Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno 2)

Julia watched the shadows flicker on the wall behind him. Unearthly shapes seemed to hover around him, as if he were trapped in Dante’s Inferno. The lines on his forehead had deepened, it seemed, and his eyes appeared larger. He hadn’t shaved recently, the scruff of his beard covering the planes of his face. He’d smoothed his damp hair back with his fingers, but a single curl had rebelled, clinging stubbornly to his forehead.

Julia had forgotten how attractive he was. How, with just a glance or a word he could make her blood heat. He was as dangerous as he was beautiful.

Gabriel reached out to pull her to sit next to him, but she curled into the opposite corner.

“I found a corkscrew and a bottle of wine. I hope you don’t mind.” He handed her a glass that was half-full of an inexpensive Shiraz. She was surprised he’d bothered, for it was the kind of wine he would have disdained in the past.

She took several long sips, savoring the wine on her tongue. She waited for him to cough, sputter, and complain about the appalling bathwater. But he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t drink at all. Instead, he stared at her, his eyes coming to rest unapologetically on the swell of her br**sts.

“Are you changing schools?” His voice sounded husky.

“What?”

He gestured to her sweatshirt.

She looked down. Boston College.

“No, Paul gave this to me. He went there for his master’s, remember?”

Gabriel stiffened. “I gave you a sweatshirt once,” he observed, more to himself than to her.

Julia took another long sip of wine, wishing there was more of it.

He watched her drink, his eyes resting on her mouth and throat. “Do you still have my Harvard sweatshirt?”

“Let’s talk about something else.”

He shifted uncomfortably but couldn’t drag his gaze away from her. He longed to run his hands up and down her body and press their mouths together. “What do you think about Boston University?”

She looked over at him warily. In response to her suspicion, the bravado seemed to leak out of his gaze and he chewed at the edge of his mouth.

“Katherine Picton told me to introduce myself to the Dante specialist in the Department of Romance Studies. But I haven’t gotten around to it. I’ve been busy.”

“Then I need to thank her.”

“Why?”

He hesitated.

“I’m the new Dante specialist at Boston University.”

He searched her eyes for a reaction. But there wasn’t one. She sat very still, the candlelight flickering over her fine features.

He chuckled mirthlessly, pouring more wine into her glass. “That isn’t the response I was hoping for.”

She muttered her annoyance, tasting the wine again. “So you’re—here to stay?”

“That depends.” He looked at her sweatshirt significantly.

The heat of his gaze seemed to scorch her. She resisted the urge to hide her br**sts from him, keeping her arms at her sides.

“I’m a full professor now. Romance Studies doesn’t have a graduate program in Italian. The university wanted to be able to attract graduate students in Dante studies, so they cross-appointed me with Religion. They have a graduate program.”

He gazed at the shadows that surrounded them, shaking his head. “Surprising, isn’t it? That a man who spent his life running from God should become a professor of Religion.”

“I’ve seen stranger things.”

“Yes,” Gabriel whispered, “I think you have. I would have resigned from Toronto sooner, but it would have caused a scandal. Once you’d graduated, I was free to accept the job here.”

Julia turned away, and Gabriel noticed the nakedness of her ear lobes. She wasn’t wearing Grace’s earrings anymore. The thought gutted him.

Her brow wrinkled as she contemplated what he’d just said.

“What’s so significant about July first?”

“Today is the day my contract in Toronto ends. It’s the day my resignation takes effect.” He cleared his throat. “I read your emails and listened to your voice mails—all of them. But I hoped you’d seen the book. I placed it in your mailbox myself.”

Julia was still processing his words. She wasn’t accepting his excuses; she simply wasn’t arguing with him. At least, not yet.

“I’m sorry I missed your graduation.” He sipped a glass of water. “Katherine sent me a few photographs.” He cleared his throat, hesitating. “You looked beautiful. You are beautiful.”

He dug into his trouser pocket and produced his iPhone. Curious, she took it, setting her wine aside. As his wallpaper, Gabriel had a photograph of Julia in her graduation gown, shaking Katherine Picton’s hand.

“From Katherine,” he explained, noting her confusion.

She scrolled through his photo album determinedly, her stomach queasy. There were pictures from their trip to Italy and photos from Christmas, but Paulina was not to be found. There were no compromising pictures of Gabriel, no images of other women. In fact, almost all the pictures were of her, including a series of very provocative shots that he’d taken in Belize.

She was surprised. After being so convinced he wanted nothing to do with her, the sight of his apparent regard was disorienting.

She returned his phone. “The picture that you used to keep on your dresser, the one of us at Lobby, did you take it with you?”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Yes. How did you know?”

Julia paused for a moment as the revelation sunk in. “I noticed it was missing when I went looking for you.”

He reached out to take her hand but once again, she withdrew.

“When I went back to my condo, I saw your clothes. Why you didn’t take them?”

“They weren’t really mine.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows knitted together. “Of course they were yours. They still are, if you want them.”

She shook her head.

“Believe me, Julianne, I wanted you with me. The photograph was a poor substitute.”

“You wanted me?”

Gabriel couldn’t help himself. He gently stroked the curve of her cheek with his thumb, inwardly relieved that she didn’t flinch. “I never stopped wanting you.”

She moved away, leaving his hand to touch only air. Her tone grew harsh. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be left by the person you love, not once, but twice?”

Gabriel pressed his lips together. “No, I don’t. Forgive me.”

He waited to see if she would answer him, but she didn’t.

“So Paul gave you that sweatshirt.” He toyed with his glass. “How is he?”

“He’s fine. Why do you care?”

“He’s my student.” Professor Emerson sounded prim.

“So was I, once,” she said bitterly. “You should email him. He said he hasn’t heard from you.”

“So you’ve spoken with him?”

“Yes, Gabriel. I’ve spoken with him.”

Julia pulled her wet hair out of its ponytail, running her fingers delicately through the tangles.

Gabriel watched, entranced, as a cascade of dark, shiny strands fell across her thin shoulders.

“My hair hurts,” she explained.

The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. “I didn’t know hair could hurt.”

He ran his fingers through her hair, and his expression changed instantly to one of concern. “You could have been seriously injured, standing in the middle of the street.”

“I’m lucky I didn’t drop my laptop. It has all my research on it.”

“It’s my fault for surprising you. I’m sure I looked like a ghost, skulking about behind that tree.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever skulked a day in your life. And you didn’t look like a ghost. You looked like something else.”

“Like what?”

Suddenly, Julia felt her skin flame.

He watched her cheeks take on the shade of pink he was most familiar with. He ached to feel her blush beneath his fingers. But he was wary of pushing her.

She gestured vaguely. “Paul suggested I back up my files on a flash drive, so if something happened to my computer I’d still have everything. But I haven’t updated it recently.”

At the second mention of his former research assistant, Gabriel suppressed a growl and the urge to mutter a favored expletive that involved copulating carnally with celestial creatures.

He turned to her. “I thought you’d expect me to get in touch with you once you graduated.”

“What if I did, Gabriel? Graduation came and went with no word from you.”

“As I said, I had to wait until my resignation took effect. My contract didn’t end until July first.”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t say the things I need to say while you’re sitting on my futon.”

“I see,” he said slowly.

She shifted her feet, actively resisting the overwhelming urge to throw herself into his arms and tell him that everything was fine. Things between them weren’t fine. And she owed it to herself, if not to him, to be honest.

“I’ve taken up enough of your evening.” He sounded defeated.