Looking a bit bemused, Robin watched her assistant sail out of the room and then found her gaze once more. “Justine’s…the same,” he finished, evidently unable to come up with a better description.
Marion sympathized.
“That she is,” she agreed, resisting the urge to massage her temples. She looked up and smiled. “Good morning.”
He sauntered forward and, looking more than a little pleased with himself, carefully laid a check on top of her desk. A quick glance confirmed it was from Jason…and it was double the amount of his original pledge. A smile flirted with her lips.
Only Robin.
“Thank you,” she said, grinning up at him. Irrationally pleased—hell, it wasn’t like he’d slain a damned dragon—she poked her tongue in her cheek and slid the check into her top drawer. “You made quick work of that.”
He settled his six-and-a-half-foot muscled frame into the smallish chair in front of her desk and somehow managed to appear comfortable. “I talked to him before I went home last night.”
“Talked?” she queried skeptically. “Did he acquire any bruises during this particular conversation?”
Robin’s warm chuckle matched his good-humored gaze. “Only to his ego, I assure you. Though I was prepared to make him see reason in any number of ways, had he not been so cooperative,” he added in a grimmer tone.
She’d just bet he was. And the very idea made her foolish heart thrill at the thought of each one. It was downright…bloodthirsty. What the hell was wrong with her? And if it was wrong, then why did it feel so right?
“As promised, here’s the list,” she said, handing him the file she’d pulled together early this morning.
He accepted it without looking at it, which she didn’t question but thought was strange considering it was supposed to be the reason he was here this morning. “Thanks,” he told her. “Do you have plans for this evening?”
Marion blinked and her pathetic heart jumped into her throat. Her? Plans? Only if watching reruns of The Big Bang Theory and painting her toenails passed for plans. “Er, I—”
He gestured to the folder. “I’m guessing that the bulk of the people on this list will be at the Red Ball tonight, and I was hoping you’d accompany me.” He grinned at her. “We can tag team them, make them pay up.”
Ah, Marion thought, her own smile frozen. Actually, she preferred her own plans for the evening, such as they were, to attending a formal event with people who paid more for their lawn care than her annual salary. But technically, it was part of her job. And since Robin had already proved he could make reluctant pledges honor their promises, how could she refuse? It was for the good of the clinic, right? And watching him in action would no doubt be entertaining and gratifying.
Frankly, only the possibility of doing more harm than good for the clinic had kept her from taking a more forceful approach to collecting the outstanding pledges. Robin was better connected, better insulated and could do much more in that regard than she could.
She nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll meet you there.” This was a slippery slope and she was clinging determinedly to the edge. She didn’t trust herself enough to allow him another home visit. Intuition told her if Robin crossed her threshold again, he’d be doing more than breaching her inner sanctum, he’d be invading—with her full cooperation—her bedroom, as well.
From the moment she’d seen him last night, every bit of forgotten longing and unresolved sexual frustration had boiled to the surface, making her feel feverish and jittery, spun up and wound tight. Like a coiled spring ready to snap. Every moment spent in his company only compounded the issue and eroded what little remained of her self-control.
Robin stilled for a fraction of a second, his easy smile turning brittle. “I’ve just invited you to the Red Ball and you said yes. It’s a date, Marion,” he explained with exaggerated patience. “I’ll pick you up.”
The breath in her lungs thinned. A date? Well, yes, by that definition she supposed it was. Her head spun. A date. Right. She cleared her throat, tried to gather her fractured thoughts. “Part of the service, is it?” she asked, her voice weak.
He smiled, the corner of his mouth hitching into that grin she couldn’t resist. “In a manner of speaking.”
A date…
God help her. She was so going to need some divine intervention.
* * *
WELL, THAT CERTAINLY HADN’T gone as planned, Robin thought as Marion led him through the clinic. Though he could tell she’d made various improvements and, as usual, had everything as efficient and streamlined as possible, he could barely hear her from the noise in his own head.
