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 TWO
Victoria Morgan couldn't understand Robin's hostility. The Elizabeth Fund, named after Douglas Cooper's late wife, Robin's mother, was a philanthropic foundation established and run by Cooper Shipping. They built schools, hospitals, old-age homes, orphanages. She wondered what about the project Robin found worthy of such chilling anger.
"I wanted to talk to you about Gabriel Scott's clinic."
Robin gulped down the screwdriver and scowled, indicating he'd been expecting as much. "I'm not changing my mind."
Although Douglas Cooper had set up the Elizabeth Fund thirteen years earlier, following his wife's death, a substantial portion of the principle came from trust-fund money she'd left her son, Robin. As a result, even though Victoria reported to Douglas when it came to the daily operational details, Robin liked to put his two cents -- rather, his approximately two hundred million cents -- in, on issues like allocating grants. Or terminating them.
Victoria persisted, "Dr. Scott's clinic does wonderful work. I don't see why you would want to close such a worthwhile -- "
"Oh, you don't, do you?" Robin slammed down his tumbler, and approached Victoria, managing to tower menacingly over her, despite standing a good two feet away. "Well, how about the obvious? Our funding Gabriel Scott's clinic is a conflict of interest."
"How?"
"Are you serious?" He took another step closer. Close enough for Victoria to feel the moist heat radiating from his body. Close enough for her to trace the rivulets of water dripping down Robin's throat, past both collarbones, and inside the bathrobe open-V of his chest. "You don't think it's a conflict of interest that Dr.Scott also happens to be your brother?" Robin managed to make the last word sound like a synonym for the lowest form of vermin.
"No," Victoria said. "I don't. Your father called Gabriel in Houston, and asked him to relocate to San Francisco and set up the clinic. I didn't come into the picture until later. Gabriel told Douglas he couldn't relocate. I was the only family he had, and he didn't want to leave me. Douglas looked at my resume, saw that I had a background in non-profits, and offered me another position he needed to fill, manager of the Elizabeth Fund. Gabriel getting the grant had nothing to do with me. It was just a lucky coincidence."
"Real lucky," Robin mumbled under his breath. Then, clearly, he informed Victoria, "Be that as it may, the Elizabeth Fund is my money. I can give it to anyone I want. And I don't want to give it to Dr. Gabriel Scott. There. End of discussion."
"You're not being reasonable."
"I'm rich. I don't have to be." Noting Victoria expression, he asked, "You don't believe me? I'll prove it to you."
His eyes locked on Victoria's and, much to her discomfort, she found she couldn't look away. Her throat dried, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth and trapping a gasp that, much to Victoria's embarrassment, nevertheless managed to escape her lips the instant Robin glanced down and casually tugged loose the sash of his robe. Noting her discomfort, Robin smirked, his countenance twinned with a vaguely sadistic quality, like a tiger toying with its prey.
She stood rooted to the spot, her pupils the solitary features currently capable of movement. And, despite her very uncomfortable sense of being controlled and manipulated, Victoria felt her eyes tracking the descent of Robin's robe. It slipped off his shoulders first, revealing arms much more muscular than she first suspected, considering Robin's slender frame. She noted the sculpted contours of his upper body even as her gaze fell lower, absorbing Robin's washboard stomach, every abdominal rippling below his skin like the tier of an abacus. The robe continued falling, but, at the moment of truth, he effortlessly caught it around the waist, and, turning slightly, offered Victoria a prime view of his left shoulder-blade. Approximately the size of a fist, or a drink coaster, the skin just below and to the left of Robin's neck boasted one of the most exquisitely rendered tattoos Victoria had ever seen. It might have been a painting at an art museum, considering how much detail and color had gone into the design. In shades of cardinal, black, and yellow, the tattoo depicted a pessimist's view of Hell, with inferno bursts raging through molten rock, crumbling brimstone, and, at the forefront, a menacing male figure dragging away a helpless damsel.
"Hades," Robin made the introduction, as if that explained it. "The Greek God of the underworld kidnapping Persephone."
"It's beautiful." Her voice sunk to an awed whisper. "You know what it reminds me of? A Burton Chalmers painting."
"That's because it is one."
"Right." Now, it was Victoria's turn to smirk. "The man's work is on permanent exhibition at the Louvre, and you're telling me he does a little tattooing on the side?"
Unimpressed with Victoria's tone, Robin shrugged his robe back on, and coolly related, "I was in France, I called Chalmers, and I asked him to ink the tattoo. He said no. I named a price. He said yes. Have I made my point, Miss Morgan? The rich don't have to be reasonable. I always get what I want, and I wanted that particular design. It's my most favorite. I relate to it quite strongly. In Greek mythology, you see, Hades is the bringer of chaos."