“This is my home, Gabriel. I’ve been gone for three weeks. I need to do laundry, and I need to work on my thesis tomorrow. Classes start on Monday.”
His expression grew very dark very quickly.
“Yes, I’m aware of when classes begin.” His tone was clipped. “But it’s freezing in here. You don’t have any food, and I don’t want to sleep without you. Come home with me, and you can return tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to go home with you.”
“I told you I’d have the master bedroom redone, and it has been. The bed, the furniture, it’s all new.” He grimaced. “They even painted the walls.”
“I’m still not ready.” She turned her back on him and began unpacking her suitcase. He took one look at her activities and strode through the apartment door, closing it somewhat loudly behind him.
Julia sighed.
He was trying, she knew. But his revelations had scorched holes in her already fragile self-confidence, a self-confidence that had only begun to be rebuilt during their time in Italy. She knew herself well enough to know that her fear of losing him was grounded in her parents’ divorce and in Simon’s betrayal. Although she knew all these things, it was very difficult to will herself to disregard them and to believe that Gabriel’s love would never wane.
She’d just walked to her door to bolt it when he walked in, suitcase in hand. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you warm,” he said stiffly.
Gabriel placed his suitcase down and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He emerged a few minutes later with his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, muttering something about having successfully turned on her damned electric heater.
“Why did you come back?”
“I am not accustomed to sleeping without you. In fact, I’m about ready to sell the damn condo and all my furniture and buy something else.” He shook his head and proceeded to undress unashamedly without further conversation.
While Julia used the bathroom, Gabriel examined some of the items she’d displayed on her card table—the book containing the Botticelli reproductions he’d given her for her birthday, a pillar candle, a book of matches, and the photo album of pictures he’d taken of her.
As he leafed through the album, he found himself aroused. She’d promised to pose for him again. She wanted him to photograph her. A month earlier he never would have believed that such a thing could come to pass. She’d been so timid, so nervous.
He recalled the look she had in her eyes when he took her to his bed after their horrible argument in his seminar. Thinking of Julianne’s eyes, large and terrified, and the way her body trembled under his hands, diminished his arousal. He didn’t deserve her. He knew that. But her own perceived unworthiness prevented her from seeing the truth.
He flipped through the pictures before focusing on one—Julianne in profile with his hand on her shoulder, his other hand holding up her hair, while he pressed his lips to her shapely neck.
She was unaware of the fact that he had a copy of that picture hiding in his closet. He’d never displayed it, for he was worried about her reaction. When he returned to his newly redecorated bedroom, hanging that photograph would be his first task.
The thought alone was more than enough to fuel his desire, so he took the candle and struck a match to light it, placing it on the card table before turning out the lights. A romantic glow fell over the photographs and the bed just as Julia entered the darkened space.
He sat on the edge of her narrow bed, completely naked, while she stood clutching a pair of worn flannel pajamas. They had rubber duckies on them.
“What are you doing?” He glanced at her sleepwear with barely disguised distaste.
“I’m getting ready for bed.”
Gabriel stared. “Come here.”
She walked over to him slowly.
He took the fabric from her, tossing it aside. “You don’t need pajamas. You don’t need to wear anything.”
Julia carefully proceeded to disrobe in front of him, placing her clothes on one of the folding chairs.
He paused her movement toward the bed and placed his hands on top of her head, almost as if he were blessing her. Then he began to touch her, passing his fingers through her long hair to her face, where he caressed her eyebrows and cheekbones. His eyes remained stubbornly fixed on hers, the heat of their intensity searing into Julia’s consciousness.
In her whole life, no one had ever looked at her like that. Like a blue tractor beam that froze her and pulled her in. Like she was the only woman in the room, in the world, the only woman ever. Like she was Eve.
Something of the old Professor Emerson was visible now, especially in his expression, which was sexual and raw. She closed her eyes briefly, and his hands moved from her neck to her face, pausing for a moment.
“Open your eyes.”
She opened them and gasped at the hunger reflected back to her. He was like a lion, eager to feed but still stalking his prey. He didn’t want to scare her off. But she was helpless in her own desire for him.
“Have you missed me touching you like this?” he asked, his voice a scorching whisper.
Julia’s affirmation escaped her mouth as a strangled groan. Gabriel’s chest swelled with pride.
It was a long journey from her face to her knees, and he seemed to enjoy it, pausing slowly at different parts, his touch light but heated. She felt warm beneath his gentle fingers, despite the coldness of the room. As soon as she thought of the cold, she flinched.
Gabriel stopped his explorations immediately, and moved aside to allow her to crawl into bed, closest to the wall. He pressed his chest to her back, pulling the purple duvet over their naked bodies.
“I’ve missed making love with you. It was as if one of my limbs was missing.”
“I missed you too.”