Gabriel's Inferno (Gabriel's Inferno #1)(49)

She tried to hand the cd back to him, but he refused. “I bought it for you. Rabbit Songs for the Rabbit.”

“Thanks, but I can’t.”

He seemed offended. And hurt. “Why not?”

“I just can’t. But thank you anyway.”

Paul looked down at Julia’s new messenger bag, resting at her feet.

He squinted.

“You accepted a nice briefcase from someone. Early Christmas present from a boyfriend?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she admitted uncomfortably. “My best friend’s mother wanted me to have the briefcase. She passed away recently.”

“I’m so sorry, Rabbit. I didn’t know.”

Paul reached over and patted Julia’s hand, placing the cd on the loveseat between them. He noticed that she didn’t move away. In fact, she rummaged in her bag to find Professor Emerson’s cd and returned it to Paul with her other hand, while still allowing him to cradle her fingers in his own.

“What can I do to persuade you to accept my gift?” He hid his face from her as he placed Emerson’s Mozart in his book bag.

“Nothing. I’ve received too many gifts in the last little while. I’m all stocked up.”

Paul straightened up and smiled. “Let me try to convince you, then.

You have such small, small hands. Smaller than the rain’s.” He moved their hands together, back and forth, holding her hand up toward the halogen light. It looked diminutive encased in his.

Julia looked at him curiously. “That’s pretty. Did you just make it up?”

Paul leaned his head back against the loveseat and held her hand more closely, his thumb fingering her lifeline, almost as if he were trying to read her palm with the tips of his fingers.

“No. I’m paraphrasing from somewhere i have never travelled,   by E. E.

Cummings. You haven’t heard it before?”

“No, but I’d like to.” Julia sounded very shy all of a sudden.

“Then I’ll have to read it to you some time.” Paul gazed into her dark eyes with a hopeful smile.

“I’d like that.”

“It isn’t Dante, but it’s beautiful.” His thumb found the center of her lifeline and pressed it ever so gently. “The poem reminds me of you. You are where I’ve never traveled: your fragility and your small, small hands.”

Julia leaned forward to hide her sudden flush of color and sipped her coffee. But she allowed him to continue caressing her palm, sweetly. The movement of her coffee to her lips caused her ancient purple sweater to slip off her shoulder somewhat provocatively, revealing about two inches of a white-cotton bra strap and a rounded curve of alabaster skin.

Paul immediately released her hand and gently pulled the sweater to cover the innocent-looking strap, averting his eyes as he did so and pressing his hand to her shoulder in order to make the sweater stay.

“There,” he said softly. “All better now.” Then he retreated ever so quickly so as not to overstay his welcome, tentatively curling his fingers over hers again, still worried she might withdraw at any moment.

Julia watched what he was doing breathlessly, as if it occurred in slow motion. Something about his movement touched her deeply. It was an intimate act but very chaste; he covered her. He covered the smallest most innocent part of her, away from prying and possibly lecherous eyes, and in so doing telegraphed his regard and his respect. Virgil was honoring her.

In that one act, that one gallant and chivalrous act, Paul had made his way into her heart. Not all the way, but to the Vestibule, so to speak.

If his movement represented the contents of his soul, then Julia believed that he would not mind that she was a virgin, and that upon knowing, his acceptance would cover her gently.

He would not ridicule or expose her. He would keep whatever secrets she held between the two of them alone. He would not treat her like an animal to be f**ked and violated. He would not wish to share her.

So she did something impetuous — she leaned over and kissed him, but shyly and chastely. There was no rush of blood, no humming, no explosion of fire across her skin. His lips were soft, and he responded hesitantly. Julia felt his surprise in the quick clenching of his jaw. He tensed beneath her lips, no doubt in shock at her boldness. She was sorry for that.

She was sorry his lips were not Gabriel’s. And this kiss was not like those.

In almost half a heartbeat, a great wave of sadness washed over her as she cursed herself for having tasted of something long ago that she could never have after or again. For in partaking of that first taste, she was absolutely ruined. The tasting of the apple was knowledge itself, and now she knew.

Julia pulled back before Paul had a chance to reject her, wondering how she’d managed to be so forward. Wondering what he would think of her now. I’ve just kissed my only Toronto friend good-bye, she thought. Damn it.

“Little Rabbit.” Paul gave her a tender look and immediately brought his fingertips up to caress her cheek. His touch wasn’t electric, but it was light and soothing. Even his skin was kind.

He put his arms around her and drew her against his chest so he could stroke her hair and whisper something sweet in her ear…something to reassure her…something to remove the mixture of confusion and pain he read on her face. His soft whisperings were interrupted by the arrival of a great-winged harpy, wearing four-inch heels and crimson lipstick and carrying two paper cups.