She frowned at him, not understanding. "What do you mean?"
"I like to keep to myself. I don't care for large groups of people, for parties. I like to dine alone." He covered her hand with his. "Forgive me, Sara, I didn't mean to hurt you. I enjoyed this meal with you very much, but the truth remains that I prefer to dine alone. My life is set a certain way, and I find it difficult to change, even for you."
"I'm not asking you to change anything," she said petulantly.
"But you are. Don't you see?"
"No." She stood up and turned her back to him. "I think you're tired of me already, that you're just trying to find a polite way to tell me good-bye without hurting my feelings."
She whirled around to face him, and she looked so young, so vulnerable, he ached inside. Tears shimmered in the depths of her eyes and sparkled on her lashes.
"Is that it? Are you tired of me so soon?"
Rising, he closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. "No,
cara
, I'm not tired of you. Should we spend a thousand years together, I would never tire of you. Believe that." He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed first one and then the other. "Perhaps I should go."
"No!" She bit down on her lip, and he could see she was trying to gather her composure, her dignity. "I mean, I'd like for you to stay."
"If you wish."
"I don't mean to be a burden to you."
"That you could never be. Come now, dry your eyes."
Obediently, she wiped away her tears.
"What can I do to make you smile again?" he asked indulgently. "Shall I buy you a pretty new frock? A bauble of some kind? Your own opera house? Tell me,
cara
, what would you like?"
"For you to love me."
"I do love you, Sara," he replied fervently. "I love everything about you."
"Show me?"
With a wordless cry, he swept her into his arms and lowered her to the floor. And there, on the colorful Persian rug in front of the hearth, he made love to her in such a way that she would never doubt his feelings for her again.
Maurice stood in the shadows across the street from Sara's apartment, waiting.
His hands clenched and unclenched as he imagined Sara in her benefactor's arms, willingly surrendering to Gabriel what she so adamantly refused to give to him.
He swore softly. What was there about that man that attracted Sara?
Admittedly, Gabriel was handsome in a dark, brooding sort of way. Admittedly, he was rich. He was also suave, arrogant, and sinister.
Maurice shook his head. It was inconceivable to him that Sara was unaware of the latent evil that lurked in Gabriel's hooded gray eyes. She was an innocent, pure of heart and soul. Surely she could sense the danger that radiated from the man.
But days had passed, and he realized that she was so smitten with Gabriel that he might have been one of Satan's minions and she wouldn't have cared. It was the fact that she might be in mortal danger that had finally convinced Maurice he had to do something, that he had to prove to Sara that Gabriel was not the man she thought he was.
But then, Maurice wasn't sure just what kind of man Gabriel really was, or what harm he intended for Sara Jayne. He only knew that there was something not right about Sara's benefactor, and that was why he was standing here in the shadows, waiting.
He straightened, a warning chill slithering down his spine when he saw the door to Sara's apartment house open. A moment later, a tall figure swathed in a hooded black cloak descended the stairs.
Gabriel.
Maurice waited until the man was well ahead of him, and then began to follow him.
It was like trying to follow a shadow. The night seemed to embrace Gabriel like a long-lost lover. It surrounded him, enveloped him, became one with him.
Maurice was running now, his footsteps muffled by the damp grass alongside the road.
And then, as if swallowed up by the night, the man disappeared.
Maurice blinked, and blinked again, unable to believe his eyes. One minute Gabriel had been there, a dark silhouette against the night, and the next he was gone.
A coldness, like that of the grave, swept over Maurice as he turned back toward the city.
"Slow down, Maurice, you're not making any sense."
"I'm telling you, Sara, the man disappeared right before my eyes. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone." Maurice shivered as he followed Sara Jayne into her apartment, carefully locking the door behind him.
Sara made a low sound of exasperation. "Are you trying to tell me you think Gabriel is a ghost or something?"
"I don't know what he is, but he isn't human."
"You're letting your imagination run away with you," Sara chided. "It was cold and foggy last night, that's all. He probably turned a corner and you lost sight of him."
