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 34
"Don't touch that, Eve." Nicole slapped her daughter's hand away just as the little girl was reaching for the curious stack of manila folders buried beneath her mother's vast cache of satin and silk stockings in the bottom dresser drawer.
Eve stepped back unquestioningly, instantly hiding both hands behind her back, and turning away from Nicole to crawl on the bed, sitting cross-legged, her forehead pressed into the wall. Leaving Nicole with nothing to do but stare at her daughter's discovery and wonder, for the umpteenth time that day, what exactly she'd done.
Nicole knew the moment she messenger those photocopies over to the District Attorney's office, she'd passed the fabled point of no return. She knew as soon as she threw the archetype original at Victoria Morgan that she couldn't turn back now even if she wanted to. The only thing Nicole didn't understand was why, every once in a while, she felt knocked over by a wave of... wanting to.
It couldn't be guilt. Victoria had no right to Robin. Nicole was only reclaiming what was hers. And Gabriel deserved everything he had coming to him, considering his weeks of lies. Besides, it's not like she intended to do him any permanent damage. Victoria was certain to cave -- she was that type, you could tell -- then Nicole would have Robin back, and Gabriel would be free as a bird. It was all in Victoria's court. Whatever happened now, Nicole couldn't be blamed. Whether Gabriel rotted in prison was Victoria's call. The only person Nicole cared about was Robin. So that's what she kept reminding herself.
Even when, the moment she heard her buzzer and opened the door to find Robin reclining there, the initial, uncensored thought that flash through Nicole's mind proved, "He's safe. Gabriel is safe."
Robin, on the other hand, was dangerous. At least judging by the gleam in his eye, where Nicole saw that familiar drive towards indulgence mixing with utter contempt for its consequences. Robin looked her over, and, voice devoid of anything that might be judged as warmth, invitation, or even inflection, said, "Let's go."
Nicole went.
For the first part of the evening, if she closed her eyes and kind of squinted, Nicole could pretend everything was just like old times. She and Robin made a tour of San Francisco's most exclusive hotspots, where, she convinced herself, he still received the same thrill from entering a room with her on his arm and watching every eye in the place turn in their direction, marveling at the gorgeous pair they made. Granted, Robin barely said more than ten words to her, preferring to save his most verbose exchanges for a succession of bartenders. But, that too, was just like old times.
He never mentioned Victoria Morgan. He acted as if she never existed even. And yet, Nicole sensed the bitch's presence in every breath Robin exhaled, in every swallow of "vodka, straight up," he gulped, and in every wince he maneuvered to hide whenever some redhead crossed his gradually blurring line of vision.
Nicole drove Robin back to the Fairmont, and followed him up to his room as a matter of course. Since she was thirteen years old, Nicole had never waited to be asked. She was hardly going to start now, with her own husband.
He didn't bother turning on any lights, plopping onto his bed, a pillow propped in between his shoulders and the headboard. He dropped back his own head until it smacked the wall with a muffled thump, and contemplated the ceiling, hands by his sides, palms open and turned upward in a stance Nicole found disturbingly vulnerable.
She settled at the edge of the bed, next to him. In the dark, Robin's pupils glowed like twin nebulas. They watched her without conveying a word. The only sound was the creak of the bedsprings, the bleating of horns outside their window, and Robin's breathing, as ragged as if he'd run long and hard before collapsing, incapable of giving a molecule more.
Never in her existence had Nicole perched on a bed in a man's hotel room and felt so at a loss over what to do next. And so she resorted to the only world she knew, hoping Robin would follow her lead, and everything would soon return to normal.
She reached for the top button of his shirt, undoing it with the dexterity of experience. Robin didn't respond. He didn't even move. His eyes remained fixed in the distance. His heartbeat, so obvious at the base of his neck beneath her fingers, stayed steady.
It didn't exactly do wonders for a girl's ego.
Deciding a more aggressive assault was in order, Nicole dipped her head and proceeded to undo the remainder of Robin's buttons -- using only her lips and tongue. Yet another life-skill she picked up along the way that, most of the time, proved quite popular. She rested her chin atop his crotch, and rubbing her cheek against his bare stomach, waited for a response.
Finally, Robin's hand twitched, and he dragged it off the bed, planting it on Nicole's head, tangling his fingers in her hair. It hurt when he tugged. She let it pass.
"Darling... " Nicole began.
He didn't let her finish. Abruptly, Robin shoved Nicole off of him, though not hard enough to make her fall, and, rolling over on his side, curled into a ball and went asleep.
Rejection struck her like a crowbar across the gut.
Followed just as fiercely by... relief.
And then utter confusion.