Despite mild objection, Laura actually looked forward her role in his plan. It gave her a chance to let that free spirit in her, cautiously held in-check, out to play for a while. She could always excuse that an immoderation was simply ‘all in the line of duty’. Laura checked herself in the mirror. She squiggled and sqooshed her breasts. They were uncooperative in maintaining any semblance of cleavage though, and she soon abandoned that effort by just buttoning up her top.
Mr. Steele was waiting anxiously in a nearby chair at the end of the row of dressing rooms. Laura smoothed her skirt and tousled her hair before exiting the small changing room. She poked her head out checking if any other shoppers or clerks were in the vicinity. It appeared to be safe to come out. She swaggered with exaggerated hip action and struck a provocative pose against a rack of garments. In a sultry voice, she propositioned Remington, “Lookin’ for a good time, big fella?”
He walked toward her and slowly circled; smiling-borderline leering, assessing, “Well, you certainly look the part.” Then he came full circle to be in front of her, “But if I may make one. . . minor. . . alteration.”
He reached for the top button of her tight fitting shirt. He worked his way down, smoothly slipping each one free. His fingers would lightly graze her soft skin along the way, never breaking contact. She made no attempt to stop him. This must have been one of those ‘immoderations’ she would justify later. Even though he released the last button, his hands lingered, slipping under the fabric, tracing her subtle curves. Laura’s involuntary breathing, perhaps heightened by his actions, further intensified the contact.
Doing her best to suppress the effect it was having on her, Laura spoke with only a slight tremble, “I might have to charge you for that.”
Remington excitedly reached into the inside pocket of his suit, “Just a minute, let me grab my wallet.”
(Insert commercial here)

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