Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy) (7 page)

“As I recall, I rubbed more than that.” Gabriel nuzzled her ear with his nose. “You have no idea what that scent does to me.”

“Oh yes, I do.” Julia rested against his chest, feeling him hard against her lower back.

“Before we move on to—
ah
—other activities, I’d like you to talk to me.”

“About what?” Julia tensed.

He placed his hands on either side of her neck and began to massage her.

“
Relax.
I’m not the enemy. I’m simply trying to persuade you to confide in me a little. You tend to take bubble baths when you’re stressed. And you’ve been taking them daily.”

“I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Tell me.”

She used her left hand to skim the surface of the water, pushing the suds back and forth.

“I worry about grad school and flunking out. I worry about my lecture.”

He squeezed her shoulders.

“We’ve spoken about your lecture and I gave you my honest opinion— it’s good. You aren’t going to flunk out of your program. You just have to take grad school one semester at a time. You don’t have to entertain our relatives this week. Tomorrow, we’ll announce that you’re spending the day working on your paper. They’ll entertain themselves during the day, and tomorrow night I’ll grill steaks for dinner. I’m sure Rachel and Tammy will pitch in.”

Julia’s muscles began to soften under his fingers. “That would help. Thank you.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he whispered, pressing his lips against her neck. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I do.” She turned and kissed him earnestly.

When they broke apart, she smiled. “You’ll have your birthday when we’re in Italy. How would you like to celebrate it?”

“With you. In bed. For a couple of days.” He spread his arms around her waist, stroking the skin around her navel.

“Would you like to invite people to join us in Umbria? They could come with us to the exhibition in Florence.”

“No, I want you all to myself. We can invite them to Cambridge for your birthday.”

Julia placed her hand over his, stopping his movements. “I don’t like making a big deal about my birthday.”

He leaned back. “I thought we were past that.”

“We’ll be busy in September.”

“Twenty-five is a milestone birthday.”

“So is thirty-five.”

“My milestones are only important because of you. Without you, they’d be empty days.”

Julia buried her face in his chest. “Do you have to be so sweet?”

“Since I’ve eaten sour for most of my life, yes.” With his mouth, he explored the curve of her neck and the soap-slicked skin of her shoulders.

“Then I guess we’re having a party in September. We should celebrate Labor Day weekend.” She kissed his pectorals before facing forward once again. “What did Richard say when you spoke to him tonight?”

“He’d like to move back, but he doesn’t want to buy the house. I think he was counting on the money for his retirement.”

“He can live here without buying it. You don’t care, do you?”

“Not at all. I’d rather he lived here. But he feels badly about taking advantage of the renovations.”

“Now he can enjoy them. The only problem is what to do with the furniture. There’s no room for it back in Cambridge.”

“We could give it to Tom. His furnishings have seen better days.” The Professor sounded prim.

“You’d do that?”

“I’m not going to lie, Julianne. Your father is not my favorite person. But since you are . . .” He kissed her.

“Richard has things he bought with Grace that he doesn’t want to part with, and there’s some of the furniture he left behind that we put into storage. We’ll have to move the new furniture out to make room. We could offer it to Rachel, if you’d rather.”

“I think it would be nice to offer it to my dad. He and Diane are talking about getting married.”

Gabriel tightened his arm around her middle. “How do you feel about that?”

“She’s good to my dad and she’s good to me. I’d like him to have someone to grow old with.”

“I hate to break it to you, darling, but your father is already growing old. We all are.”

“You know what I mean.”

He moved her so she was facing him, bringing her legs around his waist.

“Lucky for you, I’m not too old to keep you up all night. I believe this is a room we haven’t christened—yet.”

Chapter Six

S
ometime after midnight, Richard felt the mattress dip as someone crawled under the blankets. He rolled over, spooning the body of his wife. Her figure was familiar and soft, and he sighed loudly as he pressed against her.

She sighed equally in contentment, as she always had in such moments, nestling into him.

“I’ve missed you.” He stroked her hair, kissing it. It didn’t seem strange to him that her hair was long and straight, the way it had been before chemotherapy.

“I’ve missed you, too, darling.” Grace reached for his hand and wound their fingers together.

Richard felt her wedding and engagement rings tap against his wedding band. He was glad he hadn’t removed it.

“I dream about you.”

She kissed where their rings touched. “I know.”

“You were so young. We had our lives ahead of us, so many things we wanted to do.” His voice caught on the last word.

“Yes.”

“I miss this,” he whispered. “Holding you in the dark. Hearing your voice. I can’t believe I lost you.”

Grace freed his left hand and pulled it toward her chest.

