Gabriel's Angel

by Roberts, Nora

  But he knew better than most that when you painted over part of someone’s life you stole something. Bad experience or good, what had happened to Laura had made her what she was, the woman he loved.

  But loving as he did, and being a selfish man, he wanted to be loved back, completely, without the strings of gratitude or the shadows of vulnerability. Wanting wouldn’t make it so, but time might. He could give her a little more of that.

  Someone laughed across the room. Glasses chinked. There was a scent of wine, flowers and women’s fragrances. The night had cooperated with a full moon, and its glow shimmered just outside the open terrace doors. The room was ablaze with lamplight. Wanting a few moments away from the crowd and the noise, he slipped upstairs to check on his son.

  * * *

  “The boy looks more like you every time I see him,” Cliff was saying.

  “Do you think so?” The thought had Laura lighting up. Perhaps she was vain after all.

  “Absolutely. Though no one would believe you were a new mother, the way you’re looking tonight.” He patted her cheek in the way that always made her feel shy and delighted. “My Gabe has excellent taste.”

  “Shame on you, Cliff, flirting with a beautiful woman when your wife’s not looking.”

  “Marion.” Cliff bent down from his rangy height to give the newcomer a kiss. “Late as always.”

  “Amanda’s already scolded me.” She turned, sipping at her champagne, to give Laura a thorough study. “So this is the mysterious Laura.”

  “My new daughter.” Cliff gave Laura a quick squeeze around the shoulders. “An old friend, Marion Trussalt. The Trussalt Gallery handles Gabe’s paintings.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s nice to meet you.” She wasn’t a beautiful woman, Laura thought, but she was oddly striking, with her sleek cap of black hair and her dark eyes. She wore a flowing rainbow-colored sheath that managed to be both arty and sophisticated.

  “Yes, it is, since we have Gabe in common.” Marion tapped a finger on the rim of her glass and smiled, but her eyes didn’t warm. Laura recognized carefully polished disdain when she saw it. “You have his heart, and I his soul, you might say.”

  “Then it would seem we both want the best for him.”

  “Oh.” Marion raised her glass. “Absolutely. Cliff, Amanda told me to remind you that hosts are supposed to mingle.”

  He grimaced. “Slave driver. Laura, be sure to work your way over to the buffet. You’re getting too thin already.” With that he went to do his duty.

  “Yes, you’re amazingly slender for someone who had a child—what was it? A month ago?”

  “Almost two.” Laura shifted her glass of sparkling water to her other hand. She didn’t deal well with subtle attacks.

  “Time flies.” Marion touched her tongue to her upper lip. “It’s odd that in all that time you haven’t stirred yourself to come down to the gallery.”

  “You’re right. I’ll have to come down and see Gabe’s work in a proper setting.” She steadied herself. Under no circumstances was she going to allow herself to be intimidated or to fall into the trap of reading between the lines. If Gabe had ever had any kind of romantic involvement with Marion, it had ended. “He relies on you, I know. And I hope you’ll be able to persuade him to go through with a new showing.”

  “I haven’t decided that’s really a good idea for the time being.” Marion turned to smile at someone across the room who had called her name.

  “Why? The paintings are wonderful.”

  “That isn’t the only issue.” She turned back to give Laura a quick, glittering look. She hadn’t been Gabe’s lover, nor had there every been any urge on either side to make it so. Her feelings for Gabriel Bradley went far beyond the physical. Gabe was an artist, a great one, and she had been—and intended to go on being—the catalyst for his success.

  If he had married within his circle, or chosen someone who could have enhanced or furthered his career, she would have been pleased. But for him to have wasted himself, and her ambitions, on a beautiful face and a smeared reputation was more than Marion could bear.

  “Did I mention that I knew your first husband?”

  If she had thrown her drink into Laura’s face she would have been no less shocked. The cocoon that she had been able to draw around herself and Michael suffered its first crack.

