by Helena Ray
“Y–yes,” she said shakily. This man made her quite uneasy. “And yes, the Meadows Museum sent me. I’ve been compiling a dossier from your online holdings...”
“The online holdings are hardly adequate.” Dr. Blackmon snorted in disdain as he turned away from Robin back toward the unorganized mound of paper from which he had emerged. He collected an armful of wrinkled papers and shoved them toward her. “Here, these should get you started.”
“Thank you, Dr. Blackmon. Is there anywhere I can—”
“I’ve worked quite hard to keep this one of the finest familial archives in the country, you know.” He paced back and forth in front of Robin, keeping her from anything but the papers she struggled to balance in her arms. She watched in horror as sweat beads rolled from behind his neck, past his already soaked shirt collar, and onto the papers scattered across the floor, damaging irreplaceable documents. “I don’t just let anybody snoop around in here.”
“The Meadows Museum really appreciates your cooperation with the Abrams family in—”
“Call me Melvin, Robin.” He stopped in front of her and studied her face. Robin twitched under the intensity of his scrutiny. “You can set up at the table over there.” He pointed to a small school desk covered with even more boxes of documents.
“Um, thank you,” Robin stuttered, not sure exactly how to behave in this situation.
“I must take my leave now,” he said with a dramatic flourish. “Mother will be needing me to cook her dinner.” He leaned in toward Robin again, and she instinctively backed up. “I can trust you with the archives, can’t I?”
“Of course,” she said as she backed into the wall.
“Have you yet met that despicable excuse for a stable manager, Bryant Clare?”
Even in the presence of the stout, narcissistic archivist, Robin couldn’t help but grin a small bit. “Yes, I’ve met Bryant.”
“Dreadful human.” Melvin snorted in derision. “The fortunate, ungrateful bastard lives on the grounds. He’ll be by to lock up around five.” As he waddled to the door, the man whose figure resembled a fireplug called out to Robin, “You’re the only one with access to the archives with the knowledge to do any damage.” He paused and narrowed his eyes at Robin. “If I find anything a hair out of place, I’ll know who the perpetrator is.”
He slammed the door behind him, and Robin breathed a sigh of relief as she heard him stumble down the portable building’s steps.
The roar of the window unit grew louder as she stood alone in the office. How could she not move anything a hair out of place? The building was an utter disaster, and Robin knew this would take much longer than the two or three weeks she had allotted for the assignment. The thought brought a smile to her face, though.
Bryant would be here later to lock up. Bryant, who promised to make her stay in Male Order much, much more enjoyable. She closed her eyes and conjured up images of the afternoon. Riding through the grounds with her hands firmly pressed against his stomach, the feel of those muscles rippling beneath her hands...
She had to shake her head and close her eyes to calm her arousal and attempt to focus on the daunting task at hand. But when she closed her eyes, all she saw was Bryant’s face in the afternoon sunlight. The brightness brought out a smattering of freckles on his cheeks, and his wide smile glowed. Even in her mind’s eye, she could not tear her focus from his bright blue gaze.
Chapter 3
Robin pushed her chin-length brown hair behind her ears again. She felt painfully awkward as she stumbled toward the Abrams mansion in the green silk stilettos she wasn’t used to wearing. What was she doing here? This kind of party had driven her away from Dallas, but she couldn’t resist the look in Bryant’s eyes when he invited her. That sexy smirk could cause any girl to take leave of her senses.
She threw one last look back at the valet hopping into her Honda Civic and adjusted her short, green, strapless cocktail dress. Among the extravagant sports cars and straight-off-the-runway dresses, Robin felt even more out of place. A man in what could only be described as a penguin suit held the door open as Robin strode toward it.
“Right this way, mademoiselle.” He gestured into the grand foyer, which was decorated with tiny white lights and filled with waiters carrying trays of champagne flutes. Bryant had purported this to be a “small gathering,” but clearly their definitions of the term differed. Robin lifted a glass of champagne from a passing tray and graciously thanked the waiter. She could sympathize with those working in service to this abundantly wealthy family.
