Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,155

The first to hold my hand,” she admitted.

“I’m glad.” He took her hand in his and pressed his lips against it. “I wish I had been all your firsts.”

“He didn’t take them all.” Julia closed her mouth quickly. She hadn’t meant to say that.

Her use of the word take made Gabriel think murderous thoughts. If he ever found himself in the same room as him he would rip his throat out with his bare hands.

“When you didn’t come back, I started dating someone. In Philadelphia. And things, uh, happened.”

“Did you want those things to happen?”

Julia squirmed. “He was my boyfriend. He was—impatient sometimes.”

“That’s what I thought. He was a manipulative bastard who seduced you.”

“I have a free will. I didn’t have to give in.”

Gabriel was thoughtful for a moment. Jealousy—the idea of her hands and her lips wrapped around someone else—or someone else’s mouth on her. Her body…“I have no right to ask this, but I will. Did you love him?”

“No.”

He tried to hide his secret relief at her answer by lifting her chin. “Don’t ever touch me or let me touch you unless you truly want me. That’s a promise I’d like to exact from you right now.”

She blinked at him in surprise.

“I know what I can be like. So far I’ve kept my passions in check. But I’ve been forward with you, I know, and on more than one occasion I’ve made you uncomfortable. It would trouble me to discover that things progressed between us solely because you felt coerced.”

“I promise, Gabriel.”

He nodded at her and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Julianne, why won’t you let me call you Beatrice?”

“It made me sad that you never wanted to know my name.”

He gazed at her intensely. “I want more than that. I want to know the real you.”

She smiled.

“So do you still want me? Or would you rather I let you go?” He tried to keep his voice steady.

“Of course I still want you.”

He kissed her softly before placing her on her feet and leading her to the kitchen. When she was comfortably seated on one of the bar stools, he walked over to the counter and picked up a large, silver dome. He grinned at her, his eyes glinting mischievously as he placed the plate in front of her.

“Homemade apple pie,” Gabriel announced, removing the dome with a flourish.

“Pie?”

“You said no one ever baked a pie for you before. Now someone has.”

Julia stared at the dessert incredulously. “You made this?”

“Not exactly. My housekeeper did. Are you pleased?”

“You had someone bake a pie for me?”

“Well, I had hoped you’d share it. But if you insist on eating the entire thing by yourself…” He chuckled.

Julia covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes.

“Julianne?”

When she didn’t respond he started speaking very quickly. “You said you liked pie. When you told me about growing up in St. Louis, you said no one had ever baked you a pie. I thought…” He stopped, suddenly very unsure of himself.

Her shoulders shook as she silently cried.

“Julia? What’s wrong?” His voice was frantic as he watched her cry again. He walked around the counter and enveloped her shaking figure in his arms. “What did I do?”

“I’m sorry.” She found her voice.

“Sweetheart, don’t be sorry. Just tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She wiped her tears. “No one has ever done something like this for me before.” She gave him a half-smile. “I didn’t know you had a present waiting here for me.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I was trying to make you happy.”

“They’re happy tears. Sort of.” Julia giggled half-heartedly.

He hugged her one more time and released her, smoothing her hair back behind her shoulders. “I think someone needs dessert.”

Gabriel cut a large serving of pie and held a fork in front of her. “I’d like to feed you. But I’ll understand if you’d rather I didn’t.”

Julia opened her mouth immediately, and Gabriel fed her a small piece.

“Mmmmmm. It’s really good,” she said with her mouth full and grinned as she brushed the crumbs from her lips.

“I’m glad.”

“I didn’t know you had a housekeeper.”

“She’s only here twice a week.”

“And she cooks?”

“Sometimes. I go through stages. Obsessions, really, but you knew that already.” He tapped her nose with his finger. “This was her grandmother’s recipe. I won’t tell you what she put in the crust to make it flaky.” He winked at her.

“What about you? No pie?” she asked.

“I’d rather watch you enjoy yourself. But