Blazing Bedtime Stories, Volume IX: The Equalizer. Rhonda Nelson

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      “I know. But I want to.” His gaze softened, traced every facet of her face and lingered hungrily on her mouth. He bent forward and brushed a kiss against her cheek. His lips were warm and soft and his scent curled around her, something dark and woodsy. Sinful. “Good night, Marion. See you in the morning.”

      She smothered a whimper, willing her trembling, traitorous body to still, and let go a small, resigned breath. Like it or not, for better or for worse, Robin Sherwood was back in her life again. It was only a matter of time before he was back in her heart—assuming that he’d ever left, which was doubtful—and back in her bed, as well.

      Heaven help her.

      “Good night, Robin.”

      THE INTOXICATING SCENT OF HER skin still in his nostrils, Robin descended the front steps and made the short walk to his car, more irritated, exhilarated and turned on than he’d ever been in his life.

      The rational part of his brain understood that Marion was right—soliciting donations was perfectly within the scope of her duties as managing director at the clinic. Unfortunately, the other side of his brain—the one that felt like she’d lopped his balls off—was having difficulty understanding why she hadn’t come to him for help. Had he ever refused her anything for the clinic? Had he ever given her any indication that her work there wasn’t important to him?

      No, dammit, he hadn’t.

      He would have given her further funding, would have bought the equipment, medicines, hired additional staff, if needed. As he’d so gallingly admitted, he would have done whatever was necessary to make her happy.

      Meaning her happiness was much more important to him than he’d realized or, better still, understood.

      He didn’t know quite what to make of that and was disinclined to do the necessary internal excavation to uncover the rationale behind the observation. He grimly suspected one revelation would lead to another and he’d wind up more damned enlightened than he was prepared to deal with at the moment.

      His mood blackened.

      What he could deal with, however, was Jason and all the other lying bastards who’d broken their pledges to her. And to the clinic. And to all the people who depended on the clinic for their medical care. Marion was smart. She wouldn’t have wasted her time asking for donations from individuals or companies she knew couldn’t afford it.

      People like Jason, whose newfound wealth hadn’t been able to buy him any class.

      Robin slid into the driver’s seat, pulled out his cell phone and called John. “You still with Jason?”

      “I am,” John said around what was obviously a mouthful of food. “We’re at Carnival Cuisine where Jason has kindly arranged for me to taste everything on the menu. I’m not even halfway through yet.”

      “Good. Take your time then,” he told him. “I’m coming over there. I need to have a little chat with Jason.” John knew him well enough to know that, from the tone of his voice, “little chat” was synonymous with an ass-kicking.

      His friend’s silence stretched briefly across the line. “Is that right? And why is that?”

      Robin filled him in. “She’s been going out with him, trying to get him to pony up the donation he’d promised. She’s doing it for the clinic, John. And according to Marion, there are many, many more.”

      “I see,” John said. “Would I be correct in assuming that you’re going to have a little chat with everyone who has failed to make good on their promises, as well?”

      “That would be a fair assumption, yes.”

      “Excellent. Count me in.”

      Robin grinned. “I already had.”

      “You know the Red Ball is tomorrow night, right? I imagine that a good number of the people who’ve ended up on Marion’s list will be there. Perhaps instead of using the sledgehammer approach—not that it isn’t effective, mind you—you should employ a more … considered method. You’ve got Ranger Security resources at your fingertips, after all. Who knows what sort of leverage might emerge from a little reconnaissance.”

      The Red Ball was an annual event hosted by Partners for Progress, a coalition of wealthy businessmen who believed in the old I’ll-scratch-your-back-if-you-scratch-mine approach to industry. It took place at the Turtledove, one of the oldest and grandest hotels in the downtown area and was one of the premiere formal events of the year for the city’s elite. It was a black-tie occasion and, true to its namesake, the women all wore red. It made a striking impression.

      “The Red Ball?” Robin heard Jason say. “I’m going to the Red Ball. I’m told it’s quite exclusive.”

      Robin snorted. Not exclusive enough if that jackass got an invitation.

      “It is,” John told him. “You’ve got your red tuxedo already, don’t you? Those damned things are rare. I had to have mine special made. Double breasted with big brass buttons.”

      Robin guffawed, thankful that Jason couldn’t hear him. “Don’t forget the gold cord.”

      John dutifully added the cord and then told Jason that if he really wanted to make the right impression, he should consider a matching hat, as well. “Women love hats. It’s the mark of a gentleman.”

      “You are evil, my friend,” Robin said, chuckling. “Brilliant, but evil.”

      “Likewise. See you in a bit.”

      Robin disconnected and, on a whim, sent a quick text to Ranger’s resident hacker, Charlene “Charlie” Weatherford. He liked everyone he worked with, but he was especially fond of Charlie and her husband, Jay. They were new parents and sickeningly in love.

      Rather than text back, she called him. “I wasn’t busy at all. Just bored. What do you need?”

      “Bored? How can you be bored with a toddler underfoot?”

      “Both the toddler and my husband have gone to bed, there’s nothing worth watching on television and Juan-Carlos’s emails have taken a turn toward the mundane.”

      Juan-Carlos was the superefficient office manager who had perfected the art of looking simultaneously martyred and put-upon. While everyone else seemed to understand that Charlie didn’t understand the word private, the little Latino man didn’t, and would flip a bitch if he knew Charlie had been hacking into his email account.

      “Please tell me you need me to do something,” she implored, sounding a bit like an addict jonesing for a fix.

      Robin grinned. “I do, actually.” He outlined what he needed. “Is that going to present a problem?”

      She feigned insult. “Please,” she said. “It’s child’s play. Are you sure that’s all you need?”

      “For the moment, though I’ll probably need additional assistance tomorrow. Will you be around?”

      “I will,” she said.

      “Excellent.”

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