Gabriel's Inferno 01 - Gabriel's Inferno (22 page)

Julia’s eyes grew larger. He was stalking her. And he looked hungry.

“Please, don’t. Please don’t…hurt me,” she whimpered.

A furrow appeared between Gabriel’s eyebrows. He reached out, and soft hands cupped her face gently, tilting her so that she was staring straight into his bold, shining eyes.

“Never.” And with that he brought his lips to hers.

As soon as they connected, skin against skin, Julia lost all ability to think and simply drowned in feeling. She had never felt more embodied than at the moment, never felt as if she existed less in her head. His mouth barely moved over hers. It was warm, and his lips were wet and surprisingly soft. She didn’t know if he was kissing her like that because he was drunk or for some other reason, but it was as if their lips were frozen together. As if their connection, so intense and real, could not be broken even for a second. Julia dared not move her mouth for fear he would release her and she would never be kissed by him again.

He pressed into her firmly but gently, while his hands tenderly floated across her cheeks. He did not open his mouth. But the feeling that surged between them was more powerful than ever. Julia’s blood sang in her ears, and she felt herself flush and grow hot as she pressed forward against his chest, closing the gap between them and winding her arms around his back. She could feel the muscles underneath his shirt. She could almost feel his heart beating against her own chest. But he was so gentle, so tender. His mouth left her wanting more—much, much more.

She wasn’t sure how long they kissed, but by the time he released her Julia’s head was spinning. It was transcendent. It was emotional. The momentary fulfillment of her heart’s deepest longing. Memories and dreams of the orchard came flooding back. They were not the stuff of her imagination—the spark, the attraction, was real and so stirring to her soul. She had not imagined it, but she wondered if he felt it too. Or perhaps he was immune to those kinds of feelings now.

“Beautiful Julianne,” he murmured as he staggered backward. “Sweet like candy.”

Gabriel licked his lips as if he was savoring her taste, and whatever lucidity he had suddenly disappeared. He shut his eyes and collapsed against the wall, close to passing out.

When she finally regained her senses, which took more than a minute, she managed to half-drag him into his bedroom. And all would have been well. All would have been well if he hadn’t opened up his mouth at that moment and vomited all over her. And all over his beautiful and expensive British-racing-green cashmere sweater, which was no longer green by the time he was finished with it.

Julia gasped and heaved at the sight and smell, for she had a very queasy stomach.
It’s even in my hair. Oh gods of all Good Samaritans, make haste to help me!

“I’m sorry, Julianne. I’m sorry I was a bad boy.” Gabriel’s voice was like a child’s.

She held her breath and shook her head. “It’s all right. Come on.” She pulled him into the master bathroom and was able to position him on his knees over the toilet before the next volcanic stomach eruption.

While he vomited, she held a hand to her nose and tried to distract herself by taking stock of his elegant and spacious bathroom. Large two-person or more bathtub? Check. Large two-person or more shower with decadent tropical rain showerheads? Double check. Large fluffy white towels perfect for picking up puke? Check, check, and check.

When Gabriel finished, she handed him a small but absorbent hand towel to wipe his mouth. He groaned loudly and ignored her offer. So she leaned over and gently swiped the towel over his face before giving him a sip of water to swish around his mouth.

She stared at him. Despite the train wreck that was her own family and her overall skittishness about marriage, she had thought from time to time about what it would be like to have a baby—a little boy or girl who would look like Julia and her husband. As she gazed down at a very sick Gabriel, she imagined what it would be like to be a mother and to care for her ill child. Gabriel’s vulnerability tugged on her heartstrings, for she’d never seen it before except that once, when he cried in his office over Grace.

Grace would be happy that I’m taking care of her son.

“Will you be all right for a minute?” Julia asked, pushing his soft hair out of his eyes.

He groaned again, eyes closed, and she took that as an indication that he would be fine. But Julia had a difficult time letting him go. So while he sat there, moaning, she petted him a little, stroking his hair and chattering to him as if he were a baby.

“It’s all right, Gabriel. It’s all right. All I ever wanted was to be nice to you…to care for you a little…even if you never cared for me.”

When she was satisfied that she could leave him alone for a few minutes, she went into his bedroom and quickly began looking through his chest of drawers for something, anything, that she could change into. She resisted the impulse to rummage through his underwear in search of a prize that she could take home (or sell on eBay) and grabbed the first pair of boxer shorts she could find. They were black and decorated with the shield of Magdalen College and looked as if they would be too small for Gabriel’s finely shaped derrière.

Even Gabriel’s underwear is pretentious
, thought Julia as she searched for a T-shirt.

She went to the guest washroom and quickly stripped off her fouled clothes, hopped into the shower just to rinse the vomit out of her hair and the stench from her skin, then changed into his things.

Afterward, she tried to tackle the disaster that was Gabriel’s cashmere sweater. She cleaned it as best she could, soaking it a little in the sink. Finally, she placed it on the marble countertop to air dry. He’d have to have it dry-cleaned (or burned). Julia took the rest of her clothes, put them in the washer, and returned to the master bathroom.

Gabriel was sitting with his back against the wall, his knees up to his chest and his face in his hands. He was still moaning.

Julia quickly cleaned the toilet and kneeled beside him. She didn’t like the idea of leaving him in vomit-soaked clothes, but she didn’t like the idea of undressing him either. He’d probably accuse her of sexual harassment or something, and she didn’t want to deal with a drunk and angry Professor Emerson. Or a sober and angry Professor Emerson. For like a dragon, he could turn on you in a second if he thought you were pulling his tail.

“Gabriel, you’ve thrown up all over yourself. Do you understand? Do you want to stay like this or…” She let her voice trail off.

