Julia rolled her eyes at Gabriel’s French, but it wasn’t because his pronunciation was faulty.
“You will probably find this difficult to believe, but I don’t drink all the time. Nevertheless, I don’t expect you to finish this bottle by yourself. We’ll save it for Mimosas for breakfast.”
Julia’s eyebrows shot up. Breakfast? You’re awfully sure of yourself, Casanova.
“I searched my collection for a vintage from 2003 but had to make due with 2002.”
It took a moment for Julia to realize the significance of the year, and when the realization hit her she blushed and looked down at her hands. Gabriel watched her over his salad but said nothing. He’d hoped for a more vocal reaction, but he surmised rather quickly that she was overwhelmed by the tumult of the day.
She’s nervous; she’s quivering, and her face is flushed.
Gabriel reached over to stroke the skin at her wrist from time to time, just to reassure her. Whenever their eyes met he would stop whatever he was doing and smile at her encouragingly, hoping that she’d engage him in conversation. But she would only duck her head and look down at her plate—until the strains of a certain song filled their ears.
Besame, besame mucho…
Gabriel watched Julia carefully. When she reacted to the music, as well as turning a deeper shade of rose, he winked.
“Do you remember this song?”
“Yes.”
“How is your Spanish?” He gazed at her expectantly.
“Non-existent.”
“That’s a pity. The words are very beautiful.” He smiled at her somewhat sadly, and she looked away.
When Gabriel wasn’t singing, he was watching her, the movement of her eyes, the fidgeting of her hands, the blush of her skin. And when the song was over he smiled, stood up, and pressed a long kiss to the top of her head.
He cleared their dishes, topped up her champagne flute, and served their entrées, spaghetti con limone with capers and tiger shrimp. It was a rare treat and one of Julia’s favorites, so it surprised her that he made it. Maybe Rachel had…
She shook her head. This was between her and Gabriel. Period. Except for the specter of Paulina, who was haunting them both…
“You aren’t the same man you were in the orchard,” Julia announced flatly, the champagne making her bold.
Gabriel rested his fork on his plate, his eyebrows knitting together. “You’re right—I’m much better.”
Julia laughed bitterly. “Impossible! He was kind to me and very, very gentle. He would never have been as cold and indifferent as you have been.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes flashed to hers. “I’ve never lied to you. Why would I start now?”
A flush of anger started in her cheeks and spread across her face. “I won’t let your darkness consume me.”
Gabriel was puzzled by her sudden hostility and was sorely tempted to call her out on it. Surprisingly, however, he cocked his head to one side. She watched as he wet his finger in Perrier and began running it around the rim of his water glass, smoothly and sensuously. Soon the crystal goblet was singing in their ears.
Suddenly, Gabriel stopped. “You think darkness can consume light? That’s an interesting theory. Let’s see if it works.” He waved his hand at the candelabra. “There. I just threw some of my darkness at those candles. See how successful it was?”
He smirked and returned to his meal.
“You know what I’m talking about! Don’t be so damned condescending.”
Gabriel’s eyes darkened. “I have no wish to consume you, but I won’t lie and say that I’m not attracted to your luminosity. If I am the darkness, then you are the stars. In fact, I’m quite taken by la luce della tua umilitate.”
“I won’t let you fuck me.”
Now he sat back in his chair with a look of shock and disgust on his face. He silently resolved that she’d drunk her last glass of champagne.
“I’m sorry, did I ask you to?” His voice was smooth and unruffled, which made Julia even more upset.
Liar. Liar. Beautiful blue eyes on fire.
He grinned at her impertinently, watching her face over the rim of his glass. He wiped his lips with his napkin and brought his face inches from hers. “If I were to ask you to do anything, Miss Mitchell, it wouldn’t be that.” He smiled, sat back in his seat, and almost cheerfully finished his dinner without another word.
Julia seethed. She knew he was staring at her; she could feel his eyes on her face, her mouth, her shoulders, which were shaking. Nothing escaped those piercing blue eyes. She felt as if he could read her soul, and still he did not look away.
“Julianne,” he said at last. He moved his hand underneath the table to catch her wrist and pull it out of her lap, brushing the top of her thigh as he did so.
His voice was gentle and smooth, and Julia felt the warmth of his touch travel all the way to her toes.
“Look at me.”
She tried to withdraw her hand, but he held her fast.