Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,12

marred her lovely features, he slowly began to realize that he, Professor Gabriel O. Emerson, was a self-absorbed bastard. He had shamed her for being poor. But there was no shame in being poor. He had been poor once too, very poor. She was a smart, attractive woman who was also a student. There was no shame in that. But he’d come into her little home that she had tried to make comfortable because she had no other place to go, and he had said it wasn’t fit for a dog. He had made her feel worthless and stupid when she was neither. What would Grace say if she could hear him now?

Professor Emerson was an ass. But at least now he knew it.

“Forgive me,” he began haltingly. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He closed his eyes and began to rub them.

“You’ve just lost your mother.” Julia’s gentle voice was startlingly forgiving.

A switch inside him flipped. “I shouldn’t be here.” He stood up quickly. “I need to go.”

Julia followed him to the front door. She picked up his umbrella and handed him his trench coat. Then she stood with downcast eyes and flaming cheeks, waiting for him to leave. She felt regret for having shown him her home, since it was clearly so far beneath him. Whereas a few hours earlier she had taken pride in her small but clean hobbit hole, now she was mortified. Not to mention the fact that being humiliated again in front of him made matters so much worse.

He nodded at her, or at something, muttered under his breath, and exited her apartment.

Julia leaned her back against the closed door and finally allowed herself to weep.

Knock. Knock.

She knew who it was. She simply didn’t want to answer the door.

Please gods of over-priced, not-fit-for-a-dog hobbit holes, just let him leave me in peace. Julia’s silent and spontaneous prayer went unanswered.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She quickly wiped her face and opened the door, but only a crack.

He blinked at her like a Christmas tree, somehow having a difficult time registering the fact that she had clearly been crying in between his departure and his return.

She cleared her throat and looked down at his Italian made wing-tipped shoes, which he shuffled slightly.

“When was the last time you had a steak?”

Julia laughed and shook her head. She couldn’t remember.

“Well, you’re going to have one tonight. I’m starving, and you’re joining me for dinner.”

She allowed herself the luxury of a small but wicked smile. “Are you sure, Professor? I thought this—” she mimicked his gesture from earlier “—was not going to work.”

He reddened slightly. “Never mind about that now. Except…” His eyes wandered to her clothes, resting perhaps a little too long on the curves of her lovely breasts.

Julia lowered her gaze. “I could change.”

“That would be best. See that you dress appropriately.”

She looked up at him with a very hurt expression. “I may be poor, but I have a few nice things. None of them are immodest, if you’re worried I might embarrass you by looking cheap.”

The Professor reddened again as he kicked himself, inwardly. “I just meant…appropriate for a restaurant where I will have to wear a jacket and tie.” He hazarded a small smile as a means of apology.

Julia’s eyes traveled over his button down and sweater, perhaps lingering a little too long on the planes of his lovely pectorals. “I’ll agree on one condition.”

“You’re really not in a position to argue.”

“Then good-bye, Professor.”

“Wait.” He stuck his expensive Italian shoe in between the door and the doorjamb, wedging it open. And he didn’t even worry about the scuffs that would result. “Let’s hear it.”

She cocked her head to one side and regarded him mutely before she spoke. “Tell me why, after everything you’ve said to me, I should join you for dinner.”

He looked at her blankly. Then he blushed to the roots of his hair and began to stammer. “I—um…that is, I think…you could say that we…or you…”

Julia lifted a single eyebrow and slowly began to close the door on his foot.

“Wait.” His hand shot out to hold the door and to provide some relief for his now injured right foot. “Because what Paul wrote was correct: Emerson is an ass. But at least now he knows it.”

In that instant she smiled up at him, and he found himself smiling back in spite of himself. She really was very pretty when she smiled. He would have to see to it that she smiled more often, purely for