- Alternate
Steele
- Twenty two year old Laura Holt
frowned as she hung up the telephone. Why on earth did she even
bother trying to talk to her mother? She would never understand
Laura's living with a man who wasn't her husband - even if that
man was an up and coming banker. "With his reputation to
consider, you'd think he would at least have the decency to marry
you, Laura," Abigail Holt had said.
"But I don't WANT to get married, Mother," Laura had
replied, drawing another gasp of anger over the line. "I'm
having too much fun."
- "That's all you think about,
isn't it? Just like your father. Really, Laura, I -"
- That's when Laura had hung up
the telephone with a decided "Click!" and then unplugged
it from the wall. That would stop her mother from calling back
for awhile, she decided.
Glancing at the clock, Laura realized that Wilson would be home
soon, and she wanted to be ready for him. They were scheduled
to go to Acapulco in two days for a banker's conference that
Wilson had told her could make or break his career. So she had
to be on her best behaviour. Laura made a face at the thought
of having to pretend to be staid and proper, and then smiled.
- If she was going to have to be
so circumspect next week, then she was going to be a temptress
tonight. She removed her shirt, then her jeans, leaving them
laying on the floor where they fell. She padded barefoot to the
dresser, where she found a scrap of silk, then went into the
bathroom for a quick shower.
- ###
She was waiting on the sofa, two glasses of Wilson's favorite
wine poured and ready, a fire lit in the grate, when she heard
the door open. She waited for the sound of Wilson's briefcase
being put on the table, then rose slowly, holding the two glasses
of wine. "Hello there, big-" she faltered upon seeing
that Wilson wasn't alone. "boy."
- Blue eyes glittered as they took
in the brief teddy that barely covered Laura's body, and a dark
brow lifted in silent appreciation. Wilson laughed nervously.
"Laura - "
- She emptied a glass of wine,
then ran from the room toward the bedroom to put some clothes
on. Wilson might at least have let her know he was bringing someone
home from the bank. Although, the man with him hadn't looked
in the least like a banker. More like an actor, all that dark
hair, those blue eyes- Laura paused as she stood before the mirror.
She'd seen open admiration, before, but something about the look
in those eyes had set every nerve in her body on full alert.
- "Laura -"
- She whirled to find Wilson Jeffries
standing in the doorway. "You couldn't have called to let
me know -"
- "I didn't know until the
last minute, Laura. And then I tried, but there was no answer."
Laura sat down, remembering that she'd unplugged the phone. "Mother
called," she told him. "I didn't want to talk to her
again. So I- unplugged the phone."
- "What if I'd needed to get
in touch with you for something important, Laura?" Wilson
asked, sounding a little frustrated. "We have a guest out
there-"
- She nodded, trying to find her
shoes. "Who is he?"
- "A reporter. He's here to
interview me about the art exhibit at the bank. From a London
newspaper."
- "London?"
- Wilson nodded, excited, as he
checked his hair in the mirror, then straightened his tie. "Mr.
O'Leary. Michael O'Leary."
- "If he's here to interview
you, then I'll just sneak out -"
- "We're having dinner together,"
he told her. "All three of us."
- Laura swallowed. "I'm sorry,
Wilson. I just - thought -"
- "No, you didn't, Laura.
You didn't think at all. Are you ready?"
- She nodded, and let him lead
her back to the living room, where Michael O'Leary was standing,
looking at the view of the city from the apartment window. Upon
their entrance, he turned his head, and Laura could see the assessing
look in his eyes as they swept over her, knew he was vividly
recalling the earlier view he'd had of her body, and she felt
her cheeks begin to redden in a blush. "Mr. O'Leary. I'm
Laura Holt. I'm sorry about -"
- He smiled at her, taking her
hand. "You've nothing to apologize for, Miss Holt,"
he said in a voice tinged with an Irish accent. "Nothing
at all." His blue eyes left little doubt as to his meaning,
and Laura felt her throat tighten slightly. She hadn't imagined
her response to him. If she'd met him anywhere else except with
Wilson, she thought, she would have -She shook her head to clear
it..
