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 22
Nicole's eyes leisurely flitted from Robin, standing shirtless in the center of the living room, to the unmade blanket and pillow on the couch, to Victoria, awkwardly straightening from where she'd crouched to speak to Eve. Smokey-eyes wide with insincere concern, Nicole inquired, "Don't you own a bed, dear?"
"Don't talk to her!" Robin stepped forward, but, for a beat, neither woman could tell which one he was addressing, until Robin turned to Nicole and snarled, "Don't you dare talk to Victoria like that. Where the hell have you been the last couple of weeks?"
His belligerence was clearly aimed solely at Nicole. And yet it frightened Victoria deeply. She'd never seen Robin behave like this. Even at the Elizabeth Fund Gala after it became clear that he was losing their bet, even the other night when he'd stumbled in determined to convince Victoria what a bastard he was, she'd never felt such pure rage radiating from him -- like physical heat. What scared Victoria most though, was her hunch that not only was Robin drifting dangerously close to not being able to control that heat, but that, in fact, the heat was controlling him.
Nicole lifted Robin's shirt from where he'd hung it over the back of a chair, and smiled as she rubbed the material between two impeccably manicured fingers. "Did you miss me, darling?"
He grabbed the shirt out of her hands, stuffing both arms into the sleeves, furiously buttoning it. His hands pulsed with barely bridled violence, a fact that Nicole noted with a satisfied smile. Despite the hostility, she seemed to be drawing pleasure from their exchange. And so, in some perverse way, was Robin. The perception chilled Victoria. It reminded her of Gabriel baiting Terrence even as their foster-father's fists pummeled his face and blood trickled from Gabriel's nostrils, how every blow prodded a twisted smile as Gabriel drew a warped satisfaction from the control that came with possessing the knack for bringing out the worst in another person.
Robin demanded, "Where were you, Nicole?"
She shrugged, continuing to walk around Victoria's living room like a tourist unimpressed by the exhibit. "Here and there."
"Damn you." Robin grabbed Nicole's arm, yanking her with such force, she nearly toppled off her four-inch heels.
She fell against his chest, face temptingly close to the base of his throat. Smiling wickedly, Nicole nipped at his collarbone, leaving feint teeth-marks, and purring "Not in public, darling."
He shuddered, shaking her off him like one would a leech.
In the doorway, Eve watched the exchange with a numb look that cut Victoria deeper than even the reality of Robin's wife invading her apartment. Victoria took Eve's hand, surprised by how quickly the child acquiesced in being led by a total stranger, and, voice deliberately resonant in the hope that Robin and Nicole would pick up her cue, offered, "Are you hungry, Eve? I have some fruit in the kitchen. Cereal, too. Would you like me to make you some?"
Eve shrugged, dutifully following Victoria, while her parents watched, both somehow startled by the reminder of Eve's existence.
As Victoria shut the kitchen door behind them, Nicole offered, "I can see why you're holding on to this one, Robin. So domestic. Just like the mommy you lost."
For an instant, Nicole actually believed Robin might hit her. He got as far as raising his arm, before a quick glance towards the kitchen reminded him of Pollyanna lurking on the other side, and he merely demanded, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Considering all the time you've spent in this apartment over the past few weeks, I'd assumed we'd moved."
"Oh, that's humorous, Nicole." Robin bent his elbow to button his cuff. "I told you in France I'd be sending divorce papers."
"Send them." Nicole flipped both palms towards the ceiling. "Mail them, messenger them, have them delivered in song. No law says I'm obligated to sign them."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because," she crossed her arms smugly. "I don't want to."
He struggled to control his temper. "Name your price."
"No." She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. "You're not listening, Robin. But, that's fine. Our marriage wasn't exactly built on communication, was it?" She moved her hips, rubbing against him, until, in spite of himself, she felt Robin start to respond. Nicole smiled.
He pulled away in disgust, and, through clenched teeth, spat, "Name your price, Nicole. This is your last chance."
She laughed. "Or you'll what, darling?"
"I'll cut you off without a cent." The reply came so quickly, he must have been planning for it. The realization shocked Nicole. She'd never known Robin to think further than his next cognac. She wondered what other bad habits his bimbo-de-jour had taught him.
Robin said, "Either sign the divorce papers and help yourself to the largest settlement your greedy little soul can come up with, or fight me on this and lose everything."
For a man who thrived on cultivating an image so detached, so bored, and so cynical that, at times, it bordered on catatonic, he certainly sounded like he meant to carry out his threat. But, that was impossible. Robin had asked for divorces before, and he always ended up changing his mind. Because, deep down, Robin knew he and Nicole belonged together. They were each other's dark-side. They fed off each other. They were, as Robin so eloquently expressed it once: each other's punishment for a wealth of past and future sins.
And so, instead of answering him one way or the other, Nicole only flashed an enigmatic smile guaranteed to drive Robin mad, and gaily called out, "Come along, Eve. We're leaving."
Her daughter came out of the kitchen, pausing to let Victoria wipe a milk-mustache off her face with a napkin. Robin's slut wore a navy, tailored business suit that, except for the skirt, might as well have been cut for a man, and a blouse that even a seventy year old maid wouldn't wear, for fear of appearing too dowdy. Her hair, which had to come from a bottle, or else surely there'd be gray in it by now, was pulled back off her face and into a knot no capable hairdresser on the Riviera would ever consider a French twist.
Nicole shook her head, sympathetically asking Robin, "Was this the best you could do, darling? I didn't realize the pickings were getting so slim out there."
Undaunted, Victoria matched Nicole sweet smile for sweet smile as she remarked, "It makes you wonder what sort of harridan he was running away from, doesn't it, if I looked good in comparison?"
Robin's lips twitched. He shot Victoria a look of admiration. At least, that's what Nicole assumed it to be. He'd never looked at her that way. He'd never smiled at her with anything save lust or contempt in all the six years they'd known each other.
Victoria grinned back, then winked at him. It was a gesture devoid of eroticism. And yet, it reeked of an intimacy that Nicole and Robin, despite marathon sessions of passionately exploring each other to exhaustion, had never come even close to reaching.
Nicole approached Victoria, voice low, almost hypnotic in it's intensity. "You think you know everything, don't you? A couple of sweaty nights screwing my husband, and you're an authority on him. Well, let me tell you something, you don't know a damn thing." She smiled viciously. "I do dare you to ask him, though."
Victoria's glance wavered in confusion from Nicole to Robin. "Ask him what?"