"Mr. Steele," Laura rebuked with an ill-hidden smile. "I'm left-handed."

"Oh. Yes, of course, you are."

Feigning disappointment, Remington let go of Laura's hands and wrapped his arms around her waist. He had been well aware of that little tidbit, of course, but needed a good, solid reason to take his hands off the counter top.

Laura was standing at the kitchen counter with a celery stalk in her hand. They'd both agreed that Remington's role in introducing her to the fine art of cooking was to provide guidance and counseling on the spot. Training sessions were conducted with him strategically placed behind her, holding her hands in his to show her the right moves.

Feigning frustration, Laura heaved a sigh and started slicing the celery. She didn't really need to be trained in that particular form of cooking, but Remington had insisted that her education had to be thorough and the chance to be ensconced so comfortably in his arms was a temptation she'd found hard to resist.

Of course, the idea was that he would do a part of the cooking to show Laura how it was done and she would do the rest under his close supervision. "Share and share alike, my dear," were his exact words. "I shall provide a plethora of advice serving as your trusty coach and a guiding hand, ready to pitch in if the need arises." The latter part undoubtedly implied that his hands would reside on the kitchen counter in close proximity to hers. So far, they had never stayed there for long, though. They both were too cozy and too comfortable with him wrapping his arms around Laura and her head tucked under his chin.

Still, feigning ignorance was the name of the game and they both excelled at it. Feeling Remington's hands sneaking under her short sweater and gently stroking the bare skin on her stomach, Laura asked suspiciously, "Whatever happened to my guiding hand?"

"Oh, you know me - I'm behind you all the way," he said in a husky voice removing his hands from under the sweater and placing them on top of it.

"I bet you are; the man behind the woman, eh?"

"Indeed, Miss Holt, indeed," he confirmed, beginning to gently stroke her ribcage through the thin fabric.

They had been married for several months. She was Mrs. Steele for clients, Laura for friends, but both found something very intimate in him calling her "Miss Holt" because it was now he and he alone who ever used the name. They had acquired other pet names, too, but nothing could compare with this one when Remington was murmuring it into her ear.

It didn't take Laura long to get used to calling him Remington, either. She had even grown to like it, finding pleasure in pronouncing something that signified her dream coming true. But both conceded that "Mr. Steele" could be just as erotic. There was a way Laura used to say it around the office and a completely different way in which she would intone it when they were alone, rolling every single "R" in her lilting voice and making his blood pump as fast as nothing and nobody else ever could.

She kept slicing the celery as Remington continued his ministrations, slowly moving his hands upward with every stroke. He leaned over her shoulder to get a closer look at her hands. Of course, it didn't hurt that the view of Laura's chest in her low-cut sweater was much better now with his head strategically placed by her cheek.

Even though it was exactly what Laura had in mind when she had been choosing the cooking attire, she could not allow such a simple ruse to fool her. "Could we concentrate on the matter at hand, please...? What are you doing?" she asked indignantly as his hands were now stroking the underside of her breasts.

"Why, Laura, concentrating on the matter at hand, of course," he murmured while his fingers moved just a notch upward with every stroke.

"Your hands are on the wrong matter," she protested, feeling sudden weakness in the knees.

"Not from where I'm standing. How else can I be behind you all the way and yet, stay abreast of things?"

"That tears it!" Laura exclaimed as she sliced the last piece of celery and put the knife down. She had to do something about those knees... and her head was beginning to spin, too. "If I knew you were going to fool around..."

"But of course you knew," her husband interrupted with a lopsided grin.

"I most certainly did not!"

"Then why isn't there a bra under this deliciously soft, paper-thin, skin-tight, waist-length, low-cut, silky sweater you chose to wear for this cooking venture?"

"Oh my God, I married a conniving con man!" she groaned.

"Yes, you did," he murmured, gently nibbling on her ear. "That's a part of my charm. What say we take a break and I coax you into revealing your very thinly disguised secrets?" His fingers crept under the sheer fabric barely covering her breasts.

"Don't count on it, buster! Here, I'll show you another way to stay abreast of things," Laura declared, thrusting a fruit peeler into Remington's hand and trying to free herself from his embrace. "Your turn, coach."

"Mmm." Remington gave her sweater a playful tug with his free hand. "I'd rather peel something else."

"I bet you would. But I'm talking about kitchenware."

"But, Laura, the entire purpose of this operation is to teach you the finer aspects of gourmet cooking," he protested. "Surely you don't suggest that I..."

"I wouldn't dream of it if you had remembered to buy a peeler I could use with my left hand," she cut him off with a coy smile.

Remington mentally kicked himself for he, indeed, had overlooked that part - his carefully chosen, professional, state-of-art peeler only had one cutting edge. "I have an idea," he ventured, trying to buy some time. "Why don't we buy it together tomorrow, eh? It should give me plenty of opportunity to show you how to test tools to find the one that is right for your lovely hands." He carefully put down the peeler, slowly stroked outer side of Laura's hands, laced their fingers, and added, "While at it, we could do something more appealing as well."

"Something else you could peel off?" Laura was trying her best to regain her balance.

"In a manner of speaking. The chef could always use a bit of inspiration."

"Excellent idea, darling. While we're at it, I think we should also buy some paper clips for the office, legal-size envelopes, and some manila folders. I think we are almost out of bar soap, as well..."

