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 21
He shrugged, pantomiming that he'd expected as much, and that, really, it didn't matter to him one way or the other.
"You are not a bastard, Robin Cooper," she said. "And I won't let you persuade me -- or yourself -- otherwise."
He rolled his eyes, slamming his newly empty cup down onto the end-table next to Victoria and Gabriel's cracked picture-frame, and demanding. "Jesus, love, what do I have to do to convince you?"
"Steal my television set."
Robin blinked, her startling comeback instantly knocking the wind from his sails, and deflating his hard-fought thunder. "What did you say?"
Victoria crossed her arms, chin jutting in the air, the hint of a smile tugging the corners of her mouth. "I said, the only way I'll believe you're as much of a bastard as you say, is if the next time I turn my back, you stealthily make off with my TV set. That, in my definition, is a true bastard."
For almost a full minute, Robin continued staring at Victoria, convinced that one of them had just lost their mind, and trying to decide which one it was.
And then, Robin laughed.
His hands fell to his sides, his shoulders shook, his chin hit his chest, and he laughed. He laughed until he doubled over and needed to fumble for a seat on the couch, dropping his head in his hands and wiping his eyes with his palms. Whenever Robin tried to stop, all he had to do was look up, catch Victoria's eye, and the jag would commence all over again. Frankly, she hadn't thought her conditions were all that funny, and suspected that Robin's laughter had long ago bypassed stealing TV sets, and was now being triggered by stimulus she could only guess at. Nevertheless, Robin laughing was a lot better than Robin smashing glass.
He tapped his chest with his fist, trying to regain control of himself, and, in between gasps for air, managed to sputter, "You're really something else, you know that, love?"
Victoria perched on the edge of the coffee-table across from her couch, so that she and Robin sat face to face, knees touching. She brushed loose strands of hair from his forehead, then let her palm trail along his cheek, until she'd cupped his chin. Her thumb playfully outlined the contours of his cleft. He smiled and ducked his head, kissing her thumb, then, catching her wrist again between his hands, her palm and each of her fingers. His lips nibbled her pulse, where the skin was most sensitive.
Victoria withdrew her arm. She said, "Robin, I don't want you driving home tonight. Not in your state. I think you should stay here." She clarified, "On the couch."
He nodded. "I think you're right. Thank-you for the offer."
"You're welcome." She sprung up, heading for her bedroom and returning moments later with bedding which she managed to hand him without so much as brushing a fingertip against Robin.
He took it without a word.
"Well, then." Victoria said, "Goodnight."
He allowed himself a tiny smile. "What? No goodnight kiss?"
She opened her mouth to tell him it wasn't a good idea, but it was too late. Robin's lips were soft, and his tongue respectfully behind his teeth as he dipped his head, and ever so gently, kissed her. Strangely, the practically chaste contact affected them more than any of their previous, deeper, more intimate kisses. Because this kiss wasn't about what couldn't be. It was about what might.
Voice hoarse, Robin pulled away, asking, "Your bedroom door, does it have a lock?"
Victoria nodded.
"Then I suggest you use it."
She nodded again. "Goodnight, Robin."
"Pleasant dreams, love."
Inside her bedroom, Victoria paused by the door, her fingers twisting the knob as she contemplated what to do. From the other side, Robin commanded, "I said, lock it, Victoria. I may not be a complete bastard. But, I'm no saint, either."
She did as he ordered. Then, for over an hour, Victoria lay awake, tossing, turning, monitoring the clock and willing morning to hurry up and arrive already.
At dawn, she finally got up, crept to the door, and, with one decisive snap, unlocked it. Only then, could she return to bed and fall asleep.
Dressed for the day, Victoria, for the third time in less than four hours, stood by her door. She pressed her ear against it and listened for any signs of Robin being awake. She heard nothing.
She wondered if she should just go out there, drink her coffee and leave the house as if Robin wasn't even there. She wondered if she should wake him up to say good-bye. She wondered if she should leave a note. She wondered what such a note should say.
She wondered if she was making way too big of a production out of the whole thing.
After all, it wasn't like anything had even happened between them the other night. Certainly not compared to some of the other things that had happened before. And yet, Victoria couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened. Only neither of them was ready to admit it yet.
She opened the door a crack, and peered outside. Robin lay on his back on the couch, blanket tangled around his legs, naked from the waist up, one arm tucked under his head, the other dangling off the side. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady and even.
Victoria approached tentatively, loathe to wake him, and yet unable to keep away. She bent her knees, kneeling beside him and just watching Robin sleep. A day's growth of beard stubbled his cheeks. Victoria had to squeeze her hands into fists to keep from reaching out and rubbing her fingers against the fine hairs. She watched the way his eyelashes fluttered, the way his bangs fell across his forehead, the way the slight concave at the center of his chest rose and fell with each breath.
Victoria wasn't certain how long she ended up crouching there, except that she supposed, eventually, her peering at him woke Robin up. He blinked his eyes several times to clear his vision, yawned, and groggily smiled up at Victoria. "Good-morning."
"Morning." She stood up awkwardly, but Robin's free arm shot out to grab her and keep her where she was.
He said, "You know, I've been fantasizing about waking up next to you for weeks, now. I must confess, though, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
"Soon," Victoria promised, relieved to, at long last, bury the just-friends pretense she'd clung to for weeks.
He sat up, surprised. "How soon?"
"That's up to you."
"You mean it's up to Nicole." Robin tossed off the blankets, pulling on his pants, and grumbling, "It's not like I haven't been trying. I've got detectives searching every salon and boutique in Europe. She's got to show up eventually, she's got no money."
"Maybe you," Victoria suggested gingerly, "Are more important to her than your money."
Robin snorted. "If you asked my dear wife to describe me, she would start by listing my financial holdings."
Victoria was about to reply, when a knock on the door diverted her attention. She peered through the peephole.
"Who is it?" Robin asked.
She moved to unlock the bolt. "It's a little girl." Victoria opened the door. The child couldn't have been more than five years old, dressed in a periwinkle dress and black, patent-leather shoes.
"Well, hello, sweetheart." Victoria perched to her eye-level. "Are you all right? Are you lost?"
"Actually, Miss Morgan, she's right where she should be." A black, suede skirt stepped into Victoria's line of vision. "Eve's come to visit her father."
Nicole tugged off her gloves one finger at a time, and looking straight through Victoria, addressed herself exclusively to Robin.
"Surprise, darling."