Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,49

derivative of the fact that she was so tense in his arms. He sighed and brought their foreheads together, his warm breath on her face. He smelled of Laphroaig and something distinctively Gabrielian and potentially dangerous.

“Julianne, I promise I won’t bite. You don’t have to be anxious.”

She stiffened, even though she knew he was trying to put her at ease. But he’d upset her countless times, and she was fatigued by it. She was not some marionette on a string that he could toy with for his own mercurial amusement, just because some blond-haired banker sent her a truffle. It seemed that this dance was simply an opportunity for him to declare his superiority.

“I don’t think this is very professional,” she began, her eyes suddenly afire.

His smile slid off his face, and his eyes flashed to hers. “No, it isn’t, Miss Mitchell. I’m not being professional with you, at all. I suppose it’s no excuse for me to claim that I wanted to dance with the prettiest girl in the club?”

Her lovely red mouth opened slightly, then he watched her press her lips together.

“I don’t believe you.”

“What, that you’re easily the most beautiful woman here? With all due respect to my sister? Or that I, cold-hearted bastard that I am, would want to dance with you to something sweet?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” she snapped.

“I’m not, Julianne.”

He flexed his arm across her lower spine, and she gasped because it did something to her on the inside. He knew it, of course, and had expected a reaction. What he did not know was that he’d touched her there before, that he’d been the first man to ever touch her there. And her skin had never quite recovered from his absence.

He watched her subsequent irritation with no little amusement. “When you aren’t frowning at me, and your eyes are large and soft, you look very pretty. You’re attractive at all times, but in those moments, you look like an angel. It’s almost as if you are…you look like…”

A sudden flash of recognition passed over his face, and Julia stopped dancing.

She squeezed his hand and looked up into his eyes, willing him to remember. “What, Gabriel? Do I look like someone?”

The expression on his face vanished as quickly as it appeared, and he shook his head, smiling at her indulgently. “Just a passing fancy. Don’t worry, Miss Mitchell, the dance is almost over. Then you’ll be free of me.”

“I only wish I could be,” she mumbled.

“What’s that?” He brought his forehead close to hers again.

Without thinking about how intimate the action would be, he released her hand and slowly pushed a lock of her hair aside, the backs of his fingers trailing across the skin at her neck much longer than necessary.

“You’re lovely,” he whispered.

“I feel like Cinderella. Rachel bought my dress and my shoes.” Julia changed the subject quickly.

He withdrew his hand. “Do you really feel like Cinderella?”

She nodded.

“It takes so little to make you happy,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Your dress is lovely. Rachel must have known your favorite color.”

“How did you know that purple is my favorite color?”

“Your apartment is covered in it.”

She grimaced in memory of his one and only visit to her hobbit hole.

He wanted to make her look at him—only at him. “Your shoes are exquisite.” His eyes traveled from where the top of her head lined up with his chin and down to her feet.

She shrugged. “I’m worried I’ll fall.”

“I won’t let you.”

“Rachel is very generous.”

“She is. As was Grace.”

Julia nodded.

“But not me.” His remark came out almost as a question, and his eyes sought hers.

“I never said that. In fact, I think that you can be very generous, when you want to.”

“When I want to?”

“Yes. I was hungry, and you fed me.” Twice, thought Julia.

“You were hungry?” Gabriel’s voice was rough, horrified, and he stopped dancing immediately. “You’re going hungry?” His eyes hardened into two icy blue jewels, and his voice cooled to the temperature of water gliding over a glacier.

“Not starving, Professor, just a little hungry—for steak. And apples.” She glanced up at him shyly, hoping to soothe his sudden show of temper.

Gabriel was far too upset to notice the remark about apples. His very stomach was lodged in his throat as he contemplated the reality of graduate student poverty—a reality he was all too familiar with—and the poor and hungry Miss Mitchell. No wonder she was so pale and so thin.

“Tell me the truth. Do you have enough money