Julia opened her mouth to indicate her willingness to accept

another piece. “I should have said a sticky death.”

He placed a piece of mango on her tongue before stroking her

lower lip with his thumb.

“I’ve thought of that. Don’t worry.”

Without warning, she moved so she was straddling his lap and

placed her hands on either side of his face, pulling him toward her.

They kissed passionately for a moment before she took the mango

and knife from his hand and placed a piece temptingly in her mouth.

He gave her a heated look before he brought their lips together,

tugging the piece of fruit away with his teeth.

“Mmmmm,” she hummed. “By the way, I don’t think I ever saw

the security video from our date at the museum.”

She gently squeezed a piece of mango over his chest and began

kissing and sucking across the droplet trail.

“Ah — ah —” Gabriel had trouble finding his words. “I’ve seen

it. It’s pretty hot.”

“Really?” She sat back and languidly ate a piece of fruit in front of him, licking her fingers slowly.

“I’ll show it to you later.” He pulled her into a tight embrace, his hands sliding up and down her back. Then, when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he tossed everything aside so he could lift her into his arms.

“Where are we going?” she asked, slightly alarmed.

“To the beach.”

“But we’re naked.”

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Sylvain Reynard

“Our beach is private.” He kissed the tip of her nose and carried

her down to the water’s edge.

“Someone will see us,” she protested as he stepped into the sea.

“There’s only a little sliver of a moon. Anyone who came by would

only see you in silhouette. And what a view.”

He kissed her long and good, adoring her face and neck with his

lips as the gentle tide lapped against them. Then he placed her on her feet so he could press every inch of his body to hers.

“See how we fit together?” His voice was urgent. “We’re a perfect

match.”

They cupped salt water in their hands, cleaning one another’s

flesh. Julia couldn’t help but lean forward to kiss his tattoo, reveling in the way the taste of the sea mingled with the flavor of his skin.

He began kissing her neck and she could feel him smile against

her. “Have you ever seen the film From Here to Eternity?”

“No.”

“Then I need to introduce you to it.” He took her hand and led

her to the beach, where he lowered himself to the sand. “Please,” he beckoned, motioning that she should lie atop him.

“Here?” Her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

“Yes, here. I want to be inside you, but I don’t want the sand to

scratch your skin.” Gabriel pulled her down, and his mouth sought

hers eagerly as the waves gently lapped at their legs. When they cried out their pleasure, the pale moon smiled.

P

A tropical rainstorm moved through the area the following morn-

ing. While the raindrops tapped against the roof of the hut, the

couple made love slowly in a bed covered with mosquito netting.

They found their rhythm in the steady dance of the rain.

When they were both blissful, he suggested that they rinse the

sweat and humidity from their skin in the large bathtub on the ve-

randa. Reclining in vanilla-scented bubbles, Julia leaned against his chest as he wound his arms around her middle. When she was in

his arms she could almost forget the troubles that waited for them in Toronto.

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Gabriel’s Rapture

She felt safe with Gabriel. It was not that he was a powerful man, although his wealth gave him some measure of strength. It was the

way he’d confronted her bullies — first, Christa, then Simon. And

the fact that he’d excoriated her father for a lifetime of neglect.

The vulnerability of the lovers’ bed was well-known to Julia now.

She knew nakedness and intimacy, desire and burning need, and deep, deep satisfaction. But she also knew that Gabriel loved her and wished to protect her. In his arms, she felt safe, for the first time in her life.

“Saturday mornings were my favorite when I was a child.” Gabriel

interrupted her musings with a wistful voice.

Julia traced his lifeline with a single finger. “Why?”

“My mother was passed out. I could watch cartoons. This was

before we lost our cable.” He gave her a half smile, and Julia tried not to cry, thinking of Gabriel as a sad little boy whose only happiness was a few hours of cartoons.

“I used to make my own breakfast. Cold cereal or peanut butter

on toast.” He shook his head. “When we ran out of milk, which we

did frequently, I’d use orange juice.”

