Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy

by Sylvain Reynard

  “That will have to wait for a night when we don’t have guests.” She gave him a saucy look. “Care to join me?”

  “I prefer to watch.”

  “Then I’ll be sure to put on a show.” She lifted her hair from her neck with both hands, arching her back into the pose of a pinup girl.

  He groaned and took a step forward.

  She held out her hand, stopping him.

  “I left my bubble bath in the guest bathroom last night. Would you mind getting it for me?”

  “Not at all. Goddess.” He tasted her lips before walking away.

  It took him a few minutes to locate the bubble bath, because someone had knocked it to the floor and it had rolled next to the wastepaper basket. When he stooped to pick it up, he noticed something wedged in between the basket and the wall.

  It was a small, rectangular box.

  He read the label. Pregnancy test.

  But the box was empty.

  When he’d overcome his surprise, and double-checked that he’d read the label correctly, he placed the box where he’d found it and returned to his room.

  Wordlessly, he handed the bubble bath to Julia, who proceeded to lace the water with its sandalwood-and-satsuma-scented essence before climbing into the tub.

  She arranged herself in what she thought would be a provocative pose.

  Lost in thought, Gabriel stood motionless.

  “What’s the matter?” She angled herself in the bathtub so she could see him better.

  He passed a hand over his mouth and chin.

  “Is Rachel pregnant?”

  “Not that I know of. She told me they were trying. Why?”

  “I found an empty box for a pregnancy test in the guest bathroom. It looked like someone tried to hide it.”

  “It was probably her.”

  “I wish it were you.” Gabriel gave her a look that was so intense, she felt its heat on her skin.

  “Even after what happened yesterday?”

  “Of course. Couples argue. Husbands are asses. We have hot, sweaty makeup sex and move on.”

  She looked down at the water. “I’d rather have the hot, sweaty makeup sex without the fighting.”

  His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “That would rather defeat the purpose of making up, wouldn’t it?”

  She inhaled deeply and lifted her dark eyes to meet his. “I’m not ready for a family.”

  “Our time will come.” He took her hand, pressing his lips to her soapy fingers. “And believe me, I don’t want to start another argument tonight or add to your stress.”

  Julia smiled weakly.

  “I suppose the test could be Tammy’s.”

  “She already has a child.”

  “Quinn will be two in September. I know she wants children with Scott.”

  Gabriel adjusted the lighting, dimming it before disappearing into the bedroom. A moment later, he returned, and Julia heard the voice of Astrud Gilberto floating from the speaker that was mounted in the ceiling.

  Julia gave her husband an appreciative look. “Whoever took the test might have discovered she isn’t pregnant. But if she is, you’ll be an uncle again. Uncle Gabriel.”

  Without reacting, he unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled it off and removed his T-shirt, exposing his tattoo and the light dusting of dark hair on his muscled chest.

  Julia watched as he hung his shirt on a hook before his hands went to his belt. He smirked as he slowed his movements, teasing her.

  She rolled her eyes. “The bathwater will be cold by the time you finish.”

  “I doubt it. I certainly won’t be standing out here when I finish.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I intend to finish inside you.”

  With a smirk, he hung up his trousers before divesting himself of his boxers.

  Julia knew her husband’s body well, but even so, his figure always took her breath away. He had wide shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and hips, which framed muscular thighs. His arms, along with his abdominals, were well defined, as was the V that sloped to his all-too-prominent sex.

  “It kills me when you look at me like that.” His eyes fixed hers hungrily.

  “Why?” She stared at him shamelessly, moving forward in the bathtub to make room for him.

  “Because you look as if you want to lick me. All over.”

  “I do.”

  In a flash, Gabriel settled behind her, wrapping his long legs around hers. “That scent is familiar.”

  “I bought the bubble bath because it reminded me of the massage oil you used in Florence. You rubbed my back, remember?”

  “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

  Sometime 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

  Professor 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 st
atues 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

  Some 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.