Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno #2)(73)
Their coupling was loud and fast, perhaps the most intense physical connection they’d ever had, topping even their sex against the wall in Florence. Soon they were exploding jointly into bliss, hearts racing and blood pumping, clutching one another and crying out. Then finally, finally, they collapsed into a tangle of flesh and limb in limpid satisfaction on Julia’s narrow bed.
Gabriel was on top of her, but she would not let him move. He shifted slightly to distribute his weight to the mattress, but he too was unwilling to break the contact of skin against skin.
She petted his hair and told him how much she loved him as he buried his nose in the hollow of her throat, inhaling her scent. She told him that he didn’t need to drink, that he could talk to her, instead.
Gabriel sighed against her neck. “I am talking to you,” he whispered, pressing insistent kisses across her shoulder. “You aren’t listening.”
Before Julia could argue, he began exploring her mouth. Further discussion was silenced as he enticed her to join with his body once more.
When she awoke the next morning the apartment was quiet. In fact, there was no sign of her evening visitor apart from an unlocked window and the scent of Gabriel and sex that clung to her body and the bed.
She searched the studio expecting a note, a message, something. But there was nothing, not even an email. A creeping sense of dread spread over her.
* * *
Julia wore her hair long the next morning, following Soraya’s instructions, for it made her look sweet and innocent. At eleven o’ clock sharp she met her lawyer in the hallway outside the boardroom.
Gabriel and John were already there, huddled next to the wall and talking in low, hurried tones. They were both dressed in dark suits and white shirts. But the similarity ended there. Gabriel wore a bow tie. The green of his tie contrasted sharply with the blue of his eyes.
He made eye contact with her briefly, enough for her to notice that he looked worried. He didn’t smile or beckon to her. He seemed content to keep his distance.
She wanted to go to him, but Soraya pulled her to sit on a low bench just outside the door. Suddenly, the door swung open and a large, angry looking rugby player strode into the hallway.
“Paul?” Julia stood up.
He stopped, surprised.
“Julia? Are you all right? Tell me it isn’t—”
Mid-sentence and mid-stride Paul stopped as he saw the face of Soraya, who was now standing behind her. He stared at the two women, eyes wide and questioning at first, then narrowing. Muttering curses, he scowled and strode past both of them.
“Paul?” Julia called to him, but he disappeared down the stairs.
“Do you know him?” asked Soraya.
“He’s a friend.”
“Really?” Soraya seemed incredulous.
Julia turned to face her. “Why? Do you know him?”
“He filed a complaint last year against one of my clients. That’s when I made an enemy of the Dean.”
It took a moment for the import of Soraya’s revelation to sink into Julia’s brain. But when it did, she sat down slowly.
Soraya was Professor Singer’s attorney? What have I gotten myself into?
Her answer to that question was interrupted by the Dean’s assistant, Meagan, who announced that the hearing officers would prefer to interview Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson, together.
After a quick consultation with their lawyers, Gabriel and Julia entered the boardroom, followed by John and Soraya. As soon as they arranged themselves on opposite sides of the aisle, Dr. Aras spoke. As was his practice, he introduced himself and the other members of the committee, Professors Tara Chakravartty and Robert Mwangi.
“Dr. Tara Chakravartty, Vice-President of Diversity.” Professor Chakravartty was a beautiful and petite woman of Indian descent, with dark eyes and long, straight black hair. She was dressed in a black suit with a large persimmon-colored scarf swathed like a sari around her torso. She too, smiled at Julia, in between withering glances and the occasional scowl in David’s direction.
“Dr. Robert Mwangi, Vice-President of Student Affairs.” Professor Mwangi was a Kenyan Canadian who wore wire-rimmed spectacles and a button down shirt with no jacket and no tie. He was the most casually dressed of the four of them and the most obviously friendly. He smiled at Julia, and she smiled back.
The Dean proceeded with his opening remarks.
“Miss Mitchell, Professor Emerson, you have been notified by letter as to why your presence was required. Pursuant to our investigation of the allegation of academic misconduct against you, Miss Mitchell, we have talked to Professor Picton, Miss Peterson, Mrs. Jenkins, Professor Jeremy Martin, and Mr. Paul Norris.
“During the course of our investigation, several facts emerged, facts that have been corroborated by more than one witness.” The Dean stared at Gabriel, pursing his lips. “For this reason, the Provost’s office ordered this committee be formed to investigate matters further.
“The facts that have come to light so far are as follows: first, that a public argument with possible personal overtones took place between Miss Mitchell and Professor Emerson during his graduate seminar on or about October twenty-eighth, two thousand and nine.
“Second, that on or about October thirty-first, Professor Picton agreed to supervise Miss Mitchell’s MA thesis at the urging of Professor Emerson, who later notified Professor Martin about the change. Professor Emerson claimed that the switch was necessary due to a conflict of interest, namely, that Miss Mitchell was a friend of his family. Paperwork was filed in the School of Graduate Studies in November to effect this change.