As she sipped on her champagne, the idea of fleeing this scene started to hold more appeal. The entire younger generation of Male Order appeared to be in attendance, and their presence intimidated her to no end. Although no one looked that much older than Robin, everyone dripped with a sophistication she could only dream of possessing. Suddenly, a voice in the crowd served to ease her awkwardness.
“Robin! Darlin’!” Robin turned around to see Bryant weaving his way through a gaggle of young girls. Their eyes all followed him, lingering on the muscular bulk of his chest. He wore a white, fitted shirt open at the top and flawlessly tailored black slacks. Even though he eschewed the pearl-snaps-and-denim attire, an air of casual openness still clung to Bryant. Robin felt a stir of jealousy in her chest at the other women’s open admiration of Bryant’s impressive physique.
He approached Robin and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as he landed a kiss on her cheek. “I’m so glad you could make it out to our little soiree.”
“I am, too.” Robin felt the eyes of the other women as she returned Bryant’s greeting. “Alexander can’t be too thrilled about my being here.” Bryant let out a chuckle at her comment.
“Alexander’s never thrilled about doing anything,” he said casually. “Smart little thing like you must have noticed that by now.”
Robin glanced around at their decadent surroundings and failed to locate Alexander. His impressive height made him difficult to miss in a crowd.
“Is he not even thrilled about attending his own party?” she asked.
“Oh, this isn’t the party.” A mischievous grin tugged at the corner of Bryant’s mouth. “This is only the smoke screen.”
“The what?” The habits of the privileged never failed to confuse Robin.
“Gossip travels fast in Male Order,” Bryant explained, “and if it got out that Alexander Abrams was holding one of his legendary European-style parties, there would be riots trying to get an invite.” He gestured to the gaggle of girls who still stood eying their interactions. “No matter what you think of him, there are more than a few young ladies vying for Al’s attention.”
“But I don’t get it,” Robin said. “Didn’t everyone get an invite? I don’t see how many more Male Order residents there could be.”
“As I said, gorgeous—” Bryant’s eyes glowed as he complimented Robin. “—this ain’t the real thing.” He leaned over her and whispered, his breath blowing against her ear. “I’ll show you the real thing.”
His voice, combined with his arm wrapping around her waist, hinted at something more sensual. But Robin had no time to contemplate Bryant’s meaning as he guided her toward a door underneath the grand staircase in the foyer. Bryant gave a nod to a man standing next to the door. Robin had failed to notice the doorman, as he was dressed in plain clothes, not the penguin suit of the man outside. The doorman glanced around to make sure his actions wouldn’t arise any suspicions in the party guests and held the door open just enough for Bryant and Robin to squeeze through it.
Robin couldn’t breathe at the sight that greeted them. They had stepped into a miniature replica of what Robin immediately recognized as Charles Garnier’s iconic card room at the Monte Carlo Casino in Monaco, well known to any architectural historian. She gaped at the walls drenched in gold paint and intricately executed murals. Although smaller in scale, the room shone with all of the decadence associated with the original. Fantasies of being clad as a Bond gir
l and seducing men in this room danced through Robin’s head. She quickly rid her mind of these thoughts. Just standing so close to Bryant Clare was driving her mad with sexual energy already.
“Welcome to Alexander’s masterpiece,” Bryant said as he indicated the room with a sweep of his hand. “When we got back from Europe, Al couldn’t get this place out of his head. He kept claiming he missed the room as much as the poker tables. His first order of business as head of the Abrams estate was constructing this room.”
Something Bryant said troubled Robin.
“We?”
“Yeah,” he said easily. “We. He invited me over there when he finished college.”
“Oh, so you worked for him there?” Robin assumed financial reasons were the only rationale anyone could have for voluntarily spending time around Alexander Abrams.
“Well, yeah,” Bryant explained as if it were obvious. “And we just hung out. He’s my best friend.”
