Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno 1)

“I’m so sorry, Rabbit. I didn’t know.”

Paul reached over and patted Julia’s hand, placing the cd on the loveseat between them. He noticed that she didn’t move away. In fact, she rummaged in her bag to find Professor Emerson’s cd and returned it to Paul with her other hand, while still allowing him to cradle her fingers in his own.

“What can I do to persuade you to accept my gift?” He hid his face from her as he placed Emerson’s Mozart in his book bag.

“Nothing. I’ve received too many gifts in the last little while. I’m all stocked up.”

Paul straightened up and smiled. “Let me try to convince you, then.

You have such small, small hands. Smaller than the rain’s.” He moved their hands together, back and forth, holding her hand up toward the halogen light. It looked diminutive encased in his.

Julia looked at him curiously. “That’s pretty. Did you just make it up?”

Paul leaned his head back against the loveseat and held her hand more closely, his thumb fingering her lifeline, almost as if he were trying to read her palm with the tips of his fingers.

“No. I’m paraphrasing from somewhere i have never travelled,   by E. E.

Cummings. You haven’t heard it before?”

“No, but I’d like to.” Julia sounded very shy all of a sudden.

“Then I’ll have to read it to you some time.” Paul gazed into her dark eyes with a hopeful smile.

“I’d like that.”

“It isn’t Dante, but it’s beautiful.” His thumb found the center of her lifeline and pressed it ever so gently. “The poem reminds me of you. You are where I’ve never traveled: your fragility and your small, small hands.”

Julia leaned forward to hide her sudden flush of color and sipped her coffee. But she allowed him to continue caressing her palm, sweetly. The movement of her coffee to her lips caused her ancient purple sweater to slip off her shoulder somewhat provocatively, revealing about two inches of a white-cotton bra strap and a rounded curve of alabaster skin.

Paul immediately released her hand and gently pulled the sweater to cover the innocent-looking strap, averting his eyes as he did so and pressing his hand to her shoulder in order to make the sweater stay.

“There,” he said softly. “All better now.” Then he retreated ever so quickly so as not to overstay his welcome, tentatively curling his fingers over hers again, still worried she might withdraw at any moment.

Julia watched what he was doing breathlessly, as if it occurred in slow motion. Something about his movement touched her deeply. It was an intimate act but very chaste; he covered her. He covered the smallest most innocent part of her, away from prying and possibly lecherous eyes, and in so doing telegraphed his regard and his respect. Virgil was honoring her.

In that one act, that one gallant and chivalrous act, Paul had made his way into her heart. Not all the way, but to the Vestibule, so to speak.

If his movement represented the contents of his soul, then Julia believed that he would not mind that she was a virgin, and that upon knowing, his acceptance would cover her gently.

He would not ridicule or expose her. He would keep whatever secrets she held between the two of them alone. He would not treat her like an animal to be f**ked and violated. He would not wish to share her.

So she did something impetuous — she leaned over and kissed him, but shyly and chastely. There was no rush of blood, no humming, no explosion of fire across her skin. His lips were soft, and he responded hesitantly. Julia felt his surprise in the quick clenching of his jaw. He tensed beneath her lips, no doubt in shock at her boldness. She was sorry for that.

She was sorry his lips were not Gabriel’s. And this kiss was not like those.

In almost half a heartbeat, a great wave of sadness washed over her as she cursed herself for having tasted of something long ago that she could never have after or again. For in partaking of that first taste, she was absolutely ruined. The tasting of the apple was knowledge itself, and now she knew.

Julia pulled back before Paul had a chance to reject her, wondering how she’d managed to be so forward. Wondering what he would think of her now. I’ve just kissed my only Toronto friend good-bye, she thought. Damn it.

“Little Rabbit.” Paul gave her a tender look and immediately brought his fingertips up to caress her cheek. His touch wasn’t electric, but it was light and soothing. Even his skin was kind.

He put his arms around her and drew her against his chest so he could stroke her hair and whisper something sweet in her ear…something to reassure her…something to remove the mixture of confusion and pain he read on her face. His soft whisperings were interrupted by the arrival of a great-winged harpy, wearing four-inch heels and crimson lipstick and carrying two paper cups.

