Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,278

sure you’re ready to watch us in a mirror. Although I wouldn’t mind.”

When he began to remove her T-shirt, she pulled away. “Not tonight.”

He dropped his arms to his sides, watching her.

She avoided his eyes as she went back to washing her face.

Gabriel frowned and walked away, silencing the stereo in a huff. Apart from their interlude in the Uffizi, she’d never turned him down. Of course, they’d only been together a little over two weeks. But still…

Professor Emerson was not used to being rejected by a lover. He was sure she had her reasons—or at least one reason beginning with P and ending with A. He flopped onto the bed, bringing his arm to rest across his face. Understandably, Julianne was still upset about Paulina’s reappearance. Sex would be the last thing on her mind. Not to mention the fact that something troublesome had happened to her at Kinfolks restaurant that afternoon.

Being turned down made him crave her all the more. The scent of her hair, the feel of her satin skin under his fingertips, the way she closed her eyes tightly just before she came, the sensation of her moving underneath him, with him…

He needed to make love to her to know that it was all right—that they were all right.

Yes, sex was his apple a day, and he needed it. He needed to show her not with words but with actions that he loved her, worshipped her, would do anything for her. He needed to know that she still wanted him, to hear her whisper his name.

But she didn’t seem to need him. Certainly, she didn’t want him. Not tonight.

Gabriel’s depressed musings continued until she joined him in bed. She rested on her side, watching him, but he didn’t acknowledge her. He simply turned off the lamp on the bedside table.

In the darkness, they were both silent as a cold and invisible barrier sat between them.

“Gabriel?”

“Yes?”

“I need to explain something to you.”

He exhaled slowly, expelling all the air from his lungs. “I understand, Julianne. Good night.” He tried to keep the strain out of his voice but failed, miserably. He rolled away from her.

Julia winced. Now the invisible barrier seemed more like a high, impenetrable wall.

Men have such fragile, eggshell egos.

She wanted to explain things to him and bring everything out into the open, but if he was going to be so easily offended, then she would wait until morning. Or later. Julia rolled over and shut her eyes, determined to forget the whole miserable day. She tried to suppress her sniffles, hoping that she could hold the hormonal tears back. The last thing she wanted was for him to catch her crying.

Boys are dumb.

She sniffled for a few minutes, then Gabriel was spooning behind her, pressing his naked chest to her back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She nodded, still sniffling.

“Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.”

“I didn’t mean to be an ass.” He propped himself up on his elbow. “Look at me.”

He gave her a repentant smile. “I’ve been spoiled with all the times we’ve made love over the past two weeks. But I know that there will be days when you’re tired or you don’t feel like it. I promise not to sulk—too much.”

She smiled wryly and reached up to kiss his pouty lower lip.

He wiped her eyes. “Will you tell me why you were crying this afternoon at the restaurant?”

Julia shook her head.

“Please?”

“I’m too tired.”

He nuzzled her until her body relaxed in his arms. “What can I do?”

“I don’t need anything.”

“A hot bath? A massage?” The look on his face was one of a little boy, eager to please. “Let me touch you. I’ll make you feel better.”

“Gabriel, I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“I wanted to do something for you.”

“Just hug me.”

“I’d gladly do that anyway.” He kissed her once more before spooning behind her.

“Merry Christmas, Gabriel.”

“Merry Christmas.”

* * *

A few hours earlier, a lone woman stepped into a taxi outside the Comfort Inn. She was crying.

The cabbie politely ignored her tears and turned the radio up, hoping to give her some privacy on their long drive to Harrisburg. The song that was playing was catchy, so catchy in fact that they both found themselves humming.

As she hummed she thought of the parcel she’d given to the hotel’s night manager, Will. She’d given him five crisp twenty-dollar bills in exchange for his promise to deliver said package to a particular address in Selinsgrove by nine o’clock the following morning. Christmas morning.

When he’d revealed (in typical small-town fashion)