"Your face doesn't distress me."
With a sigh of resignation, he removed his cloak and handed it to her. He knew how hideous he must look, the skin on his face and arms discolored and puckered by the heat of the sun, yet her smile faltered hardly at all as she looked at him.
Sara carried his cloak into her bedroom. For a moment, she pressed her face to the finely woven wool, breathing in his scent, and then she placed it carefully on the bed, her hands running over the material, pretending it was Gabriel her hand caressed and not his cloak.
When she returned to the parlor, he was sitting on the far end of the sofa, away from the candles that flickered on the table.
"Would you like something to eat?" Sara asked, gesturing toward the bowl of fruit and cheese. "Some wine?"
"A glass of wine," he said.
She filled two glasses, then sat down beside him.
"You were wonderful tonight," Gabriel remarked. "I have never seen anyone dance with such intensity, such joy."
"It was for you," Sara confessed quietly. "I knew you were out there, watching me, and I wanted to make you proud."
"You've done well, Sara Jayne. You are a ballerina without equal, just as you always dreamed."
"I owe it all to you, and I thank you for it with all my heart."
"No,
cara
. It was always there, within you. So, tell me, where do you go from here?"
"There's talk that the company will go on tour in the fall."
Gabriel nodded. "All the world should see you dance,
cara
," he said, and then frowned. "What's wrong?"
"I love dancing," Sara said, "but it isn't enough."
"You have the world at your feet. What more do you want?"
"I want you at my side."
As always, he retreated from her at the mention of anything personal between them.
Drawing on her courage, she put her goblet aside and then, taking his untouched glass from his hand and placing it on the table, she slid across the sofa and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Tell me you don't care," she said, her gaze intent upon his face. "Tell me you don't want me, and I'll never speak of it again."
"You know better than that," Gabriel replied, his voice rough. "I've wanted you, hungered for you, for years."
"Then why are we apart?"
"Because it is for the best."
"For whom?"
"For you,
cara
. You must trust me in this."
"No! You must trust
me
in this. It makes no sense for us to be apart."
"It makes more sense than you will ever know. You would do well to forget you ever knew me. Marry your young man. Dance for the world. Have children, and teach them to dance. It's what you were born for."
Sara shook her head. "No, Gabriel," she said fervently. "I was born for you."
With slow deliberation, she moved closer, until only a breath of air separated them.
And then she said the words he could not resist, and he knew he was lost. "Let me hold you."
His resolve melted like warm wax as she drew him into her arms. If he had any weakness besides his need to avoid the sun, it was his need to be held by this woman. She was sunlight to his darkness, eternal life to his infinite damnation.
For a long while, she held him close, and then she kissed him. She didn't close her eyes, nor did he. She saw the flame, bright as molten gold, that leaped into his eyes, felt the raw animal power, the naked hunger, the overwhelming need that engulfed him as her mouth closed on his. He wanted her. Oh, yes, he definitely wanted her.
And she wanted him. She wanted to feel his strength, wanted him to possess her, fully, completely, masterfully. Wanted him to take her with all the power at his command, to show her what it meant to be loved.
She looked into his eyes and she felt herself drowning, sinking down, down, into darkness, into light.
Gabriel moaned her name as he drew her closer, his arms wrapping around her, strong and sure. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, his hands stroked her back, slipped under her gown to caress the curve of her calf.
She gasped, startled by the intimacy of his touch, by the pleasure that shot clear through her.
She was drowning in sensation, helpless to resist the power of his touch, the hunger in his eyes. Eyes that burned fever bright, igniting tiny flames within her heart, her soul, filling her with a warmth that flowed through her veins, making her restless for something she didn't understand.
With a sigh of surrender, she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the magic of his touch.
It was her total lack of fear, her complete trust in him, that was his undoing.
