Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,66

taking great care not to catch the bunny’s ears in the teeth of the zipper. “It’s one of my nicknames.”

“But why that letter? Why not something that begins with B?”

Julia frowned at him. Like what? Bitch? Badass? Bovine? Bunny?

“Beautiful,” said Gabriel. Then he blushed, for the word had slipped out by mistake. “So you’ve been asleep here for hours, with Rabbit Songs and a pet rabbit to keep you company? I didn’t realize you were a bunny lover.”

Julia seemed embarrassed. He couldn’t help himself; the characterization was obvious, if a little flirtatious.

“I like your choice in music.”

“Thank you.” She quickly turned off her ancient laptop and placed it carefully in her briefcase with the CD.

“The library is closing shortly. What would you have done if I hadn’t arrived?”

She looked around, slightly confused. “I don’t know.”

“If no one noticed that the carrel light was on when they checked this floor, you could have been locked in the library all night. Without any food.” His smile slid off his face at the mere idea. “What are you going to do to ensure that doesn’t happen in the future?”

She looked around quickly. “Set the alarm on Paul’s clock?”

He nodded as if that answer satisfied him. But it didn’t. “Are you hungry?”

“I should be going, Professor. I’m sorry I’ve intruded on your personal space.”

If only you knew how true your words were, Julianne.

“Miss Mitchell, stop.” He took a step closer as she picked up her new briefcase with one hand and cleared the desk of debris with the other. “Have you had your dinner?”

“No.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows knitted together like thunderous clouds.

“When did you have lunch?”

“At noon.”

He scowled. “That was almost eleven hours ago. What did you have?”

“A hot dog from the cart in front of the library.”

Gabriel cursed. “You can’t live on that kind of rubbish. And I wouldn’t eat street meat ever. You promised you’d tell me if you were going hungry—and now you’re fainting on me.”

He glanced at his white-gold Rolex Day-Date. “It’s too late to take you for steak—Harbour Sixty is closed. Why don’t you join me for dinner somewhere else? I was caught up working on my lecture, and I haven’t eaten either.”

Julia stared at him. “Are you sure?”

His expression hardened. “Miss Mitchell, I am not the kind of person who makes idle invitations. If I invite you to dinner, then I’m sure. Now are you coming or not?”

“I’m not dressed for dinner, thank you very much.” Her voice was satin over steel, and she arched an eyebrow at him. She had gotten over her initial shock at being surprised in his carrel and was now fully awake and fully annoyed at his tone.

His eyes passed over her slowly, pausing to regard her lovely figure and then resting for a long time on her sneakers. He despised sneakers on women, for they were a waste of a perfectly good podiatric opportunity. He cleared his throat. “You look fine. I think the color of your blouse brings out the blush in your skin and the butterscotch flecks in your eyes. You look nice, actually.” He smiled at her a little too warmly and looked away.

I have butterscotch in my eyes? Since when? And since when has he looked at them long enough to notice?

“There is a little place near my building that I frequent during the week, especially on late nights. I’ll buy you dinner, and we can talk about your thesis proposal, informally, of course. How’s that?”

“Thank you, Professor.”

Their eyes did not meet for long, but they met, and warm and somewhat hesitant smiles were exchanged on both sides.

He waited patiently for her to put everything in order before he stood aside and waved his hand toward the hallway. “After you.”

She thanked him, and as she was passing, he reached out his hand and grasped the handle of her messenger bag, brushing against one of her fingers. Julia pulled back instinctively, dropping the bag.

Thankfully, he caught it. “This is a very fine briefcase. I think I should like to carry it for a little while. If you don’t mind.” He smirked at her, and she blushed.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I really like it. It’s perfect.”

Gabriel made no attempt to engage her in conversation until they were at the restaurant, Caffé Volo on Yonge Street. The Caffé was a quiet but friendly establishment that boasted perhaps the longest and best beer list in Toronto. It also had a very fine Italian chef, and so their food was some of the finest simple