COUNTERPOINT
An original romantic serialFrom Alina Adams the author of "When a Man Loves a Woman" (DELL 4/00), "Annie's Wild Ride" (AVON 8/98), "Inside Figure Skating" (METROBOOKS 11/00 & 9/99), "Thieves at Heart" (AVON 12/95) and "The Fictitious Marquis" (AVON 6/95)
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Victoria decided she could very well fall in love with Robin Cooper. Not because of his looks, or his charm, or the enigmatic, dark underside to his personality which attracted Victoria almost as much as it frightened her. But because, when he took her riding the next day, he called ahead to the stables where he was boarding "her" new horse, and arranged for a Western saddle to be available, along with his own English gear. For some reason, Victoria found his gesture inexpressibly touching. And, once again, at odds with the supposedly self-centered, selfish Robin Cooper whom everybody assured her was destined to appear any day now.
Both on horseback, Robin led Victoria out of the stables, down a tree-shrouded path, and into a private meadow the size of a half-dozen football fields, its brilliantly green grass so neatly mowed, it might have doubled as a golf-course in its free time. A waist-high, wooden fence encircled the course, with tall shrubs planted at strategic intervals to obscure the fact that, on the other side of the impeccably trimmed track, was an ordinary street, complete with traffic and plebeians unworthy of entering this inner sanctum.
Victoria said, "It's like a secret world in here."
"Actually," Robin leaned forward, kneading his horse's neck. "I like to think of it as the end of the world."
"How ominous. Why?"
"Because. At the end of the world, anything can happen." He flicked his reins and sped off without a further explanatory word. For close to a half-dour, Robin and Victoria galloped side by side, each trying to outdo the other, yet neither racing so far in the lead that they couldn't twist around and exchange exhilarated grins over just how much fun both were having.
Victoria hated checking her watch, but, responsible soul that she was, she did it anyway, slowing to a trot and regretfully telling Robin, "I've got to head back. My lunch hour's almost up."
He pulled up beside her, letting both animals cool down. He shook his head. "Come on, now, love. One more time around."
"I can't."
He offered playfully, "I'll jump a fence for you."
"We've already jumped all the fences."
Robin waved dismissively at the pristine barricades erected at regular intervals along the concourse. "I mean a real fence." He pointed to the one defining the perimeter. "Now, then, isn't that worth hanging around for?"
And, before she could answer, he galloped off, gathering speed by sprinting a preliminary lap around the track, before aiming his horse's nose right at the wooden wall.
He was out of his mind. There were so many arguments for why what he proposed was, at best, foolhardy and, at worst, suicidal, that Victoria's judgment, still dazed by the unexpectedness of his gesture, didn't know where to begin cataloguing. For one thing, the exterior fence stood much taller than ones on the inside. For another, jumping the exterior fence meant leaping into a traffic-filled street. And for a third thing, her experience with horses made Victoria suspect that these animals, bred for enjoyment, had been trained to stay within their parameters. Meaning that, in all likelihood, as soon as Robin got too close to the fence and tried to jump, his horse would halt, sending Robin barreling head first onto the grass if he was lucky, into concrete if he wasn't.
She screamed his name, trying to get him to stop. But, Robin ignored her. Catching his eye as he sped past, Victoria spied an expression that told her his stunt was no longer about impressing her. It had become something much deadlier.
When he refused to respond to her cry a second time, Victoria took matters into her own hands, digging her knees into her horse's sides, and racing across the width of the field, meaning to cut him off before he could reach the fence. She grit her teeth, ignoring the wind whipping her face and the shards of dust that forced into her eyes. She rose in the saddle, urging her horse to race faster. Robin glanced over his shoulder and spied her coming. He increased his own pace, seemingly determined to break his neck.
Less than a dozen yards from the barrier, Victoria was only a hair's breath behind Robin. She stood up in the stirrups, pitched her weight forward, and, lunging to snatch the reins out of Robin's hands, yanked his animal to the side with all of her strength.
"What the hell are you doing?" Robin demanded, voice furious.
Equally incensed, Victoria fired back, "Saving you goddamned neck from being snapped in half like a toothpick, that's what."
Both stood at the edge of the concourse, their horses side by side, Robin and Victoria face-to-face and glaring angrily at each other, while breathing heavily from the exertion.
"If I want to snap my neck," Robin's eyes blazed black, as if the traditional forest that bloomed in his irises had been engulfed by tar. "What business is it of yours?"
She shook her head, telling Robin sarcastically, "Consider it my way of saying thanks for the horse."
He looked at her then, really looked at her, eyes boring into Victoria, and making her feel quite uncertain. And quite aroused. She wondered what he was doing, and why. And what he suddenly saw in her that made Robin lean ever so slightly forward in his saddle, his face only inches from Victoria's, and, so gently and tenderly that they might have been in the midst of a dream, kiss her lips.
She responded almost without meaning to, and certainly without fully realizing what she was doing. She let him explore her mouth with his tongue, wondering how it could happen that, though their bodies were apart, she felt Robin's touch along every inch of her.
Too soon, he drew away as slowly as he'd approached her, both of them reluctant to move briskly and risk shattering their dreamlike spell. Robin stroked Victoria's cheek with the back of one palm, and smiled when she, unable to help herself, tilted her head in its direction, rubbing her face gently against his hand.
Softly, he told her, "Consider this my way of saying thanks."
She blinked, puzzled, "For what?"
"For you."