- "You're Irish?"
- "Apparently," he told
her, accepting the glass of wine that Wilson had poured for him.
- "Thank you, Wilson. You're
a very lucky man," he told the banker.
- "I think so," Wilson
said, putting an arm around Laura. "Do you want to do the
interview now or wait until after dinner?" he asked.
- "Oh, I think I can wait,"
he said, but his eyes were on Laura, who downed another glass
of wine. "Where shall we go?" he asked. "Since
I'm new to your fair city -"
- Wilson suggested a restaurant
that he considered suitable, and then picked up the telephone
to call for a reservation. Grimacing at Laura, he knelt to plug
in the line, then dialed the number. Laura refilled her glass
of wine. "What exactly are you going to interview Wilson
about, Mr. O'Leary?" she asked.
- "Please, call me Michael,"
he said quietly. "Wilson is in charge of security for the
exhibit of British artwork at the bank. I'm here to cover the
exhibit, but I thought a side bar about the security arrangements
might be a nice addition to the story."
- "I didn't think there was
anything particularly valuable in the collection," Laura
commented, the wine she had drunk on an empty stomach was making
her a bit light headed, and she sat down quickly before she embarrassed
Wilson further by falling into the handsome reporter's arms.
- "There are one or two pieces
that would bring a hefty price on the market," he told her,
sitting down beside her. Close beside her. So close that Laura
could smell his aftershave, could feel the heat from his body.
She fought for a breath, then another. It wasn't working. Another
glass of wine bit the dust as Wilson turned back to them.
- "We're all set. Twenty minutes.
Gives us just enough time to get there," he told them. "Ready,
Laura?" he asked.
- She nodded jerkily, then looked
up to see Michael O'Leary's hand extended toward her, offering
her a way to her feet with some modicum of grace. She took the
hand, and almost gasped at the tingling that went all the way
up her arm. "Thank you, Michael," she managed as her
eyes met his. Did he know the effect he was having on her?
- "My pleasure, Miss Holt."
- "Laura. My name's Laura,"
she told him as he led her over to Wilson, who was waiting with
her coat. Wilson shook his head as he took the empty glass from
her hand and put it onto the table before helping her put on
the coat.
- "Shall we go?" Wilson
asked, opening the door into the hallway.
- Laura followed Wilson to his
car, then got into the passenger side. "Where are we going,
Wilson?' she asked, trying to ignore the way the car seemed suddenly
filled with Michael O'Leary's cologne. It was expensive. She
knew that. Something that Wilson would never wear, but which
seemed a part of the man sitting behind Wilson in the back seat.
- She didn't hear Wilson's reply
to her question as she tried not to look at the man, tried to
keep her attention focused on the traffic outside the vehicle,
on road signs, anything except for those blue eyes. Wilson drew
up before La Maison and Laura swallowed. "I'm not dressed
to come here, Wilson," she protested, looking down at her
slacks and sweater.
- "Nonsense, Laura,"
Michael said encouragingly. "You look fine."
- Was she ever going to be able
to draw an easy breath this evening? Laura wondered as she felt
herself gasping once again for air. Wilson offered her his arm,
and Laura took it, knowing that if she didn't find something
to support her soon, she'd be on the ground. "All they can
do is refuse to serve us," Wilson muttered. "Really,
Laura, you'll never learn that you need to dress better, will
you?" he said close to her ear. "I have a reputation
to
- maintain, remember?"
- "How was I supposed to know
we were coming here?" she asked. "You should have told
- me-"
- Wilson shook his head as the
mai'tre'd approached. "Keep your voice down," he admonished,
then turned to smile at the man. "Jeffries. Party of three."
- Laura looked up to find those
blue eyes on her again, and saw the laughter hidden deep in them
as well. Her own natural sense of the ironic came to the fore,
and she returned the smile as Wilson drew her with him to follow
the mai'tre'd to their table. He head lifted, and she ignored
the looks that were sent her way. She had as much right to be
there as any of those decked out women. She found herself seated
between the two men. The waitress came to take their drink orders,
and Laura said, "White wine."