"Laura, I get the point. I'll buy the peeler tomorrow," he said quickly.

"Won't you help me with my shopping?" Laura pouted. "You know how heavy stationery can be."

"Then we should buy it after we pay a visit to the lingerie department," he stated firmly. Losing battles was terra incognita to the great Remington Steele.

"I'll make you a deal," his wife retorted; giving up was not for tough lady detectives, either. "Scratch the lingerie department off your shopping list and you can teach me all about choosing the right..."

"Tools?"

"...Utensils before we buy the stationery."

"Deal," he agreed, grinning from ear to ear. "Tool shopping can be such a lengthy process. Never fear, Miss Holt. I'm sure I can find one to fit you just perfectly."

Being married to this man was too much fun, Laura thought, but staying unperturbed on the outside, she simply asked, "Mr. Steele, as a man of experience, wouldn't you say that one cannot practice performing the correct actions without having observed them fully at first?" With a rueful smile, she shoved the peeler into her husband's hand, ordering, "Peel. I'll back you up."

Still facing the counter, she once again tried to escape his embrace, but he slightly pressed his body into hers and said, "Why, Laura, while the sensuous temptation of you rubbing your lovely nose all over my shoulder blades is hard to resist, in the interests of proper learning I'm ready to forego the pleasure and to peel this apple just as we stand."

Not letting his wife go, he picked up the apple with his left hand and began peeling it in slow motion, almost as though undressing the fruit. Laura was watching him, hypnotized by his skillful movements.

"Where did we buy this apple?" Remington asked observing it as the job had been done. "It's worm-eaten."

"We got a bushel as a gift from one of our clients. The Organic Foods Association, remember?"

"Figures. From the looks of things they could use some pesticide in their orchards."

"A worm is a living, breathing creature," she admonished.

"But it's hardly edible. Would you like to find it a nice nesting spot in our bedroom?" he asked, knowing Laura was arguing for the sake of argument; she had never been overly found of little insects as well as of rotten apples.

"It's not necessary. I can carve this piece and it would safely reside in our garbage container."

"Aha. Thought as much," he said, taking a quick step backwards to allow Laura access to the trash bin and promptly resuming his position as soon as the task was accomplished. "Now, back to the proper routine. Slice the, um, remaining part of this apple into long, thin strips."

"Are you sure this apple is enough?" Laura asked innocently.

"Absolutely."

"Because I had to throw a sizeable part away and we don't want our salad lacking," she insisted. "Maybe you should peel another one."

"That's more than enough. In fact, originally this apple was a tad too big and the remaining part is just perfect."

"How did you know we would have to throw some away?" she asked suspiciously.

"Call it a hunch."

"Mr. Steele, you wouldn't be trying to weasel out of doing more work yourself, would you?"

"Me? Weasel out? What an odd notion!"

She put the apple down and turned to face him, demanding, "Look into my eyes."

He did. Locking his eyes with hers, he slowly reached in for a long, deep, gentle kiss. Her mind told her to pull away, but the body betrayed her and her fingers crawled up his neck and combed through the hair on the back of his head. She gave up and closed her eyes, succumbing into oblivion.

When the kiss ended, she opened her eyes again, inhaled several times to clear the fog, and slowly resumed her position at the counter, murmuring weakly, "Once more, and we'll go to bed hungry."

"Maybe we should start cooking breakfast then," Remington suggestively breathed into her ear.

"Maybe we should start just start cooking - period," Laura said, trying to collect whatever self-control she had left and slowly beginning to slice the apple.

"We are cooking," he said in the same husky voice as his hands once again started stroking his wife's midriff.

"We're fooling around," she pointed out.

"Who's fooling around? I'm standing firmly behind you and you're the one who's turning around in my arms and even trying to switch places with the coach."

"Mr. Steele."

"Yes, my darling?"

"Take your hands off of my body and put them back where they belong."

With a deep, carefully heaved sigh Remington reluctantly let go of Laura's waist and gently placed his hands on her wrists. A few seconds later, he let go of one of the wrists, picked up a piece of walnut she was now chopping, and popped into his mouth.

"You know I hate that!" she exclaimed, giving him a slap on the wrist for his trouble.

"Laura, it's just a walnut!"

"Well, now this dish is one walnut short!"

"No, it isn't! In fact, it was one walnut too many," he said defensively, snatching another one and getting another slap. "I was just trying to adjust the amount of food, to... um, even it out, to... to..."

"...to make me chop more so you could steal it?" she finished, her voice dangerously low.

"Laura, how could you say it?"

"Standing here, ogling, while I do all the work, pontificating," she continued with her accusations, doing her best to hide a smile and being glad he couldn't see her face, "intending to take all the bows for the food as well as for teaching me - if you can call the process teaching! All the time, not even knowing how much food is needed!"

"Laura, the real master can never determine the exact amount of ingredients ahead of time, but creates as he goes," he said defensively. "The recipe is but a blank canvas, and a true artist must be flexible enough to add... or subtract." He winked and popped another walnut into his mouth.

"Mr. Steele."

"Yes, my darling?"

"Take your hands off of the counter and put them back where they belong."

Smiling like a cat that had swallowed a canary, he wrapped his arms around Laura's waist.

He never thought married life could be so much fun!

The End