"No!" Maurice grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Listen to me, Sara Jayne, you've got to stay away from that man. He's evil."
"Maurice, you're hurting me!" She twisted away from his grasp, then stood rubbing her shoulders. "This isn't funny."
"Damn right it isn't!" He took a step toward her, then stopped when he saw the warning in her eyes. "Has he… have you… ?"
Sara glared at him, her eyes narrowed. "Have I what?"
"Never mind, I can see that you have. Why, Sara Jayne? What is there about this man that attracts you? Can't you sense the evil that surrounds him?"
Sara sat down on the sofa and smoothed her skirts. "I think you should go now," she said, her voice coolly polite.
Maurice took a deep breath. "Sara Jayne, please listen to me." He began to pace the floor, too agitated to stand still. "I know you think I'm overreacting, that I'm just jealous because you've been spending so much time with him, but that's not it, I swear! You're in danger. Promise me you'll be careful. Next time he comes here, forget your infatuation with him and…"
Maurice's voice trailed off and he stared at her. She didn't believe a word he was saying.
"I'll see you later, at the theater," he said, thoroughly disheartened. "Please be careful."
She saw Maurice to the door, then stood there for a long moment, watching him walk away. He'd always seemed like such a level-headed young man, his feet solidly planted on the ground. This babbling about Gabriel disappearing in the mist was ludicrous. Evil, indeed! Gabriel had never shown her anything but kindness…
Evil… unbidden came the memory of the peculiar red glow she had seen in his eyes when they made love. But that had been nothing more than a trick of the light…
She had never seen him during the day… But surely a man of Gabriel's wealth was extremely busy. Even on the Sabbath? taunted a small voice of doubt.
With a shake of her head, Sara thrust her troubling thoughts aside, refusing to give heed to Maurice's foolish accusations. Gabriel was no more evil than she was!
He was waiting for her outside the opera house that night. She studied him carefully as they walked the short distance from the theater to her apartment. Elegant was the first word that came to her mind. As usual, he was dressed in black evening clothes. His linen was snowy white; his cravat impeccable. His cloak was as black as the night, and she had the sudden fanciful notion that Gabriel was a part of the night, dark and mysterious. He moved with an unusual gracefulness for such a big man; his steps were incredibly light, as if his feet hardly touched the ground. She would have given anything to be able to move like that.
Her gaze moved to his face. Just looking at him made her smile. He was so handsome. The burns that had once marred his smooth flesh were gone as if they had never existed. There was a ruddy glow to his cheeks. His hair was the color of midnight, his eyes as gray as the storm clouds swirling overhead. And his lips… ah, those lips that kissed her with such mastery, such passion.
She felt an odd little quiver in her stomach as his hand tightened on her arm. Soon, she thought, soon he would kiss her again.
"You're very quiet this evening," Gabriel remarked as they reached her door. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I was just wondering…"
He lifted one thick black brow in question as they entered the parlor. "Wondering?"
She crossed the room and lit one of the lamps. "If we were going to make love tonight."
She turned to face him, and he thought he had never seen anything as lovely as Sara Jayne Duncan, with her guileless sky-blue eyes and her cheeks burning with embarrassment.
He lifted a lock of her hair and let it fall through his fingers. "You've not grown tired of me then?"
"Oh, no."
"Ah, Sara," he murmured, "your innocence humbles me."
"Hardly innocent anymore," she replied with a saucy grin.
"Indeed." His voice was quiet, filled with self-reproach.
"Gabriel! You're regretting what we've done again, aren't you?"
"No."
She lifted her chin so she could see him better, her hands fisted on her hips. "You're lying. If I don't regret it, I don't know why you should."
"You're too—"
She stamped her foot angrily. "Don't you dare tell me I'm too young!"
"I won't." He cocked his head to one side, his eyes alight with amusement. "Is your temper tantrum over?"
