Page 41 of Gabriel's Angel

Laura was glad of it. A sense of challenge was precisely what she needed.

He hadn’t heard her come in, so intent was he on his work. There were no sweeping strokes or bold slashes now, only a delicacy. He was adding details so minute, so exact, that she could almost hear the winter wind.

“Gabe?” It was amazing how much courage it could take to say a name.

He stopped immediately, and when he turned the annoyance on his face was very apparent. Interruptions were never tolerated here. Living alone, he hadn’t had to tolerate them.

“What is it?” He clipped the words off, and he didn’t set down his brush or move from the painting. It was obvious that he intended to continue exactly where he’d left off the moment he’d nudged her out of his way.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait?”

She nearly said yes, but then she brought herself up short. “No.” She left the door open in case the baby should cry out, and walked to the center of the room. Her stomach twisted, knotted. Her chin came up. “Or, if it can, I don’t want it to.”

He lifted a brow. He’d heard that tone in her voice only a handful of times in the weeks they’d been together. “All right, but make it fast, will you? I want to finish this.”

Her temper flared too quickly to surprise her. “Fine, then, I’ll sum it up in one sentence. If I’m going to be your wife, I want you to treat me like one.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She was too angry to see that he was stunned, and too angry to recognize her own shock at her words. “No, you don’t. You’ve never begged anyone’s pardon in your life. You don’t have to. You do exactly what suits you. If that means being kind, you can be the kindest man I’ve ever known. If it means being arrogant, you take that just as far.”

With deliberate care, he set his brush down. “If there’s a point to this, Laura, I’m missing it.”

“Do you want me or don’t you?”

He only stared at her. If she continued to stand in the pool of light, her eyes dark and defiant, her cheeks flushed with color, he might beg. “That’s the point?” he said steadily.

“You tell me you want me, then you ignore me. You kiss me, then you walk away.” She dragged a hand through her hair. When her fingers tangled with the ribbon that held it back, she tugged it out in annoyance. Pale and fragile, her hair fell around her shoulders. “I realize the main reason we’re married is because of Michael, but I want to know where I stand. Am I to be a guest here who’s alternately indulged and ignored, or am I to be your wife?”

“You are my wife.” With his own temper rising, he pushed himself off his stool. “And it’s not a matter of me ignoring you. I’ve simply got a lot of work to catch up on.”

“You don’t work twenty-four hours a day. At night—” Her courage began to fail. She thrust out the rest of the words. “Why won’t you make love with me?”

It was fortunate that he’d set his brush down, or else he might have snapped it in half. “Do you expect performance on demand, Laura?”

Embarrassed color flooded her cheeks. That had once been expected of her, and it shamed her more than she could say to think she’d demanded it. “No. I didn’t mean it to sound that way. I only thought it was best that you know how I felt.” She took a step back, then turned to go. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Laura.” He preferred, much preferred, her anger to the humiliation he’d seen. And caused. “Wait.” He started after her when she whirled around.

“Don’t apologize.”

“All right.” There was still fire in her, he saw, and he wasn’t entirely sure he should be relieved. “I’ll just give you a more honest explanation.”

“It isn’t necessary.” She started toward the door again, but he grabbed her arm and yanked her around. He saw it and cursed at it—the instant fear that leaped into her eyes.

“Damn it, don’t look at me like that. Don’t ever look at me like that.” Without his realizing it, his fingers had tightened on her arm. When she winced, he released her, dropping his hands to his side. “I can’t make myself over for you, Laura. I’ll yell when I need to yell and fight when I need to fight, but I told you once before, and I’ll say it again. I don’t hit women.”

The fear had risen, a bitter bile in her throat. It was detestable. She waited for it to pass before she spoke. “I don’t expect you to, but I can’t make myself over for you, either. Even if I could, I don’t know what you want. I know I should be grateful to you.”

“The hell with that.”

“I should be grateful,” she continued, calm again. “And I am, but I’ve found out something about myself this past year. I’ll never be anyone’s doormat ever again. Not even yours.”

“Do you think that’s what I want?”

“I can’t know what you want, Gabe, until you know yourself.” She’d gone this far, Laura told herself, and she would finish. “Right from the beginning you expected me to trust you. But after everything we’ve been through you still haven’t been able to make yourself trust me. If we’re ever going to be able to make this marriage work you’re going to have to stop looking at me as a good deed and start seeing me as a person.”

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