Gabriel's Inferno: Gabriel's Rapture Part 19

She blinked at his anger and found herself looking down at her boots.

"And don't lie to me," he breathed.

"Someone broke into my father's house during Thanksgiving and attacked me. That's how I got the scar. I know it's hideous. I'm having it removed."

Paul was quiet for a moment as he considered what she said. "A bite mark seems awfully personal for a burglar, don't you think?"

Julia chewed at the inside of her mouth.

"And why should you be ashamed of being attacked? It wasn't your fault." Paul fumed. "You don't want to tell me. I get it." He reached out and took her hand in his, stroking the surface of her palm with his thumb. "If you need to get away from him, I can help."

"That's very kind, but the police caught him. He can't reach me here."

Paul's shoulders softened. "I'm your friend, Rabbit. I care about you. Let me help you before something worse happens."

She withdrew her hand. "I'm not a rabbit, and I don't need your help."

"I didn't mean anything by the nickname." Paul offered her a repentant look. "Why didn't Owen come to your rescue? I would have beaten the burglar to a pulp."

She began to tell him that Owen had, in fact, rescued her but swiftly thought better of it.

"He must not be a very good boyfriend if he allows you to be manhandled like that."

"I was home alone. No one could have known that someone would break in and attack me. I'm not a damsel in distress, Paul, despite what you might think." Her eyes flashed.

Paul gazed at her sharply. "I never said you were a damsel in distress. But that thing on your neck is not something a burglar would do. It's a f.u.c.king mark. And you have to admit that you've been knocked around by a couple of people, even in the short time I've known you. Christa, Professor Pain, Emerson..."

"This was different."

"You deserve better than to be someone's punching bag." His voice was soft and it made Julia s.h.i.+ver. "I'd never treat you like that."

She looked into his kind, brown eyes and stood mutely, hoping Gabriel would not appear.

Paul thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat and s.h.i.+fted his weight back and forth. "I'm heading over to Yonge Street to meet some friends for dinner. Would you like to join me?"

"I've been out most of the day. I'm going home."

He nodded. "I'm running late, or I'd walk you. Do you need money for a cab?"

"No, I've got it. Thanks." She fidgeted with her gloves, adjusting the fingers. "You're a good friend."

"I'll see you around." He gave her a pained smile and began walking away.

Julia turned to look through the gla.s.s doors of the building, but couldn't see Gabriel.

"Julia?" Paul called to her.

"Yes?"

"Be careful, okay?"

She nodded and waved, watching as he turned and walked away.

At two o'clock in the morning, Julia startled. She was in Gabriel's bed, and his room was dark. But she was alone.

After Paul disappeared, Gabriel returned to her side. If he'd seen her exchange with Paul, he gave no sign of it, although he was somewhat quiet during their celebratory dinner. Later, when she was ready for bed, he'd kissed her on the forehead and said he'd join her soon. Hours later, he still hadn't come to bed.

She tiptoed down the hall. The apartment was swathed in darkness. Only the light from underneath Gabriel's study door was visible. She stood in the hallway, listening. When she finally heard a few clicks of the computer keys, she turned the doork.n.o.b and walked in.

To say that Gabriel was surprised would have been an understatement. His eyes swung to hers, narrowed and uneasy, from behind his gla.s.ses.

"What are you doing?" He stood up immediately, placing a large Oxford dictionary on top of the papers that were scattered across his desk.

"I-nothing." She hesitated, looking down at her bare legs. She wiggled her toes on top of the Persian carpet.

He was at her side in an instant. "Is something wrong?"

"You didn't come to bed. I was worried."

Gabriel removed his gla.s.ses, rubbing his eyes. "I'll come to bed soon. I just have a few things to do that can't wait."

Julia reached up to kiss his cheek before turning to go.

"Wait. Let me tuck you in." He took her hand in his and led her down the dark hallway to their room.

Gone was the large medieval bed, the dark furniture, and ice blue silk fabrics from his bedroom. Gabriel had hired an interior designer to recreate the master bedroom he'd shared with Julia in Umbria. Now the walls were cream-colored, and a large canopy bed hung with gauzy curtains sat in the center of the room. Julia had approved of the transformation and the inspiration behind it. The room was no longer his, but theirs.

"Sweet dreams." He pressed an almost parental kiss to her forehead before closing the bedroom door behind him.

Julia lay awake for some time, wondering what he was hiding. She wrestled with the question of whether or not she should strive to find out or simply trust him. Without a satisfactory resolution, she fell into a troubled sleep.

Chapter 16.

Paul couldn't sleep. Had he been a melodramatic sort of person he would have described his restless evening as a dark night of the soul. But Paul was from Vermont and thus not melodramatic. Nonetheless, after a long evening over dinner and beer with players from his rugby team, Paul couldn't get the image of Julia's marked skin out of his mind.

He had well-defined views about how a man should treat a woman, views that had been shaped largely by his parents. His mother and father weren't overly demonstrative in their affection nor were they sentimental. But they always treated one another with respect. Paul's mother had encouraged him to treat girls like ladies, and his father had demanded the same, saying that if he ever heard of Paul treating a girl badly, he'd have to answer for his behavior.

Paul thought back to his first keg party, during his freshman year at St. Michael's College, and how he'd run into a girl in a torn s.h.i.+rt on his way to the bathroom. He'd calmed her down and demanded that she point out who had attacked her. Paul cornered her a.s.sailant and held him until the campus police showed up, but not before roughing him up a little.

When his younger sister Heather was being tormented by boys in junior high school, boys who made lewd comments and snapped her bra strap against her back, he waited for the little f.u.c.kers after school and threatened them. Heather continued her education bully-free after that.

