Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,247

and outside…Yes, I’d say I’m great.”

He hugged her close, and the cotton of her robe absorbed some of the water droplets from his skin. “I promise it won’t always be uncomfortable. In time, your body will recognize me.”

“It already recognizes you. And misses you,” she whispered.

Gabriel moved the top of her robe aside so he could kiss the slope of her shoulder. With a gentle squeeze, he walked to the bed, retrieving a bottle of ibuprofen and handing it to her.

“I have to run over to the Uffizi for a meeting, then I have to pick up my new suit at the tailor’s.” He appeared concerned. “Would you mind shopping for a dress by yourself? I’d go with you, but my meeting won’t leave me with much time.”

“Not at all.”

“If you can be ready in half an hour, we can walk out together.”

Julia followed Gabriel into the bathroom, all thoughts of Christa and Paul forgotten.

After her shower, she stood in front of one of the vanities, drying her hair while Gabriel stood at the other. She found herself glancing over at him, watching as he carried out his shaving preparations with military precision. Finally, she gave up putting on lipstick and simply leaned against the sink, staring.

He was still naked to the waist, the towel now low on his hips, as he painstakingly shaved in the classical style. His brilliant blue eyes narrowed in concentration behind his black glasses, his damp hair impeccably combed.

Julia suppressed a laugh at the degree to which his quest for perfection was manifested. Gabriel used a shaving brush with a black wooden handle to mix European shaving soap into a thick lather. After spreading the foam on his face with the brush, he shaved using an antiquated safety razor.

(For some professors, disposable razors simply aren’t good enough.)

“What?” He turned, noticing that she was perilously close to ogling him.

“I love you.”

His expression softened. “I love you too, darling.”

“You’re the only non-British person I’ve ever heard use the term darling.”

“That isn’t true.”

“It isn’t?”

“Richard used to call Grace that.” Gabriel gave her a sad look.

“Richard is old-fashioned, in the best sense.” She smiled. “I love the fact that you’re old-fashioned too.”

Gabriel snorted and continued shaving. “I’m not so old-fashioned, or I wouldn’t be making mad passionate love with you outside. And fantasizing about introducing you to some of my favorite positions from the Kama sutra.” He winked at her. “But I am a pretentious old bastard and a devil to live with. You’ll have to tame me.”

“And how shall I do that, Professor Emerson?”

“Never leave.” His voice dropped, and he turned to face her.

“I’m more worried about losing you.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

Chapter 2

Julia stepped out of the bedroom, feeling nervous. Gabriel had made arrangements for her to shop on his account at the local Prada boutique, and she’d chosen a Santorini-blue V-necked, sleeveless dress made of silk taffeta. Its A-line shape boasted a full pleated skirt and was reminiscent of the kind of dress worn by Grace Kelly in the 1950s. It suited Julia perfectly.

However, the boutique manager had wanted the accessories to modernize the dress, and thus she chose a sleek silver leather clutch and a pair of tangerine patent leather stilettos that Julia found perilously high. To complete the ensemble, a black cashmere wrap was provided.

She stood hesitantly in the sitting room, her hair long and loosely curled, her eyes bright and shining. She wore Grace’s diamond earrings and her string of pearls.

Gabriel had been seated on the sofa in the living room, making last minute changes to his lecture notes. When he saw her he took off his glasses and stood.

“You’re stunning.” He kissed her cheek and twirled her so he could admire her dress. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. Thank you, Gabriel. I know it cost a fortune.”

His gaze drifted down to her shoes.

She blinked. “Is something wrong?”

He cleared his throat as his attention remained riveted to her feet.

“Um…your shoes…they’re—ah—”

“Nice. Aren’t they?” She giggled.

“They’re a good deal more than nice.” His voice grew thick.

“Well, Professor Emerson, if I like your lecture, perhaps I’ll continue wearing them after…”

Gabriel straightened his tie a little and gave her a cocky grin. “Oh, I’ll see that you like my lecture, Miss Mitchell. Even if I have to deliver it to you personally, between the sheets. And it isn’t my bedroom, it’s our bedroom.”

She blushed, and he pulled her into his arms.

“We should go,” he said, pressing a