Gabriel's Inferno
Page 44

She thought back to what had happened in the lecture and the events in his office. She wondered if it was lack of food that made her light-headed, or Gabriel’s kiss. It wouldn’t have been the first time that he’d affected her this way…
Julia closed her eyes just for a moment as the dull roar of the fire hummed in her ears, and she fell fast asleep.
The sound of a woman’s voice, passionate and soulful, floated through the air. Julia recognized the song before she opened her eyes. Gabriel was playing Edith Piaf, Non, je ne regrette rien. It was an extraordinary choice.
Julia opened her eyes to find Gabriel smiling down on her, looking very much like a troubled angel — an angel with dark hair, a mouth made for sin, and piercing blue eyes. He’d changed into a black button down shirt and a pair of black trousers, his shirtsleeves pushed up to expose muscled forearms.
“Julianne?” He smiled and offered her his hand.
She took it, and he led her into the dining room. Gabriel had set his formal dining table with a white linen tablecloth and lit the candles in an ornate silver candelabra. She saw two place settings of china, crystal, and silver, and a bottle of what appeared to be champagne.
Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin vintage  2002, she read on the label.
“Are you pleased?” He stood behind her and rubbed her arms with his hands.
“It’s beautiful,” she managed, eyeing the expensive champagne with suspicion.
“Then allow me.” He pulled her chair out and handed her a white linen napkin. “I’ve tried a second time with the flowers. Please don’t destroy them like you did the last ones.”
Gabriel smiled wryly as he gestured to a tall, modern glass vase that held an arrangement of purple hyacinths.
“If you’re good, I’ll let you read the card,” he whispered, as he poured her a glass of champagne. Without waiting to watch her taste it, he disappeared into the kitchen.
With a quick look over her shoulder to be sure she wasn’t being watched, Julia removed the card that was nestled among the flowers. In it she read: My Dear Julianne,
If you wish to know how I feel about you, just ask me.
Yours,
Gabriel
Smug bastard, Julia thought before she hastily replaced the card.
As she sat there, annoyed, a number of different things caught her attention. Gabriel had chosen Edith Piaf for mood music; she was now singing La Vie en Rose. The tablecloth, the place settings, the champagne, the flowers…he hadn’t gone to such trouble for Rachel.
All the arguing and passion in his office had lit their bodies on fire.
And the way he’d kissed her…Julia had never been kissed like that before, even by him. She shivered in remembrance, solely from pleasure. It was a new feeling, but not an unwelcome one.
Foreplay.
She knew that he’d struggled to stop kissing her, as if he were at war with himself. The tension between them had been palpable, almost concrete.
She knew that he was a very sexual man who was never in want of female companionship, by his own admission. Now that he had tasted her while sober, he wanted her. It was overwhelming to be desired by such a tempting, sensual creature. She felt like Psyche being desired by Cupid. And she could not deny the attraction she felt for him, or the way she fluttered with longing when he kissed her.
But Julia did not share, which made all other romantic or sexual considerations moot. She decided to wait until after the salad course to tell him that.
When Gabriel sat next to her at the head of the table, he picked up his water glass and toasted their evening. As they clinked their glasses together, Julia realized he wasn’t drinking champagne.
“No Veuve Clicquot?”  she asked, sipping away incredulously.
He smiled at her and shook his head. “Non, seulement de l’eau ce soir.
Mon ange.”
Julia rolled her eyes at Gabriel’s French, but it wasn’t because his pronunciation was faulty.
“You will probably find this difficult to believe, but I don’t drink all the time. Nevertheless, I don’t expect you to finish this bottle by yourself.
We’ll save it for Mimosas for breakfast.”
Julia’s eyebrows shot up. Breakfast? You’re awfully sure of yourself, Casanova.
“I searched my collection for a vintage from 2003 but had to make due with 2002.”
It took a moment for Julia to realize the significance of the year, and when the realization hit her she blushed and looked down at her hands.
Gabriel watched her over his salad but said nothing. He’d hoped for a more vocal reaction, but he surmised rather quickly that she was overwhelmed by the tumult of the day.
She’s nervous; she’s quivering, and her face is flushed.
Gabriel reached over to stroke the skin at her wrist from time to time, just to reassure her. Whenever their eyes met he would stop whatever he was doing and smile at her encouragingly, hoping that she’d engage him in conversation. But she would only duck her head and look down at her plate — until the strains of a certain song filled their ears.
Besame, besame mucho…
Gabriel watched Julia carefully. When she reacted to the music, as well as turning a deeper shade of rose, he winked.
“Do you remember this song?”
“Yes.”
“How is your Spanish?” He gazed at her expectantly.
“Non-existent.”
“That’s a pity. The words are very beautiful.” He smiled at her somewhat sadly, and she looked away.
