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Julia arched an eyebrow at his eccentric and obviously medieval profan-ity and its attendant explanation. She’d seen him drunk before, of course, and knew that his drunkenness vacillated between moments of absolute clarity and complete lunacy.
How exactly does one f**k with an angel? Angels are immaterial, spiritual creatures. They don’t have genitalia. Gabriel, you are one sick Dante specialist.
They arrived shortly at his apartment building, and the two of them exited the cab. It wasn’t that far for Julia to walk home — only about four city blocks. And she didn’t have any cash to spare for a cab, anyway. So she smiled at Gabriel, bade him a good night, and patted herself on the back for doing Rachel a favor. Then she and her smoothie began the long solitary walk home.
“I’ve lost my keys,” he called after her, patting the pockets of his trousers and leaning precariously against a faux potted palm. “But I’ve found my glasses!” He held the black Prada frames aloft.
Julia closed her eyes and drew breath. She wanted to leave him there.
She wanted to pass along the responsibility for his well being to some other Good Samaritan, preferably, a passing homeless person. But when she looked over at Gabriel’s confused face and saw him beginning to tilt to one side as if he was going to fall over and take the poor potted palm with him (a potted palm that had never harmed anyone), she knew that he needed her help. He was Grace’s little boy once, and she couldn’t just abandon him.
And she knew deep within her heart that kindness, no matter how small, was never wasted.
He can’t even find his keys, for the love of Dante. She deposited her half-empty smoothie in a garbage can with a sigh.
“Let’s go.” She placed an arm around his waist, flinching slightly as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze that was almost too friendly.
They listed into the lobby like a galleon, waving at the concierge, who recognized Gabriel and buzzed them into the building. Once they made it to the elevator, the Scotch seemed to hit Gabriel even harder. He stood with his eyes closed, his head lolling backward, and he groaned from time to time. Julia took the opportunity to search his pockets for his keys, which she found quickly and easily once she wrested his prized Burberry trench coat away from him.
“You picked me up, you naughty little kitty. I thought you didn’t go home with men you met in bars.”
Even while drunk, Professor Emerson was still an ass.
“I’m not picking you up, Professor. I’m dropping you off. And if you keep that up, I’m going to drop you,” Julia muttered in a fit of irritation.
It took several attempts for her to find the key to his apartment, and when she did, she helped him in and pulled the key out of the lock. Her goal was to leave him there, assuming he’d be fine on his own, but he started mumbling about feeling sick. She envisioned him choking on his own vomit and dying on a bathroom floor alone and friendless like a faded rock star, so she decided to stay long enough to get him to the bedroom and to see that he didn’t throw up (and die). She put his keys and his coat on the hall table.
And she quickly took off her own coat and placed it on top of her briefcase.
Gabriel was leaning up against the wall with his eyes closed, which meant that he wasn’t going to notice that she was still wearing his sweater, like a teenage girl with a crush.
“Come on, Professor.” Julia pulled his arm around her shoulder and grabbed his waist again, trying to ease him down the hall.
“Where are you taking me?” He opened his eyes and looked around.
“To bed.”
Gabriel began to laugh. He planted his feet and leaned up against the wall, gazing down at her.
“What’s so funny?”
“You, Miss Mitchell,” he breathed, his voice suddenly husky. “You’re taking me to bed, but you haven’t even kissed me yet. Don’t you think we should start with kissing and maybe some canoodling on the couch for a couple of evenings? Then work up to bed? I haven’t even had a chance to pet you, you naughty little kitty. And you are a virgin, aren’t you?”
Julia bristled, especially at the last remark. “You’ve never canoodled a day in your life. And I’m not taking you to bed, you idiot, I’m taking you to your bedroom so you can sleep it off. Now come on. And cut the chitchat.”
“Kiss me, Julianne. Kiss me good night.” Gabriel’s eyes grew wide as he fixated on her. He dropped his voice to a satin whisper. “Then I’ll go to bed like a good little boy. And maybe, if you’re a very good kitten, I’ll let you join me.”
