Gabriel's Rapture

Page 23

He kissed her long and good in front of a hundred bone china place settings, and gently pecked her ear. “Let’s take a cab to dinner. Then I’ll be able to devote my full attention to you. I’ll run inside to take out some cash from the ATM and I’ll be back in a minute. Unless you’d rather join me.”
Julia shook her head. “I want to enjoy the snow while it lasts.”
He snorted loudly. “This is a Canadian winter. Believe me, the snow will last.” He moved her scarf aside to kiss her neck, and he chuckled to himself as he disappeared into the Manulife Building.
She peered through the window at the display of china and began to admire one place setting in particular, wondering how it would look in Gabriel’s apartment.
“Julia?”
She turned around and came face to chest with Paul. He smiled at her and engulfed her in a warm hug. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” she responded somewhat nervously, worrying that Gabriel would surprise them.
“You look great. Did you have a good Christmas?”
“Very good. I brought you a souvenir from Pennsylvania. I’ll put it in your mailbox in the department. How was your Christmas?”
“Fine. Busy, but fine. How are your classes?”
“They’re good. Professor Picton is keeping me busy.”
“I’ll bet she is.” Paul chuckled. “Maybe we can get coffee sometime next week and you can tell me all about it.”
“Maybe.” Julia smiled back, resisting the urge to turn around and look for Gabriel, when all of a sudden Paul’s smile slid off his face.
His dark brows came together, and he took a step closer, a scowl clouding over his usually benign features. “What happened to you?”
Julia looked down at her winter coat but saw nothing that would alarm him. And then she wiped at her face, wondering if Gabriel had smeared her lip-gloss across her cheeks.
But Paul was looking elsewhere. He was looking at her neck.
He came closer still, so he was truly violating her personal space, and pulled the edge of her purple pashmina aside with his bear-like paw.
“Holy God, Julia, what the hell is that?”
She flinched as one of his work-roughened fingers tentatively skimmed the bite mark on her neck, cursing the fact that she’d apparently forgotten to use concealer that morning when she applied her make up.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” She moved backwards and wrapped her pashmina around her neck twice, fussing with the ends so she wouldn’t have to look at him.
“I know what nothing looks like, and that ain’t nothing. Did your boyfriend do that?”
“Of course not! He would never hurt me.”
Paul cocked his head to one side. “You told me he hurt you before. I thought that was why you broke up the last time.”
Julia found herself wrapped in the coiled python grip of her lies. She opened her mouth to protest and quickly closed it, trying to think of something to say.
“Did he bite you out of love? Or anger?” Paul tried to keep his voice calm. He was furious with whoever had treated Julia so violently and more than willing to track down the offender and kick his ass. Several times.
“Owen would never do something like that. He’s never put a violent hand on me.”
“Then damn it, Julia, what happened?”
She blinked at his anger and found herself looking down at her boots.
“And don’t lie to me,” he breathed.
“Someone broke into my father’s house during Thanksgiving and attacked me. That’s how I got the scar. I know it’s hideous. I’m having it removed.”
Paul was quiet for a moment as he considered what she said. “A bite mark seems awfully personal for a burglar, don’t you think?”
Julia chewed at the inside of her mouth.
“And why should you be ashamed of being attacked? It wasn’t your fault.” Paul fumed. “You don’t want to tell me. I get it.” He reached out and took her hand in his, stroking the surface of her palm with his thumb. “If you need to get away from him, I can help.”
“That’s very kind, but the police caught him. He can’t reach me here.”
Paul’s shoulders softened. “I’m your friend, Rabbit. I care about you. Let me help you before something worse happens.”
She withdrew her hand. “I’m not a rabbit, and I don’t need your help.”
“I didn’t mean anything by the nickname.” Paul offered her a repentant look. “Why didn’t Owen come to your rescue? I would have beaten the burglar to a pulp.”
She began to tell him that Owen had, in fact, rescued her but swiftly thought better of it.
“He must not be a very good boyfriend if he allows you to be manhandled like that.”
“I was home alone. No one could have known that someone would break in and attack me. I’m not a damsel in distress, Paul, despite what you might think.” Her eyes flashed.
Paul gazed at her sharply. “I never said you were a damsel in distress. But that thing on your neck is not something a burglar would do. It’s a fucking mark. And you have to admit that you’ve been knocked around by a couple of people, even in the short time I’ve known you. Christa, Professor Pain, Emerson…”
“This was different.”
“You deserve better than to be someone’s punching bag.” His voice was soft and it made Julia shiver. “I’d never treat you like that.”
She looked into his kind, brown eyes and stood mutely, hoping Gabriel would not appear.
