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 20
Victoria's doorbell rang at two forty-one in the morning. She had to balance on her tiptoes to peer cautiously through the peephole. Robin stood on the other side, dressed in a tux similar to one he'd worn at the Elizabeth Fund Gala. The sight of him looking so formal pinched Victoria with a twinge she knew was jealousy. In spite of his coming to see her nearly every evening, when Victoria refused to go out with him past a decent hour, he went alone. She didn't ask where, and he didn't tell her, but she suspected a man with Robin's looks, and, as he himself pointed out, trust-fund, was never at a loss for companionship -- male or female. Victoria knew she had no right to be jealous. After all, she was the one who had insisted they play at just being friends. She didn't own him. And yet, fear of Robin meeting some other woman, someone who intrigued him more than she did, was never far from her mind. Over the past few weeks, Victoria had been unable to climb into bed and stare at the clock without wondering where Robin was. And who he was with.
Of course, at two forty-one this morning, she didn't have to wonder. Robin was on her doorstep. And he appeared to be alone.
Victoria opened the door, curious. He'd never come to see her so late before. "Robin? Is something wrong? Are you all right?"
He sauntered inside, pausing along the sole step that led down to her sunken living room, and contemplating the place from above.
"I'm just dandy, thank-you." The glaze of his eyes, and the way he enunciated each word so perfectly he might have been giving a diction lesson, led Victoria to guess, "You're drunk, Robin."
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think so, Miss Morgan?"
"Yes." She swallowed hard, fighting to keep the demons of her childhood from rising up to direct this situation. She had to stay calm. She had to remember that the man in front of her was Robin, not Terrence. And that Robin -- somehow she knew this deep in her heart -- would not, could not, ever hurt her.
"Well, in that case." Robin turned to face her, his movements deliberately graceful. "I suppose you're right."
She believed he would never hurt her, yet Robin's performance frightened Victoria all the same. Since she also suspected he felt no qualms about sadistically hurting himself.
"What's wrong, Robin?" Victoria cupped his hand between both of hers, massaging it gently, hoping to somehow soothe the turmoil she saw raging in his eyes. His every muscle was so taut, she felt it quiver beneath his flesh. Robin reminded Victoria of a rubber-band stretched so tightly, any wrong move would snap it for good. "Was it something I did?"
"Damn you!" He yanked his palm from her grip as if Victoria's massage had pierced an exposed nerve. "Can't a man get drunk if he wants to, without it having to be all about you?"
If Robin hoped his outburst would provoke Victoria into a fury equal to his own, he was destined for disappointment. Rather than angering her, his eruption actually calmed Victoria down. This was a world she knew, and, while dealing with a cryptic drunk left her perplexed, dealing with an angry one made her feel right at home.
Instead of rewarding Robin's acrimonious query with an answer, she simply approached him again, more ginger this time, and rested her hand on his back. She wasn't surprised to find him trembling.
"What's wrong, Robin?" Victoria repeated, her voice soft, not censorious.
"Why did you come here?"
"Why do you think?" He spun around, managing to grab both of her wrists and pull Victoria towards him until they were chest to chest, his face looming over hers, the Scotch on his breath filling her nostrils. "I got bored. I wanted to have a little fun."
His grip proved much firmer than Victoria ever imagined. When they'd danced together, Robin had held her gently, reverently, and he'd treated her the same way every day since. So the power of his hold around her wrists took her by surprise. He was much stronger than she would have guessed, easily capable of cracking both her arms in a single motion. The realization didn't frighten Victoria in the slightest. If anything, she felt touched by the knowledge of how much self-control he was exercising not to hurt her.
"Robin," she said calmly, refusing to defy his grasp. "If you had merely gotten bored, I'm sure that wherever you just came from was packed with young ladies happily willing and able to supply all the... fun... you could ever crave. So, why did you come here?"
"Maybe I wanted you."
"Well, if you did, here's a hint." Victoria turned her head and pushed herself away from his chest. "Secondhand Scotch is not the way to do it."
He allowed her to wriggle from his grip, watching Victoria go regretfully, the way one might watch an armada leave shore.
"You and your brother," he said. "You've always got an answer for everything."
Gabriel's was the last name Victoria expected Robin to invoke, and so she asked, "What does Gabriel have to do with this?"
Robin lifted a photograph of the siblings that stood next to Victoria's couch. He said, "Your brother visited me this morning."
"What for?"
"He came to remind me." Robin's fingers tightened around the frame. "Of what a bastard I was." His thumb splintered the glass, ripping the photo and slicing his flesh in the process.
Victoria jumped at the crack. She saw the blood dripping from Robin's finger, and hurried to the kitchen, coming back with paper towels and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, asking, "Are you okay? Let me look at that, it might need stitches."
Robin stretched his hand silently for Victoria's examination, apparently as stunned by what he'd inadvertently done, as she was. He didn't so much as wince when she dabbed at the cut with alcohol, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere. Then, as Victoria picked at the tiny, crushed shards embedded in his skin, Robin continued on as if nothing had happened to interrupt him. He explained, "Gabriel came to remind me of what a bastard I was, because I'd forgotten." With his left arm, he raised Victoria's chin, so she would look at him. "Because you made me forget."
The bottle of alcohol slipped through her fingers, and she had to duck her head to retrieve it. Her hands shook, breath catching in her throat. How did he do it? How did Robin, with just a look and a few words, manage to so thoroughly discombobulate her?
She took her time mopping up the mess on her floor, using the break to pull herself together, so that, when she finally looked up again, her voice managed to appear entirely steady as she inquired politely, "What makes you think you're a bastard, Robin?"
"Because I am." He brought his thumb to his lips, sucking the slash to stop its bleeding. "I treat people atrociously, I always have. It's like a compulsion. It's who I am."
"Oh, right. I forgot. Hades, God of the Underworld."
His lips stretched into a bitter smile. "Exactly."
"You've never treated me atrociously."
"Wait."
"Is that why you're so upset?" Victoria gathered her first-aid supplies, heading back to the kitchen and asking over one shoulder. "Because of what Gabriel said to you?"
"Hell, no." He sprang to his feet, shouting so she could hear him even with the kitchen door closed. "The day that jerk affects my mood -- no. This has nothing to do with Gabriel. I'm telling you, Victoria, this is who I really am. Take it or leave it."
Victoria came back with a cup of coffee which she thrust into Robin's hands. As he brought the lukewarm brew to his mouth, she said, "Well, I certainly don't intend to take it."