When Gabriel wasn’t singing, he was watching her, the movement of her eyes, the fidgeting of her hands, the blush of her skin. And when the song was over he smiled, stood up, and pressed a long kiss to the top of her head.
He cleared their dishes, topped up her champagne flute, and served their entrées, spaghetti con limone with capers and tiger shrimp. It was a rare treat and one of Julia’s favorites, so it surprised her that he made it.
Maybe Rachel had…
She shook her head. This was between her and Gabriel. Period. Except for the specter of Paulina, who was haunting them both…
“You aren’t the same man you were in the orchard,” Julia announced flatly, the champagne making her bold.
Gabriel rested his fork on his plate, his eyebrows knitting together.
“You’re right — I’m much better.”
Julia laughed bitterly. “Impossible! He was kind to me and very, very gentle. He would never have been as cold and indifferent as you have been.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes flashed to hers.
“I’ve never lied to you. Why would I start now?”
A flush of anger started in her cheeks and spread across her face. “I won’t let your darkness consume me.”
Gabriel was puzzled by her sudden hostility and was sorely tempted to call her out on it. Surprisingly, however, he cocked his head to one side.
She watched as he wet his finger in Perrier and began running it around the rim of his water glass, smoothly and sensuously. Soon the crystal goblet was singing in their ears.
Suddenly, Gabriel stopped. “You think darkness can consume light?
That’s an interesting theory. Let’s see if it works.” He waved his hand at the candelabra. “There. I just threw some of my darkness at those candles. See how successful it was?”
He smirked and returned to his meal.
“You know what I’m talking about! Don’t be so damned condescending.”
Gabriel’s eyes darkened. “I have no wish to consume you, but I won’t lie and say that I’m not attracted to your luminosity. If I am the darkness, then you are the stars. In fact, I’m quite taken by la luce della tua umilitate.”
“I won’t let you fuck me.”
Now he sat back in his chair with a look of shock and disgust on his face. He silently resolved that she’d drunk her last glass of champagne.
“I’m sorry, did I ask you to?” His voice was smooth and unruffled, which made Julia even more upset.
Liar. Liar. Beautiful blue eyes on fire.
He grinned at her impertinently, watching her face over the rim of his glass. He wiped his lips with his napkin and brought his face inches from hers. “If I were to ask you to do anything, Miss Mitchell, it wouldn’t be that.” He smiled, sat back in his seat, and almost cheerfully finished his dinner without another word.
Julia seethed. She knew he was staring at her; she could feel his eyes on her face, her mouth, her shoulders, which were shaking. Nothing escaped those piercing blue eyes. She felt as if he could read her soul, and still he did not look away.
“Julianne,” he said at last. He moved his hand underneath the table to catch her wrist and pull it out of her lap, brushing the top of her thigh as he did so.
His voice was gentle and smooth, and Julia felt the warmth of his touch travel all the way to her toes.
“Look at me.”
She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held her fast.
“Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”
Julia slowly raised her eyes to his. They were softer and less ominous than his tone, but remarkably intense.
“I would never, ever, fuck you. Clear? One doesn’t fuck an angel.”
“Then what does someone like you do with an angel?” Her voice trembled slightly.
“Someone like me  would cherish her. Try to get to know her and puzzle her out. Start by being…friends, perhaps.”
She squirmed under his grasp. “Friends with benefits?”
“Julianne…” Gabriel’s voice held a warning in it. He released her hand and stared at her momentarily. “Is it too much to believe that I want to know you? That I want to take my time?”
“Yes.”
He bit back a curse. “This is new for me, Julianne. Your prejudice is warranted to some degree, but don’t deliberately try my patience.”
“We both know that professors are never friends with their students.”
“We could be,” he whispered, gently pushing her hair back behind her shoulder and allowing his fingertips to graze the exposed curve of her neck. “If that’s what you want.”
She didn’t know how to react to this stunning utterance, so she angled away from him.
“I don’t seduce virgins, Julia. Your virtue is safe with me.” And with that, he cleared the dinner dishes and disappeared into the kitchen.
Julia finished her champagne in two quick swallows.
He’s a liar. If I hadn’t said no, he’d have flashed his signature smile and had me naked and spread-eagled before my panties even hit the floor. And he’d probably demand that we reproduce one of the poses from his black-and-white photographs. Then Paulina would call right in the middle of it.
Gabriel returned and hastily removed her glass and the bottle of champagne. A few minutes later, he brought her an espresso served with a small twist of lemon rind. Julia was surprised. It was difficult to imagine him zesting his own lemons, but nevertheless, there it was — perfect and fresh lemon rind.
“Thank you, Gabriel. Espresso Roma is my favorite.”
He looked at her smugly. “I thought it was time we switched you to something non-alcoholic before you threw up on me.”