Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno #1)(188)
He frowned. “Of course, Julianne. You can always say stop.”
“Well, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
“So I’m a gander now, am I?” He kissed her once again.
“It’s better than being a geezer.”
“Oh, no.” He squeezed her tightly. “No age jokes. I’m sensitive enough about our age difference.”
She tossed her hair. “Our souls have to be about the same age. So who’s counting?”
He tugged at her ponytail. “You’re incredible. You’re intelligent and funny, and damn, you’re gorgeous. Last night, kissing your br**sts…” He placed a hand reverently over her heart. “You rival Botticelli’s muse.”
“Botticelli?”
“Haven’t you noticed how several of his paintings all feature the same woman? She is the topic of my lecture for the Uffizi Gallery — Botticelli’s muse.”
Julia smiled at him sweetly, placing a corresponding hand on his heart. “I can’t wait.”
“Neither can I.”
After a lonely shower, Julia had a deuce of a time convincing Gabriel to let her out of his sight so that she could go shopping. He insisted on accompanying her. But when she finally explained that she wanted to shop for lingerie, alone, he relented.
“Promise me you’ll stay with me until we leave for Italy.” He looked at her through his eyebrows.
“I have to pack. My suitcase and all my things are at my apartment.”
“When you’ve finished shopping, take a cab home and pack before you have the driver bring you back here. I have to run a few errands, but you have your own key and security card to let yourself in.”
“And what kind of errands does Professor Emerson have to do today?”
He smiled at her seductively, and Julia felt her boy shorts slip along her hips as if they were intending to take a header to the floor.
“Perhaps I have my own shopping to do for — ah — personal items.” He leaned forward to press his lips against her ear, his voice a smooth whisper.
“I told you I was a good lover, Julianne. Trust me. I will anticipate your every need.”
She shivered at the way his breath breezed across her neck, almost fluttering the omnipresent scarf she wore to hide her scar. She had no idea what he was implying, but she found herself tantalized by the way his words tripped off his tongue.
He owned her, body and soul.
While Julia was pulling lingerie from the store racks to add to her ever expanding pile of items to try on, her iPhone chirped. She quickly checked it and found a text:
What are you looking at? — G
She giggled slightly and typed a short response: Very tiny things. — Julia
Gabriel replied immediately:
How tiny? — G
P.S. Send pictures
Julia rolled her eyes as she hit reply: Too tiny. No pictures — they’d ruin the surprise. Love, Julia It took a little longer for Gabriel’s next text to arrive: Darling, No picture could ruin the experience of seeing you in all your glory for the first time…You’re that beautiful. Love, G
Julia’s fingers couldn’t type fast enough:
Thank you, Gabriel. I love you
Gabriel’s final text message reached her just as she entered the dressing room:
I love you too, sweetheart. Have fun…Hurry home to me. — G
The next two days were a whirlwind as Gabriel finished his administrative duties for the university, ensuring that all his grades were submitted.
The semester was finally over.
Julia made a special trip to a spa for some pre-Italy pampering. In keeping with her low pain tolerance and overall Mediterranean sensibility, she politely declined the aesthetician’s invitation to embrace all things Brazilian.
Gabriel had kept most of their travel plans a secret, wishing to surprise her. So it was with amazement that their arrival in Florence on a warmer than usual December day resulted in the happy couple walking into the Gallery Hotel Art. The hotel was upscale, modern, and located very close to the Ponte Vecchio, Julia’s favorite bridge, and a few minutes from the Ponte Santa Trinita, which was featured in Holiday’s painting of Dante and Beatrice.
The concierge, Paolo, greeted them immediately. Although Gabriel had not stayed in his hotel before, Paolo had been instructed by Dottore Massimo Vitali, the Executive Director of the Uffizi Gallery, to extend every courtesy to Professor Emerson and his fidanzata. In fact, Paolo himself accompanied the bellhop and the lovers to their seventh-floor suite, which was called the Palazzo Vecchio Penthouse.
Julia gasped as the men parted like the Red Sea before her so that she could enter first. It was, perhaps, the loveliest room she’d ever seen. The floor was a dark hardwood offset with light-colored walls. The sitting room was graced with elegantly modern furniture and a sliding glass wall that partitioned it from the bedroom.
The bedroom itself was spacious and featured a large bed that was piled high with crisp, white linens. Mere steps away was a glass door that opened out onto the rooftop terrazza, which allowed bright sunlight to spill over the bed, illuminating it. One of the bathrooms boasted a huge pedestal bathtub, not unlike the tub Julia had enjoyed in their hotel in Philadelphia, while the other bathroom had a shower and two matching vanities. Gabriel took one look at the bathtub and decided that he needed to share it with Julianne that very evening.