Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,473

sexually involved with other women. He never bothered to ask himself whether he should stop. In fact, he didn’t think about it at all. He simply did it.

“You’re handsome.” Paulina watched him from the doorway, her hand cradling her protruding abdomen over her black silk robe.

Gabriel ignored her, as he was wont to do. He also ignored the dark circles on his face, his bloodshot eyes, and the fact that he was a good ten to fifteen pounds lighter than his normal, healthy weight.

“I made you breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast.” She sounded hopeful.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have a long day ahead of you and Pearson is going to work you hard.”

“Get off my ass,” he snapped. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“I’m sorry.” She looked down at her stomach contritely. “It’s sitting on the table with fruit and a fresh coffee. All you have to do is eat.”

His sapphire eyes fixed on hers, watching her through the mirror.

“Fine,” he clipped.

She smiled to herself and disappeared into the tiny kitchen.

Soon he was dressed in the respectable uniform of a Harvard graduate student, complete with corduroy jacket and Levi’s, and seated at the table, forcing down breakfast. He finished his third cup of coffee and was about to light another cigarette when he noticed that Paulina was staring at him. Hungrily.

“What?”

She moved to sit in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He made an involuntary groan at her weight, not seeing her wince as he did so.

She brought her mouth to his ear. “I know you’re in a hurry. Just kiss me before you leave.”

“Paulina, I—”

She cut him off with her lips, her tongue eager and searching as it snaked into his mouth.

His hands came to her waist as he kissed her back, feeling his body beginning to respond.

“Come on, baby.” She reached for the button of his jeans. “We’ll be quick.”

“I don’t have time.” He placed her on her feet, groaning a little at the exertion. “Maybe tonight.”

Her face crumpled. “But you write at night.”

“I can make time.”

“But you don’t.” She reached for his hand. “Gabriel, I love you. It’s been a while. Please.”

Her big blue eyes filled with tears and her lower lip trembled.

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Fine. But it needs to be fast.”

He pushed his chair back from the table and gestured to his crotch.

“Get started.”

With an eager look on her face, she knelt between his legs and pulled down his zipper.

Chapter Thirty-one

August 2011

Umbria, Italy

Gabriel couldn’t sleep, plagued as he was by hazy memories of the past. His mind twisted in several different directions, tugging him to and fro. Finally, he tired of tossing and turning and went downstairs to pour himself a drink.

As he stood in the kitchen he cursed. He’d removed all the alcohol, with the exception of a couple of bottles of white wine reserved for Julianne. But wine would not satisfy his craving. Not tonight.

No, tonight he desired Scotch. The smoothness on his tongue, the quick burn in his mouth and throat, the latent warmth that would spread to his insides.

Just one. I just need one.

But it was no use. The Scotch was gone.

Gabriel thought of Julianne, upstairs in his bed. She was sleeping peacefully, unaware of the demons that plagued him. His very hands shook with desire.

He quickly ran through the twelve steps of Narcotics Anonymous before focusing on step two.

A power greater than myself can restore me.

Help me, God.

Please.

Gabriel closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross, his soul desperate and conflicted.

He knew that the keys to the Mercedes were steps away. He knew that he could drive to a local tavern and drink. Julia was sleeping soundly. He could return to their bed afterward and she would never know.

His eyes opened.

He reached for the keys.

Chapter Thirty-two

Gabriel?” Julia’s voice floated out to where he was seated on the balcony.

He was in a dark corner, brooding. He could hear her feet padding across the tiled floor and through the open doors as she approached him.

“What are you doing?” She eyed the cigarette he held in one of his hands and the drink in the other.

“Nothing.” He placed the cigarette to his lips and inhaled slowly before turning his face to the sky and blowing the smoke heavenward.

“You don’t smoke.”

“Of course I do. Usually, I choose cigars.”

She looked from his glass to his face, her eyes troubled.

He lifted his glass in mock salute.

“Don’t worry, it’s Coke.” He grimaced. “I’d prefer Laphroaig.”

“There isn’t any.”

“I know that,” he growled. “The house is bereft