“Well, isn’t this cozy.” A voice, cold and steely, interrupted the couple’s soft moment, and Julia looked up into the harsh brown eyes of Christa Peterson.

Julia sat up quickly and tried to move away from Paul, but he held her fast. “Christa,” he greeted her flatly.

“Slumming with MA students, Paul? How very democratic of you,”

she said, ignoring Julia pointedly.

“Be careful, Christa.” His tone held a warning. “Two fisted, today?

That’s a bit much. Pulling an all-nighter?” He pointed to the cups she was holding, one in each hand.

“You have no idea,” she purred. “One is for me and one for Gabriel, of course. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there, Julianne. I guess he’s still Professor Emerson to you.” Christa cackled like an old chicken.

Julia raised an eyebrow but resisted the urge to set Christa straight or to smack that smug smile off her face. For Julia was a lady. And she liked how Paul’s arm felt about her shoulders and was unwilling to move. At least, not yet.

“You’ve never called him Gabriel to his face, Christa. I dare you to do it the next time you see him.”

Christa’s eyes hardened, and she glared at Paul. Then she smiled. “You dare me?  That’s funny. Is that a Vermont thing? Something farmers say to one another when they’re shoveling manure? After my meeting with Gabriel, we’ll probably head over to Lobby for drinks. He likes to go there after work. I’m sure we’ll be exchanging more than, ah… names  this evening.”

Her tongue peeked out from between her lips, and she began licking the curve of one of them languorously.

Julia heaved.

“And he’ll take you there?” Paul appeared skeptical.

“He will. Oh, he will.”

Julia gagged and silently swallowed back her stomach contents. For the thought of Gabriel with this… Emerson whore was nauseating in the extreme. Even the waitress at Lobby would be better for him than Christa.

“You’re not his type,” Julia muttered.

“Pardon?”

She looked up into narrowed and suspicious eyes, and she weighed her options for the slimmest of seconds. And decided caution was the better part of valor.

“I said — don’t believe the hype.”

“About what?”

“About Lobby. It’s not that great.”

Christa shot Julia a frosty smile. “As if the doorman would let you in.

Lobby   is an exclusive club.”

She looked Julia up and down as if she were a less-than-prized animal.

As if she were an old, half-blind, forgotten pony at a petting zoo. Julia suddenly felt very self-conscious and ugly. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she fought them back bravely.

Paul noticed exactly what Miss Peterson was doing in measuring Julia and finding her wanting. He felt her shiver in reaction to Christa’s feline claw sharpening. So although it pained him to do so, he released Julia’s shoulders and sat forward on the loveseat, flexing his arms.

Don’t make me stand up, bitch, he thought .

“Why wouldn’t they let Julia in, Christa? They only admit working girls now?”

Christa turned very red. “What would you know about it, Paul? You’re practically a monk! Or perhaps that’s what monks do — they pay for it.” She shot a meaningful glance at Julia’s precious new messenger bag.

“Christa, you’re going to shut your mouth right now, or I’m going to stand up. And then all chivalry goes out the window.” Paul glared at her and silently reminded himself that he could not strike a woman. And that Christa was, in fact, a woman, and not an anorexic sow in heat. Paul would never have compared Christa to a cow, for he thought cows were noble creatures. (Especially Holsteins.)

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she snapped. “I’m sure there are multiple explanations. Maybe Lobby   wouldn’t let her in because of her iq.

Gabriel says you’re not that bright, Julianne.”

Christa smiled triumphantly as Julia ducked her head, feeling very small indeed. Paul shifted his weight to the soles of his feet. He wasn’t going to hit Christa; he was simply going to shut her up. And maybe drag her to the exit or something. He needn’t have bothered.

“Oh, really? And what else does Gabriel  say?”

The three graduate students turned slowly en masse to look up at the blue-eyed Dante specialist who had sidled up to them silently. None of them were exactly sure how much he’d heard or how long he’d been standing there. But his eyes sparked, and Julia could feel his anger radiating toward Christa. It billowed like a cloud. But thankfully, it did not billow in her direction. This time.