What? How could such a nice, normal guy like Bryant ever be friends, let alone best friends, with an ogre such as Alexander? Robin seriously needed to reconsider her opinion of Bryant.
“Best friends? How?”
“I dunno.” Bryant shrugged. “We met at school when we were fourteen. I got a scholarship to St. Mark’s School in Dallas where all the rich kids went. I thought Alexander was an arrogant prick then, still do, but he’s a decent guy.”
Robin humphed at his statement. No one who treated her like he had could be described as a “decent guy.”
“Look, he’s not that bad.” Bryant squeezed his arm around her waist. “He takes some getting used to, but so does all of Male Order.”
Robin continued her pouting.
“How about I introduce you around?” Bryant asked. When Robin hesitated, he added, “No Alexander. Just some other people I want you to meet.”
She made the mistake of looking up into his sparkling blue eyes. She couldn’t deny any man who looked like that. What the hell? She was here for the next three or four weeks, anyway. Might as well get to know the locals, no matter how bizarre they were.
Bryant led Robin forward into the room. This room was nowhere near as crowded as the foyer. Most of the partygoers stood gathered around the bar, although a group of men sat around one of the many card tables set up in the room. The men seated at the table were all engaged in some sort of lively debate. Robin’s quick survey of the room failed to turn up any evidence of Alexander. Maybe he really was so stuck up he wouldn’t even attend his own gathering. Typical rich kid.
Bryant released Robin from his grip and moved in the direction of the bar. “Stay right here, darlin’.”
Robin continued to sip her champagne, feeling even more awkward now that she was in a more intimate setting. Bryant returned quickly, however, with a gaggle of guests to introduce.
Two gorgeous men flanked Bryant as he approached. They were nearly identical, with high, chiseled cheekbones and dark messes of curly hair. The only difference between them was their eye color— one sage, the other turquoise, both equally piercing.
“Robin Lawrence, meet two of Male Order’s most eligible bachelors, Grayson Stephens—” Bryant gestured toward the green-eyed twin. “—and Gavin Stephens,” he said with a nod toward the blue-eyed counterpart. What was it with this town and ridiculously good-looking men? Robin could get used to this.
Gavin started to leer in Robin’s direction, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bryant give him a stern look. This deterred Gavin only a little.
“Ms. Lawrence, welcome to Male Order.” He took her hand and leaned in conspiratorially with a nod toward Bryant. “If this guy gives you too much trouble, just let me know,” he whispered.
“Forgive my brother,” Grayson said dryly as Gavin reluctantly let go of Robin’s hand. “Grayson Stephens, so nice to meet you.” He gave her hand a healthy shake, and Robin nearly missed the questioning look Grayson shot to Bryant. He gave a curt nod in response, and Grayson dropped Robin’s hand.
“So you’re the historian from the Meadows Museum at SMU?”
Ah, discussing work. Robin was in her comfort zone for the first time since she had arrived at the party. “Yes, I’m the one digging through the archives all day. It’s a little bit lonely, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“If you ever get too lonely,” Gavin volunteered, “our buddy Sherri is also at SMU, and I bet she’d love to get you to the—”
“To the Boom Boom Room. For drinks.” Bryant leveled a heavy-handed stare at the twins. Robin didn’t understand what was going on, but she had come to expect the few interactions she’d had with the Male Order crowd.
“Sure, drinks.” The more serious Grayson let out a bemused snort.
Bryant leaned over and whispered in Robin’s ear. “They’re talking about something called a ‘Wicked Whimsy’ party. It’s quite the sensation amongst Male Order ladies these—”
Suddenly, the crystal chandelier hovering above the room dimmed, and the guests’ chatter softened to whispers.
“Okay, guys, the real stuff is about to start,” Bryant said, giving Gavin a friendly shove.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Robin whispered, mimicking the behavior of the other guests. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Looking forward to it,” Gavin said as Grayson tugged him in the opposite direction.
“They’re a handful.” Bryant laughed as he hooked her arm into the crook of his and led her in the direction of the card tables. “Forgive Al,” he said. “He has to make a dramatic entrance. It’s in his nature.”