Date? Yes, he’d asked her to go with him to the Red Ball, more as a ploy to get to spend some more time with her—and to show off, if he was honest, because he’d devised some pretty devious ways to get people to part with their promised money—he hadn’t actually meant it to be a genuine honest-to-goodness date.
At least, he didn’t think he did, but at this point, who the hell knew? Perspective—if he’d ever had any to begin with—had gone by the wayside. He just knew that when she’d offered to meet him—meet him, for crying out loud—at the venue…something had just snapped inside him. Her determination to keep him at arm’s length, even when he was trying to help her, galled him to no end.
She might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull.
While “retreat” might be in other men’s character, it wasn’t in his.
Her little attempt to dodge him only made him want to advance and reload. Made him want to grab hold of the long braid presently bobbing between her shoulder blades and tug her to him, then lick the sweet spot on the back of her neck. She was in another long and flowing dress today, this one a dark purple with a fitted bodice that fully covered her breasts, but somehow managed to display them to perfect advantage anyway. The color accentuated her pale skin, made it glow, even in this horrendous commercial light.
And the way she moved… She didn’t just walk. She glided, head high and swanlike.
It was sexy as hell.
“Marion,” Justine called down the hallway they were currently exploring. She winced regrettably. “I hate to interrupt, but Gage is here again and insists on seeing you.”
Marion’s smile dimmed. She stilled and some unspoken communication passed between the two women. She nodded. “Show him into my office, would you, Justine?” She turned to Robin. “I’m afraid this is going to conclude our tour, unless you’d like to wait.”
Oh, he’d wait, if for no other reason than to find out who this Gage was and why he thought he could insist on anything when it came to Marion. “I’ll just grab a cup of coffee in the lounge.”
She nodded, seemingly pleased. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Robin had just reached the lounge door when Justine and a scrawny teenaged boy came into view. The kid’s clothes were worn, but clean, and his shaggy ginger hair looked as if a blind barber had gotten a hold of it. He put Robin in mind of a poor man’s Christopher Robin. Marion smiled warmly when she saw him, then ran a hand down the boy’s woefully thin back. Before Robin could read anymore into the exchange, they disappeared into her office. Justine’s usually perky face was wreathed in a sad frown, which she instantly transformed when she caught Robin watching.
She bustled forward. “Let me get you that cup of coffee while you’re waiting,” she said. “It should only be a few minutes.”
“It looked more serious than a few minutes,” he remarked. “Is that boy sick? Does he have an illness?”
Justine topped off a cup and handed it to him. “No, he’s as well as he can be, all things considered.”
Well, that was cryptic enough. Intrigued, Robin leaned a hip against the counter. “Oh? What things?”
“His mother is a former prostitute with end-stage AIDS and a bad drug habit. She’s never been a patient here, but from what I’ve heard, she trades whatever assistance she gets to feed her habit and not her son. Gage has be
en removed from the home several times by Children’s Services, but he invariably runs away and goes back to her. He says he has to take care of her, that she doesn’t have anyone else.” Justine swallowed. “That’s true, of course. But it’s a damned shame that he’s got a better sense of responsibility than his own mother does.” She looked up and her gaze met Robin’s. “Because that boy doesn’t have anyone, either…other than Marion.”
Robin didn’t have any idea what he’d expected Justine to say, but this certainly wasn’t it. He swallowed, sickened. What a burden to put on a kid’s shoulders. “How old is he?”
“Thirteen.”
“And he hasn’t contracted the disease?”
“No. He’s tested every three months and Marion has gone over all the safety issues with him. He’s smart. He understands.”
“So why is he here?”
“Work, most likely. He does odd jobs around the clinic. Marion pays him to sweep, take out the garbage, that sort of thing.” She grinned. “Last week she had him planting flowers. He tried to pretend like he was mortified, but I think he secretly enjoyed it.”
“What about school?”
