He swore under his breath. “You need to take better care of yourself. No wonder you’re so pale. Come.”
He led her to the red velvet wing-back chair in the living room and made her sit down, gently lifting her feet and placing them on top of the ottoman.
“I don’t need to sit down over here. I could sit in the kitchen, with you.”
Gabriel glared at her mildly as he turned on the gas fireplace. He let his hand pass over her head, brushing back her hair.
“Kittens should be curled up in a chair by the fire on a day like today. You’re safer here than on one of the bar stools. I’m going to make dinner, but I need to step out and pick up a few things. Will you be all right by yourself?”
“Of course, Gabriel. I’m not an invalid.”
“If you feel scorched, flip the switch and the inferno will go out.”
He leaned over and pressed a kiss on top of her hair before walking to the front door. “Promise me you won’t leave before I come back,” he called.
“I promise.” Julia wondered if he was really that worried about losing her.
She thought back to what had happened in the lecture and the events in his office. She wondered if it was lack of food that made her light-headed, or Gabriel’s kiss. It wouldn’t have been the first time that he’d affected her this way…
Julia closed her eyes just for a moment as the dull roar of the fire hummed in her ears, and she fell fast asleep.
The sound of a woman’s voice, passionate and soulful, floated through the air. Julia recognized the song before she opened her eyes. Gabriel was playing Edith Piaf, Non, je ne regrette rien. It was an extraordinary choice.
Julia opened her eyes to find Gabriel smiling down on her, looking very much like a troubled angel—an angel with dark hair, a mouth made for sin, and piercing blue eyes. He’d changed into a black button down shirt and a pair of black trousers, his shirtsleeves pushed up to expose muscled forearms.
“Julianne?” He smiled and offered her his hand.
She took it, and he led her into the dining room. Gabriel had set his formal dining table with a white linen tablecloth and lit the candles in an ornate silver candelabra. She saw two place settings of china, crystal, and silver, and a bottle of what appeared to be champagne.
Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin vintage 2002, she read on the label.
“Are you pleased?” He stood behind her and rubbed her arms with his hands.
“It’s beautiful,” she managed, eyeing the expensive champagne with suspicion.
“Then allow me.” He pulled her chair out and handed her a white linen napkin. “I’ve tried a second time with the flowers. Please don’t destroy them like you did the last ones.”
Gabriel smiled wryly as he gestured to a tall, modern glass vase that held an arrangement of purple hyacinths.
“If you’re good, I’ll let you read the card,” he whispered, as he poured her a glass of champagne. Without waiting to watch her taste it, he disappeared into the kitchen.
With a quick look over her shoulder to be sure she wasn’t being watched, Julia removed the card that was nestled among the flowers. In it she read: My Dear Julianne,
If you wish to know how I feel about you,
just ask me.
Yours,
Gabriel
Smug bastard, Julia thought before she hastily replaced the card.
As she sat there, annoyed, a number of different things caught her attention. Gabriel had chosen Edith Piaf for mood music; she was now singing La Vie en Rose. The tablecloth, the place settings, the champagne, the flowers…he hadn’t gone to such trouble for Rachel.
All the arguing and passion in his office had lit their bodies on fire. And the way he’d kissed her…Julia had never been kissed like that before, even by him. She shivered in remembrance, solely from pleasure. It was a new feeling, but not an unwelcome one.
Foreplay.
She knew that he’d struggled to stop kissing her, as if he were at war with himself. The tension between them had been palpable, almost concrete. She knew that he was a very sexual man who was never in want of female companionship, by his own admission. Now that he had tasted her while sober, he wanted her. It was overwhelming to be desired by such a tempting, sensual creature. She felt like Psyche being desired by Cupid. And she could not deny the attraction she felt for him, or the way she fluttered with longing when he kissed her.
But Julia did not share, which made all other romantic or sexual considerations moot. She decided to wait until after the salad course to tell him that.
When Gabriel sat next to her at the head of the table, he picked up his water glass and toasted their evening. As they clinked their glasses together, Julia realized he wasn’t drinking champagne.
“No Veuve Clicquot?” she asked, sipping away incredulously.
He smiled at her and shook his head. “Non, seulement de l’eau ce soir. Mon ange.”