Part 4

Had he done it at last? Steele wondered.

Had he finally shown Laura, the person closest to him than anyone in the world, how he felt for her?

So badly did he want the answer, he was almost tempted to wake her and ask. But he managed to squash the impulse in time. He was far too happy with the current state of affairs--Laura in his arms, head on his shoulder, completely, trustfully abandoned to him and sleep--to take the chance of mucking it up.

So he laid in the silk-curtained bed in the great master bedchamber, and replayed his memories of the night, and wondered.

Lord knew it was what he’d set out to do, prove his feelings to her. That was the reason he’d wanted her at his side to watch the news report on Daniel’s funeral. But only part of it. For he couldn’t deny he needed her there, as well, for his own sake, to get him through it.

Did she have any clue about it, the strength he’d drawn from her, from the fact that she moved so willingly into his arms when he'd pulled her to him, from the understanding in her dark eyes, her compassionate silence? He doubted it. Because over the years he’d perfected a mask to guard against displays of emotion that could make him vulnerable. And Laura, brilliant and intuitive though she was, wasn’t quite perceptive enough to pierce it.

Even though he wished she could.

When the news was over, he’d seized the moment, almost literally, by picking her up and carrying her from the sitting room. Entirely unplanned, it had been, an instinctive response to her rising from his lap and extending her hand to him. At long last they were on the same page; she’d made it plain that she wanted him. How could he let the opportunity pass? He’d been determined not to squander it as they had so many others.

And still circumstances had seemed to conspire against them! With their destination near at hand, a mere flight of stairs away, the phone had rung, halting them in their tracks. Intuition had told him it was that troublemaker, Roselli. He’d been on the verge of snatching up the handset and outlining in precise terms what action he’d take if the filthy wife-stealer didn’t leave Laura alone. But the warmth of her mouth on his had persuaded him to leave it up to her. She certainly hadn’t looked or felt to him like a woman troubled by divided loyalties. He could trust her.

Yes, he could trust her to get rid of Roselli. It was what he’d told himself repeatedly while turning down the bedcovers in the master suite by the light of a small table lamp. Hadn’t she proven it by her behavior over the past few days? How many chances had she had to defend the other man, if she’d cared to? Several. And she’d taken none of them. Roselli’s continuing pursuit of Laura was proof of one thing only, Roselli’s feelings, nothing more.

Problem was, the wife-stealer was also a persistent bugger incapable of accepting rejection. No sooner had Laura hung up the phone than he had rung her again. Meeting her on the stairs, Steele had struggled with a familiar flare of suspicion. Was there something shifty, after all, in the depths of her candid brown eyes? But she had refused so resolutely to answer the phone, and had kissed him, Steele, with such ardor, that the little flicker died away. He’d swept her up again and borne her the rest of the way to the bedroom.

On another night he would’ve headed straight for the bed with her. But setting her on her feet was more appropriate somehow. She seemed to want that, too. Arms wrapped around one another, they’d lingered near the doorway, lost in one another’s eyes.

It was with a shock of delight that Steele read what he did in Laura’s.

She was seeing him. She was seeing him for who he was. Not the man she’d invented and hoped he would become; not the man he’d presented himself to be. She was seeing him, the man with no name, his humble beginnings, and his starved, shriveled childhood, the shady life he’d lived, the lack of any credentials that would mark him as successful and respectable.

The person he trusted more than anyone in the world knew the truth about him. And wanted him anyway.

He whispered her name, took her face in his hands, and kissed her.

As she had downstairs, she pulled back from the kiss. It was for the same reason, to slip her hand into his and then lead him towards the bed. It had made him smile, her forthrightness; it was one of the things he loved about her. No matter what happened between them tonight, he hoped it would never change.

And then he was reclining on the bed, and she was in his arms, and there was no leader and no follower, but only him and Laura, without a case to pursue, and no one shooting at them, no fires at the agency to put out, and no Mildred to intrude.

At length he’d released her and sprung up to douse the lamp he’d lit earlier and forgotten. By the time he’d returned, she was perched on the edge of the bed, taking off her shoes and socks.

Quickly he’d moved to copy her and then skinned out of his pullover. But with his turtleneck only partway tugged from the waistband of his corduroys, he paused.

