“One dance with me and they’ll know enough to leave you alone. That should be an improvement over the current state of affairs.” He smiled faintly.
“If I’m very lucky, no one will bother you for the rest of the evening, and I won’t have to guard my charge so closely.”
She bristled at his characterization but relented, realizing that at this stage of his life he was used to getting his way — always.
It wasn’t always that way, though, was it Gabriel?
“What shall we dance to?” He persuaded her to reenter the lounge, placing a hand on her lower back. “I’ll request whatever you want. How about Nine Inch Nails? Maybe a little Closer?”
He grinned in order to indicate that he was kidding. But Julia wasn’t looking at his face, she was watching the floor so she didn’t trip and embarrass herself and The Professor. Nevertheless, as soon as the name of that song left his lips, she froze.
He nearly ran into the back of her she stopped so suddenly. Through the tips of his fingers he felt the marked coolness of her body and immediately and fiercely regretted ever suggesting that song. He moved to regard her face, and what he saw troubled him deeply.
“Julianne, look at me.”
Her breathing paused.
“Please,” he added.
Obediently, she raised her wide brown eyes to his and looked up at him through her long eyelashes. He saw fear and radical unease on her face, and something inside of him twisted.
“It was a joke. And in poor taste. Forgive me. I would never request that song for a dance with you. It would be the worst form of blasphemy, to expose someone like you to words like that.”
Julia’s eyelashes fluttered in her confusion.
“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.
“I don’t believe you.”
“What, that you’re easily the most beautiful woman here? With all due respect to my sister? Or that I, cold-hearted bastard that I am, would want to dance with you to something sweet?”
“Don’t make fun of me,” she snapped.
“I’m not, Julianne. ”
He flexed his arm across her lower spine, and she gasped because it did something to her on the inside. He knew it, of course, and had expected a reaction. What he did not know was that he’d touched her there before, that he’d been the first man to ever touch her there. And her skin had never quite recovered from his absence.
He watched her subsequent irritation with no little amusement. “When you aren’t frowning at me, and your eyes are large and soft, you look very pretty. You’re attractive at all times, but in those moments, you look like an angel. It’s almost as if you are…you look like…”
A sudden flash of recognition passed over his face, and Julia stopped dancing.
She squeezed his hand and looked up into his eyes, willing him to remember. “What, Gabriel? Do I look like someone?”
The expression on his face vanished as quickly as it appeared, and he shook his head, smiling at her indulgently. “Just a passing fancy. Don’t worry, Miss Mitchell, the dance is almost over. Then you’ll be free of me.”
“I only wish I could be,” she mumbled.
“What’s that?” He brought his forehead close to hers again.
Without thinking about how intimate the action would be, he released her hand and slowly pushed a lock of her hair aside, the backs of his fingers trailing across the skin at her neck much longer than necessary.
“You’re lovely,” he whispered.
“I feel like Cinderella. Rachel bought my dress and my shoes.” Julia changed the subject quickly.
He withdrew his hand. “Do you really feel like Cinderella?”
She nodded.
“It takes so little to make you happy,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Your dress is lovely. Rachel must have known your favorite color.”
“How did you know that purple is my favorite color?”
“Your apartment is covered in it.”
She grimaced in memory of his one and only visit to her hobbit hole.
He wanted to make her look at him — only at him. “Your shoes are exquisite.” His eyes traveled from where the top of her head lined up with his chin and down to her feet.
She shrugged. “I’m worried I’ll fall.”
“I won’t let you.”
“Rachel is very generous.”