Gabriel couldn’t help himself as the pale, smooth skin called out to him. He kissed her shoulder and crouched near her head, floating a hand over her hair and petting her softly.
She stirred and opened her eyes, blinking twice before smiling at him.
Her slow, sweet smile set his heart aflame. He actually felt his breathing speed. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and the depth of feeling she drew from him consistently surprised him.
“Hi,” he whispered, smoothing her hair away from her face. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.”
“I was worried when I reached for you and you weren’t there.”
“I came down to get a snack.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows knit together, and he rested his hand lightly on the top of her head. “Are you still hungry?”
“Not for food.”
“I haven’t seen this before.” He traced a finger across the neckline of her nightgown, skimming the tops of her br**sts.
“I bought it for our first night together.”
“It’s beautiful. Why haven’t you worn it?”
“I’ve been wearing all those things you bought me in Florence. What did the clerk call them? Basques and body suits? Your taste in women’s lingerie is surprisingly old-fashioned, Professor Emerson. Next you’ll be buying me a corset.”
He chuckled and kissed her. “I’ll remember to look for one. You’re right, I tend to favor items that leave more to the imagination. It makes the unwrapping so much more enjoyable. But you’re equally lovely in everything and nothing.”
Julia reached over to touch his face and pulled him close for a deeper kiss. She dragged her lips across his jaw line until she was whispering in his ear. “Come to bed.”
She took his hand and led him past the kitchen table, exchanging a saucy smirk with him before walking upstairs. She moved him to sit on the edge of the canopied bed while she stood before him, pausing.
She pushed the straps of her nightgown over her shoulders. It pooled at her ankles, leaving her naked.
In the semi-darkness of the room, he drank in her tempting curves. “You are an argument for God’s existence,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Your face, your br**sts, your beautiful back. St. Thomas Aquinas would have had to add you as his Sixth Way if he’d ever been blessed enough to see you. You must have been designed and not merely made.”
Julia lowered her eyes and blushed.
He smiled at her pink cheeks. “Am I making you shy?”
As if in answer, she took a step closer and pulled one of his hands so it cupped her breast.
He squeezed her softly. “Lie beside me and I’ll hold you.”
“I want you to love me.”
He divested himself of his boxer shorts and moved so she could join him. Still cupping her breast, he began to kiss her, gently tangling his tongue with hers.
“I breathe you,” he whispered. “You’re everything. You’re the air.” He teased her br**sts with his fingers and planted gentle kisses down her neck, feathering up and down while she urged him on with confident fingers.
Julia pushed him to recline on his back and straddled his hips. He kissed between her br**sts and took one of her ni**les in his mouth as his hand glided across the surface of her skin, moving down to test her.
He released her breast in order to shake his head. “You aren’t ready.”
“But I want you.”
“I want you too. But I want to set your body on fire, first.”
Julia’s desire was countered by Gabriel’s commitment to see that each of their sexual encounters was pleasurable for both of them. He’d rather delay entrance and satisfaction until she was mad with want, rather than speed along before her body was sufficiently aroused.
When they finally came together, she looked down into open blue eyes, their noses only a whisper apart. She moved atop him painstakingly slowly, her eyes closing as she focused on the pleasurable sensation, before opening again. It was an intense connection. Dark blue, heavy with emotion, gazed up unblinkingly into wide chestnut. Every movement, every yearning was reflected between the couple’s eyes.
“I love you.” He nuzzled her with his nose as she gradually increased her pace.
“I love you too—” Her last word was interrupted by a low moan.
She reached down to catch his mouth as her movements sped. Their tongues explored one another, groans and confessions interrupting their connection. He touched her ribs and smoothed over her waist. He slipped his hands under the curve of her bottom so he could lift her slightly, increasing his leverage.
She’d become addicted to this, to him. She adored the way he looked at her in these intimate moments and the way in which the world fell out of focus around them. She longed to feel him loving her, moving inside her, for he always made her feel beautiful. She would have said that any orgasm was an extra gift in addition to the way she felt when they were conjoined.
Making love, like music or breathing or the tempo of one’s heartbeat, was based on a primordial rhythm. Gabriel had come to read her body and to know the pace that matched it, like a glove that fits a lady’s hand. It was the sort of knowledge that was at once personal and primary, the kind of knowledge King James’s translators had been referring to when they wrote of Adam knowing his wife. The mysterious sacred knowledge that a lover had for his beloved—knowledge that was perverted and maligned in less holier couplings. Knowledge that deserved a marriage in more than name.
Julia put her new knowledge to good use, delighting Gabriel with her body again and again. And the way it felt when he was inside her—warm and thrilling and tropical and perfect.
He was close, oh, so close. He searched her expression and saw that her eyes were opened. Every motion of hers was reciprocated by him. Every motion brought both of them pleasure.
As they stared, a great moan erupted from her chest, and then in a twinkling instant she was throwing her head back and calling his name. It was a glorious thing for him to see and hear. Julianne finally called his name. Soon he was falling, groaning aloud as his body tensed and then released, the veins in his forehead and neck straining and relaxing.
A joyful, tender coupling.
She didn’t want to let him go. She didn’t want to feel him leave her body, and so she curled on top of him, watching his expression.
“Will it always be like this?”
Gabriel kissed her nose. “I don’t know. But if Richard and Grace were any indication, it will only improve with time. I’ll see the reflection of all our shared joys and experiences in your eyes, and you will see the same in mine. Our history will make it better, deeper.”
She smiled at what he said and nodded; then her face grew sad.
“What is it?”
“I’m worried about what will happen next year.”
“Why?”
“What if I don’t get accepted into the PhD program at Toronto?”
He frowned. “I didn’t know that you applied.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“I don’t want you to leave me either, but Julianne, the Toronto program is not for you. You’d have no one to work with. I can’t supervise you, and I doubt Katherine would take on a multi-year commitment.”
Julia’s countenance fell.
Gabriel stroked her cheek with his finger. “I thought you wanted to go to Harvard.”
“It’s so far away.”
“Only a short flight.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “We can see each other on weekends and holidays. I applied for a sabbatical. It’s possible that I could come with you for the first year.”
“I’ll be there for six years. Or more.” She was close to tears now. Gabriel saw them swimming and shimmering in her eyes and his heart ached.
“We’ll make it work,” his voice grew rough. “Right now, we need to enjoy the time we have together. Let me worry about the future. I’ll make sure we aren’t separated.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her.
“The advantage to dating an older, more established man is that he can give you room to focus on your own career. I’ll find a way to make my job fit around yours.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“It would be grossly unfair to expect you to give up your dream of being a professor or to have you enroll in a program that is subpar. I won’t let you sacrifice your dreams for me.” He grinned. “Now kiss me, and let me know that you trust me.”
“I trust you.”
Gabriel held her in his arms, sighing as she rested her head on his chest.
Chapter 7
Christa Peterson sat in her parents’ house in north Toronto, checking her email a few days before Christmas. She’d been ignoring her inbox for a week. A relationship she had cultivated in addition to her pursuit of Professor Emerson had run its course, which meant that she wouldn’t be skiing in Whistler, British Columbia, with her erstwhile lover over the Christmas holidays.
The banker in question had broken up with her via text message. This was in poor taste, to be sure, but what would be in even poorer taste would be the follow-up email that was sure to be waiting for her, like a ticking bomb lurking in her inbox.