"I'm not having a temper tantrum. I'm simply tired of being treated as if I were a child. Look at me, Gabriel. I'm a woman, with a woman's needs, a woman's desires."
"You are indeed," he murmured. "Sometimes it's hard for me to remember that you're all grown up."
"Maybe this will help you remember," she suggested, and throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him.
There was nothing childish about her kiss, he admitted. Nothing at all. He felt the taste of her spread to all his senses as desire flared between them, more potent than brandy, hotter than a thousand suns.
She moaned softly, pressing herself against him, and he had no thought to deny her.
He removed his cloak and her pelisse and dropped both over a chair; then, taking her by the hand, he led her into the bedroom. With exquisite tenderness, he undressed her, the heat in his eyes chasing away the chill of the room. She was vaguely aware that it was raining. Lightning flashed across the sky; there was a dull rumble of thunder.
Gabriel's gaze held hers as he undressed, and then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, stretching out beside her.
She looked like a porcelain angel, he thought, a seraph newly fallen to earth, her eyes the color of the daylight sky he had not seen in more than three hundred years, her hair the color of the sun at midday.
He pressed a finger to her lips when she started to speak. And then, as if she were made of delicate crystal that might shatter at any moment, he made love to her. His hands moved over her, barely touching her skin, yet her whole body sprang to life, quivering, reaching, yearning toward him. He kissed her, his lips skimming her eyelids, the curve of her cheek, the smoothness of her brow. She felt his teeth graze her throat, his breath like the desert wind, heard a groan rumble deep in his throat.
She arched beneath him in silent invitation, her hands reaching for him, wanting to touch the hard wall of his chest, to span the width of his shoulders, to draw him to her, inside her, forever.
"Forever," he whispered, and she wondered if he had read her mind.
And then he was a part of her, his breath mingling with hers, his heart beating with hers, and she knew that if he loved her forever, it would not be long enough.
Sara was filled with disappointment and a keen sense of loss when she woke to find him gone.
She pressed her face into the pillow and drew in a deep breath, inhaling his scent, wondering why he had refused to stay the night. It would be so wonderful to awaken in Gabriel's arms, to make love to him first thing in the morning, when the world was new.
Maybe tonight she would ask him to stay. Maybe this time he would agree.
Smiling, she slid out of bed. Tonight, she thought. She would see him again tonight.
"Aren't you tired of the ballet?" she asked later.
They were sitting in their favorite cafe, at the table Sara had come to think of as theirs. As usual, she ordered a light meal; as usual, he had only a glass of dry red wine.
Gabriel lifted one black brow. "Are you tired of dancing?"
"Of course not!"
Gabriel smiled at her then. "And I never tire of watching you dance. You have such passion, such life."
His words brought a flush of pleasure to her cheeks. Her dancing
did
have more passion, she mused, and she owed it all to Gabriel. He had transformed her from a girl into a woman, and it had changed the world. Now, when she danced, the music seemed to have more meaning, more depth; her body seemed better able to express deep emotion, whether it was Aurora's love for the prince in
Sleeping Beauty
, or sorrow for lost love in
Giselle
.
A last bite, and she pushed her plate away. She wiped her mouth with her napkin, hiding behind the cloth while she summoned her nerve.
"Gabriel?"
"Yes,
cara
?"
"Why don't you move in with me?"
"No."
"Why not? We spend every night together anyway. It would be ever so much easier if you lived with me."
"I told you before,
cara
, I have my own way of life. I don't wish to change it."
"But…"
"No, Sara, either we go on as before, or we end it now."
"That's not fair!" She stared at him for a moment, and then frowned as a horrible thought occurred to her. "You're not married, are you?"
"No."
"Then why? Please, Gabriel, it would be so wonderful to wake up in your arms."
"No questions, Sara Jayne, remember?"
"No questions, no questions!" She threw her napkin down on the table. "I'm sick of those two words."
Gabriel sighed heavily, knowing he was being unfair. But he could not explain his reasons to her. To do so would be to lose her forever, and he wasn't ready to let her go, not yet.