“I came home for money. That’s how desperate and absolutely fucked I am.” Gabriel’s voice softened, and Julia felt him shudder. “I was fucked up even before I destroyed everything and everyone. Before you ever arrived.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged and began to drag her to the left. “We’re almost there.”
Through an opening in the trees they entered a small clearing that was carpeted in thick grass. Wildflowers and weeds and old rotting stumps littered the expanse of green. The air was quiet and vibrated with peace. And at the edge of the open area stood several aged apple trees, weary-looking and worn.
“This is it.” He gestured widely. “This is Paradise.”
He pulled Julia to a large rock that stood inexplicably at the edge of the clearing and lifted her by her waist so that she was perched on top of it. Then he climbed to her side. Julia shivered. The rock was cold in the shade of the setting sun and was already sending chills through her thin jeans.
Gabriel shrugged out of his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. “You’ll catch pneumonia and die,” he said absently, placing an arm around her and drawing her close to his side. His body heat radiated from his bare arms and his T-shirt, warming her immediately.
She inhaled deeply and sighed with contentment, marveling at how well she fit under the crook of his arm. As if she’d been made for him.
“You’re Beatrice.”
“Beatrice?”
“Dante’s Beatrice.”
Julia flushed. “I don’t know who that is.”
Gabriel chuckled to himself, his breath warm against her face as he nuzzled her ear with his nose. “Didn’t they tell you? Didn’t they tell you the prodigal son is writing his book on Dante and Beatrice?”
When Julia didn’t answer, he brought his lips to the top of her head and brushed a gentle kiss against her hair. “Dante was a poet. Beatrice was his muse. He met her when she was very young, and he loved her from afar his whole life. Beatrice was his guide through Paradise.”
Julia’s eyes were closed as she listened to his voice, inhaling the scent that clung to his skin. He smelled of musk and sweat and beer, but Julia ignored those distractions and focused on the scent that was Gabriel, something very masculine and potentially dangerous.
“There’s a painting by an artist named Holiday. You look like his Beatrice.” Gabriel reached down and brought her pale fingers to his lips, kissing her skin reverently.
“Your family loves you. You should make up with them.” Julia’s own words surprised her, but he only pulled her in more closely.
“They aren’t my family. Not really. And it’s too late anyway, Beatrice.”
Julia started at the name and realized that the beer had definitely caught up with him. But she didn’t move her head from resting on his shoulder. A short while later he was rubbing his hand up and down her arm, trying to attract her attention.
“You haven’t had your dinner.”
She shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”
“Shall I feed you?”
Though it made her sad to do so, she lifted her head from his shoulder. He smiled at her and walked over to one of the remaining apple trees. He studied the boughs of hanging fruit and chose the largest, ripest red apple before picking a smaller one. He put the smaller one in his pocket as he walked back to her.
“Beatrice.” He smiled and handed her the apple.
Julia stared at it entranced, as if it were a treasure.
Gabriel laughed and moved his hands, extending the fruit in his right palm, the way a child would hold a sugar cube to a pony. Julia took the apple and brought it immediately to her lips, taking a firm bite.
He watched her chew; he watched her swallow. Then in silent satisfaction, he resumed his former position, his arm tight around her waist. He pressed her head gently to his shoulder and began eating the smaller apple that he had hidden in his pocket.
They sat very still as the sun set, and just before the orchard was covered in darkness, Gabriel took the blanket from under Julia’s arm and spread it like a bed on the grass.
“Come, Beatrice.” He held his hand out to her.
Julia knew it would be a very foolish thing to take his hand and to sit with him on the blanket. But she didn’t care. She’d developed a crush on him the first time Rachel had shown his photograph to her, and Julia had stolen it. Now that he was here, real, breathing, alive, in flesh, all she could do was take his hand.
“Have you ever lain next to a boy and looked up at the stars?” He pulled her down to the blanket and watched her as they lay on their backs.
“No.”
Gabriel threaded his fingers through hers and placed the connection that was theirs on top of his heart. She could feel it beating slowly beneath her touch, and she took comfort in its steady rhythm.
“You’re beautiful, Beatrice. Like a brown-eyed angel.”
Julia turned her head so she could look at him and smiled. “I think you’re beautiful.” She shyly began to run her fingers along his jaw, marveling at the way the stubble felt under her hand.
He smiled at her touch and closed his eyes. She traced his features gently for a long time, until her arm began to grow tired.
He opened his eyes. “Thank you.”
Julia smiled and squeezed his hand, feeling his heart leap at her movement.
“Have you ever been kissed by a boy?”
She blushed deeply and shook her head.
“Then I’m glad I’m your first.” Gabriel propped himself up on his side and leaned over. His eyes shone gently, and he smiled down at her.
Julia managed to close her eyes before his perfect mouth found hers. She floated.
Gabriel’s lips were warm and inviting, and he spread them over her mouth carefully, as if he were worried he might bruise her. Not knowing how to kiss and still slightly wary, Julia kept her mouth closed. Gabriel brought his hand up to cup the curve of her cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb as his lips moved softly over hers.
This kiss was not what she expected.
