CHAPTER TWO
 

    "What the hell," she flung the chips back in his face. "Do you have against my brother?  You don't know him.  You don't know who he is, or what he does, or the sorts of miracles he performs every day down at his clinic.  No, you just had a whim -- God only knows why -- snapped your fingers, and condemned dozens of poor people to throwing themselves on the mercy of our health-care system."
     "Hold up, Vicky."  Gabriel pushed his way through the crowd to stand beside Victoria.  "I can speak for myself."
 Robin's face, arranged in a perpetual smirk for the length of Victoria's tirade, hardened as if set in fast-drying cement at the intrusion of Gabriel.  His hazel eyes darkened to match his ebony hair, fingers tightening about the pool que until Victoria feared he might snap it.  The women standing on either side of Robin drew back, apparently accustomed to his rapid shifts in mood.      "Well, well," Robin drawled, "If it isn't St. Gabriel?  Friend of huddled-masses-yearning-to-breathe-free everywhere."
     "Come on."  Gabriel took Victoria's arm.  "Let's go."
     "Not just yet."  Victoria turned to Robin, hands on her hips, her thoughts barely keeping up with her words.  "You're a gambling man, aren't you, Mr. Cooper?"
      Her about-face surprised him.  Unable to summon a sarcastic retort, Robin merely nodded.
      Victoria indicated the glass standing nearest to him on the billiard table.  "What are you drinking?"
      Still unsure of what she was getting at, Robin, nevertheless, regained his equilibrium in time to smile that infuriating smile of his and suggestively inform Victoria, "Between the Sheets."
      The fire that exploded throughout her at his utterance didn't limit itself to Victoria's cheeks.  She blushed, true, but that was not the primary heat that dominated her senses.  Rather, her entire body seemed to simultaneously sizzle and liquefy, a molten essence erupting deep inside her with a thousand fireflies, and a sumptuous pressure that made Victoria want to burst out of her skin.
      Although she had one standing beside her, Victoria didn't need a doctor to diagnose her condition.  She was a grown-up woman after all, not a teenager.  She knew pure, pulsating, hormonal lust when she felt it.  But, unlike a teenager, she also knew that it didn't mean anything.  It was a minor inconvenience that would shortly -- courtesy of Mr. Cooper's charming personality, she was certain -- snuff itself out.  Until then, Victoria's best course of action was to carry on as if nothing were happening.
     And, under no circumstances, was she to allow Robin to suspect that anything was.
     To that end, she looked him right in the eye, matching Robin smile for smile, challenge for challenge, and repeated, "Between the Sheets?  That would be, now, let me see.... brandy, Triple Sec, light rum, and just a touch of -- is it lemon?"
     For the first time since they'd met, Robin appeared summarily impressed.  He took a sip, double-checking, and smiled, "Very good, Miss Morgan.  Although, I daresay, somewhat of a non-sequitur."
     "You like to gamble."  His obvious confusion helped Victoria regain another fraction of her self-control.  "I have a proposition for you.  Let's make a bet.  If I name a drink you don't know the ingredients of, you agree to continue supporting Gabriel's clinic."
     "And if I name a drink you don't know, what do I win?" Robin's eyes traveled lazily along the length of Victoria's body, making no secret of the prize he expected in return.
     She swallowed hard.  And not because Victoria found his offer repugnant.  Quite the opposite, actually.
     "Do you accept my terms?" Victoria asked.
     "Do you accept mine?"
     Yes.  "No."
     "In that case," Robin was clearly beginning to warm up to the game, even in spite of himself.  "I propose a... devaluation... in prizes.  Instead of me committing to support your brother's hobby in perpetuity, how about, if you win; not that I see it happening, I've been educated at some of the best watering holes in the world, ask my father.... If you win, I'll do as you suggested earlier and take an excursion downtown for a peek at those daily miracles you accuse me of terminating.  Maybe the sight will prompt me to change my mind, you never can tell."
     It was the best offer she was going to get all night, and she knew it.  But there was still a minor matter of, "And if you win?"
     His eyes danced.  In a voice suggesting their sharing a most intimate secret, he reminded, "The Kidnapping of Persephone."
     It was her turn for sarcasm.  "Speaking of a non-sequitur..."
     "I expect my reward to match the one Hades received when he outwitted Demeter for Persephone."
     "Which was what?"
