Page 24 of Gabriel's Angel

“No.” His tone softened. “No, I’m sure you didn’t. But in this case I’m willing to accept that you marry me for mine.”

“Why?”

Something flickered in his eyes and was gone before she could read it. “That might have been the wisest question to ask first.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She already regretted the outburst of temper and harsh words, as she invariably did. “I’m asking it now.”

With a nod, he roamed the room, stopping before the nearly completed portrait. He stared at it, as he had stared at it countless times before, trying to understand, to define, not only Laura, but himself.

“I feel something for you. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s very strong. Stronger than anything I’ve felt before.” He lifted a finger to the face on canvas. He wished he could explain himself completely, to himself, to her, but he’d always expressed himself best through painting. “I’m attracted to you, Laura, and I’ve discovered recently that I’ve been alone long enough.”

“That might be enough, almost enough, for marriage, but not for me, not to me. Not with what you’d be taking on.”

“I have some debts to pay,” he murmured, then turned to her again. “Helping you, and the child, might just clear the slate.”

Whatever anger she’d felt evaporated. It only took the kindness and the grief in his eyes. “You’ve already helped us, more than I can ever repay.”

“I don’t want payment.” The impatience, the edge, was back in his voice. “What I want is you. How many ways do you want me to say it?”

“I don’t think I want you to say it.” The nerves began to eat at her again, and she twisted her fingers together. He meant it. She had no doubt that he meant what he said. The prospect of being wanted by him both thrilled and terrified her. “Don’t you see, I’ve already made one terrible mistake.”

He crossed to her, gently drawing her hands apart and into his. “You’re not indifferent to me?”

“No, but—”

“You’re not afraid of me?”

Some of the tension seeped out of her. “No.”

“Then let me help you.”

“I’m going to have another man’s child.”

“No.” He took her face in his hands because he wanted her eyes on his. “Marry me, and the child is ours. Privately, publicly, totally.”

The tears came back. “They’ll come.”

“Let them. They won’t touch you again, and they won’t take the baby.”

Safety. Could what had always eluded her really be only a promise away? She opened her mouth, knowing that agreement was on her tongue. Then her heart turned over in her chest and she lifted a hand to his cheek. “How could I do this to you?”

For an answer, he put his lips to hers. The need was there, she couldn’t deny it, couldn’t pretend it away. She tasted it as his mouth drew from hers. She felt it when his hand skimmed through her hair to brace, both possessive and supportive, at the back of her neck. Instinctively, wanting to give, she lifted her other hand to his face. They rested there, comforting.

She wasn’t the only one who had demons, Laura thought. She wasn’t the only one who needed love and understanding. Because he was strong, it was easy to forget that he, too, might have pain. Seeking to soothe, she drew him closer into her arms.

He could have sunk into her, into the softness, the generosity. This was what he wanted to capture on canvas, her warmth, her spirit. And this was what he was forced to admit he would never have the skill to translate. This part of her beauty, this most essential part, could never be painted. But it could be cherished.

“You need me,” he murmured as he drew her away. “And I need you.”

She nodded, then rested her head on his shoulder, because that seemed to say it all.

***

Due to fresh flurries, it was three days before Gabe risked a trip into town. Laura watched him as he downed a final cup of coffee before pulling on his coat.

“I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“I’d rather you took your time and paid attention to the roads.”

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