Paul thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat and shifted his weight back and forth. “I’m heading over to Yonge Street to meet some friends for dinner. Would you like to join me?”
“I’ve been out most of the day. I’m going home.”
He nodded. “I’m running late, or I’d walk you. Do you need money for a cab?”
“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.” She fidgeted with her gloves, adjusting the fingers. “You’re a good friend.”
“I’ll see you around.” He gave her a pained smile and began walking away.
Julia turned to look through the glass doors of the building, but couldn’t see Gabriel.
“Julia?” Paul called to her.
“Yes?”
“Be careful, okay?”
She nodded and waved, watching as he turned and walked away.
* * *
At two o’clock in the morning, Julia startled. She was in Gabriel’s bed, and his room was dark. But she was alone.
After Paul disappeared, Gabriel returned to her side. If he’d seen her exchange with Paul, he gave no sign of it, although he was somewhat quiet during their celebratory dinner. Later, when she was ready for bed, he’d kissed her on the forehead and said he’d join her soon. Hours later, he still hadn’t come to bed.
She tiptoed down the hall. The apartment was swathed in darkness. Only the light from underneath Gabriel’s study door was visible. She stood in the hallway, listening. When she finally heard a few clicks of the computer keys, she turned the doorknob and walked in.
To say that Gabriel was surprised would have been an understatement. His eyes swung to hers, narrowed and uneasy, from behind his glasses.
“What are you doing?” He stood up immediately, placing a large Oxford dictionary on top of the papers that were scattered across his desk.
“I—nothing.” She hesitated, looking down at her bare legs. She wiggled her toes on top of the Persian carpet.
He was at her side in an instant. “Is something wrong?”
“You didn’t come to bed. I was worried.”
Gabriel removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll come to bed soon. I just have a few things to do that can’t wait.”
Julia reached up to kiss his cheek before turning to go.
“Wait. Let me tuck you in.” He took her hand in his and led her down the dark hallway to their room.
Gone was the large medieval bed, the dark furniture, and ice blue silk fabrics from his bedroom. Gabriel had hired an interior designer to recreate the master bedroom he’d shared with Julia in Umbria. Now the walls were cream-colored, and a large canopy bed hung with gauzy curtains sat in the center of the room. Julia had approved of the transformation and the inspiration behind it. The room was no longer his, but theirs.
“Sweet dreams.” He pressed an almost parental kiss to her forehead before closing the bedroom door behind him.
Julia lay awake for some time, wondering what he was hiding. She wrestled with the question of whether or not she should strive to find out or simply trust him. Without a satisfactory resolution, she fell into a troubled sleep.
Chapter 16
Paul couldn’t sleep. Had he been a melodramatic sort of person he would have described his restless evening as a dark night of the soul. But Paul was from Vermont and thus not melodramatic. Nonetheless, after a long evening over dinner and beer with players from his rugby team, Paul couldn’t get the image of Julia’s marked skin out of his mind.
He had well-defined views about how a man should treat a woman, views that had been shaped largely by his parents. His mother and father weren’t overly demonstrative in their affection nor were they sentimental. But they always treated one another with respect. Paul’s mother had encouraged him to treat girls like ladies, and his father had demanded the same, saying that if he ever heard of Paul treating a girl badly, he’d have to answer for his behavior.
Paul thought back to his first keg party, during his freshman year at St. Michael’s College, and how he’d run into a girl in a torn shirt on his way to the bathroom. He’d calmed her down and demanded that she point out who had attacked her. Paul cornered her assailant and held him until the campus police showed up, but not before roughing him up a little.
When his younger sister Heather was being tormented by boys in junior high school, boys who made lewd comments and snapped her bra strap against her back, he waited for the little fuckers after school and threatened them. Heather continued her education bully-free after that.
In Paul’s romantic economy, violence against women was absolutely unthinkable, and he would have used his savings to get on a plane to track down the person who had marked Julia, if he only knew the asshole’s name and location.
It was his own fault she wouldn’t talk to him, he reasoned, as he stared at the wall of his simple apartment. He had gone all knight in shining armor on her, and she’d retreated. If he’d been less angry and more supportive, then perhaps she would have revealed what actually happened. But he’d pushed her, and now it was unlikely that she’d ever tell him the truth.
Should I respect her by staying out of it?Or should I try to help her no matter what she says?
Paul didn’t know which arm of the dilemma he was going to choose, but one thing he knew for sure—he was going to keep his eye on Julia, and he’d be damned if anyone would injure her when he was around.
* * *
Shortly before eleven the next morning, Julia rolled out of bed from under Gabriel’s arm. She pulled on one of his white Oxford button-down shirts and stood in front of the large black and white framed photograph of Gabriel kissing her neck.