  “No. If you’ll excuse me—”

  “A fascinating man, I always thought. Certainly young, and a bit wild, but fascinating. A tragedy that he died so young, before he ever saw his child.” She tilted her glass back until only a sheen of bubbles remained.

  “Michael,” Laura said evenly, “is Gabe’s child.”

  “So I’m told.” She smiled again. “There were the oddest rumors just before and just after Tony died. Some said that he was on the verge of divorcing you, that he’d already removed you from the family home because you were, well, indiscreet.” With a shrug, Marion set her glass aside. “But that’s all in the past now. Tell me, how are the Eagletons? I haven’t spoke with Lorraine for ages.”

  She was going to be ill, violently and humiliatingly ill, unless she succeeded in fighting back her rolling nausea. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “Why should you care?”

  “Oh, my dear, I care about anything that has to do with Gabe. I intend to see him reach the very top, and I don’t intend to watch him be dragged down. That’s a lovely dress,” she added. Then she saw Amanda approaching and slipped away.

  “Laura, are you all right? You’re white as a sheet. Come, let me find you a chair.”

  “No, I need some air.” Turning, she fled through the open glass doors and onto the smooth stone terrace beyond.

  “Here, now.” Coming up behind her, Amanda took her arm and steered her to a chair. “Sit a minute before Gabe comes along. He’ll take one look at you and pounce on me for insisting you come out and socialize too soon.”

  “It’s nothing to do with that.”

  “And something to do with Marion.” Amanda took the water glass out of Laura’s tightening grip. “If she led you to believe that there was something—personal—between herself and Gabe, I can only say its totally untrue.”

  “That wouldn’t matter.”

  With a little laugh, Amanda cast a look back inside. “If you mean that, then you’re a better woman than I. I’ve known one of my husband’s former … interests for over thirty-five years. I’d still like to spit in her eye.”

  With a laugh of her own, Laura drew in the softly scented evening. “I know Gabe’s faithful to me.”

  “And so you should. You should also know that Marion and Gabe were never lovers.” She moved her shoulders a bit. “I can’t say that I know about all of my son’s affairs, but I do know that he and Marion only have art in common. Now, what did she say to upset you?”

  “It was nothing.” Laura brushed her fingers over her temples, as if to soothe away an ache. “Really, it was my own fault, overreacting. She only mentioned that she’d met my first husband.”

  “I see.” Annoyed, Amanda turned her sharp-eyed glance into the drawing room again. “Well, I have to say I find it very insensitive to bring up the subject at your wedding reception. One would have thought a woman like Marion would have more taste.”

  “It’s over and it’s best forgotten.” Straightening her shoulders, Laura prepared to go back in. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention any of this to Gabe. There’s no reason to annoy him.”

  “No, I agree. I’ll speak with Marion myself.”

  “No.” Laura picked up her glass again and sipped slowly. “If there’s anything that needs to be said, I’ll say it myself.”

  Amanda’s smile spread and she said easily, “If that’s what you’d like.”

  “Yes. Amanda …” A decision made quickly, she thought, was sometimes the best. “Could I leave Michael with you one day next week? I’d like to go into the gallery and see Gabe’s paintings.”

  Laura woke up out of breath and shive
ring. She struggled her way out of the nightmare to find herself in Gabe’s arms.

  “Just relax. You’re all right.”

  She drew in a big gulp of air, then let it out slowly. “Sorry,” she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair.

  “Want anything? Some water?”

  “No.” As the fear passed, annoyance took its place. The glowing dial of the alarm clock read 4:15. They’d been in bed for only three hours, and now she was wide-awake and restless.

  With his arm still around her, Gabe lay back on his pillow. “You haven’t had a nightmare since Michael was born. Did something happen at the party tonight?”

  She thought of Marion and gritted her teeth. “Why do you ask?”

  “I noticed that you seemed upset, and my mother annoyed.”

