Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno #2)(58)

(for me; but one of the black Cherubim)

li disse: ‘Non portar: non mi far torto.

(said to him: “Take him not; do me no wrong.)Venir se ne dee giù tra ‘ miei meschini

(He must come down among my servitors,)

perché diede ‘l consiglio frodolente,

(because he gave the fraudulent advice,)

dal quale in qua stato li sono a’ crini;

(from which time forth I have been at his hair;)ch’assolver non si può chi non si pente,

(For who repents not cannot be absolved,)

né pentere e volere insieme puossi

(nor can one both repent and will at once,)

per la contradizion che nol consente’.”

(because of the contradiction which consents not”.) “So you see, Julia, even St. Francis was wrong about people on occasion. He thought Guido’s soul belonged in Paradise.”

“Yes, but it’s like Francis to think the best of someone—to think that Guido’s repentance was real and to fight for his soul,” she protested. “Even if in the end he was wrong.”

“St. Francis gave up too quickly.”

“Do you think so?”

Gabriel gazed at her intently. “If it were your soul I was after, all the dark Cherubim in Hell couldn’t keep me from you.”

A shiver snaked up and down Julia’s spine.

“I would have done whatever it took to save you.” His voice and his expression were grave. “Even if that meant I had to spend eternity in Hell.”

* * *

Gabriel and Julia spent their last full day of vacation in and out of the ocean. They sunned themselves, then relaxed in the shade with a beer and an umbrella drink. Julia nodded off in her lounge chair, her large floppy hat discarded on the sand.

Gabriel loved to watch her sleep—the way her chest rose and fell with her gentle breathing. The way her lips curled back with the occasional sigh. She looked so peaceful. Gabriel was convinced that Grace would have been delighted that he and Julianne were a couple. No doubt she would already be pressuring him to put a ring on her finger and pick out china patterns.

There had been so many moments during their Valentine’s weekend that he had wanted to bend his knee and ask her to marry him. But not only was he worried about enacting a cliché, he was worried about her future. It was likely they were about to be embroiled in a scandal that could jeopardize his career and her admission to Harvard.

Even if the complaint against her was investigated and dismissed, she would need to be able to complete her MA free of other distractions. He was sure that she’d want the full university experience at Harvard without the pressure of planning a wedding. And there was still the question of what he would do—whether he would be able to take a sabbatical. That is, if he survived Christa Peterson’s harassment complaint.

Despite the fact that he found the words marry me on his tongue on more than one occasion, he bit them back. There would be a time and a place for a proposal. That time and place should be in their orchard, sacred as it was to both of them. Not to mention the fact that it would be a polite gesture to alert Tom to his intentions before broaching the topic with Julianne. Without doubt, he wanted her to be his wife. And no matter what the next few months brought, he would make her his.

Later that evening, Gabriel found himself brimming with emotion, the fruit of much contemplation and the pleasure he always found in Julianne’s company. They’d just returned from the resort restaurant. Julia had planned on visiting the washroom to clean the makeup from her face, but he caught her wrist and wordlessly led her to the bed.

He kissed her softly and began to undress her, his eyes shining with worship and need. He took his time, adoring shoulders and arms and naked skin, his mouth beginning to make eager promises as she arched beneath his touch.

He pulled her astride him, gazing up with an expression of wonder mixed with desire. She moved her hips to taunt him a little, closing her eyes in order to let the feeling take center stage.

After a few minutes, Gabriel flipped her so she was on her back and he was kneeling between her legs. She let out a cry as he entered her.

He stilled. “Are you all right?”

“Mmhmmm,” she hummed. “You just surprised me.” She brought her hands to rest on his back, urging him forward.

Gabriel liked her on top, she knew it. He would gaze up at her adoringly and touch and tease. He would praise her sexiness, for he knew that even after these few months she was slightly self-conscious at being so exposed. Julia was surprised that he moved them so his body was covering hers, his lips at her neck, when they’d enjoyed that position several times already.

A few more kisses and he was pressing a hand to her face, his eyes dark and desperate.

“Gabriel?” She searched his expression.

He closed his eyes and shook his head before opening them again.

Julia gaped at what she saw—insecurity, passion, hope, want, and need. She threw back her head from time to time as groans of pleasure escaped her lips.

“I need you,” he whispered against her throat as his movements increased to a fevered pitch. “I can’t lose you.”

Julia’s response was lost in a series of pants as she grew closer and closer to her release.

“Ah—ah, hell.” Gabriel cursed as he climaxed, knowing that Julia had yet to do so. He tried to keep moving, hoping that she would follow him, but it was not to be.