The Billionaire’s Savior

*****

“What do you even need it for, anyway?” she demanded, pinching her nose. “It isn’t your night to buy drinks.”

“Excuse me for wanting to have some identification on me if I get jumped coming home.”

Oh, for Christ’s … “You’re not going to get jumped,” Robyn responded, keeping her voice even.

“I’m mentally impaired, Robz. Prime meat for that kind of thing.”

“Even if someone did try something, how many knives do you have on you right now?” Robyn asked. “Two?” More, probably, knowing Chris’s motto of ‘better armed than sorry’.

“Hey pal, who do you think I am, Little Bo Peep? It’s NYC, of course I’m packing.”

Robyn snorted into the phone. “That’s my point, Chris. Honestly? I feel sorry for any mugger stupid enough to be taken in by the whole wolf in mentally impaired’s clothing thing you’ve got going on.”

Chris was silent for a moment—long enough for Robyn to lower her hand and lift her head, chest tense with the hope that she actually won this one—and then he said, “Okay, okay. I owe a guy some money.”

Groaning, Robyn slumped forward and thumped her forehead against the kitchen table where she was sitting.

“It’s not a lot,” Chris hastened to add.

“I can’t believe you,” Robyn muttered, turning her face to one side so that words didn’t get mashed up in the wood. “No, scratch that. This is exactly like you.”

“Hey, don’t blame me! Blame the Sox. They totally blew that game on me, and I—”

“Stop,” Robyn interrupted, forcing herself back up into a sitting position. “Just … Stop.”

There was a beat of silence and then Chris said, “Babe, I’ll make it up to you, okay? And it’s not like you have to stay. Just pop in, toss me the wallet, and then you can go home and get back to the whole Me-Time thing.”

Robyn scowled and gave her cell the finger, secure in the knowledge that even if Chris couldn’t see the gesture, he could probably sense it.

She knew she was right when the next thing she heard coming out of her cell’s speaker is, “Aw, don’t be like that, baby. You know I’ll make it up to you.”

Robyn tried to cling to her sour mood but couldn’t quite resist the Pavlovian response to those words. Chris has a bad habit of riling Robyn up and then blowing her until she couldn’t spell her own name anymore, let alone remember why she was so upset in the first place.

“How’re you gonna do that?” she asked finally, drawing the words out reluctantly as she got up and started looking for her keys.

“Thought I’d start by licking your cl*t until you come,” Chris answered immediately, his voice dropped to a low, intimate rasp. “Then maybe I’ll rim you for a while—you know, til you’re recovered—and then I could fu*k you.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

*****

“Robz!” Chris said brightly as he noticed Robyn in the throng jostling for his attention. Most faces were unfamiliar though she recognized some of the cast and crew.

Robyn muttered a greeting of her own and then dug Chris’s wallet out of her back pocket so she could slam it down on the bar in front of her husband. “You owe me,” she reminded Chris, and then turned to start forcing her retreat.

Only to be hauled back firmly against the bar when strong fingers hooked the back of her coat.

“Whoa!” Chris called, shouting to be heard over the press of people. “Hold up, Robz, I gotta talk to you.”

“What?” Robyn snapped, turning around. Her seething irritation fell away immediately as she caught sight of Chris hoisting himself up on top of the bar—with a good deal of discomfort, from the way his face was scrunched up. He wasn’t really 100% since the fight he’d been in.

“Chris!” she hissed, reaching up to grope for her husband’s shirt. “Stop it!”

Chris smacked her hand away and, with a grunt of effort, got on one knee up on the bar.

The bar had quieted a great deal already—one of the patrons climbing up onto the counter wasn’t exactly an inconspicuous occurrence—but the hum of conversation dimmed even further as Chris held up his hands and shouts, “Could I have everyone’s attention?”

“Chris!” Robyn hissed again. “What the hell were you doing?” She knew that her bewilderment and concern for her husband (Chris’d lost his goddamned mind) were making her voice come out sharper than she meant, but she couldn’t really help that right now. She was too caught up in the adrenaline rush: heart pounding and breath coming too fast.

Chris ignored her—and the hand, Robyn got up to tug at her husband’s leg—and waited for the bar to grow silent before continuing, “So most of you know who I am, but I wanted to introduce you to someone you probably haven’t met.” Then, looking down at Robyn with a grin, Chris held his hand out and said, “Get up here, Robz.”

Robyn’s cheeks heated with a sudden, painful flush as the girls surrounding her stared at her with expressions ranging from resentment to mild curiosity. “I’m not getting on the bar, babe,” she said, keeping her voice soft but vehement. Chris just stood and waited.

Goddamn it.

Swearing under her breath and feeling like ten kinds of an idiot, Robyn gripped the sticky edge of the bar and clambered up, knocking a half-empty glass of beer over as she went. She half-expected someone to yell at her for it, but apparently the drink was abandoned because the bar was as silent as ever.

Robyn didn’t think she had ever felt this clumsy and conspicuous.

“Okay, awesome,” Chris said, turning his attention back to the bar full of patrons and rubbing his hands together briskly. “So, this is Robyn. Say hi to the people, Robyn.”

Plastering what she hoped looked like a friendly smile on her face, Robyn raised her hand and muttered, “Uh. Hi.”

There were a few scattered, “Hi, Robyn’s” from people who were either wise-asses or too drunk to know better, or part of her crew but mostly people were quiet.

“And now that we all know each other, I’ll get this over with so you can get back to your drinking.” And then, to Robyn’s concern and horror, Chris started the awkward, painful process of getting down on his knees again.

It wasn’t until Chris got the black velvet box out of his back pocket that Robyn realized what position that left them in, and then all of the blood drained from her face, leaving her cold and numb. Her fingertips were tingling. She was pretty sure that lobotomy patients had had more intelligent expressions than the one she was currently wearing.

Wordlessly, Chris opened the box and then held it up higher, letting Robyn see the twin gold rings inside. And then stayed there with all of his weight on one knee and with the other serving as a balance. There was no fear in his eyes, no anxiety. Like Robyn’s response was a foregone conclusion.

“Come on, babe,” he said finally, with a hint of a smile playing over his lips. “Don’t make me say it.”

Something about the awkward humor in the words, or maybe the fondness in Chris’s expression, broke through Robyn’s paralysis and she reached down, bypassing the rings, and got a grip on her husband’s bicep. This time, when she tugged, Chris came willingly, letting Robyn pull him up into a kiss.

There were cheers and catcalls from the onlookers, and Robyn would normally be blushing like crazy but right now she couldn’t think past this moment. She couldn’t think past Chris’s mouth on hers; Chris’s plush lips parted so that Robyn could wet them with her tongue before slipping it inside and deepening the kiss.

Mine, she thought dazedly. He’s mine.

The end.