An animal-like growl of pain rose in his throat as he devoured her mouth with his. She was sunshine and light, goodness and hope, the innocence of youth, everything that was forever lost to him. He kissed her deeply, searching for salvation, wishing for humanity. She was soft and supple in his arms, willing, eager, a foolish moth racing toward the flames of destruction, and he didn't have the strength to protect her.
His hands delved beneath her gown to find living flesh and skin softer than velvet, smoother than satin. In moments, her gown was on the floor. In another moment, his clothes joined hers. And then she was in his arms, a study in perfection from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. And she was his. His for the taking.
He loved her gently, his hands trembling, his voice ragged with the effort to hold back, until his body was on fire for her. He was on the verge of making her his when he heard her soft cry of pain.
Horrified, he froze, his body poised over hers. Only then did he realize that the hunger was also burning through him, that his kisses were no longer gentle, that his fangs had almost pierced the fragile skin at her throat.
Not knowing how close she was to danger, she arched beneath him, seeking fulfillment for the restless wanting of her body.
With a growl, he drew away and turned his back to her.
"Gabriel?"
Her voice was low and uneven, filled with confusion.
"Forgive me," he said gruffly. "I didn't mean…"
"Gabriel." She placed a tentative hand on his back, felt his whole body shudder at her touch. "I want you."
"No, Sara," he replied, his voice ragged. "Don't ask me."
"I don't understand."
"Please let me go." It was a cry of anguish, a plea for her to be strong because his need for her made him weak and vulnerable.
"No!"
"It's for the best."
"It's not!" Embarrassed and hurt by his rejection, she sat up, her arms crossed over her breasts. "I wish I'd never left England," she said, fighting back her tears. "I wish I was still in that awful chair. You loved me then. I know you did."
He closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists, as her unhappiness washed over him. He never should have come here, he thought. Never should have seen her again. He hadn't meant to cause her pain, only to ease his own.
He could wipe it all from her mind. He had only to look into her eyes, to bend her will to his. He could make her forget that he existed… but to do so would be like ending his existence, he thought bleakly, because if he didn't exist for Sara, there was no point in going on.
And because he was basically a selfish man, because he'd been alone for too long, he turned around and took her hand in his.
"Sara?"
She looked up at him, and he cringed before the misery in her eyes.
"Please, Gabriel," she murmured. "Please don't leave me. I need you so."
"And I need you. Tell me,
cara
, if I stay, will you do as I ask without question?"
"Yes."
"Anything I say? Even if it makes no sense to you?"
A slight frown lined her brow. "I don't understand."
"It's quite simple. I'll stay, but only if you promise to do whatever I ask, without question, no matter how odd it might seem at the time."
"I promise."
"Then you must dismiss your maid from your employ."
"Babette?"
Gabriel nodded.
"Very well, but why?"
"Without question,
cara
, remember? Now," he said quietly, "put on your gown. It's late, and you need your rest."
"But…" Sara bit off the word. She would do whatever he asked, without question, just as she had promised. But not asking questions was far harder than she had anticipated.
"It's not too late to change your mind," Gabriel remarked.
Sara shook her head, and he turned away to don his own clothing. He heard the soft rustling of her gown as she slipped it on.
Only then did he turn to face her. "You're so young, Sara. I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't…"
He held up his hand, silencing her. "It's late. I want you to go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow night, at the theater."
"All right."
"Good night,
cara
. Sleep well."
"Good night, my angel. Will you dream of me?"
"As always," he replied, bending to kiss her cheek. "As always."
He was waiting for her outside the theater the following night. Clad in evening clothes and a black cloak, he was quite the handsomest man she had ever seen, Sara thought. And he was waiting for her.
Cheeks flushed with anticipation, she ran to him, not caring who saw, or what anyone thought.
Gabriel crushed her close, as if he had been waiting his whole life for this moment, and then he placed her hand on his arm and led her away from the opera house.
"Your face looks ever so much better," Sara remarked, astonished at the miraculous improvement in his appearance. His skin, which had been badly discolored and puckered only the night before, showed little trace of the earlier damage.
