To do such a thing to Julianne—with her gentle eyes and beautiful soul. A shy creature who was ashamed of having a gag reflex. The senator’s son was lucky he was hiding in his parents’ house in Georgetown under a suspended sentence and a restraining order, or Gabriel would have appeared on his doorstep in order to continue their previous altercation. And he would have ended their conversation with more than a few punches.
He shook the murderous thoughts from his head, lifting Julia to her feet and wrapping her in a blanket. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t sit here after what you just told me.”
Julia’s cheeks reddened with shame, and her large eyes filled with tears.
“Hey.” Gabriel pressed his lips to her forehead. “It isn’t your fault. Do you understand? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
She smiled thinly, but it was clear that she didn’t believe him.
He led her upstairs and through the bedroom to the en-suite, ushering her in before closing the door behind them.
“What are you doing?”
“Hopefully, something nice.” He traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb.
Gabriel turned on the shower, testing the temperature of the water until he was satisfied. He adjusted the flow until it was gently falling from the tropical rain showerhead. He slowly removed the blanket from her body and held the shower door open, waiting for her to step inside before he followed her.
She looked confused.
“I want to show you that I love you,” he whispered. “Without taking you to bed.”
“Take me to bed,” she pleaded. “Then our evening won’t be ruined.”
“Our evening isn’t ruined,” he said fiercely. “But I’ll be damned if anyone hurts you again.” He used both hands to caress her hair, parting and moving it so every strand grew wet.
“You think I’m dirty.”
“Far from it.” He took her hand and pressed it over the tattoo on his chest. “You’re the closest thing to an angel I’ll ever touch.” His eyes held hers without blinking. “But I think we both need to wash away the past.”
He moved her hair to one side, pressing a kiss to her neck. Stepping back, he poured some of her vanilla-scented shampoo into his palm. His fingers worked the liquid into her scalp, rubbing slowly, and eventually sliding down the locks to the ends. He was careful in his movements. If he ever had one moment, one act, to demonstrate that his love for her was much deeper than a sexual infatuation, now was that moment.
As Julia began to relax, she thought back to one of the few happy memories she had of her mother. She was a little girl and her mother washed her hair in the bathtub. She remembered the two of them laughing. She remembered her mother smiling.
Having Gabriel wash her hair was far better. It was a deeply affectionate, deeply intimate experience. She was naked before him, as he washed away her shame.
He was naked too, but was careful not to crowd her, or to allow his slightly embarrassed arousal to brush up against her. This was not about sex. This was about making her feel loved.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so emotional.” Her voice was quiet.
“Sex is supposed to be emotional. You don’t have to hide your feelings from me.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her. “I feel very deeply about us as well. These past few days have been the happiest of my life.”
He rested his chin on her shoulder. “You were shy when you were seventeen, but I don’t remember you being so wounded.”
“I should have dumped him the first time he was cruel.” Her voice shook. “But I didn’t. I didn’t stand up for myself and things got worse.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
She shrugged. “I stayed with him. I held onto the times when he was charming or thoughtful, hoping the bad times would disappear. I know that what I told you made you sick, but believe me, Gabriel, no one could be as disgusted with me as I am with myself.”
“Julia,” he groaned, turning her to face him. “I’m not disgusted with you. I don’t care what you did; no one deserves to be treated that way. Do you hear me?” His eyes flamed a brilliant, dangerous blue.
She covered her face with her hands. “I wanted to do something for you. But I couldn’t even get that right.”
He pulled at her wrists, lowering her hands. “Listen to me. Because we love each other, everything between us, including sex, is a gift. Not a right, or an entitlement or an exaction—a gift. You have me now. Let him go.”
“I still hear his voice in my head.” She brushed away a stray tear.
Gabriel shook his head, shifting them so they stood in the center of the downpour, the hot water spilling over them. “Do you remember what I said in my lecture about Botticelli’s Primavera?”
She nodded.
“Some people think that Primavera is about sexual awakening—that part of the painting is an allegory for an arranged marriage. At first, Flora is a virgin and she’s afraid. When she’s pregnant, she appears serene.”
“I thought Zephyr raped her.”
Gabriel clenched his jaw. “He did. He fell in love with her afterward and married her, transforming her into the goddess of flowers.”