Page 16 of Gabriel's Angel

He’d been right about the shirt, she realized. It made her seem more of a woman than any amount of lace or silks could have. Her hair was long and loose, falling in heavy, disordered curls that contradicted the pose. She hadn’t expected to find any surprises in her face, but as she studied his conception of it, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“I’m not as sad as you make me look.”

“I’ve already warned you I wouldn’t change anything.”

“You’re free to paint as you please. I’m simply telling you that you have a misconception.”

There was a huffiness in her voice that amused him. He turned the easel around again but didn’t bother to look at his work. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m hardly tragic.”

“Tragic?” He rocked back on his heels as he studied her. “There’s nothing tragic about the woman in the painting.Valiantis the word.”

She smiled at that and pushed herself out of the chair. “I’m not valiant, either, but it’s your painting.”

“We agree on that.”

“Gabe!”

She flung out a hand. The urgency in her voice had him crossing to her quickly and gripping her hand. “What is it?”

“Look, look out there.” She turned to him, using her free hand to point.

Not urgency, Gabe realized. He was tempted to strangle her. Excitement. The excitement of seeing a solitary buck less than two yards from the window. It stood deep in snow, its head lifted, scenting the air. Arrogantly, and without a trace of fear, it stared at them through the glass.

“Oh, he’s wonderful. I’ve never seen one so big before, or so close.”

It was easy to share the pleasure. A deer, a fox, a hawk circling overhead... those were some of the things that had helped him over his own grief.

“A few weeks ago I hiked down to a stream about a mile south of here. I came across a whole family. I was downwind, and I managed three sketches before the doe spotted me.”

“This whole place belongs to him. Can you imagine it? Acres and acres. He must know it, even enjoy it, or else he wouldn’t look so sure of himself.” She laughed again, and pressed her free hand to the frosted glass. “You know, it’s as if we were exhibits and he’d come to take a quick look around the zoo.”

The deer nosed down in the snow, perhaps looking for the grass that was buried far beneath, perhaps scenting another animal. He moved slowly, confident in his solitude. Around him the trees dripped with ice and snow.

Abruptly he raised his head, his crown of antlers plunging high in the air. In bounds and leaps he raced across the snow and disappeared into the woods beyond.

Laughing, Laura turned, then instantly forgot everything.

She hadn’t realized they had moved so close together. Nor had he. Their hands were still linked. Beside them the sun streamed in, losing power as the afternoon moved toward evening. And the cabin, like the woods beyond, was absolutely silent.

He touched her. He hadn’t known he would, but the moment his fingers grazed her cheek he knew he needed to. She didn’t move away. Perhaps he would have accepted it if she had. He wanted to believe he would have accepted it. But she didn’t move.

There were nerves. He felt them in the hand that trembled in his. He had them, too. Another new experience. How did he approach her, when he knew he had no business approaching her? How did he resist what common sense told him he had to resist?

Yet her skin was warm under his touch. Real. Not a portrait, but a woman. Whatever had happened in her life, whatever had made her into the woman she was, that was yesterday. This was now. Her eyes, wide and more than a little frightened, were on his. She didn’t move. She waited.

He swore at himself even as he slowly, ever so slowly, lowered his lips to hers.

It was madness to allow it. It was more than madness to want it. But even before his lips touched hers she felt herself give in to him. As she gave, she braced herself, not knowing what to expect for herself, or for him.

It might have been the first. That was her one and only thought as his mouth closed over hers. Not just the first with him but the first with anyone. No one had ever kissed her like this. She had known passion, the quick, almost painful desire that came from heat and frenzy. She had known demands, some that she could answer, some that she could not. She had known the anger and the hunger a man could have for a woman, but she had never known, had never imagined, this kind of reverence.

And yet, even with that, there were hints of darker needs, needs held down by chains, that made the embrace more exciting, more involving, than any other. His hands were in her hair, searching, exploring, while his lips moved endlessly over hers. She felt the world tip and knew instinctively that he would be there to right it again.

He had to stop. He couldn’t stop. One taste, just one taste, and he craved more. It seemed he’d been empty, without knowing it, and now—incredibly, swiftly, terrifyingly—he was filled.

Her hands, hesitant, somehow innocent, slipped over his arms to his shoulders. When she parted her lips, there was that same curious shyness in the invitation. He could smell the spring, though it was still buried beneath the snow, could smell it in her hair, on her skin. Even the wood smoke that always tinted the air in the cabin couldn’t overwhelm it. Logs shifted in the grate, and the wind that came up with evening began to moan against the window. And Laura, her mouth warm and giving under his, sighed.

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