  “Did you think that I had an argument with your mother?” That made her smile and settle more comfortably against him. “No, in fact we get along very well.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I didn’t expect to make friends with her. I kept waiting for her to bring out her broom and pointed hat.”

  He laughed and kissed her shoulder. “Just try criticizing my work.”

  “I wouldn’t dare.” Unconsciously she began to stroke her fingers through his hair. When she was here, like this, she believed she could handle anything that threatened her new family. “She showed me the mural in the parlor. The one with all the mythical creatures.”

  “I was twenty, and romantic.” And he’d asked his mother a dozen times to have it painted over.

  “I like it.”

  “No wonder you get along with her.”

  “I did like it.” She shifted so that she could rest her arms on his chest. There was only a little moonlight, but she could see him. She didn’t realize that it was her first completely unstudied move toward him, but he did. “What’s wrong with unicorns and centaurs and fairies?”

  “They have their place, I suppose.” But all he was currently interested in was making love with her.

  “Good. Then don’t you think the side wall in Michael’s room is the perfect place for a mural?”

  He tugged at a curl that fell over her cheek. “Are you offering me a commission?”

  “Well, I’ve seen a few samples of your work, and it’s not bad.”

  He tugged harder. “Not bad?”

  “Shows promise.” With a quick laugh, she ducked before he could pull her hair again. “Why don’t you submit some sample sketches for consideration?”

  “And my fee?”

  He was smiling; her skin was warming. Laura began to think the nightmare had been a blessing in disguise. “Negotiable.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll do the mural on one condition.”

  “Which is?”

  “That you let me paint you again, nude.”

  Her eyes widened. Then she laughed, sure he was joking. “You should at least let me wear a beret.”

  “You’ve been watching too many old movies, but you can wear a beret if you like—just nothing else.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “All right, then, scratch the beret.”

  “Gabe, you’re not serious.”

  “Of course I am.” To prove it, and to please himself, he ran a hand over her. “You have a beautiful body … long dancer’s limbs, smooth white skin, a narrow waist.”

  “Gabe.” She spoke to stop not his roaming hands but his conversation. She stopped neither.

  “I’ve wanted to paint you nude since the first time we made love. I can still see the way you looked when I drew the nightgown away. Capturing that femininity, that subtle sexuality, would be a triumph.”

  She laid her cheek on his heart. “I’d be embarrassed.”

  “Why? I know what you look like. Every inch of you.” He cupped her breasts, scraping his thumbs lightly over her nipples. Her instant response rippled through him.

  “No one else does.” Her voice was husky now. Hardly realizing it, she began to run her hands over him. The journey was long, lazy, thorough.

  There was something incredibly exciting about the idea. No one else knew the secrets of her body, the dips and curves. No one else knew how a touch here, a stroke there, could make her shyness melt into passion. He did want to capture that on canvas, the beauty of her, the sweetness of her inhibitions. The fire of passion just discovered. But he could wait.

  “I suppose I could just hire a model.”

  Her head came up at that. “You—” The jealousy rose, so swift and powerful that it left her momentarily speechless.

  “It’s art, angel,” he said, amused and not at all displeased. “Not a centerfold.”

  “You’re trying to blackmail me.”

  “You’re very sharp.”

  Her eyes narrowed. In deliberate seduction that surprised them both, she shifted so that her body rubbed tantalizingly over his. “Only if I get to choose the model.”

  His pulse was thudding. As she lowered her head to brush kisses over his chest, he closed his eyes. “Laura.”

  “No, Mrs. Drumberry. I met her tonight.”

  He opened his eyes. But when she used her teeth to tug on his nipple he arched beneath her. “Mabel Drumberry is a hundred and five.”

  “Exactly.” She chuckled but continued her explorations, with a growing sense of power and discovery. “I wouldn’t trust you closed up in your studio with some sexy young redhead with lush curves.”

  He started to laugh, but the sound became a moan as her hand ranged lower. “Don’t you think I can resist a sexy young redhead?”