Richard steeled himself for the feel of the concave impressions where her breasts had been. Although he was sorrowful over her scars, it never bothered him to look at or touch her there. But she wouldn’t permit it.

She’d been planning on having reconstructive surgery, but the cancer returned, making surgery impossible. She was always beautiful to him, always enchanting, even at the end.

As she brought his hand up, his palm met round, full flesh. He hesitated, but only for a moment. She placed her hand over his and pressed.

“I’ve been healed,” she whispered. “It was more wonderful than you can imagine. And it didn’t hurt.”

Richard’s eyes pricked. “Healed?”

“No pain. No tears. And it’s so, so beautiful.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were sick.” His voice caught again. “I should have paid attention. I should have noticed.”

“It was my time.” She reached down and kissed the back of his hand. “There’s so much I want to show you. But not yet. Rest, my love.”

The next morning, Richard awoke to an empty bed and the knowledge that he’d been given a very precious gift. He felt lighter, more at peace than he had been in a long time. He breakfasted with his family and began making arrangements to resign from his research position in Philadelphia.

In the next week, he put his condo up for sale and hired movers to return his things to the house he’d bought with his wife so many years ago. Gabriel insisted that the items they’d placed in storage also be returned to the house.

When the moving trucks arrived, he directed the movers to the master bedroom, asking them to remove its furniture before bringing in Richard’s.

“No.” Richard placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “The guest room is mine now.”

Gabriel indicated to the movers that they should give him a minute. He turned to his father, eyebrows knitted together.

“Why don’t you want your old room?”

“The master bedroom is yours now, with Julia. She’s painted it and made it her own. I won’t undo that.”

Gabriel protested, but Richard lifted his hand to stop him.

“Grace will be with me wherever I sleep. She’ll find me in the guest room.” He clapped his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder once again before calling to the movers and directing them upstairs.

Gabriel wasn’t about to argue with his father, especially when he seemed content with his decision. And if he found his father’s remarks strange, he kept that to himself.

(But in truth, he didn’t find the remarks strange.)

That night, when the house was empty and quiet, Richard could almost imagine Grace getting into bed with him. He rolled onto his side and slept peacefully before meeting her in his dreams.

Chapter Seven

July 2011

Oxford, England

P
rofessor Gabriel O. Emerson peered contemptuously around the modest guest room in staircase five of the Cloisters of Magdalen College. His blue eyes alighted on a pair of twin beds that were situated along the wall, and he pointed at them.

“What the hell are those?”

Julia’s eyes followed the path of his accusatory finger. “I think those are beds.”

“I can see that. We’re leaving.”

He picked up their bags and approached the door, but she stopped him.

“It’s late, Gabriel. I’m tired.”

“Exactly. Where the hell are we supposed to sleep?”

“Where do Magdalen students usually sleep? On the floor?”

He gave her a withering look. “I’m not sleeping in a ridiculous abomination of a single bed ever again. We’re checking into the Randolph.”

She rubbed her eyes with both hands. “Our reservation isn’t until two days from now. And besides, you promised.”

“Nigel promised me one of the unused don’s rooms, a room with a double bed and an en-suite.” He looked around. “Where’s the double bed? Where’s the en-suite? We’ll have to share the bathroom with God knows who else!”

“I don’t mind sharing a bathroom with the other guest room for two nights. We’ll be at the conference most of the time.”

Ignoring her husband’s irate sputtering, Julia walked to the window, which overlooked the beautiful quadrangle below. She stared longingly at the strange stone figures that were set above the archways to the right.

“You told me that C.S. Lewis was inspired by those statues when he wrote
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
.”

“That’s what they say,” Gabriel said in a clipped voice.

She rested her forehead against the leaded glass. “Do you think his ghost ever wanders around here?”

“I doubt he’d haunt a room like this.” Gabriel sniffed. “He’s probably at the pub.”

Julia closed her eyes. It had been a long day, traveling from the hotel in London to the railway station, then to Oxford, and now here. She was so very, very tired.

He took in her subdued form from across the room.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts, Julianne. You know that.” His voice was gentle.

“What about when you saw Grace and Maia?”

“That was different.”

She looked at the statues wistfully before joining him at the door, wearing a defeated expression.

“Would it make you unhappy to stay at the hotel?” His eyes searched hers. “We’d have greater privacy.”

“We would, yes.” She looked away.

He glanced at the twin beds. “Sex is almost impossible in those things. There isn’t enough room.”

She smirked. “That isn’t how I remember it.”

A slow, provocative smile spread across his face, and he brought his lips within inches of hers.