Julia caught her breath. He didn’t look drunk now. He looked remarkably lucid, and his eyes were caressing her, touching her, spending longer than was appropriate on the expanse of her chest. He began licking his lips.
Here comes the seductive smile…in five, four, three, two, one…swoon. (It was a good thing that in her current mood she was swoon-proof.) Julia let go of him instantly and backed up, averting her eyes, for in truth, looking into the radiance of that smile was like staring into the sun.
He pushed off the wall and took a step toward her. Now she was trapped.
Her back was against the other wall, and he was still coming closer.
Julia’s eyes grew larger. He was stalking her. And he looked hungry.
“Please, don’t. Please don’t…hurt me,” she whimpered.
A furrow appeared between Gabriel’s eyebrows. He reached out, and soft hands cupped her face gently, tilting her so that she was staring straight into his bold, shining eyes.
“Never.” And with that he brought his lips to hers.
As soon as they connected, skin against skin, Julia lost all ability to think and simply drowned in feeling. She had never felt more embodied than at the moment, never felt as if she existed less in her head. His mouth barely moved over hers. It was warm, and his lips were wet and surprisingly soft. She didn’t know if he was kissing her like that because he was drunk or for some other reason, but it was as if their lips were frozen together.
As if their connection, so intense and real, could not be broken even for a second. Julia dared not move her mouth for fear he would release her and she would never be kissed by him again.
He pressed into her firmly but gently, while his hands tenderly floated across her cheeks. He did not open his mouth. But the feeling that surged between them was more powerful than ever. Julia’s blood sang in her ears, and she felt herself flush and grow hot as she pressed forward against his chest, closing the gap between them and winding her arms around his back.
She could feel the muscles underneath his shirt. She could almost feel his heart beating against her own chest. But he was so gentle, so tender. His mouth left her wanting more — much, much more.
She wasn’t sure how long they kissed, but by the time he released her Julia’s head was spinning. It was transcendent. It was emotional. The mo-mentary fulfillment of her heart’s deepest longing. Memories and dreams of the orchard came flooding back. They were not the stuff of her imagination — the spark, the attraction, was real and so stirring to her soul. She had not imagined it, but she wondered if he felt it too. Or perhaps he was immune to those kinds of feelings now.
“Beautiful Julianne,” he murmured as he staggered backward. “Sweet like candy.”
Gabriel licked his lips as if he was savoring her taste, and whatever lucidity he had suddenly disappeared. He shut his eyes and collapsed against the wall, close to passing out.
When she finally regained her senses, which took more than a minute, she managed to half-drag him into his bedroom. And all would have been well. All would have been well if he hadn’t opened up his mouth at that moment and vomited all over her. And all over his beautiful and expensive British-racing-green cashmere sweater, which was no longer green by the time he was finished with it.
Julia gasped and heaved at the sight and smell, for she had a very queasy stomach. It’s even in my hair. Oh gods of all Good Samaritans, make haste to help me!
“I’m sorry, Julianne. I’m sorry I was a bad boy.” Gabriel’s voice was like a child’s.
She held her breath and shook her head. “It’s all right. Come on.” She pulled him into the master bathroom and was able to position him on his knees over the toilet before the next volcanic stomach eruption.
While he vomited, she held a hand to her nose and tried to distract herself by taking stock of his elegant and spacious bathroom. Large two-person or more bathtub? Check. Large two-person or more shower with decadent tropical rain showerheads? Double check. Large fluffy white towels perfect for picking up puke? Check, check, and check.
When Gabriel finished, she handed him a small but absorbent hand towel to wipe his mouth. He groaned loudly and ignored her offer. So she leaned over and gently swiped the towel over his face before giving him a sip of water to swish around his mouth.
She stared at him. Despite the train wreck that was her own family and her overall skittishness about marriage, she had thought from time to time about what it would be like to have a baby — a little boy or girl who would look like Julia and her husband. As she gazed down at a very sick Gabriel, she imagined what it would be like to be a mother and to care for her ill child. Gabriel’s vulnerability tugged on her heartstrings, for she’d never seen it before except that once, when he cried in his office over Grace.
