Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno 1)

Eventually she closed her eyes, breathing in his scent and feeling strangely calmed by the regular rhythm of his heartbeat. Gabriel stroked her hair and whispered to her in Italian.

“Julianne?”

Silence.

“Julia?” He leaned down only to discover that she’d fallen asleep. He didn’t want to wake her. But he also didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye, and he wanted her to lock the door behind him.

He lifted her carefully and placed her underneath the sheets and comforter, hoping that she would wake up. But she didn’t. Gabriel regarded her little form, the way her chest rose and fell with her gentle breathing, her lips slightly parted. She was pretty. She was sweet.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent a chaste evening with a beautiful woman who wasn’t a relative. A chaste evening that was fraught with desire and passion and an overwhelming need…He wanted her.

But the old interior conflict loomed large in his mind. He did not wish to corrupt her, to make her like him. He did not want to make her vulnerable or cause her to bleed in any sense. He seriously doubted his ability to be involved with her physically and not lose control, for the mere sight of her in a towel had almost shattered his resolve.

This is what comes of years of unbridled lust — now you don’t even have the ability to court her like a gentleman. You want to make love to this girl without lapsing into f**king, but can you? Can you be sexually involved with her without treating her like a pretty toy that has been constructed solely for your carnal satisfaction? Can you love without sin?

Gabriel’s thoughts troubled him as he stared at the rosy-cheeked lamb that trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms, oblivious to the passion that boiled in his veins. He emptied his pockets and turned off his iPhone before heading to the washroom. He turned down the baseboard heater, as promised, and quickly stripped to his t-shirt and boxer briefs. He took a moment to inventory Julia’s shampoo and bath products, committing their names to memory so that he could be sure to stock his bathroom for her next visit. He definitely preferred vanilla to any other scent. Although vanilla and chocolate…

He turned out the lights and climbed into her twin bed. It was far too small for two persons; in truth, it made Gabriel almost nostalgic for the residence hall beds at Princeton or Magdalen College. Almost. Those beds were barely tolerable for sleeping and certainly far from ideal for any kind of sexual activity. It was fortunate that such activity was off the menu for this evening.

As Gabriel rolled to his side, his hand fastened on a small, smooth piece of paper that was wedged underneath the pillow. He retrieved it and held it up against the sliver of moonlight that was streaming in from behind the curtain. What he saw more than surprised him for in his hand was an old photograph of him from his Princeton days. He recognized the varsity rowing jersey he was wearing.

How did she get this?  How long has she had it?  He slid the photo back under the pillow, the ends of his mouth turning up in wonder. Something akin to hope began to warm his insides.

He’d never been a fan of spooning; it was an act far too intimate for him. But tonight it was what he wanted. He curved his body around hers and stretched his left arm over her waist, placing a light hand on her stomach. They fit together perfectly. Gabriel sighed with contentment at the soft warmth of the young woman he treasured in his arms, his nose buried in long, soft, vanilla-scented hair.

Sometime around three o’clock in the morning, Julia opened her eyes.

A strong arm tightened its hold on her, and the scent that was Gabriel’s filled her head. She was wrapped in his arms, his chest against her back.

Although he’d moved seemingly in reaction to her anxiety, the sound of his breathing indicated that he was still asleep.

Julia looked at him in the darkness. How many years had she waited just to be sleeping at his side once again? She shifted slowly, so that she was lying on her back. With his eyes closed and a look of peace on his face, he looked much younger. Almost like a boy — a gentle boy with brown hair and pink lips who smiled sweetly in his sleep. Julia sighed her aesthetic appreciation.

His eyes flickered open. It took a moment for him to be able to focus on her in the dark, but when he did, he leaned over to press his lips against hers.

“Are you all right?” he whispered against her mouth.

“You’re still here.”

“I won’t leave you again without saying good-bye. Can’t you sleep?”

“I thought this was a dream.”

Gabriel smiled at her in the darkness. “Only for me.”

“You’re gorgeous, Gabriel. You always were, you know.”

“Nature’s cruelty — the fallen angel retains his beauty. But I’m ugly on the inside.”

She kissed him back firmly, trying to convey the truth of the words she was about to speak before they were audible. “Someone who is ugly on the inside wouldn’t have bought me a messenger bag and kept his generosity a secret.”

Gabriel stared at her. “How long have you known?”

“Rachel told me.”

“And did it make you more likely to accept it, or less likely?”

“At the time, only half and half.”

“I noticed you don’t use it anymore,” he whispered, reaching up to push the hair back from her face.

“I’ll use it again.”

“So you like it?”

“Very much. Thank you.”

He nuzzled his nose lightly against hers and smiled. “You were merely beautiful at seventeen, Julianne. You’re stunning now.”

“Everyone is pretty enough in the dark,” she whispered.

“No, they are not.” He kissed her before pulling back abruptly, willing himself to stop.

She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart and trying not to drink too deeply of the energy that charged between them.

“It just occurred to me, Julia, that I only seem to get honest answers out of you whenever we share a bed.”

She blushed, and even though it was dark, Gabriel knew it. He chuckled softly. “Why do you think that is?”

“When we’re in bed, you’re gentle with me. I feel…safe.”

“I don’t know how safe it is to be with me, Julianne, but I promise that I will try to be gentle with you always. Especially in bed.”

She hugged him tightly and nodded against his chest, as if she understood the full implication of what he was saying. But she didn’t. How could she?

“Are you going home for Thanksgiving?”

“Yes. I need to call my father to give him the good news.”

“I promised Richard I’d come home. Would you…consider flying out with me?”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “It isn’t going to be a pleasant holiday.”

“I don’t like Thanksgiving. But Grace always made it nice.”

“Wasn’t it nice with your family?”

Julia squirmed. “We didn’t really celebrate it.”

“Why not?”

“I did all the cooking unless my mother was in recovery. And whenever I tried to do something special…” She shook her head.

Gabriel tightened his arms around her. “Tell me,” he whispered.

“You don’t want to hear this.”

She tried to turn away from him, but he held her fast. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to know you.”

The tone of Gabriel’s voice was such that it tugged at her, more powerfully than his words or his arms. She drew a deep breath.

“During my last Thanksgiving in St. Louis, Sharon was on a bender with one of the boyfriends. But stupid me, I decided to cook a Martha Stewart recipe for stuffed roast chicken, twice-baked potatoes, and vegetables.” She stopped.

“I’m sure it was delicious,” he prompted.

“I never found out.”

“Why?”

“I kind of had an accident.”

“Julianne?” He tried to lift her chin so that he could look into her eyes, but she wouldn’t look at him. “What happened?”

“We didn’t have a kitchen table. So I set up a card table in the living room and set it for three. It was stupid, really. I shouldn’t have bothered. I put all the food on a tray to carry it to the table, and the boyfriend stuck out his foot and tripped me.”

“On purpose?”

“He saw me coming.”

Gabriel seethed with instantaneous anger, his hands curling into fists.

“I went flying. The dishes shattered. Food was everywhere.”

“How badly were you hurt?” he asked with clenched teeth.

“I don’t remember.” Julia’s voice instantly cooled.

“Did your mother help you?”

She shook her head.

Gabriel growled, low in his throat.

“They laughed. I must have looked pathetic on my hands and knees, crying, covered in gravy. The chicken skidded across the tiles and under one of the chairs.” She paused thoughtfully. “I was on my knees for a while.

You would have had a stroke if you’d seen me.”

Gabriel stifled the urge to ram his fist through the wal behind his head. “I wouldn’t have had a stroke. I would have beaten him and been sorely pressed not to horsewhip her.”