“Is that a challenge, Mrs. Emerson?”

Julia regarded him for a moment. Then she seemed to shrug off her fatigue as she wrapped his silk tie around her hand, pulling his mouth to hers.

Gabriel dropped their luggage and kissed her, forgetting his irritation. Then he reached back with his foot and kicked the door shut behind them.

Chapter Eight

S
ome time later, Gabriel was entwined with his wife in one of the narrow beds. She breathed his name against his chest.

“You haven’t lost your skill. I found your most recent innovation extremely—satisfying.”

“Thank you.” His chest swelled. “It’s late now. Time for sleep.”

“I can’t.”

Gabriel coaxed her chin upward. “Are you worried about your paper?”

“I want to make you proud.”

“I will always be proud of you. I
am
proud of you.” His blue eyes lasered into hers.

“What about Professor Picton?”

“She wouldn’t invite you if she thought you weren’t ready.”

“What if someone asks me a question and I don’t know the answer?”

“You answer it as best you can. If they press you, you can always say they’ve asked a good question and you’ll give the matter some thought.”

Julia rested against his chest, her fingers scaling his abdominal muscles.

“Do you think if I asked C.S. Lewis to intercede on my behalf, he’d pray for me?”

Gabriel snorted.

“Lewis was a Protestant from Northern Ireland. He didn’t believe in petitioning the saints. Even if he heard you, he’d ignore you. On principle.

“Ask Tolkien. He was Catholic.”

“I could ask Dante to pray for me.”

“Dante is already praying for you.” He spoke against her hair.

Julia closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. She always found its rhythm comforting.

“What if people ask why you left Toronto?”

“We’ll say what we always say—I wanted to be in Boston because you were going to Harvard and we were getting married.”

“Christa Peterson has been telling a different story.”

The Professor’s eyes narrowed. “Forget about her. We don’t need to worry about her at this conference.”

“Promise me you won’t lose your temper if you hear something—unsavory.”

“Give me a little credit.” He sounded exasperated. “We’ve had to deal with gossip at BU and Harvard and I haven’t lost my temper.”

“Of course.” She kissed his chest. “But academics get bored and like to talk. Nothing is more exciting than a sex scandal.”

“I beg to differ, Mrs. Emerson.” Gabriel’s eyes twinkled.

“Oh, really?”

“Sex with you is more exciting than a scandal.”

He flipped her to her back and proceeded to kiss her neck.

Before the sun peeked over the horizon, Julia crept back into the room. A shaft of light from the window partially illuminated the naked man in her bed. He was lying on his stomach, his dark hair mussed. The sheet was slung dangerously low, exposing his lower back, his dimples, and the top of his backside.

Julia gazed at him appreciatively, her eyes resting a beat longer than necessary on his muscular back and gluteus maximus. He was beautiful, he was sexy, and he was hers.

She removed her yoga pants and T-shirt, placing her clothes and underthings on an obliging chair. Since they’d been married, she almost always slept naked. She preferred it that way—to sleep skin against skin with her beloved.

Gabriel stirred when he felt the mattress move. He accepted her into his arms immediately, but it took a few moments for him to awake.

“Where did you go?” He began to run his fingers up and down her arm.

“I went to see the stone figures in the quadrangle.”

Gabriel’s eyes opened. “Why?”

“I read the Narnia books. They were special to me.”

He cupped her face.

“So you wanted to stay here because of Lewis?”

“And because of you. I know that Paulina lived here when you did, and I . . .” She stopped, regretting the fact that she’d mentioned someone they were both trying to forget.

“That was before we were involved. I spent very little time with her here.” He wrapped Julia in his arms. “I wouldn’t have tried to take you to the Randolph tonight, if I’d known your reasons. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you’d think my attachment to the Narnia books was juvenile.”

“Anything important to you can’t be juvenile.”

He thought for a moment as he considered what she’d said.

“I read those books, too. There was a closet in my mother’s apartment back in New York that I was convinced would open into Narnia if I was a good boy. Clearly, I wasn’t.”

He expected her to laugh, but she didn’t.

“I know what it’s like to be willing to do anything to make the stories real,” she whispered.

Gabriel’s hold on her tightened. “If you want to see where Lewis lived, I’ll take you to The Kilns, his house. Then we’ll go to The Bird and Baby, where the Inklings met.”

“I’d like that.”

He brushed a kiss against her hair. “I said once that you were not my equal, but my better. I’m afraid you didn’t believe me.”

“It’s difficult to believe that you think that, sometimes.”

He winced.

“I need to do a better job of showing you,” he whispered. “But I’m not sure how.”