“I know I’ve been a bit of a—stronzo tonight. But I’ll choose something nice. I promise.”
Unwilling to release her for fear she might bolt, Gabriel brought her to the DJ’s booth and slipped him a bill, whispering his request. The DJ nodded and smiled, saluting Julia before he searched for the requested song.
Gabriel walked her to the dance floor and pulled her in close—but not too close. He noticed that her hands, which were so much smaller than his, had begun to sweat. It didn’t occur to him that perhaps she was having this reaction because of the song he mentioned. No, his only thought was that she was completely averse to him, and he’d made matters worse by being insulting and overbearing with her when all he really wanted to do was save her from the wolves that had descended to sniff at her skirts.
Why the hell do I care? She isn’t a child. She isn’t even a friend.
He felt her shiver, and again he regretted being harsh with her. She was a delicate little thing and clearly quite sensitive. He shouldn’t have mentioned the fact that he’d observed that she was a virgin. That was a boorish thing to do. Grace would have been appalled at his lack of gentility, and rightly so.
Perhaps he could make it up to the beautiful Julianne by dancing with her nicely and showing that he could act like a gentleman, after all. Gabriel placed his hand at the small of her back and flexed it. Immediately, he felt her breathing quicken.
“Relax,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the skin of her cheek accidentally.
He brought their bodies close together, making sure that she could feel his chest against hers. Strong and hard met gentle and soft, as they brushed against one another through their clothing. Gabriel was now on his best behavior.
Julia didn’t recognize the song he’d requested. The vocalist was singing in Spanish, and the words were unfamiliar, although she recognized the phrase besame mucho and knew that it translated as kiss me a lot. The arrangement itself was slow Latin jazz, and they swayed to it gently, Gabriel moving her across the dance floor like an expert. The fact that he’d chosen such an overtly romantic song made her blush.
I kissed you a lot, Gabriel, for one glorious evening. But you don’t remember. I wonder if you’d remember me if I kissed you…
She felt his pinky graze the top of her barely there panties through her dress, and she wondered if he knew what lay beneath his finger. The thought that perhaps he did made her skin explode in heat. She hid her eyes by keeping them determinedly fixed on the buttons of his shirt.
“It would be better if you looked me in the eye. It will be easier for you to follow my lead.”
She found him smiling down at her, a wide and genuine smile that she hadn’t seen in years. Her heart fluttered, and she beamed back at him, dropping her guard (but not her special panties) for only an instant.
Gabriel’s smile slipped. “Your face is familiar. Are you sure Rachel never introduced us during one of my visits home?”
Julia’s eyes brightened with what looked like hope. “She didn’t introduce us, no, but we…”
“I could have sworn I’d met you before.” He wrinkled his forehead in confusion.
“Gabriel?” she prompted, trying to reveal the truth with her eyes.
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “No, I guess we haven’t. But you remind me of Beatrice, from Holiday’s painting. Isn’t it funny that you own it?”
If Gabriel had known what to look for, or if he’d been better at reading her, he would have seen that she appeared slightly ill and any hope on her face disappeared.
She bit her lip absently. “A—friend told me about that painting. That’s why I bought it.”
“Your friend has good taste.”
Something about her answer displeased him, but he dismissed his displeasure as derivative of the fact that she was so tense in his arms. He sighed and brought their foreheads together, his warm breath on her face. He smelled of Laphroaig and something distinctively Gabrielian and potentially dangerous.
“Julianne, I promise I won’t bite. You don’t have to be anxious.”
She stiffened, even though she knew he was trying to put her at ease. But he’d upset her countless times, and she was fatigued by it. She was not some marionette on a string that he could toy with for his own mercurial amusement, just because some blond-haired banker sent her a truffle. It seemed that this dance was simply an opportunity for him to declare his superiority.
“I don’t think this is very professional,” she began, her eyes suddenly afire.
His smile slid off his face, and his eyes flashed to hers. “No, it isn’t, Miss Mitchell. I’m not being professional with you, at all. I suppose it’s no excuse for me to claim that I wanted to dance with the prettiest girl in the club?”
Her lovely red mouth opened slightly, then he watched her press her lips together.