“How was it?”

“Awful. It wasn’t even real orange juice — it was Tang.” He stroked her hair absentmindedly. “I’m sure a psychiatrist would have much

to say about the connection between my childhood and my attach-

ment to fine things.”

Impulsively, Julia turned and threw her arms around his neck,

causing a great tidal wave of water to slosh over the sides of the tub.

“Hey, what’s all this?”

She buried her face into his shoulder. “Nothing. I just love you

so much it hurts.”

He hugged her gently. “Those things happened thirty years ago.

Grace was more of a mother to me. I regret not being with her when she died. I didn’t have the chance to say good-bye.”

“She knew, Gabriel. She knew how much you loved her.”

“I think your childhood was far more painful.”

She sniffled against his shoulder but said nothing.

“If meanness makes people ugly, your mother must have been

hideous. My mother was neglectful and indifferent, but never cruel.”

He paused, wondering if he should broach the topic both of

them had been avoiding since the advent of their vacation.

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Sylvain Reynard

“Once I became acquainted with Christa Peterson, I thought that

she was ugly. I owe you a debt for keeping me from sleeping with

her. Although I’d like to think that even intoxicated I have better taste than that.”

Julia withdrew, sitting back slightly and toying with the end of

a lock of her hair.

He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t like thinking about you and Christa together.”

“Then it’s a mercy you saved me from her.”

“She’s trying to end your career.”

“The truth will out. You said yourself that Paul heard her aspira-

tions with respect to me. I’m hoping she’ll wash out of the program and we’ll both be rid of her.”

“I don’t want her to flunk,” Julia said quietly. “Then I’d be just as ugly as her, taking pleasure in her misfortune.”

Gabriel’s expression grew fierce. “She was mean to you on more

than one occasion. You should have cursed her out when you had

the chance.”

“I’m too old to call people names, whether they deserve it or not.

We don’t live in a nursery school.”

Gabriel tapped the end of her nose gently with his finger. “And

where does that wisdom come from? Sesame Street?”

“The benefits of a Catholic education,” she muttered. “Or maybe

a little Lillian Hellman.”

His eyebrows crinkled. “What do you mean?”

“Lillian Hellman wrote a play called The Little Foxes. In it a young girl tells her mother that some people eat the earth, like locusts, and others stand around and watch them do it. She promises her mother

she isn’t going to stand around and watch anymore. Instead of standing around and watching Christa’s ugliness, we need to fight her with something stronger, like charity.”

“People underestimate you, Julianne. Nevertheless, it pains me

when people fail to give you the respect that you deserve.”

Julia shrugged. “There will always be Christas in this world. And

sometimes, we become the Christas.”

He placed his chin on her shoulder. “I’ve changed my mind

about you.”

“You have?”

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Gabriel’s Rapture

“You aren’t a Dantean, you’re a Franciscan.”

She laughed. “I doubt the Franciscans would approve of me

having sex, unmarried, outside, in a bathtub.”

He brought his mouth to her ear. “Is that a promise?”

Julia shook her head and stroked his eyebrows, one at a time. “I

like to think of you as a little boy, sweet and inquisitive.”

He snorted. “I don’t know how sweet I was, but I was definitely

inquisitive. Especially about girls.” He leaned over to kiss her, and when his lips left hers she smiled.

“See? Any boy who can kiss like that can’t be all bad. St. Francis would approve.”

“I hate to tell you, but your beloved Francis wasn’t always right.

There’s a passage in the Inferno in which he argues with a demon over the soul of Guido da Montefeltro. Do you know it?”

Julia shook her head, so Gabriel recited the text for her in Italian.

“Francesco venne poi com’io fu’ morto,

(Francis came afterward, when I was dead,)

per me; ma un d’i neri cherubini

(for me; but one of the black Cherubim)

li disse: ‘Non portar: non mi far torto.

(said to him: “Take him not; do me no wrong.)