- Wilson sighed. "Coffee,
please. For me as well. Michael?"
- "I'll have some wine,"
he said after a moment's hesitation.
- "I'll be right back,"
the waitress promised.
- "So, Michael," Wilson
began, seeing Laura sit back and close her eyes. "Exactly
what do you want to know for the article?"
- "Oh, who you've hired for
security, what sort of set up you've done to insure the paintings
won't be stolen."
- Laura let his soft voice wash
over her, then froze as she felt something on her leg - her eyes
opened, going to Wilson first. He was talking to Michael, his
voice earnest, explaining that he'd hired one of the city's best
security firms to take care of everything.
- Wilson wasn't touching her. She
was sure of that. So her gaze moved to Michael O'Leary. He rearranged
his silverware, his blue eyes on the tablecloth - until he felt
her gaze, and he looked up at her. The smile was still there,
hidden more deeply, yes, but for some reason, Laura could still
see it. She should be angry, she supposed. This man was playing
"footsie" with her- and her boyfriend was at the same
table. She should tell him to stop, move her legs, something.
But she couldn't. The nerve of the man. She'd never met anyone
quite so brazen. Or quite so handsome, she told herself. God,
but he was drop dead gorgeous.
-
- The waitress brought the drinks,
and Laura made a face as she saw the wine sitting before Michael,
then lifted her cup of coffee. The mai'tre'd approached the table.
"There is a telephone call for you, Mr. Jeffries."
- "Probably Mr. Dutton,"
he sighed, "Wanting to know how the interview is going.
I left a message we were coming here on my service," he
explained. "I'll be right back."
- Alone with Michael O'Leary, Laura
wished for something stronger than the coffee before her. "You've
got a lot of nerve, Michael," she said.
- "Yes. I do." He slid
an arm along the back of the seat toward her. "Are you planning
on marrying Wilson?"
- "We've-discussed it,"
she said quietly. "If it's any of your business."
- Michael touched a strand of her
hair as it lay on her shoulder. "I'd like for everything
you do to be my business," he told her. "And have you
set a date for wedding?"
- "We have an - understanding,"
she said. "I think Wilson wants to turn me into the perfect
banker's wife before taking that step."
- "And what do you want, Laura?"
he asked.
- "For things to stay like
they are now."
- "I don't believe that. You're
bored. Need something other than planning romantic evenings to
keep your mind occupied."
- Laura blushed again, hating that
she did it at all. "I wasn't expecting Wilson to bring anyone
home."
- "That was obvious,"
Michael said with a smile. "And you know something? I don't
think you're sorry about it at all." Laura looked at him,
surprised, about to protest, when he continued. "Oh, I think
you were embarrassed, but I don't think you're sorry that you
shocked someone."
- Laura couldn't stop her own smile.
"I must have looked -"
- "Beautiful," he told
her. "Absolutely beautiful."
- Laura found herself gulping for
air once more as she met those blue eyes, and when Michael pressed
the glass of wine into her hand, she lifted it to her lips and
drained it, holding it out for him to take back as she saw Wilson
returning.
- He was frowning. "It was
Margie in accounting. They have a little problem - I need to
go to the bank -"
- Michael saw his uncertainty.
"Why don't you go on? Laura and I will have dinner and I'll
see her home. We can reschedule the interview for tomorrow morning.
Since the exhibit opens tomorrow afternoon, you'll be able to
show me the security system that's been set up."
- Wilson looked apologetically
at Laura. "Would you mind, Laura? I don't know how late
I'll be- an accounts receiveable problem- and you know how hard
those can be to track down."
-
- She nodded. She'd done a stint
as a bank teller - that's how she'd met Wilson to begin with.
"I'll be fine, Wilson," she assured him, not meeting
his eyes. "I'm sure Michael will take very good care of
me."
- "You can be certain of that,
Wilson," Michael assured the banker.
- "Look, just put the dinner
on my tab. Just sign my name." He gave Laura a quick kiss
on the cheek. "I'll see you later."