She had expected him to be careless or slightly rough. She had expected his kiss to be desperate and urgent and perhaps for his fingertips to trail along her skin and down her body to places she wasn’t ready to let him touch. But he kept his hands where they were, one caressing the small of her back and the other at her cheek. His kiss was tender and sweet—the kind of kiss she imagined a lover giving his beloved after a long absence.
Gabriel kissed Julia as if he knew her, as if she belonged to him. His kiss was passionate and full of emotion, as if every fiber of his being had melted and spread itself on his lips only to be given to her. Her heart skidded in her chest at the thought. She had never dared to hope for such a first kiss. Somehow, as the pressure of his lips lessened, she felt like bursting into tears, knowing that she’d never be kissed like that again. He’d ruined her for anyone else. Forever.
Gabriel sighed deeply as he released her and pressed his lips gently to her forehead.
“Open your eyes.”
Julia looked up into a pair of blue orbs that were startlingly clear and very emotional, but she could not decipher the emotions. He smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead again before rolling onto his back and gazing up at the stars.
“What are you thinking?” She shifted herself so that she was curled up at his side, close to but not touching him with her body.
“I was thinking about how I waited for you. I waited and waited, and you never came.” He smiled at her sadly.
“I’m sorry, Gabriel.”
“You’re here now. Apparuit iam beatitudo vestra.”
“I don’t know what that means.” She sounded shy.
“It means now your blessedness appears. But really, it should be now my blessedness appears. Now that you’re here.” He pulled her closer, snaking his arm beneath her neck and down to her waist where he splayed his hand, fingers wide, at the small of her back. “For the rest of my life
, I’ll dream of hearing your voice breathe my name.”
Julia smiled at herself in the darkness.
“Have you ever fallen asleep in the arms of a boy before, Beatrice?”
She shook her head.
“Then I’m glad I’m your first.” He pulled her so that her head rested on his chest near his heart, and her delicate body molded perfectly to his side. “Like Adam’s rib,” he whispered into her hair.
“Do you have to leave?” she whispered back, running her hands hesitantly over his chest, up and down and back and forth.
“Yes, but not tonight.”
“Will you come back?” Her voice was almost a whimper.
Gabriel sighed deeply. “I’m going to be thrown out of Paradise tomorrow, Beatrice. Our only hope is that you find me afterward. Look for me in Hell.”
He gently rolled her onto her back and placed his hands on either side of her hips, hovering over her—eyes wide—staring longingly and intensely down into her very soul.
And then he brought his lips to hers…
Chapter 8
Rachel sat at Gabriel’s breakfast bar Thursday morning, drinking a latté and poring over French Vogue. It was not her normal reading material. Rachel’s nightstand in Philadelphia was covered with books about politics, public relations, economics, and sociology, all in the hope that someday one of her superiors would ask for her opinion, rather than asking her to photocopy someone else’s. Now that she was on a leave of absence from her job, such as it was, she had time to read beyond mayoral politics.
She was feeling better this morning. Much better. Her conversation with Aaron the night before had gone well. Although he continued to be disappointed that the wedding was off, he told her over and over again that he would rather have her than a wedding.
“We don’t have to get married right away. We can delay the wedding until you’ve finished grieving. But I still want you, Rachel. I’ll always want you. As my wife, as my lover…Right now, I’ll take whatever I can get, because I love you. Come back to me.”
Aaron’s words burned through the haze of depression and grief that clouded Rachel’s mind. And suddenly, everything was clear. She’d thought she was running away from Scott and her father and the ghost of her mother. But perhaps she was running from Aaron too, and to hear him voice those words…as if it was possible for her to leave him. As if she could even contemplate staying away from him.
His statement had almost broken Rachel’s heart and made her realize how much she truly wanted to be his wife. And how determined she was not to make him wait too long to be her husband while she sorted herself out. Life was too short to be miserable. Her mother had taught her that.
Gabriel entered the kitchen wearing his glasses, kissed the top of her head, and slid a wad of bills in front of her. She glanced at the cash suspiciously and flipped through it, her eyes widening.
“What’s this for?”
He cleared his throat and sat down next to her. “Aren’t you going shopping with Julianne?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s Julia, Gabriel. And no, we aren’t. She’s working on some project all day with a guy named Paul. Then he’s taking her to dinner.”
Angelfucker, thought Gabriel. The expletive sprang into his mind, unbidden and uncensored, and he tensed, rumbling low in his chest.
Rachel slid the money back to him and returned to her magazine.
He placed the cash in front of her again. “Take it.”
“Why?”
“Buy something for your friend.”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Why? This is a lot of money.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
“This is five hundred dollars. I know you have money to waste, but jeepers, Gabriel, that’s a bit much.”
“Have you seen her apartment?”
“No. Have you?”
He shifted on his bar stool. “Just for a moment. She was caught in the rain, and I drove her home and…”
“And?” Rachel draped an arm over his shoulder and leaned toward him with a delicious grin. “Spill.”
Gabriel pushed her arm off his shoulder and glared. “It wasn’t like that. But I saw her place briefly while I was dropping her off, and it’s awful. She doesn’t even have a kitchen, for God’s sake.”
