Page 14 of Gabriel's Angel

“Paris?” She ordered herself to relax. It had been a lifetime ago, almost long enough that she could imagine it had all happened to someone else. “It’s a beautiful city, like an old, old woman who still knows how to flirt. The flowers were blooming, and the smells were incredible. It rained and rained, for three days, and you could sit and watch the black umbrellas hurrying by and the blossoms opening up.”

Instinctively he put a hand over hers to calm the agitated movement of her fingers. “You weren’t happy there.”

“Paris in the spring?” She concentrated on making her hands go limp. “Only a fool wouldn’t be happy there.”

“The baby’s father... was he with you there?”

“Why does it matter?”

It shouldn’t have mattered. But now, whenever he looked at the painting, he would think of her. And he had to know. “Did you love him?”

Had she? Laura looked back at the fire, but the only answers were within herself. Had she loved Tony? Her lips curved a little. Yes, she had, she had loved the Tony she’d imagined him to be. “Very much. I loved him very much.”

“How long have you been alone?”

“I’m not.” She laid a hand on her stomach. When she felt the answering movement, her smile widened. Taking Gabe’s hand, she pressed it against her. “Feel that? Incredible, isn’t it? Someone’s in there.”

He felt the stirring beneath his hand, gentle at first, then with a punch that surprised him. Without thinking, he moved closer. “That felt like a left jab. Makes you feel as though it’s fighting to get out.” He knew the feeling, the impatience, the frustration at being trapped in one world while you longed for another. “How does it feel from the other side?”

“Alive.” Laughing, she left her hand over his. “In Dallas they put a monitor on, and I could hear the baby’s heartbeat. It was so fast, so impatient. Nothing in the world ever sounded so wonderful. And I think...”

But he was looking at her now, deeply, intently. Their hands were still joined, their bodies just brushing. Even as the life inside her quickened, so did her pulse. The warmth, the intimacy, of the moment washed over her, leaving her breathless and full of needs.

He wanted to hold her, badly. The urge to gather her close and just hold on was so sharp, so intense that he hurt. He dreamed of her every night when he struggled for sleep on the floor of the spare room. In his dreams they were curled in bed together, with her breath warm on his cheek and her hair tangled in his hands. And when he woke from the dreams he told himself he was mad. He told himself that again now and moved aside.

Though they were no longer touching, he could feel, as well as hear, her long, quiet sigh.

“I’d like to work some more, if you’re up to it.”

“Of course.” She wanted to weep. That was natural, she told herself. Pregnant women wept easily. Their emotions ran on the surface, to be bruised and battered without effort, and often without cause.

“I’ve got something in mind. Hold on a minute.”

She waited, still sitting, while he went into the spare room. Moments later he came back holding a navy blue shirt.

“Put this on. I think the contrast between the man’s shirt and your face might be the answer.”

“All right.” Laura went into the bedroom and stripped off the big pink sweater. She started to draw an arm through the sleeve and then she caught his scent. It was there, clinging to the heavy cotton. Tough, and unapologetically sexual. Man. Unable to resist, she rubbed her cheek over it. The material was soft. The scent was not, but somehow even the scent of him made her feel safe. And yet, foolish as it seemed, it made her feel a dull, deep tremor of desire.

Wasn’t it wrong to want as a woman, to want Gabe as a man, when she carried such a responsibility? But it didn’t seem wrong when she felt so close to him. He had sorrows, too. She could see them, sense them. Perhaps it was that common ground, and their isolation, that made her feel as though she’d known him, cared about him, for so long.

With a sigh, she slipped into the shirt. What did she know about her own feelings? The first, the only, time she’d trusted them completely had brought misery. Whatever emotions Gabe stirred in her, she would be wise to keep gratitude in the forefront.

When she stepped back into the main cabin, he was going through his sketches, rejecting, considering, accepting. He glanced up and realized that his conception of Laura fell far, far short of the mark.

She looked like the angel he’d spoken of, illusory, golden, yet tied now to the earth. He preferred to think of her as an illusion rather than as a woman, one who stirred him.

“That’s more of the look I want,” he said, managing to keep his voice steady. “The color’s good on you, and the straight-line masculine style is a nice contrast.”

“You may not get it back anytime soon. It’s wonderfully comfortable.”

“Consider it a loan.”

He walked over to the chair as she sat and shifted into the precise pose she’d been in before the break. Not for the first time, Gabe wondered if she’d modeled before. That was another question, for another time.

“Let’s try something else.” He shifted her, mere inches, muttering to himself. Laura nearly smiled. She was back to being a bowl of fruit.

“Damn, I wish we had some flowers. A rose. Just one rose.”

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