"The burns were mostly superficial," Gabriel explained with a shrug.
"But…"
"We're here," he said, and guided her into a small restaurant that was dark and cozy. He asked for a table in the rear, away from the crowd, and smoothly steered their conversation to the night's performance.
Sara ordered something to eat, but Gabriel only asked for a glass of dry red wine.
"Don't you ever eat?" Sara asked.
"I dined earlier."
Sara studied him thoughtfully, then shrugged, too excited by his presence to fret over such a small thing.
Sara had finished eating, and they were discussing the company's upcoming production of
Swan Lake
when Maurice appeared at the table.
Sara looked up, startled. "Maurice, what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to meet your mysterious benefactor."
"Oh." She glanced at Gabriel. "Maurice, this is Gabriel…" She hesitated, realizing she didn't know Gabriel's last name. "Gabriel, this is Maurice Delacroix, a member of the company."
"Will you join us?" Gabriel asked.
"I'm sure Maurice has other plans," Sara said, pinning Maurice with a look that clearly said "go away."
"Not at all," Maurice replied. He slid into the booth beside Sara.
Gabriel ordered a glass of wine for Maurice and another for himself.
There was a moment of awkward silence as Gabriel stared at the younger man. Uncomfortable under Gabriel's probing gaze, Maurice quickly drained his glass.
"Sara tells me you've been most generous in your support," Maurice remarked. "Do you sponsor many dancers?"
"Just one."
"I see. Sara has told me very little about you. Have you always had a fondness for the ballet?"
"Yes," Gabriel replied, a small smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. "Always."
"How long will you be in Paris?"
"I'm not sure." Gabriel let his gaze move over Sara in a long, slow glance that could only be interpreted as possessive. "I've not been to Paris for many years. It's a beautiful city, don't you agree?"
Maurice glared at Gabriel, all too aware that the man wasn't talking about the city at all. "You seem a man of the world," he said, his voice harsh. "No doubt even a city as lovely as Paris will soon lose its appeal."
"Perhaps."
"I've asked Sara to marry me."
"It was my understanding she had refused your suit."
"For the moment, but I hope to change her mind. Perhaps she would be more willing to say yes if she knew she had your blessing."
Gabriel laughed softly. His blessing, indeed. "Sara doesn't need my permission to wed. I've already told her I will support whatever decision she makes."
Abruptly, Sara rose to her feet. "I'm tired of being discussed as if I weren't here," she declared. "I'm going home."
Maurice sprang to his feet. "I'll see you home."
"I brought Sara here," Gabriel said, rising, "and I will see her safely to her door."
He held out his hand and Sara took it without hesitation. "Good night, Maurice," she said softly.
"Sara…"
Gabriel fixed Maurice with a hard stare. "The lady said good night."
Maurice took a step backward, repelled by the coldness in the other man's eyes, by the sudden, unexpected sense of evil. With a last glance at Sara, he left the restaurant.
Sara smiled apologetically at Gabriel as they walked home a short time later. "I'm sorry he made a scene."
"He's smitten with you," Gabriel replied. "Anyone can see that."
Sara tilted her head back so she could see Gabriel's face. "And I'm smitten with you."
"Are you,
cara
?"
"
I've
told you so often enough. Don't you believe me?"
"I believe you."
They reached her apartment a short time later. Inside, he helped her off with her cloak, then shed his own as she lit the lamp, then turned to face him.
"Will you stay the night?" she asked.
"A bold question for a maiden," Gabriel mused with a wry grin. "Are you asking me to spend the night, or to make love to you?"
"Both," she answered, and knew she was blushing furiously.
"And if I refuse?"
The light went out of her eyes. Her shoulders sagged dispiritedly. "Are you going to refuse me again?"
"Sara…"
"Is it me?"
"No!"
"Then, is there something wrong with you? Some reason that you can't, or won't…" Her voice trailed off. She had no idea how to phrase her question delicately, and lacked the courage to ask it outright.