In Paul's romantic economy, violence against women was absolutely unthinkable, and he would have used his savings to get on a plane to track down the person who had marked Julia, if he only knew the a.s.shole's name and location.

It was his own fault she wouldn't talk to him, he reasoned, as he stared at the wall of his simple apartment. He had gone all knight in s.h.i.+ning armor on her, and she'd retreated. If he'd been less angry and more supportive, then perhaps she would have revealed what actually happened. But he'd pushed her, and now it was unlikely that she'd ever tell him the truth.

Should I respect her by staying out of it? Or should I try to help her no matter what she says?

Paul didn't know which arm of the dilemma he was going to choose, but one thing he knew for sure-he was going to keep his eye on Julia, and he'd be d.a.m.ned if anyone would injure her when he was around.

Shortly before eleven the next morning, Julia rolled out of bed from under Gabriel's arm. She pulled on one of his white Oxford b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rts and stood in front of the large black and white framed photograph of Gabriel kissing her neck.

She loved the photograph but had been surprised to see it so prominently displayed on his wall and in so large a size. It made her think back to her first visit, when she studied the black and white photographs that used to grace his walls. And he'd vomited all over her and his British-racing-green sweater.

Gabriel certainly had panache when it came to his clothing. He would have looked good wearing nothing but a brown paper bag. (Julia meditated on that thought for more than a few seconds.) Leaving Gabriel to snore softly in peace, she walked to the kitchen. As she helped herself to breakfast, she thought back to his behavior the night before.

What had he been doing in his study on a Friday night?

Before she could consider the implications of her actions, she found herself wandering into his office. She walked over to his desk and saw that his laptop was switched off. All the papers from the night before had been cleared away, the gleaming oak of the desktop almost bare. There was no way she was going to open his files and desk drawers in search of his secrets.

However, she found something on his desk that she had not expected-a small, sterling silver frame with a black and white picture in it.

Maia.

She picked up the photo and held it in her hand, marveling that Gabriel had progressed so far as to have the ultrasound picture framed. Lost in thought, she stood looking at it for what seemed like a long time.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

She whirled around to find Gabriel leaning against the doorframe, arms across his chest, clad only in a T-s.h.i.+rt and a pair of striped boxer shorts.

He stared a little too long at the naked flesh that peeked out from between the top b.u.t.tons and at her shapely legs. He glanced at the picture frame and his expression s.h.i.+fted.

Julia quickly replaced the frame on the desk. "I'm sorry."

Gabriel strode toward her. "I haven't decided where to put it." He looked at the picture. "But I don't want to keep it in a drawer."

"Of course. It's a beautiful frame," she offered.

"I found it at Tiffany."

Julia c.o.c.ked her head to one side. "Only you would buy a frame at Tiffany's. I would have gone to Walmart."

"I went to Tiffany for quite a different purpose." He searched her face.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Now his eyes burned into hers. "Absolutely. But I found it long ago."

Julia blinked as if she were in some sort of fog until he leaned down to kiss her. It was a remarkable kiss. He placed his hands gently on either side of her face and then brought his lips to hers, pressing firmly before beginning his joyous movement. Within a moment, she'd forgotten all about why she'd wandered into the study.

He stroked her tongue tenderly with his, sliding his hands through her hair to rest on the back of her head. And when he withdrew, he kissed her cheeks.

"I wish I'd known you my whole life. I wish everything had been different."

"We're together now."

"That we are, my lovely. You look beautiful in my s.h.i.+rt." His voice was gruff all of a sudden. "I was planning to take you out for breakfast. There's a small creperie around the corner that I think you'd like."

She took his hand gladly as he led her back to the bedroom so they could shower together and begin their day.

Later that afternoon they worked in his study. Gabriel sat at his desk, reading an article, while Julia sat perched in his red velvet armchair, checking her email.

Dear Julia, I owe you an apology. I'm really sorry I upset you when I ran into you yesterday. I didn't mean to. I was worried about you.

If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm just a phone call away.

Hoping we can still be friends, Paul.

PS. Christa has been asking why Professor Picton is directing your thesis.

Julia looked over at Gabriel and found him lost in thought behind his eyegla.s.ses. She quickly typed a response.

Hi Paul, Of course we're still friends. The incident in Selinsgrove was traumatic, and I'm trying to forget about it.

I should mention that my boyfriend saved me-in more ways than one.

Someday I'd like to introduce you to him. He's wonderful.

Not sure why Christa cares who is directing my thesis. I'm only an MA student.

Thanks for the warning.

I'll put your Christmas present in your mailbox in the department on Monday.

It's small but I hope you like it.

And thanks, Julia.

Katherine Picton lived a reserved life. She owned a nice home in the Annex neighborhood of Toronto, which was within walking distance to the university. She spent her summers in Italy and Christmas holidays in England. And she spent most of her time publis.h.i.+ng articles and monographs on Dante. In other words, she lived the life of the respectable academic spinster, except that she didn't garden or take lovers or own a bevy of cats. (Regrettably.) Despite her age, she was very much in demand for public lectures and more than one university had attempted to lure her out of retirement with promises of extravagant salaries and modest teaching responsibilities. Katherine would rather have dug the Panama Ca.n.a.l with her fingernails while suffering from yellow fever than give up the time she could devote to research in order to maintain an office on campus and attend faculty meetings.

So when Greg Matthews of Harvard University telephoned her in January about an opening for an endowed chair in Dante studies, that's what she told him.

He reacted in stunned silence before fumbling over his next words. "But Professor Picton, we could arrange it so you wouldn't have to teach. All you would have to do would be to deliver a couple of lectures a semester, have a presence on campus, and supervise some doctoral students. That's it."

"I don't want to move all my books," said Katherine.