“No kitchen? What the hell?”
“The girl is as poor as a church mouse. Not to mention the fact that she carries around this loathsome excuse for a book bag. Spend all the money on buying her a decent briefcase, I don’t care. But do something. Because if I see that knapsack one more time, I’m going to burn it.”
Gabriel raked his hands through his chestnut hair and finally kept them there, hunching his tall frame over the breakfast bar. With the power of perception only possessed by a sister, Rachel regarded him carefully. Gabriel appeared to be the ideal poker player: impassive, unemotional, cold. Oh, so very cold. Not merely cool, like a breeze, or water from a stream in the autumn, but cold. Cold like a rock against your skin in the shade of the setting sun. Rachel believed that his coldness was his worst character flaw—his ability to say and do things without regard for the feelings of others, including his family.
Despite his failings, Gabriel was her favorite. And as the baby of the family and ten years younger, she was his favorite too. He’d never fought with her the way he’d fought with Scott or their father. He’d always and only protected her—loved her, even. At his worst, there was no possibility of Gabriel intentionally hurting Rachel. She’d only been hurt by watching him hurt everyone else. Especially himself.
She knew that upon closer inspection Gabriel would make a lousy poker player. He had too many tells, too many ways he revealed his inner turmoil. He shut his eyes when he was close to losing his temper. He rubbed his face when he was frustrated. He paced when he was distressed or afraid. Rachel watched him begin to pace and wondered what he was afraid of.
“Why are you so worried about her? You weren’t that friendly when she was here for dinner. You won’t call her Julia.”
“She’s my student. I have to be professional.”
“Professionally mean?”
Gabriel stood still and scowled.
“Fine. I’ll take the money for Julia, and I’ll buy her a briefcase. But I’d rather buy her shoes.”
Gabriel sat back on his bar stool. “Shoes?”
“Yes. What if we were to buy her something to wear? She likes pretty things, she just can’t afford them. And she’s cute, don’t you think?”
Gabriel twitched beneath his gray wool trousers. He brought his thighs closer together to hide the disturbing fact from his sister.
“Spend the money on whatever you like, but you must replace the book bag.”
“Good! I’ll buy her something fabulous. But I’ll probably need more money…and we should take her somewhere special so she can show off her new clothes.” Rachel batted her eyes playfully at her older brother.
Without argument or negotiation, he removed a business card from his wallet, picked up his Montblanc fountain pen, and slowly unscrewed the cap.
“Do normal people still use those kinds of pens, or just medievalists?” She leaned over inquisitively. “I’m surprised you’re not using a quill.”
Gabriel frowned. “This is a Meisterstück 149,” he said, as if that should mean something.
Rachel rolled her eyes as he used his sparkling eighteen karat gold nib to write a brief note on the back of his business card in a confident but old-fashioned hand. Her brother was beyond pretentious.
“There.” He slid the business card across the counter. “I have an account at Holt Renfrew. Show this to the concierge, and he will direct you to Hilary, my personal shopper. She’ll place everything on my account. Don’t go completely mad, Rachel, and you can keep the cash for yourself. Happy Birthday, six months in advance.”
She leaned over to press a light kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. What’s Holt Renfrew?”
“The Canadian Saks Fifth Avenue—th
ey have everything. But you must replace the book bag. That’s all I care about. The rest are just…inconsequential details.” His voice sounded gruff all of a sudden.
“Fine. But I want you to explain why you’re so agitated about an L. L. Bean knapsack. All the undergrads had one. I had one, for crying out loud. Before I grew up and discovered Longchamp.”
“I don’t know.” Gabriel removed his glasses and began rubbing his eyes.
“Hmmm. Should I add lingerie to my shopping list? Do you like her—like her?” Rachel grinned annoyingly.
He snorted. “How old are we, Rachel? Remember, she’s my student. It isn’t about romance—it’s about penance.”
“Penance?”
“Penance. For sin. My sin.”
Rachel snorted. “You really are medieval. What sin have you committed against Julia? Apart from being a jackass! You don’t even know her…”
He replaced his glasses, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He was twitching at the mere thought of sin and Miss Mitchell. Together. In the same room. With him. And nothing else…except perhaps a pair of couture stilettos…which he could finally touch…
“Gabriel? I’m waiting.”
“I don’t need to confess my sins to you, Rachel. I just need to atone for them.” He snatched the magazine out of her hand.
She set her teeth. “How good is your French? And your knowledge of women’s fashion?”
Gabriel glanced down to find the magazine open to a photo of an airbrushed and spread-eagled model wearing a très petite white bikini. His eyes widened.
Rachel crossed her arms in annoyance and glared at him. “Don’t bark at me. I’m not one of your students, and I’m not going to put up with your shit.”
He sighed and began to rub his eyes again, minutely adjusting his glasses to do so.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, returning the magazine, but not before he gave the model one more serious look, purely for research purposes, bien sûr.
“Why are you wound up so tight? Are you having girl troubles? Do you even have a girl right now? When was the last time you had one? And by the way, what’s with those photos in your…”
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