  “Of course, but she wouldn’t be able to resist you.” She rubbed her cheek along his jawline, which was already roughened with morning stubble. “You’re so beautiful, Gabe. If I could paint, I’d show you.”

  “What you’re doing is driving me crazy.”

  “I hope so,” she murmured, and lowered her mouth to his.

  She’d never had the confidence to take charge, had never been sure enough of her skill or her appeal. Now it seemed right and wonderfully fulfilling to tease and taunt her man in passion.

  His hands were in her hair, his fingers tangled and tense, as she dipped her tongue into his mouth and explored. Her moves were instinctive rather than experienced, and all the more seductive for it.

  The power came to her not in a wild burst but with quiet certainty. She could be his partner here, his full partner. It was easy to show love, almost as easy as it was to feel it.

  As she discovered him, she discovered herself. She wasn’t as patient as he, not here. Strangely, in the daylight, the opposite was true. She saw him as a man who needed to move quickly, decisively, and if mistakes were made because of hurry they could be corrected or just as easily ignored. She was more cautious, more prone to think through alternatives before acting.

  But in bed, in the role of the seductress, she found little patience in herself.

  She was wild and wanton. Gabe found himself reaching for her, then being rocked helplessly by the sensations she brought to him. It was like having a different woman in bed, one who felt like Laura, smelled like Laura, one he wanted as desperately as he wanted Laura.

  When her mouth came down on his, it was Laura’s taste, yet somehow darker, riper. And her body was like a furnace as she moved over him.

  He tried to remember that this was his wife, his shy and still-innocent wife, who required infinite care and gentleness. He had yet to release his full range of passion with her. With Laura he had taken his time, used every drop of his sensitivity.

  Now she was stripping him down to the nerve ends.

  She could feel the power, and it was glorious. Despite her excitement, her mind was clear as a bell. She could make him weak, she could make him desperate. She could make him tremble. Breathlessly she pressed her lips to pulse points that she found by instinct. His heart was racing. For her. She could feel his body shudder at her touch. When he groaned, it was her own name she heard.

  She heard herself laugh
, and there was something sultry in the sound. A feminine triumph. The clock in the hallway struck five, and the echo went on and on in her head.

  Then his arms were locked around her and the sound that was coming from his throat was long and primitive. His control snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. Needs only half satisfied, so long held in check, flooded free. His mouth covered hers, bruisingly. But it wasn’t a skip of fear she felt. It was a leap of victory.

  Trapped in madness, they rolled across the bed, seeking, taking, demanding, with a kind of greed that made the mouth go dry and the soul shudder. The modest gown she wore was torn aside, seams ripping, lace shredding. His hands were everywhere, and they were far from gentle.

  There was no shame. There was no shyness. This was freedom, a different kind from what he had already shown her. As desperate as he, she opened for him. When he plunged into her, the shock vibrated, wave after wave.

  Fast and furious, they locked into their own rhythm, each driving the other.

  Endless pleasure, sharp and edgy. Insatiable need spreading like wildfire. As she gave herself to him, as she asked and received more, Laura realized that, for the lucky, time could indeed stop.

  Chapter Ten

  When the sky darkened, Laura was in the garden. It had become her habit to spend her mornings there while the baby slept or sat rocking in his swing in the sunlight. Since her arrival in Gabe’s home, she’d found little to do indoors. The house almost took care of itself and, as she had once told him, Gabe was only sloppy when he painted.

  More than that, there were too many rooms, too much space that she didn’t yet feel a part of. In the nursery, which she’d decorated herself and where, through necessity, she spent many hours during the day and night, she felt at home. The rest of the house, with its heirlooms and its beautiful old rugs, its polished wood and its faded wallpaper, remained aloof to her.

  But as spring had taken hold she had discovered an affinity and a talent for gardening, as well as a need for space and air. She liked the sunlight and the smells and the feel of the earth under her hands. She devoured books on plants, much as she had on childbirth, so that she could become familiar with flowers and shrubs and the care they required.