- Once he was gone, Laura found
herself playing with the silver, suddenly nervous to be alone
with the handsome Irishman. "I'm not really very hungry,"
she began, starting to rise, only to have Michael pull her back
to the seat, closer to his side than before.
- "I am. And as much as you've
had to drink, I think it a very good idea that you get some food
into your stomach. Do you normally drink so much?"
- She shrugged. "What difference
does it make?"
- He picked up her hand as it picked
at the tablecloth and brought it to his lips before putting it
around the coffee cup. "Drink. You need to sober up a bit.
What do you want to eat?" he asked, picking up a menu.
- "Salad," she told him.
"I'm not much for meat."
- "Salad it shall be, then,"
he agreed, deciding what he wanted as the waitress returned with
fresh coffee and another glass of wine to take their order. He
sipped the wine, noticing Laura's glances at him as she drank
her coffee. "If you eat all of your salad," he told
her, a twinkle in his eyes, "you'll get a treat."
- "I'm not a child,"
she muttered.
- "No. You're not," he
agreed, reaching out to take her hand in his once again. "You're
a very beautiful young woman. And no matter how hard you try
to hide your intelligence, it shows in your eyes."
- "I don't try to-" she
began, then stopped. "Well, maybe I do. I discovered in
college that men don't usually like brainy math majors."
- "That's their loss,"
Michael told her as their food arrived.
- Laura put a fork into her salad,
watching him start to eat the veal ricotta. "You don't look
like a reporter. And you haven't written anything down - every
reporter I've ever known kept a notepad or tape recorder close
by."
- "I have an excellent memory,"
he told her, taking a sip of the red wine which the waitress
had brought. "Almost photographic," he said, smiling.
- "What paper do you work
for?"
- "The Times," he said.
"Why all of the questions, Laura? You sound like a detective."
- Now it was Laura's turn to smile.
"Do I? I was just- curious -"
- "As I am about you. What
do you do besides plan romantic evenings for Wilson Jeffries?"
There was that blush again, and Laura took a deep breath. "Nothing
much. I used to work as a teller at the bank -"
- "But you don't anymore?
Why not?"
- "Wilson didn't think it
was a good idea for me to be working there when he's a junior
vice president."
- "So you're a lady of leisure,
then."
- "Some leisure," Laura
said, picking at her salad. "The gym, tennis,-I'd rather
have something challenging, exciting to do -"
- Michael looked at her, saw the
longing in those brown eyes for more than she had now. Excitement,
challenge, the need for something more to life than simply playing
house with Wilson Jeffries. "Then why not go out and find
it?" he suggested. "You're intelligent, intuitive -
What is the one thing you've always wanted to do but haven't
had the courage to pursue?" he asked, those blue eyes boring
into hers.
- Laura's dimples appeared. "You'll
laugh if I tell you."
- "Not at all," he assured
her.
- "I'd thought about trying
to get my private investigator's license," she told him,
watching is reaction carefully.
- "Rather a rough and tumble
occupation for such a well bred young woman, wouldn't you say?"
- "I don't think it's as rough
and tumble as it's made out to be. I think there's more brain
than brawn to the job. And I'd LOVE to be able to prove it,"
she said with a deep sigh.
- "Then why don't you?"
Michael asked, finishing the wine.
- "Because I haven't found
an agency willing to hire me as an intern," she told him.
"Every time I apply, the find an excuse not to hire me.
From, 'sorry, we've got all the interns we can train at the moment',
to 'not interested'. They think that just because I'm a woman
I can't handle the job."
- "All those bullets and fists
flying about-"
- Laura laughed softly. "Where
did you get your ideas about private detectives?" she asked,
shaking her head.
- "Your cinema gives a rather
graphic representation," he told her.
- "It's not that way at all,"
she assured him. Another sigh. "But I doubt I'll ever be
able to do it. I, mean, can you imagine Wilson's reaction if
I told him I was going to be a P.I.?"
- "Not precisely the image
of a staid banker's wife, is it?"
- Laura's eyes met his, then fell.
"No. And Wilson so wants me to be that image."