     "Brush up on your Greek mythology, Miss Morgan.  I refuse to be penalized by your lack of familiarity with the classics.  Those are my terms, take them or leave them."  And, in an instant, Robin lost interest in their contest.
     Desperate to hold on to the concessions she'd already gained, Victoria threw caution to the wind, and, even without fully understanding what sort of Faustian bargain she'd entered into, blurted out, "Fine, then.  I accept your terms."
     The crowd around them, which had been growing bored with the seeming stalemate, sprang back to life.  Murmurs suddenly filled what had once been still air, as a succession of side bets changed hands just out of view.
     "Are you out of your mind, Vicky?"  Gabriel hissed in her ear as both she and Robin moved towards the bar, agreeing that its host would be the one to judge the accuracy of each answer.
     "It's okay.  I know what I'm doing."
     "I don't need you making deals with the devil for my sake."
     "Hades," Robin stepped between Gabriel and Victoria, politely informing him, "The devil is a Christian concept.  I was invoking Hades and his underworld kingdom of soulless ghouls."
     Only Gabriel, with his angelic face, could get away with the subsequent query.  "Soulless ghouls?  Oh, well, I guess you'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Mr. Cooper?"
     The flip question appeared to strike a nerve.  Robin's entire aspect changed, the haughty, arrogant posturing of a second earlier momentarily disappearing behind the shadow of a trounced spirit who had lived too long, and seen too much.  Startled, Victoria wondered if she was the only one to notice the evolution.  Everyone else was carrying on business as usual.  Yet, in what must have been a split second, she'd caught a glimpse of something so tormented, something so agonized within Robin's perpetually rippling eyes, it made her heart somersault.  Instinctively, she reached out to him.  But, as mysteriously as he'd disappeared, Robin reconverted back, winking confidently at the well-dressed rubberneckers who'd migrated with them to the bar, and informing the moderately taken-aback Victoria, "Just to show what a gentleman I am, I'll let you go first.  Come on, Miss Morgan, give it your best shot."
     She snuck a peek over her shoulder at Douglas, wondering how her boss was reacting to the spectacle she and Robin were making of themselves.  But, to her surprise, Douglas didn't look upset.  He did however, look worried.  And not about his disintegrating Gala, either.  But about Victoria and what she'd gotten herself into.
     "Miss Morgan," Robin tapped the bar with his flat palm.  "Your public awaits."
     She steeled her nerves, and, pushing the possibility of losing out of her mind -- not that she had any idea what she'd just agreed to lose -- turned to give Robin her full attention.
     God, but why did he have to look like that?  How was Victoria supposed to focus on winning, when all she saw when she glanced at him were those tantalizing eyes?  That sardonic mouth?  Those long, languid fingers, like a musician's or a conductor's?  How was she supposed to concentrate on sensational cocktails, when her body was presently whirring with sensations of wildly different nature?
     She said, "Zombie."
 It wasn't the most obscure drink she knew, but it did have a lot of ingredients.  With luck, Robin would miss one of them, and they could quickly end this unforseen endurance contest.
     "Zombie."  Robin rattled off, "Jamaican rum, light rum, syrup, Demeraran, apricot, lime and pineapple juice."  He bowed in riposte to the smattering of applause that greeted his declaration, and, in the same breath, challenged Victoria, "Golden Cadillac."
     "Light cream, Galliano liqueur, white creme de cacao."  She barely waited for the bartender to nod that she'd gotten it right before throwing out, "Navy Grog."
     "Dark rum, light rum, Falernum, lime juice, pineapple juice, and orange juice.  Really, Miss Morgan, you're going for quantity over quality here.  Never a good idea."  He smiled.  "Moscow Mule."
     "Vodka, lime juice -- lime juice," she faltered, remembering there was some odd ingredient, but having trouble recalling which.
     Robin drummed the bar with his fingers, smiling when Victoria startled at the noise.  "The clock is ticking...."
     She shook her head, trying to focus.  "I'm thinking."
     "You may have to concede defeat," he suggested.  "And we both realize what that means, don't we?"
     Actually, Victoria had no concept what it meant.  She wondered how many idiots in history had entered into a gambit without first knowing what they stood to lose.
     "Ginger beer!"  She snapped her fingers triumphantly, pointing 'gotcha' in Robin direction, and relishing the scowl that it raised to mar his otherwise exemplary face.  It was her turn now, and she intended to give as good as she got.  "How about... Salty Dog?"