He shook his head with some semblance of understanding and tried to remove his tie. Of course, with his eyes closed he had little success. So Julia gently loosened the tie and slowly pulled it over his head. She blotted it with water as best she could, leaving it on the counter. He would have to dry clean it too.

While her back was turned, he began undoing the buttons of his shirt. However, it was much more difficult than he anticipated, and so he cursed and tugged at the buttons, almost tearing them off in the process.

Julia sighed. “Here, let me.” She kneeled beside him once again, brushed his long fingers aside, and quickly unfastened the buttons.

He shrugged out of his dress shirt and immediately pulled his T-shirt over his head. Because he was disoriented he was unable to free his head from the shirt, so he just sat there with it wrapped over his hair like a turban.

It really was quite funny. Julia stifled a laugh, wishing she had her cell phone close at hand so she could take a picture of him. She would have loved to have used that shot as her screensaver. Or her avatar, should she ever have need of one. She gently freed his face from his shirt and sat back on her heels, gasping.

Gabriel’s naked chest was stunning. Indeed, his entire upper body was a study in perfection. He had large, muscular arms, broad shoulders, and excellently toned pectorals. He’d always seemed to have a slender build, Julia thought, especially when his physique was masked by sweaters or jackets. But there was nothing slender about Gabriel now. Absolutely nothing.

And Gabriel had a tattoo. This surprised her greatly. She’d seen photos of Gabriel and Scott with their shirts off—pictures from summer vacations taken before she moved to Selinsgrove. But she could have sworn that Gabriel did not have a tattoo in those pictures. So the tattoo was recent, within the last six or seven years.

The tattoo was over his left pectoral, above the nipple and spreading over to his sternum. The image was of a winged medieval dragon that was wrapped around an oversized heart, crushing it between its two front feet. The heart was lifelike, not stylized, and the dragon’s claws dug into its flesh so deeply that blood seeped from its wounds.

Julia gaped open-mouthed at the dark and disturbing image. The dragon was green and black with a coiled, barbed tail and large fluttering wings. Its mouth was open and breathing fire. But what captured her attention was the black lettering across the surface of the heart. She was able to make out the letters
M A I A
. Maia. Or was it M.A.I.A.—an acronym?

Julia had no idea who Maia was or what M.A.I.A. was. She’d never heard the name from Rachel or any of the Clarks. It seemed to her to be completely out of character for Gabriel, the Gabriel she barely knew once and the one she was only beginning to know again, to have a tattoo at all, let alone one so large and haunting.

He has a tattoo like that underneath his clothes and he wears a bow tie? With a sweater?

Julia wondered what other surprises lurked across the surface of his skin, and her eyes wandered a little lower. Even in a seated position, she couldn’t help but notice his well-defined abdominal muscles and the deep V that extended from his hips to down beneath the waistband of his wool trousers.

Holy crap. Professor Emerson must work out—a lot. Could I take a photo of his abs—and his V—for my screen saver?

Julia blushed and turned away. She was being bad, ogling The Professor. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to do that to her, especially at a low moment. So feeling more than slightly guilty, she gathered up his soiled clothes and the towel that she used to clean up the sick that had dripped onto the Persian rug in his bedroom, and took them to the laundry room. She quickly placed everything in the washer, filled it with detergent, and started a wash. Then she passed through the kitchen to fetch a glass and a pitcher of filtered water from the refrigerator.

In her absence, Gabriel had managed to stagger to the imposing silk-draped bed that was in the center of the room. He was now seated on the edge, barefoot and clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs, his hair sticking out of his head in all directions.

Holy cow.

Although there was probably nothing hotter in the universe than the sight of a half-naked Gabriel sitting on his bed (except perhaps for the surface of the sun), Julia averted her eyes and placed the water on his nightstand. She wanted to ask him how he was, but she thought maybe she should give him a moment. So she stood back and let her eyes roam around the room. And what she saw astounded her.

Gabriel’s penchant for black-and-white photographs was more noticeable here, for every wall but one was adorned with pairs, each extremely large and hung in imposing black frames. However, it was the content of the pictures that Julia found surprising.

The photos were erotic. Pictures of naked, primarily female forms, although sometimes a female and male together, with the faces and genitalia either absent or in shadow. Tastefully posed, they were quite beautiful, and Julia would not have said that they were filthy. But they were highly sensual and amative, much more sophisticated than average pornography and far more arousing.

One showed a couple from the side, facing one another and straddling a bench of some kind. Their torsos were pressed together, his hands in her long, fair hair. Julia blushed as she wondered if the photo was taken before, during, or after the beautiful couple made love, for she couldn’t tell.

Another was of a woman’s back and a pair of man’s hands, one of which embraced her middle back and the other cupping her bottom. A tattoo ran across her right hip, but the writing was in Arabic, Julia surmised, so she couldn’t read it.

But it was the two larger photos that hung over the bed that caught her attention.

One of them depicted a woman lying on her stomach. A man’s form floated over hers, almost like a dark angel, pressing a kiss to a shoulder blade and splaying his left hand across her lower back. It reminded Julia of Rodin’s sculpture,
The Angel’s Kiss
, so she wondered if the photographer had been inspired by that work.

The other photo took Julia’s breath away, for it was the most overtly erotic, and she was instantly repulsed by its rawness and aggression. It was the side view of a woman lying on her stomach, with only her length from mid-torso to knee visible. Hovering above her was part of a male form. His hand was planted white-knuckled on her left hip and bottom cheek, his hips pressed tightly against the curve of her backside. The man had an attractive gluteus maximus in profile and long, elegant fingers. Julia was disturbed by the photo and immediately looked away in embarrassment.

Why would someone have a photo of
that
hanging on his wall?
She shook her head. From gazing at the photographs, one point was abundantly clear:
Professor Emerson is a back man
.