- "Do you think you can do
it? Spend your days with bridge clubs and tennis pros, drinking
to keep the real you at bay?"
- "And what is the real me,
Michael?" Laura asked.
- "I think Laura Holt is a
free spirit, uninhibited, who would rather die than be tied up
behind a white picket fence playing house with someone who doesn't
appreciate her for what she is. Someone who wants to see the
world, who yearns for the excitement that is sadly lacking in
her life." He watched her reactions play across her face.
"Am I wrong?"
- "No. No, you're not. But
no one's ever taken the time - except my father -"
- "And what does he say about
your desire to become a dick?"
- Her smile this time was tinged
with sadness- and something else that Michael couldn't quite
identify. "I have no idea. I haven't seen my father in six
years. He - left when I was sixteen."
- Michael suddenly understood that
look. He'd seen it in his own eyes more than a few times. He
felt a connection to the young woman before him. Something he
could never remember feeling before.
He knew what his mentor, Daniel, would tell him in this situation.
That he couldn't afford the distraction of Laura Holt. That he
was here to do a job, and that if he wasn't careful, he would
make a mistake - and in his line of work, mistakes could be dangerous.
- But there was something about
Laura, something that told him he had to help her break away
from her boring existence, perhaps even take her into his world.
She wanted excitement? He could provide more than she wanted,
in all probability.
- The waitress cleared the table
and brought a dessert menu. Michael looked at it. "Chocolate
mousse," he told the waitress. "For two." He watched
Laura's eyes light up like a child in a candy store. "I
take it you approve of my choice?" he asked.
- "Yes. I think choc-chocolate
is my favorite thing in the entire world."
- "Have you ever had real
Swiss chocolate, Laura?" he asked, watching her as she shook
her head. "There's a little shop in Bern that specializes
in it. Row after row of chocolate, as far as you can see."
Her eyes were glazing over, he realized, smiling. The dessert
arrived, and he picked up his spoon, watching as she did the
same, then waited to see her expression when she tasted the pudding.
It was a look of pure, unadulterated pleasure, and for a moment,
Michael found himself shaken to the very core of his being. He
wanted this woman more than he'd wanted any woman in a long time.
And not just in his bed. With him, always. Another of Daniel's
rules popped into his head.
-
- "Live for the day. The future
may not come at all."
-
- Michael had never really thought
about the future. Certainly no further ahead than the current
job. In his business, you had to be able to think quickly, keep
moving. But Laura Holt made him think about the future, about
someday settling down with her, perhaps in the villa near Daniel's
in the south of France, perhaps even a child or two-
- "Are you all right?"
Laura was asking him, her brown eyes filled with concern as she
looked at him.
- Michael cleared his mind of the
images he had conjured up and smiled. "I'm fine. Why shouldn't
I be? I'm here, with a lovely lady, enjoying a delightful chocolate
mousse. What more could I possibly ask for?" he said, attacking
his own dessert with relish. A quick glance at Laura revealed
that his words had caused her to blush again, and he found himself
wondering if the blush continued over her entire body.
At the door to the apartment she shared with Wilson, Laura realized
that she didn't have her keys. "I didn't expect to come
home without Wilson," she explained. "And I hate carrying
a purse -" She pulled a hairpin from her hair. "Oh,
well. Keep an eye out for me, will you?" she knelt before
the doorknob.
- "Laura, what are you doing?"
- "Picking the lock - I hope.
I've been practicing, but-" she sat back, frustrated. "I
think I need more practice."
- Michael held out a hand. "Allow
me," he said, taking the hairpin. "Watch the corridor,
will you?" he asked, kneeling where she had been moments
before.
- "I'd rather watch -"
the lock clicked, "you," she said, as Michael turned
the knob to open the now unlocked door. "You're very good
at that -" she commented, "for a reporter."
- He returned the hairpin to her.
"It comes in handy," he said, not entering the apartment.
- "Good night, Laura-"
- "Why don't you come in for
a nightcap?" She suggested. "Maybe you and Wilson can
finish your interview when he gets home- if he's not much longer."