Robin started to ask Bryant what he meant, but the sound of the heavy doors at the opposite end of the room creaking open stopped her. A smaller chandelier over the door illuminated, and Alexander stepped into the pool of light.
He made an impressive figure illuminated against the dull golden glow of the card room. The tall oak double doors through which he made his entrance framed his formidable height. A closely tailored charcoal gray suit flattered his lithe figure, emphasizing the athleticism in the way he walked. The light played over his sharp features, making his high cheekbones and strong jaw more pronounced. Standing there, he dripped with the elegance and sophistication one would expect from a legendary European playboy.
“Mesdames et messieurs,” he announced in a perfect French accent. “Bienvenue à ma petite soirée. Joueurs de carte, bonne chance!” Wait a minute, Robin thought. Jouers de carte? Her French was far from perfect, but she began to think it was more than a coincidence that this evening was held in this room devoted to the art of gambling.
“For those of you who neglected to pick up French, first, shame on you,” Alexander said with a smug look to his guests. “And second, welcome to my humble soirée, and good luck at the poker table. You’ll need it.”
Robin’s suspicions were confirmed. All of this secrecy wasn’t about keeping out Male Order’s riff raff. It was about covering up an elaborate poker game! All Robin could hope for was that it was for some charitable cause and not to further the wealth of the billionaires surrounding her.
Alexander clapped his hands, and the room suddenly glowed brighter than it had before, but the din of chatter didn’t escalate this time. Instead, the guests spoke in hushed tones as five men bravely strode toward the largest table in the center of the room.
“Sorry for not telling you first, beautiful,” Bryant said, wrapping an arm around Robin’s shoulders. “But after your reaction to Al, I figured you never would have come if you knew this was his swanky poker game.” The guy had a point there.
“Still! Poker in Male Order seems a little excessive, doesn’t it? Doesn’t everyone have enough money? Why would they want to risk it in an effort to get more?”
“Honey, when you’re rich like Alexander, gambling isn’t about money.” Bryant’s tone became serious. “Al started playing in high school, and when he moved to France, only a hop, skip, and jump away from Monaco, it got worse. It’s all about the adrenaline r
ush for him.” Bryant spoke casually again. “That, and he’s damn good at it. He loves taking other people’s money.”
For a moment, Robin felt a creeping sympathy for Alexander. His parents were all gone, and from what she had seen in the family archives, his fathers and grandfathers had pushed him hard toward a career in business. It couldn’t be easy to live up to the Abrams name.
Her sympathy faded, though, as Bryant pulled her closer toward the table.
“One hundred buy-in,” she heard Alexander announce at his table. Well, at least the game was relatively low-stakes. Maybe it was just about the thrill.
“My accountant gave yours the numbers earlier today,” said one man settling in a seat across from Alexander. “You should already have the hundred thousand.”
Wait just a minute, Robin thought. One hundred thousand? Just to buy in? She suddenly feared what she would see tonight. That was more than she had earned in her entire life! Just for one night of poker!
Bryant must have sensed her outrage as he ran a hand over her tensed shoulder blades. “I know, it doesn’t make sense to us.” He shrugged. “After a few years of this, hearing people toss around a couple of hundred grand doesn’t even ruffle your feathers.” Robin arched a single eyebrow at his claim. “I swear!” They shared a laugh at the absurdity of the statement.
“Bryant!” Alexander commanded in an imperious tone, interrupting their moment. “Get your ass to the table. I’d like to take your money tonight.”
Bryant surprised Robin by pulling her along with him as he crossed toward the table.
“Not tonight, man,” he said as they approached Alexander. “I’m introducing our guest around to your little crowd.” He gestured toward Robin as he spoke.
Alexander’s gaze came to rest on where Robin stood partially hidden by Bryant. “Oh. You came.” He didn’t sound very excited about her presence there. Even though Robin had already determined her utter distaste for the man, she tried to extend some professional courtesy.