“He goes when he can and his teachers work with him. Children’s Services is turning a blind eye for the time being.” She hesitated. “Shannon’s days are limited.”
“And what’s going to happen to him then?”
Justine released a long breath and shook her head. “I have no idea. And for the record, when I say she pays him, I mean she pays him. Out of her own pocket, not out of the clinic’s account. A good portion of her salary is reserved for what she calls her ‘discretionary fund.’”
Well, that certainly explained a lot, Robin thought, not the least bit surprised. That was Marion. Generous, caring, invested. Siphoning off part of her own earnings to help people less fortunate than she was, but doing it in a way that taught a good work ethic and wasn’t demeaning.
Amazing.
Justine glanced up at Robin. “And there are many others just like him. Different stories, but with the same circumstances. She’s an angel of mercy, that girl. We’re lucky to have her.”
Yes, Robin thought. Yes, they were.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a list of the people she helps, would you?”
Justine’s heavily made-up gaze turned shrewd, then she grinned. “No, but I’d be happy to make one for you. Confidentially, of course.”
“Of course.” He made a quick decision. “Rather than tie up anymore of Marion’s time, I’m going to go on. Tell her goodbye for me, please, and that I’ll see her at six-thirty.” He grinned. “Oh, and tell her to wear red.”
6
WHATEVER RESERVATIONS MARION might have had about her Red Ball attire were completely alleviated when she opened her door and Robin’s jaw literally dropped.
She laughed, delighted. “Just let me get my purse,” she said, “and I’m ready to go.”
Robin followed her in. “Go? Are we meant to go somewhere?” He gave his head a small shake. “I’ve completely forgotten.”
“What’s on the menu for this event?” Marion asked him, beyond flattered. “I didn’t have time to eat and I’m starving.”
His gaze slid from one end of her body to the other and he licked his lips. Impossibly, she felt the slide of his tongue…everywhere. “Me, too.”
Her belly flipped over and a current of heat slid into her loins. Her breasts pouted behind her bra. Marion released a shaky breath. “And that’s the first of what I imagine will be many Big Bad Wolf impressions for the evening.”
“It’s the cape,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Although I seriously doubt Little Red Riding Hood was as lovely as you are.”
She blushed at the compliment, more so than usual because she knew it was sincere. She could tell by the way he looked at her, like she was the appetizer, main course and dessert all rolled into one. It was thrilling. “Thank you. You don’t look half-bad yourself,” she said, gesturing to his evening wear. He wore a simple black tux which had obviously been handmade to size, it fit him so well. He was clean shaven, his tawny curls smoothed into place.
“Only half-bad?” he lamented with a feigned wince. “I was hoping for full bad. Full bad is so much better, after all.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “You look quite handsome,” she told him. “What? No hat tonight?” she quipped.
“I only bring that out for special occasions.”
She grinned, nodded, then lifted the edge of her velvet cape and let the fabric slip through her fingers. “That’s how I feel about my cape. You said to wear red.”
“I did,” he concurred with an appreciative nod. “And you wear it so well.”
It was nothing but pure dumb luck that she had it at all, but she’d stumbled upon the designer dress and matching cape while clicking her way through an online auction site. It was her size, her price and she’d been waiting for an occasion to wear it. Admittedly, it made her feel sexy. The dress itself was a simple satin sheath with a sweetheart neckline and a modest slit up the side. The cape, however, also satin-lined, was what made the outfit so dramatic. Yards and yards of red silk and velvet with a generous, cord-rimmed hood.
It was gorgeous and, more importantly, it made her feel gorgeous.
As a hat tip to Justine, she’d even applied matching lipstick and nail polish.
Angus sauntered into the living room and tried to curl around her legs. “Oh, no, you,” she said, guiltily sidestepping out of his reach. “I spent thirty minutes with the lint brush and don’t have time for another run at it.”
Angus blinked up at her, looking wounded enough to make Robin chuckle.
“Does that look often work?”
“Regrettably, yes.”