- "I don't think that would
be a very good idea, Laura."
- She looked up at him, her eyes
shining in the dimly lit entryway. "Why not?"
- Michael lowered his head slowly,
giving her time to back away. But she didn't move away. She moved
closer, meeting him halfway. When their lips met, Michael pulled
her against him, holding her close. As the kiss ended, he looked
down into her eyes. "That's why." He brought her hand
to his lips. "Good bye."
- "Wait a minute. That sounded
awfully final."
- "It might be for the best
if it is," he told her.
- "You're deciding what's
best for me?" she said, angrily. "I might have known.
You're just like all the others. You think I can't take care
of myself, make my own decisions -"
- Michael realized that her voice
was carrying into the hallway, and closed the door behind him.
"Laura, that's not what I meant at all," he told her,
following her into the living room.
- "Then explain what you DID
mean," she challenged, coming around to face him.
- "You don't know anything
about me. About who I am, what I do -"
- "Then tell me," she
said, sitting down to look up at him.
- Michael stood there, knowing
that he was possibly destroying any chance to complete the job,
that he would most likely have to leave Los Angeles tonight without
what he'd come here for. "Your intuition was right about
me. I'm not a reporter."
- "I knew it," she said.
"Sorry."
- "I'm here to retrieve a
painting stolen from an English Duke. It's part of that collection
- that Wilson has set up security
for."
- "Then you're with Interpol
or something like that?"
- Michael smiled. It would have
been very easy to lie to her again, tell her, yes, that was it
exactly. But he couldn't. "No. I've no legal standing, Laura,
only the offer of a hefty finder's fee should I return the painting
to its rightful owner."
- "You're a thief."
- "An artist," he corrected,
watching as she rose to pace the room. She was holding his life
in her hands, now. One word, and she could bring him down.
- "That's why you wanted the
security information. Are you still going to steal it?"
- "That depends on you,"
he told her. "On whether you decide to turn me in."
- Laura took a deep breath. A real,
live, art thief. Standing in her living room, telling her that
he was going to steal a painting - and giving her the choice
of what to do. "I should tell Wilson, I suppose," she
said.
- "Are you going to?"
he asked, and when she didn't answer, he crossed to the room
to pull her to face him. "Laura-"
- She slid her arms around his
neck. "I haven't made up my mind what I'm going to do, yet.
I need to do some more investigating," she told him, pulling
his head back down to hers.
- They were still locked in each
others' arms when Wilson's voice broke in. "What the hell-?"
- Michael took a moment to compose
himself, but Laura turned immediately to face Wilson. "Wilson.
I didn't expect-"
- "Obviously," he said.
- "Wilson," Michael began,
"it was my fault. I'll go-"
- "I know Laura too well for
that, Michael. But I never thought she'd go this far-"
- "Look, Wilson-"
- "You were right, Michael.
You'd better go. I'll call your hotel tomorrow about the interview."
- "Wilson -" He didn't
want to leave Laura here to fend for herself.
- "Go on, Michael," Laura
told him at last, her eyes giving him a silent message that assured
him that his secret was safe with her. "Go and do your job.
I'll be fine. I'm a survivor, right, Wilson?" She wrapped
her arms around her waist and moved toward the window.
- "Good night, Wilson,"
Michael said, "I'll call you -"
- "Yeah." He showed Michael
to the door, then returned to the living room. "Now. It's
late, and I need to get some sleep."
- Laura turned, disbelief on her
face. "That's it? You come in here, find me in the arms
of another man, and you say it's time to go to sleep?"
- Wilson turned to face her. "What
do you expect me to do, Laura? It's over and done with, I'm willing
to forget it-"
- "And what if I'M not willing
to forget it, Wilson?" Laura asked. "What if I LIKED
kissing him?"
- "Let's go to bed, Laura.
We have to pack for Acapulco tomorrow -"
- "No." She said it quickly,
softly, but not so softly that Wilson didn't here her.
