He didn’t know why he stopped, and if you had asked him why afterward, he would have shrugged and given you no explanation. But once he stopped what he was doing and saw the poor little creature that was huddled in a corner crying, he felt…something. Something other than annoyance or anger or guilt or sexual arousal. He felt compassion for her. And he felt sorry that he’d made her cry.
He leaned over and began to wipe her tears away very tenderly with his fingertips. He noticed the hum that came from her mouth as soon as he touched her, and he noticed once again that her skin felt very familiar. And when he’d wiped away her tears, he cupped her pale face in his hands, tilting her chin upward…then retreated quickly and began cleaning her wounds.
“Thank you,” she murmured, noting the care with which he removed the glass from her hands. He used tweezers, meticulously searching out even the smallest fragment from her skin.
“Don’t mention it.”
When all the glass had been removed, he poured iodine onto some cotton balls.
“This is going to sting.”
He watched as she steeled herself for his touch, and he winced slightly. He did not relish the thought of hurting her. And she was so soft and so fragile. It took him a full minute and a half to work up the courage to put the iodine on her cuts, and all the time she was sitting there, wide-eyed and biting her lip, waiting for him to just do it already.
“There,” he said gruffly, as he wiped away the last of the blood. “You’re all better.”
“I’m sorry I broke your glass. I know it was crystal.” Her soft voice interrupted his reverie as he returned his first-aid implements to the medicine cabinet.
He waved a hand at her. “I have dozens. There’s a crystal shop downstairs. I’ll pick up another if I need it.”
“I’d like to replace it.”
“You couldn’t afford it.” The words escaped his mouth without him realizing it. He watched in horror as Julia’s face first reddened then grew pale. Her head went down, of course, and she started chewing at the inside of her cheek.
“Miss Mitchell, I wouldn’t dream of taking your money. It would violate the rules of hospitality.”
And we couldn’t have that, thought Julia.
“But I’ve stained your shirt. Please let me pay for the dry cleaning.”
Gabriel stared down at his lovely but obviously ruined white shirt and cursed inside his head. He’d liked this shirt. Paulina had bought it for him in London. And there was no way Julia’s spittle mingled with Chianti would ever come out.
“I have several of these as well,” he lied smoothly. “And I’m sure the stains will come out. Rachel will help me.”
Julia raked her upper teeth across her lower lip back and forth and back and forth.
Gabriel saw the movement, and it made him rather queasy, like a kind of seasickness, but her lips were so red and inviting he couldn’t look away. It was a bit like watching a car wreck while standing on the deck of a ship.
He leaned over and patted the back of her hand. “Accidents happen. They’re no one’s fault.” He smiled and was rewarded with a very pretty smile in return as she released her lower lip.
Look at her. She does blossom under kindness. Just like a rose, opening her petals.
“Is she all right?” Rachel asked, suddenly appearing beside them.
Gabriel withdrew his hand quickly and sighed. “Yes. But apparently Julianne hates couscous.” He winked at her slyly and watched as the flush spread from her cheeks and over the surface of her porcelain skin. She truly was a brown-eyed angel.
“That’s fine. I’ll make rice pilaf instead.” Rachel disappeared, and Gabriel followed, leaving Julia to stop her heart from trying to escape out of her chest.
While Rachel packed away the disdained grains into the refrigerator, Gabriel went to his bedroom to change his soiled shirt, depositing it with more than a little regret in the garbage. Then he joined his sister in the kitchen to clean up the broken glass and wine from the floor.
“There are a couple of things I need to tell you about Julia,” she began, speaking over her shoulder.
Gabriel walked the glass shards to the garbage bin. “I’d rather not hear it.”
“What’s wrong with you? She’s my friend, for crying out loud!”
“And she’s my student. I shouldn’t know anything about her personal life. Her friendship with you already presents a conflict of interest that I was unaware of.”
Rachel squared her shoulders and shook her head stubbornly, her gray eyes darkening. “You know what? I don’t care! I love her a lot and Mom did, too. So you remember that the next time you’re tempted to shout at her.
“She’s been broken, you jackass. That’s why she hasn’t kept in touch with me this past year. And now she’s finally crawled out of her shell, a shell I might add, that I thought she would never leave, and you’re forcing her back into it with your…your arrogance and condescension! So drop the Mr. Rochester-Mr. Darcy-Heathcliff British stuck-uppity bullshit and treat her like the treasure she is! Or I’m coming back here and putting a pump in your ass!”
Gabriel straightened his spine and cast her a withering stare. “By ‘pump,’ I take it you’re referring to a lady’s shoe?”
She didn’t back down. Or flinch. In fact, she grew taller. And almost menacing.