“Then I’ll need to take lessons.” He arched a brow. “What sort of cat is he? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like him before.”
Marion smiled and looked indulgently down at her pet. “At least you recognize that he’s a breed. Most people think he’s got some sort of birth defect.” She glanced up. “He’s a Scottish Fold. I got him when I moved in. Mom would never let us have a pet. She said animals were meant to be outdoors.”
Robin grimaced. “My grandfather would never let us have anything, either. He didn’t want to deal with food costs and vet bills. But I’m slowly populating the farm. I’ve got a few cows, a couple of horses, chickens, ducks and geese. And I’ve got a black-and-white border collie named Oreo—previous owner’s doing, not mine—that’s a bed hog.”
Her lips twisted. “Oreo, huh?”
He opened the door for her and they descended the steps. “John calls her Cookie just to piss me off.”
“John does a lot of things just to piss you off. Will he be there tonight?” she asked as she slid into the passenger seat.
“He will. He’s helping us.” And with that cryptic comment, he closed her door and rounded the hood. “Trust me,” he said as he slid behind the wheel. “You’re going to be mightily entertained this evening.”
“That’s not particularly comforting,” Marion murmured, equally anticipating and dreading what was to come. She had a sneaking suspicion that her entertainment was going to double as someone else’s embarrassment.
And that misgiving was confirmed the instant they walked into the ballroom. “Oh, dear Lord,” Marion breathed, stifling the urge to howl with laughter. “What did you do to Jason?”
Robin grinned, devilment dancing in his gaze, and blinked innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”
Jason was the only man in the room dressed in a red…suit? Tuxedo? Something. It was tricked out with lots of big brass buttons and yards of golden chord and tassels, but the hat… She covered her mouth as a giggle escaped her. The hat was the kicker. It was round, with a small bill edged in more ghastly golden chord. It made him look like a bellhop, which was no doubt why people kept handing him their drinks. Presently, he had two champagne flutes in one hand, two in the other, and another tucked up under h
is arm.
His face matched the outfit, either from embarrassment or anger. Or hell, probably both.
“Excuse me,” Marion said, darting behind a potted palm so that she could laugh properly. Her sides and shoulders shook and her eyes watered, which ordinarily wouldn’t have mattered, but she’d applied mascara and didn’t want to make a mess of her face.
She felt Robin come up behind her, his big hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” he asked, his own voice shaking with repressed merriment.
“Fine,” she breathed through another chuckle, and turned to scold him. “I can’t believe you did that. That poor man. He’ll be the butt of jokes for y-years to c-come.”
“Yes, he will, which is appropriate in my opinion because he’s an ass. And he deserves it.” He nodded sagely. “A little humility would do Jason a whole lot of good.”
She glanced up at him, her eyes wide with sarcasm. “Oh, and you’re the person who should deliver that message? You, the same man who thought you could put an arrow through a moving tire swing while drunk?” Her eyebrows rose. “You’re the one who should be teaching him humility?”
“Hey, I took my punishment, didn’t I?” he asked, feigning outrage. He gestured toward the red-faced Jason, who was juggling even more glasses. “This is merely his.” He nudged her shoulder and grinned. “Admit it. It’s funny.”
She stifled another wicked giggle and shook her head. “It is funny.”
“And this is only the beginning. Thirteen of the twenty-two that are on the list will be here tonight and I’ve got a little something planned for each and every one of them.”
Ah. “Is that what the duffel bag you hid under our table is for?”
His lips twitched. “You weren’t meant to see that.”
“But I did.”
“Oh, look, there’s John!” he said as if he’d never seen him before in his life, then grabbed her elbow and propelled her forward.
A thought struck. “Twenty-two?” she said, frowning. “The list I gave you only had nineteen people on it.”
“We’ll talk about that later.”
“Talk about what later?” Marion asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Where did the other names come from if I didn’t give them to you?”
Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume IX: The EqualizerGod's Gift to Women Page 5