She stood in front of his dresser admiring the reproduction of Botticelli’s Primavera that was displayed over it when her gaze alighted on an eight by ten picture in a dark frame. It was of a man and a woman dancing.
The man was tall, attractive, elegant, and commanding, and he was looking down at the woman with an intense, almost heated gaze.
The woman was petite, blushing and staring at the buttons of his shirt.
She was wearing a purple dress that was so vibrant it seemed to diminish all the other colors in the picture.
How did he get a photo of the two of us dancing at Lobby?
Rachel, she thought.
Julia quickly placed the picture back and exited the bedroom, being sure to leave everything exactly as she found it.
Chapter 21
While Julia waited at his apartment, Gabriel played the chameleon, blending into his environment. He was charming and gracious to his colleagues, but all the while, his insides churned and his mind raced. He had to force himself to eat and to decline libation upon libation. Gabriel was convinced that he would be returning to an empty apartment. Julianne was going to run.
It wasn’t surprising — he knew it would happen eventually. He just hadn’t thought it would be this secret that would separate them. He was unworthy of her for many reasons, reasons he’d hid like a coward. It wasn’t a question of love, for Gabriel did not believe that she could ever love him.
He was unlovable. Nonetheless, he’d hoped to be able to court her long enough for their affection and friendship to bind them together, even in the face of some of his darkness. Now it was too late.
When he finally arrived home, he was surprised to find her asleep on the sofa, her face a picture of perfect peace. He tried valiantly to be still, to resist the urge to touch, but he couldn’t. He reached out and softly stroked her long, silken hair, murmuring sad Italian words.
He needed music. At that moment, he felt the need for melody and lyric to soothe his agony. But the only song he could think of that would match this moment was Gary Jules’ cover of Mad World. And Gabriel didn’t want to be listening to that song when Julianne left him.
Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open. She saw that Gabriel was no longer wearing his suit jacket and tie and had released the top three buttons of his shirt. He’d also removed his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves.
He smiled but his expression was cautious. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s fine. I just dozed off.” She yawned and sat up slowly.
“You can go back to sleep.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Did you eat something?”
She shook her head.
“Will you eat something now? I could make you an omelet.”
“My stomach is in knots.”
He was irritated but refused to argue, for he knew a much bigger argument was on the horizon. “I have a present for you.”
“Gabriel, a present is the last thing I need right now.”
“I disagree. But it can wait.” He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, never taking his eyes off of her. “You’re wearing a scarf and sitting by a roaring fire, yet you’re so pale. Are you cold?”
“No.” Julia reached up to remove her pashmina, but Gabriel’s long, slender fingers caught her hand.
“May I?”
She withdrew her hand and nodded warily.
Gabriel moved closer, and Julia shut her eyes as his scent washed over her. He gently unwound the scarf from her neck with both hands and placed it on the sofa between them. Then he reached out to trail the knuckles of one hand down the column of her throat.
“You are so lovely,” he murmured. “No wonder all eyes were on you this evening.”
She tensed at his words, and he pulled back, stifling a groan.
Her eyes found her feet, and she realized that she’d been so distracted she hadn’t bothered to remove her boots. But he hadn’t complained.
“I’m sorry for putting my boots on your couch. I’ll take them off.” She fingered one of the zippers, but Gabriel moved quickly to kneel on the carpet.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes widened in confusion.
“I’ve been admiring your boots. Very much.” He lightly grazed her high heels with his hands.
“Rachel helped me choose them. She has great taste, but the heels are always too high.”
He regarded her seductively. “Your heels could never be too high.
But let me free you.” At the sound of his voice, husky and adoring, Julia’s heart skipped a beat.
His hands hovered over her knees, where the tops of the zippers rested.
“May I?”
She acquiesced and held her breath.
Reverently, he unzipped her boot and gently ran his fingers down her calf to her ankle, freeing her. He repeated this procedure on the other leg, placing the boots next to the sofa. Then he lifted her right foot and began to massage it lightly with both hands. Julia moaned in spite of herself and bit her lip sharply in embarrassment.
“It’s all right to voice your pleasure, Julianne,” he encouraged. “It reassures me that I don’t repulse you completely.”
“You don’t repulse me. But I don’t like seeing you on your knees,” she whispered.
His pleased expression faded. “When a man kneels before a woman, it’s a gesture of chivalry. When a woman kneels before a man, it’s unseemly.”
Julia moaned once again involuntarily. “How did you learn to do this?”
He gave her a puzzled look.
“How did you learn to massage feet?” she clarified, flushing more deeply.
He sighed. “A friend.”
Probably a black-and-white photograph friend, thought Julia.
