“You mentioned before that I hadn’t asked you to dance. Well, now I’m asking.” He softened his voice considerably. “Julianne, will you do me the honor of dancing with me? Please?”
He flashed a winning smile and tilted his head a little…a signature seductive move. But it didn’t have the effect he desired, for Julia would not lift her head. He reached out to smooth his fingers gently across her wrist, as if he was trying to apologize to her skin. (Not that her skin would have accepted his apology.) Julia clutched at her neck instinctively, suddenly feeling as if she was experiencing physical whiplash from his emotional caprice. Gabriel gazed at the hand that fluttered against her milk-white throat, and once again he saw her blue veins quiver with every heartbeat.
Like a hummingbird, he thought. So tiny. So fragile. Be careful…
She swallowed noisily and eagerly searched out an exit.
“Please,” he repeated, his eyes shining in the darkness.
“I can’t dance.”
“You were just dancing.”
“Not slow dancing. I’ll step on your toes and injure you with these heels. Or I’ll trip and end up on the floor, and you’ll be humiliated. You’re already angry with me…” Her lower lip began to tremble more noticeably.
He took a step closer, and she pressed herself more tightly against the wall, almost as if she was trying to disappear through it in order to escape him. He took her hand and regally lifted it to his lips. Then with a smile firmly on his face, he inched forward, leaning down and bringing his mouth to her ear. Julia’s skin vibrated with his nearness and the feel of his breath across her skin.
“Julianne, how could I stay angry with someone so sweet? I promise I won’t become cross or humiliated. You’ll be able to dance with me.” His whisper was bracing and soft, sexual and seductive, Scotch and peppermint. “Come.”
He took her hand in his, and the same familiar spark coursed across her skin. As he waited for her to respond, he felt her still beneath his touch, and he wondered at the strange reaction she was having to him. It seemed as if his charm was actually working, even though she’d been shaking a moment before.
“Please, Professor,” she breathed, fixating on his shirt front, unwilling to meet his gaze.
“I thought we were supposed to be Gabriel and Julianne tonight.”
“You don’t really want to dance with me. It’s just the Scotch talking.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he had to bite back a harsh retort. She was pushing his buttons, almost as if she knew exactly which buttons to push and when.
“One slow dance. That’s all I ask.”
“Why would you want to dance with a virgin?” she whispered, suddenly fascinated by the bows on her shoes.
His spine stiffened. “Not just any virgin, but you, Julianne. I thought you might want to dance with someone who wasn’t about to molest you on the dance floor and take liberties with you in front of a club full of sexually-aggressive men.”
She appeared skeptical but said nothing.
“I’m trying to keep the wolves at bay,” he said, his voice low.
A lion in charge of wolves, she thought. How convenient.
He hadn’t made a joke; he was looking at her seriously, his intense blue eyes boring into hers.
“One dance with me and they’ll know enough to leave you alone. That should be an improvement over the current state of affairs.” He smiled faintly. “If I’m very lucky, no one will bother you for the rest of the evening, and I won’t have to guard my charge so closely.”
She bristled at his characterization but relented, realizing that at this stage of his life he was used to getting his way—always.
It wasn’t always that way, though, was it Gabriel?
“What shall we dance to?” He persuaded her to reenter the lounge, placing a hand on her lower back. “I’ll request whatever you want. How about Nine Inch Nails? Maybe a little Closer?”
He grinned in order to indicate that he was kidding. But Julia wasn’t looking at his face, she was watching the floor so she didn’t trip and embarrass herself and The Professor. Nevertheless, as soon as the name of that song left his lips, she froze.
He nearly ran into the back of her she stopped so suddenly. Through the tips of his fingers he felt the marked coolness of her body and immediately and fiercely regretted ever suggesting that song. He moved to regard her face, and what he saw troubled him deeply.
“Julianne, look at me.”
Her breathing paused.
“Please,” he added.
Obediently, she raised her wide brown eyes to his and looked up at him through her long eyelashes. He saw fear and radical unease on her face, and something inside of him twisted.
“It was a joke. And in poor taste. Forgive me. I would never request that song for a dance with you. It would be the worst form of blasphemy, to expose someone like you to words like that.”
Julia’s eyelashes fluttered in her confusion.