     Robin's eyebrow was really getting a work-out tonight.  "Navy Grog, Salty Dog.  Were you raised in a saloon, Miss Morgan?"
     Victoria and Gabriel exchanged knowing looks.  "Close."
     Robin hesitated.  "Salty Dog.  That's gin, right?  Gin and -- and something.... "
     Victoria smiled sweetly.  "The clock is ticking."
     "It's gin and salt and -- and -- "
     "Look at that, you may have to concede defeat."
     "I never concede defeat."  It was a throwaway line, the bulk of his concentration was focused on recalling the third ingredient.
     "And we both realize what that means, don't we?"
     "I said, I never concede defeat," Robin thundered, and every-one around them shuddered at how seriously he suddenly seemed to be taking their competition.  Everyone that is, except Victoria.  For the first time all day, she knew she had the upper hand over Robin Cooper.  And she intended to play this card for all it was worth.
     "You know," Victoria ventured.  "Far be it for me to tell the Lord of the Underworld his business.  But, I've been hearing this outlandish sound, lately.  Now, what, oh, what could it be?  Oh, wait, I know!  It's Hell."  She smiled sweetly.  "Freezing over."
     A beat.  And then the crowd around them erupted with laughter.  Even Douglas cracked a smile, shaking his head to side to side in appreciation of Victoria's quip.  Robin remained deadly silent.
     He was, by far, the moodiest man Victoria had ever met.  Only acquainted for one day, and she'd already lost count of the classes he'd exhibited.  She wondered if anywhere in that vast assembly, he possessed a mood even vaguely reminiscent of good-sportsmanship.
     She never got the chance to find out.
     Instead, Victoria found herself face-to-face with yet another color from Robin's medley of tempers.
     He took a step towards her, hovering directly above Victoria, his features unreadable and thus, more than a little intimidating.  Both Gabriel and Douglas approached her, neither sure of what Robin intended to do, and ready to protect Victoria from any assault.
     But, rather than striking her -- which, considering his unpre-dictability, Victoria halfway expected -- or letting loose with yet another in his stream of scathing bon-mots, Robin chose to surprise everyone around them yet again.  He said, "Dance with me."
     Victoria blinked.  "I beg your pardon?"
     "I think I deserve at least one dance.  After all, it isn't every day that I acquiesce to act the role of a gracious loser."
     He appeared to be engaged in a conversation.  Unfortunately, Victoria couldn't discern whether or not it was with her.
     "You mean, I won?"
     "Let's just observe that, in a development uncharacteristic of those who go up against me, you didn't lose."
     "Which means," Victoria pressed, "That I won."
     "Dance with me."
     He slipped one arm around Victoria's waist, leading her to the opposite end of the hall, and onto the buffed, parquet dance floor headlined by a twelve-piece orchestra.
     "I did win, didn't I?"  Victoria couldn't resist the urge to press her advantage.  She suspected it was because she understood that the opportunity would not arise a second time.
     "You won.  But, that's alright."  Robin took Victoria's hand, his thumb stroking only her palm, yet making the electric flesh-on-flesh contact feel like it was caressing her entire body.  "I still intend to collect my prize."  His eyes locked with hers.  "One way or another."
     The music started before she had a chance to compose her next breath, or stop her head from spinning.  Robin proved an excellent dancer, not merely agile and musical, but powerful, dominant to the point where she had no option but to follow, her body's movements thoroughly out of her control, and yet as fluid and seamless as if she'd initiated them herself.
     "So," she struggled to regain at least a semblance of control over her situation, and figured conversation was her best bet.  She certainly wasn't about to conquer Robin physically.  He'd dominated her, in that respect, from the moment he stepped out of the shower.  She supposed she would be fighting him a tad harder over the issue, if it weren't for that pesky hormonal thing.  "Now that it's over, don't you think I deserve to be told what I was gambling with back there?  The Kidnapping of Persephone, and all that?"
     Robin smiled, twirling Victoria under one arm before catching her solidly against his chest, and, just as swiftly, twirling her in the other direction.  His regulation was so masterful, Victoria couldn't have fought or resisted him even if she wanted to.
     "The Kidnapping of Persephone."  Robin's voice was soft and nearly hypnotic, blending in with the music and seeping inside her bloodstream like steam heat.  "It's a myth about Hades conquering his eternal consort.  He kidnapped her from a field where she was picking flowers.  Just came riding up one day on his carriage, and swept her away.  The Earth opened, and Hades sucked Persephone deep into his underworld, forcing her to serve by his side, a Mistress of lost souls for all of eternity."