“Yes,” said Gabriel, as if he’d anticipated her question. “I would like to extend my attention to the rest of your body, but I don’t think a full massage would be possible for us, at least not now.” His eyes darkened slightly as their eyes met.
He switched his attention to her other foot and lowered his eyes. “I already hunger for your body, Julianne. I’m not strong enough to touch you chastely, not if you were laid out before me wrapped only in a bed sheet.”
They sat in silence for a few moments while Gabriel tended to Julia’s feet. At length, he sat back on his heels, running light fingertips up and down her stockings.
“I’ll drive you home, if you wish, and we can talk tomorrow. Or you can stay here. You could sleep in my room, and I’ll take the guestroom.”
He searched her eyes uncertainly.
“I don’t want to prolong this,” she offered. “So I’d like to talk, if that’s all right.”
“That’s fine. Can I offer you something to drink?” Gabriel motioned toward the kitchen. “I can open a bottle of wine. Or fix you a cocktail.” He gazed at her intensely. “Please let me do something for you.”
A flame ignited in Julia’s middle, flaring up and passing over her. But she suppressed it. “Water, please. I need a clear head.”
He stood up and walked to the kitchen. Julia heard him wash his hands followed by the sounds of the refrigerator and freezer doors opening and closing. He returned to her with a tall glass filled with Perrier, ice, and pieces of lime.
“Um, Gabriel, would you excuse me for a minute?”
“Take as long as you need. Come to the fire when you’re ready.” He attempted a smile, but his face was too tense to make it genuine.
She disappeared with her drink, and Gabriel assumed she was using this opportunity to steel herself for the next revelation from his miserable, damned existence. Or maybe she was going to lock herself in the bathroom and demand to speak to him through the door. Not that he would blame her.
Julia’s mind was traveling at light speed. She didn’t know what Gabriel was going to say. She didn’t know how she would respond. It was quite possible that she would learn things that would make it impossible for their relationship to continue, and the thought crushed her. For no matter what he’d done or with whom, she loved him. The thought of losing him again, after the joy of reconnecting, was agonizing.
Gabriel sat in his red velvet chair staring vacantly into the fireplace.
Dressed as he was and brooding, he looked very much like a character out of one of the Brontës’ novels. As Julia approached him, she silently prayed to Charlotte that Gabriel would be one of her ilk and not of her sister Emily’s.
Pardon me, Miss Charlotte, but Heathcliff terrifies me. Please don’t let Gabriel be a Heathcliff. (No offense to you, Miss Emily.) Please.
From where Julia stood, he could not see her. She cleared her throat to alert him of her presence.
He gestured to the fire. “Come warm yourself.”
She made as if to sit on the carpet in front of the fire, but his hand shot out to stop her. He forced a smile.
“Please. Sit on my lap. Or the ottoman or the sofa.”
He stil doesn’t like me on the floor, Julia thought. She hadn’t objected to the idea of sitting at the hearth. But the mere idea more than offended him.
Not willing to argue over such a trivial thing, she eschewed his lap for the ottoman and sat quietly, gazing at the blue and orange flames. He was no longer The Professor in her mind; he was Gabriel, her professor, her beloved.
Gabriel shifted in his chair, wondering why she wanted to be so far away from him. Because she knows what you are now and she’s afraid.
“Why don’t you like me on my knees?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Perhaps in light of tonight’s conversation, you can divine the reason.
A reason multiplied and strengthened by what you told me at your apartment.” He paused and looked at her pointedly. “You’re far too humble as it is, and people take advantage of your sweet nature.”
“Graduate students have to pay their dues. Everyone knows that.”
“Being a student has nothing to do with it.”
“You will always be the gifted professor, and I will always be your student,” she remarked quietly.
“You forget that I met you long before you were a student and I was a professor. And you won’t be a student forever. I shall sit in the front row when you deliver your first lecture. As for your prejudice against professors, if you prick us, do we not bleed?”
“And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?” Julia countered.
Gabriel sat back in his chair and indulged himself in an appreciative smile. “See? Who is the teacher now, Professor Mitchell? I only claim the advantages of age and experience.”
“Age doesn’t necessarily make you wiser.”
“Of course not. You’re young, but you’re industrious and bright and at the very beginning of what promises to be a long and brilliant career.
Perhaps I haven’t done enough to show my admiration for your mind.”
She fell silent, pretending to be mesmerized by the dancing, licking flames.
He cleared his throat. “Ann didn’t hurt me, Julianne. I hardly think of her, and when I do, it’s with regret. She left no scars.”
Julia turned her troubled eyes to look into his. They were a lively, earnest navy. “Not all scars mark the skin. Why did you choose her, of all people?”