- "No? You've been looking
forward to going down there. You know how much you like Pepe's
-"
- "And if I go, I have to
behave myself. Have to pretend to be something I'm not. I can't
do that anymore, Wilson. I'm never going to be the perfect banker's
wife, always knowing what to wear, what to say, how to act so
not to embarrass you."
- "Then you're not going to
Acapulco?" Wilson asked.
- "No. And I'm not staying
here, either," Laura told him. "I'm leaving, Wilson."
- He followed her into the entryway,
watching as she put on her coat. "Where are you going?"
- "I don't know. But I can't
stay here anymore, Wilson. I need to make some changes in my
life. And I need to do it NOW." She opened the door. "I'll
be back tomorrow for my things."
- "You can't - Laura - "
- She closed the door and crossed
to the elevator, pushing the button, half expecting Wilson to
open the apartment door and come after her. But he didn't. The
hall remained empty as Laura got into the elevator.
She came from the building and stood on the sidewalk, realizing
too late that she hadn't brought her purse or any money with
her. "Great, Laura," she sighed. "What are you
going to do now?" And to make matters worse, the rain that
had threatened all evening chose that moment to begin to fall
steadily, soaking her in a matter of moments. A cab pulled up
to the curb, and the rear door opened.
- "Need a lift?" Michael
asked.
- Laura smiled and got into the
car, closing the door behind her. "Thanks."
- "What happened?"
- "It's over," she told
him.
- "Just like that?" He
noticed she was shivering, and put his arm around her, pulling
her close.
- "It's been coming for ages.
I just didn't realize it. We were too different."
- "Was he very angry?"
- Laura shook her head. "He
wasn't angry at all. He said he was tired and needed to get to
- bed so we could get ready to
go to Acapulco," she told him. "And I told him I wasn't
going to Acapulco or anywhere else with him."
- "He didn't mind walking
in and finding you -"
- "Apparently not." She
snuggled against him.
- "Where are you going to
go?"
- "I have no idea. I- managed
to leave my purse and money in the apartment when I walked out."
- Michael laughed softly. "If
you're willing to accept it, I might know of a place where you
could stay for the night -"
- Her eyes lifted to his. "Really?"
- "There's a homeless shelter
just down the street, I believe. I can have the driver drop you
off there -"
- "You wouldn't -"
- "Or you could come back
to my hotel with me. Just to have a place to sleep, mind you.
I won't make any demands-"
- "But I might," Laura
told him, turning more fully into his arms and pulling his head
down to hers.
- When the kiss ended, Michael
lifted his head, his blue eyes dark and filled with humor. "So,
I guess it's the homeless shelter?" he asked, then pulled
her back into his arms as she would have spoken again.
- ###
- He let Laura enter the room ahead
of him, the hung out the "Do Not Disturb" sign before
closing and locking the door. "First class, Michael,"
she said, surveying the room.
"Not as plush as some I've stayed in, but I've also stayed
in worse." The air conditioning in the room was turned up,
and he could see that Laura was shivering again. "You need
to get out of those wet clothes," he told her, picking up
a robe and handing it to her. "The bath is through that
door."
- Laura tossed the robe over her
shoulder and opened the bathroom door, pausing for a moment to
look back at him before going inside. Once the door was closed,
she leaned against it, her legs giving way. In all of her crazy
stunts, she'd never done something this crazy. Here she was,
in the hotel room of an man she'd met only a few hours ago, a
man who had admitted to being an international art thief. Alright.
He was drop dead gorgeous, and treated her like a queen, but
-what did she really know about him? He might be an axe murderer
or something."
- "Laura? Are you all right
in there?"
- "Yes," she said quickly.
Her teeth were beginning to chatter, and she knew that she really
did need to change clothes. So she stripped off her own clothing
and put on the blue silk robe. It smelled of him, of his cologne,
and Laura remembered her actions in the cab on the way here.
How was she ever going to get out of having to sleep with Michael?
Did she really want to get out of it? that was the real question.
She ran her fingers through her brown hair, then took a deep
breath before opening the door.
- He was just closing the door,
and there was a cart in the room. "I thought you might like
some hot chocolate," he told her. "To help warm you."