Laura was unzipping her own slacks. He’d watched while she stepped out of them.

Couldn’t look away from her, in fact, not from this moment for which he’d waited five long years.

In the act of pulling her sweater over her head, she’d caught his gaze on her. And smiled. And, still looking him in the eye, had finished shedding the sweater and put it aside and shaken back her hair.

There was nothing reticent or bashful about her as her lingerie followed. Instead she continued to regard him with that warm, direct gaze: a beautiful woman, confident in her power to attract, making ready to give herself to the man she’d chosen.

He’d never beheld a more breathtaking sight in his life.

He’d raced to finish undressing, himself, fumbling in his eagerness. So much for the suave, smooth, dashing figure he’d hoped to cut. But if Laura was disappointed, or even noticed, she’d given no sign of it. As impatient to be in his embrace as he was to have her there, he’d have said of her, as she wrapped herself around him and raised her face to his.

She was so small! That was the dominant impression that had arisen with the host of surprising sensations they’d roused in one another. It wasn’t a new discovery; he’d once made the mistake of calling her a ‘delicate creature’, to her manifest disgust. But it struck him afresh as they came together on the bed. He was used to women who were taller, broader at the shoulder and hip, his preferences in the old days having run towards the Junoesque. Astonishing how this slip of a lass had altered his perception of beauty so thoroughly. She was his standard now. Nor was there any question in his mind that she would match him move for move tonight, the perfect partner for him in every respect, despite the physical disparities.

All the same, he’d taken extra care in settling his weight upon her. "It’s all right, isn’t it? I’m not too heavy for you?”

The radiance of her smile dazzled him. “You feel incredible. Stay right where you are.” And the way she’d held him to her had left him in no doubt that she meant what she said.

As did the way she responded to his kisses, and kissed him in her turn, and the way her body seemed to open under his hands like a flower, and the obvious delight she took in awakening his body with her touch.

Of course they’d had to negotiate the awkwardness that came with learning about one another sexually. She’d made it easy, teasing and laughing with him while they experimented. Their banter flowed throughout as naturally as ever, except that intimacy had infused it with a new dimension of tenderness.

And before long their actions and responses had begun to mesh, no longer so clumsy, and then they’d found it: the spark, the heat, the pulse-pounding tension, the awesome sweetness of release. They’d forfeited none of it by waiting all these years. How that could be, he couldn’t begin to understand, let alone explain. He only knew it was lovely.

Lovely. She’d been that from the first moment to the last. It was what he sighed in her ear as they rode the high together for the first time: “Laura, my love…so lovely…”

And on they’d gone, wringing every possible second of joy out of the night that had stretched out before them, uninterrupted.

And yet…and yet…had she understood what it meant to him? What she meant to him? That years ago it had become infinitely more to him than a mere wink and tumble—that she was the love of his life--but he hadn’t the least idea how to say it?

Now was the time to be honest with himself if ever there was one. He looked the truth in the eye, faced it squarely. He, the master of physical nuances, the man to whom the slightest variation in gesture, expression and inflection spoke volumes, had seen nothing in Laura’s reactions tonight that told him he’d succeeded in showing her.

The discouragement that assailed him was so acute, it was as if his heart dropped into his shoes. Or would have been, if he were wearing any.

Immediately he rallied. Well, then, mate, he said to himself. Perhaps you’ll just have to tell her.

Tell her?

He had turned the idea over in his mind for a few minutes before it hit him that it hadn’t provoked the apprehension in him that it usually did. Quite the contrary. He was—he couldn’t believe it!--he was looking forward to it.

Of course he was. One glance at the beautiful woman asleep in his arms was enough to tell him why.

Laura. His love.

How absolutely absurd that he’d been so frightened of the words, and that he’d waited so long to say them.

Sleep was beginning to overtake him. He made sure she was spooned comfortably in the curve of his body—God, it was good to have her there—folded his arms around her, and settled himself down.

And his last conscious thought, before he gave himself over to slumber as fully as Laura had, was typical Steele:

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day, indeed.

FINIS

Coming next:

Steele Inseparable VI: “Something Wicked This Way Steeles”

Roselli’s noose tightens around the Steeles while they work to solve the mysterious murder of a Shakesperian actor.