“Little Rabbit.” Paul gave her a tender look and immediately brought his fingertips up to caress her cheek. His touch wasn’t electric, but it was light and soothing. Even his skin was kind.
He put his arms around her and drew her against his chest so he could stroke her hair and whisper something sweet in her ear…something to reassure her…something to remove the mixture of confusion and pain he read on her face. His soft whisperings were interrupted by the arrival of a great-winged harpy, wearing four-inch heels and crimson lipstick and carrying two paper cups.
“Well, isn’t this cozy.” A voice, cold and steely, interrupted the couple’s soft moment, and Julia looked up into the harsh brown eyes of Christa Peterson.
Julia sat up quickly and tried to move away from Paul, but he held her fast. “Christa,” he greeted her flatly.
“Slumming with MA students, Paul? How very democratic of you,” she said, ignoring Julia pointedly.
“Be careful, Christa.” His tone held a warning. “Two fisted, today? That’s a bit much. Pulling an all-nighter?” He pointed to the cups she was holding, one in each hand.
“You have no idea,” she purred. “One is for me and one for Gabriel, of course. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there, Julianne. I guess he’s still Professor Emerson to you.” Christa cackled like an old chicken.
Julia raised an eyebrow but resisted the urge to set Christa straight or to smack that smug smile off her face. For Julia was a lady. And she liked how Paul’s arm felt about her shoulders and was unwilling to move. At least, not yet.
“You’ve never called him Gabriel to his face, Christa. I dare you to do it the next time you see him.”
Christa’s eyes hardened, and she glared at Paul. Then she smiled. “You dare me? That’s funny. Is that a Vermont thing? Something farmers say to one another when they’re shoveling manure? After my meeting with Gabriel, we’ll probably head over to Lobby for drinks. He likes to go there after work. I’m sure we’ll be exchanging more than, ah…names this evening.” Her tongue peeked out from between her lips, and she began licking the curve of one of them languorously.
Julia heaved.
“And he’ll take you there?” Paul appeared skeptical.
“He will. Oh, he will.”
Julia gagged and silently swallowed back her stomach contents. For the thought of Gabriel with this…Emerson whore was nauseating in the extreme. Even the waitress at Lobby would be better for him than Christa.
“You’re not his type,” Julia muttered.
“Pardon?”
She looked up into narrowed and suspicious eyes, and she weighed her options for the slimmest of seconds. And decided caution was the better part of valor.
“I said—don’t believe the hype.”
“About what?”
“About Lobby. It’s not that great.”
Christa shot Julia a frosty smile. “As if the doorman would let you in. Lobby is an exclusive club.”
She looked Julia up and down as if she were a less-than-prized animal. As if she were an old, half-blind, forgotten pony at a petting zoo. Julia suddenly felt very self-conscious and ugly. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she fought them back bravely.
Paul noticed exactly what Miss Peterson was doing in measuring Julia and finding her wanting. He felt her shiver in reaction to Christa’s feline claw sharpening. So although it pained him to do so, he released Julia’s shoulders and sat forward on the loveseat, flexing his arms.
Don’t make me stand up, bitch, he thought.
“Why wouldn’t they let Julia in, Christa? They only admit working girls now?”
Christa turned very red. “What would you know about it, Paul? You’re practically a monk! Or perhaps that’s what monks do—they pay for it.” She shot a meaningful glance at Julia’s precious new messenger bag.
“Christa, you’re going to shut your mouth right now, or I’m going to stand up. And then all chivalry goes out the window.” Paul glared at her and silently reminded himself that he could not strike a woman. And that Christa was, in fact, a woman, and not an anorexic sow in heat. Paul would never have compared Christa to a cow, for he thought cows were noble creatures. (Especially Holsteins.)
“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she snapped. “I’m sure there are multiple explanations. Maybe Lobby wouldn’t let her in because of her iq. Gabriel says you’re not that bright, Julianne.”
Christa smiled triumphantly as Julia ducked her head, feeling very small indeed. Paul shifted his weight to the soles of his feet. He wasn’t going to hit Christa; he was simply going to shut her up. And maybe drag her to the exit or something. He needn’t have bothered.
“Oh, really? And what else does Gabriel say?”
The three graduate students turned slowly en masse to look up at the blue-eyed Dante specialist who had sidled up to them silently. None of them were exactly sure how much he’d heard or how long he’d been standing there. But his eyes sparked, and Julia could feel his anger radiating toward Christa. It billowed like a cloud. But thankfully, it did not billow in her direction. This time.