- Laura took the cup he held out
to her. "I don't know if you're for real. Either you know
all the right buttons to push - or-"
- "Or?" he prompted,
watching her with those blue eyes.
- "Or you're the most wonderful
man I've ever met."
- Michael sat down in a chair near
the bed. "And which do you think it is?"
- Laura took a drink off the hot
chocolate, closing her eyes as she savored the taste. "I
don't know. But I think I'd like to find out."
- "I won't be in town for
long, Laura," he reminded her. "Once I've done what
I came here to do, I'll be going back to London -"
- "I see. When are you -"
- "Tomorrow night. The exhibit
opens tomorrow afternoon - and it will give me a chance to get
a full layout of the paintings. That's if your friend Wilson
doesn't decide to keep me out because of you."
- "He won't. I don't think
Wilson cares one way or the other," she said quietly.
- Michael heard the pain in her
voice, and held out his hand. "Come here, Laura," he
said.
- She took his hand and found herself
in his lap, held lightly, her head on his shoulder. "I know
you must have cared a great deal about Wilson -"
- "I thought I was in love
with him," Laura admitted.
- "But evidently his heart
wasn't as involved as yours was - or else seeing you with another
man would have driven him insane with jealousy. I know it would
have me." Laura looked up him.
- "Really?"
- "And I wouldn't have let
you simply walk out of my life."
- Laura finished her chocolate
and put the cup on the table behind her before turning back to
rest her head on his shoulder again. "Thank you."
- "For what?"
- "For taking care of me the
way you have. For being here."
- He touched her lips with his.
"You need to get some sleep," he told her, rising with
her still in his arms to carry her to the turned down bed. When
he started to straighten, Laura's hands locked behind his neck.
- "Where are you going?"
- "To have a drink. And I
have some more planning to do before tomorrow night."
- "You don't have to leave,"
she told him, but her eyes were locked on the top button of his
shirt.
- Michael lifted her chin with
his finger. "I would love nothing better than to stay right
here, Laura. But I won't take advantage of you this way. You're
hurting, and until you're ready, I won't make any demands on
you that you don't want." He kissed the tip of her nose.
"Now get some sleep. We'll go get your things tomorrow.
Do you have a passport?" he asked.
- She nodded. "I took a trip
during college to Barbados. I got one then."
- "Good." One less thing
to worry about. IF she agreed to go with him, that was. She still
hadn't settled that issue. Of course, he hadn't actually asked
her, had he? He saw that fact in her expression. "Sleep.
We'll talk later."
- Laura waited until the door closed
behind him, then settled into the pillows.
###
-
- Michael went downstairs to the
bar and ordered a gin and tonic, then sat there, trying to decide
what on earth he was doing. He didn't need the complication of
a woman like Laura Holt. She had 'commitment' written all over
her. And Michael had always shied away from that word. He wasn't
cut out for picket fences, for full time relationships. He'd
never had an example to learn from. The bartender brought his
drink. "Woman problems, pal?" he asked.
- Michael looked around, noticing
belatedly that he was the only customer in the place. It was
later than he thought it was. "Something like that,"
he admitted.
- "I could tell by that look.
Everyone's trouble puts a different look on their face. After
awhile, you learn to read that look. And yours screams "Woman
Problems". What happened? She leave you for another man?"
- Michael shook his head. "Not
quite. She left another man for me."
- "Then you got no problem.
Unless the other guy wants her back."
- "I doubt it," he said,
picking up his drink.
- "Then why the worried face?"
the bartender asked. "I'd enjoy it."
- "It's a complication I wasn't
expecting," he admitted.
- "You care about the lady?"
- Michael smiled. "Yes. Quite
a lot. Trouble is, I haven't known her very long. Only a few
hours, as a matter of fact."
- "Oh-ho. Where'd you meet
her?"
- "She's not that kind of
lady," Michael assured the man. "She's a REAL lady.
Down to her toes."
- "Then take it as it comes,
pal. Don't question it."
- "Sounds like the advice
someone else once gave me," Michael said.
- "Then it was good advice.
Take it. Want another drink?"