     Victoria swallowed hard.  The top of her head barely reached Robin's shoulder, and so, in order to hear him, she had to tilt her face upwards, gazing deeply into Robin's eyes as he spun both his tale, and her body, across the dance-floor.
     "How -- how did she, Persephone feel about just being snatched like that?"
     "She wasn't thrilled," he conceded.  "But the one who really wasn't thrilled, was Persephone's mother, the Goddess Demeter.  She demonstrated her less than thrilled state by causing all the plants on Earth to die while Persephone was held against her will."
     It was starting to come back to Victoria.  High-school English class.  "That's the part about the seasons, right?"
     "Precisely.  Hades and Demeter compromised.  Persephone would split her time between the underworld and the surface -- sort of a Greek God joint-custody arrangement.  When Persephone is home, the Earth blooms.  And, when she's back with Hades, the Earth dries up and wilts, mourning its lost daughter."
     She could feel Robin's heart pulsating against their conjoined palms.  It echoed through her, enticing Victoria's heart to beat in identical rhythm.
     "I -- Persephone, do you think she was okay with the deal?"
     "Frankly?"  Robin's hand slid from Victoria's shoulder until he was caressing her back.  Every nerve along her spine snapped to attention, straining towards the warmth of his fingers.  "I believe Persephone eventually embraced her destiny.  It is, after all, very easy to be seduced by the dark side."
     He wasn't kidding.
     As they spoke, Robin's face inched nearer and nearer to hers, his head dipping lower and lower.  Their respiration synchronized.  They breathed the same air.  She couldn't look away.  She couldn't move.  Victoria couldn't do anything save follow where Robin led, so that, by the time his mouth at long last found hers, their kiss tasted not only inevitable, but long overdue.
     It felt so natural, almost an extension of their dance, where Robin could sweep Victoria up to unimaginable heights, bring her to the precipice and let her enjoy the danger secure in the knowledge that, in the end, he would bring her safely back.  She returned his kiss unquestioningly, as if she'd been planning to from the moment they first met.  His lips were warm, soft, a stark contrast to the firm grip of his hands on her back as they crushed her ever closer to him.  Her own hands slipped to his shoulders, then up his neck, and finally, the sides of his face, stroking the smooth skin below both his ears with the tips of her fingers.  She opened her lips to his tongue in response to Robin's deft, insistent probing, knowing that any resistance on her part would be futile, and, also knowing that she certainly had no interest in putting up even a semblance of struggle.  Her body had never responded so eagerly, so freely to a man's touch, and, no matter the consequences, she didn't possess enough strength of will to bring her pleasure to a halt.
     And yet, eventually, she knew that it was up to her to break their embrace.  For one thing, they were standing in the middle of a crowd, a crowd that included not only Douglas and Gabriel but a few hundred others who would be most amused by the sight of Cooper Shipping's heir in lip-lock with one of his father's less important employees.  For another, no matter how sweetly her body shuddered from the merest brush of Robin's hand against her cheek, the more rational part of Victoria's mind still couldn't shake the suspicion that his attentions to her were based on a single factor -- Robin's reluctance to forfeit their earlier bet.  After all, hadn't he told her, "I still intend to collect my prize.  One way or another."
     "No, Robin.  Stop."  She gathered every ounce of her available mettle to push him away to arm's length, struggling to stare any-where but at Robin's lips, stained slightly with the remnants of her coral lipstick.  "Please.  That's enough."
     Amusement flared inside his bewitching hazel eyes.  He reached into his pocket, pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief, and dabbed at his lips, refolding the linen neatly before returning it inside his dinner-jacket.  "Is something wrong, Miss Morgan?"
     She didn't trust her voice to articulate anything resembling a complete sentence, and so just settled for a croaked, "Actually, I -- yes.  Something is."
     "Really?"  He took no offense.  Merely curiosity.  "I assure you, I've never had a complaint before."
     "Well, I -- "
     "What seems to be the problem?"
     She didn't know where to begin.  Robin had chased every semi-coherent thought out of her head, and the best Victoria could do in her attempt to articulate the maelstrom of emotions surging through her, was to seize upon her most concrete, indisputable objection.
     She told him, "Sorry, Robin, but married men aren't my style."