Page 84 of Gabriel's Promise (Gabriel's Inferno 4)

“I’m covered, but thank you. If there’s anything I can do in return, please let me know.”

“Not at all. This is for your family, with my compliments. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you.” Gabriel disconnected the call and placed his phone on his desk.

On paper, Nicholas Cassirer was a wealthy Swiss businessman who was an avid art collector and a generous philanthropist. Gabriel had no reason to suspect the man of having ties to the underworld, apart from his ubiquitous black suits.

But Gabriel was not naïve. The Cassirers had sustained a robbery a number of years ago and the items had never been recovered. Nicholas had taken the theft very, very personally and his family had hired professional security that rivaled that of most heads of state.

Gabriel felt his neck. There was a chance he’d just incurred a debt he would later be called on to pay. But given the potential danger to his family, he was more than willing to pay the price, no matter how steep.

Chapter Forty-Three

December 12, 2012

Julia was awake.

She’d rolled over to face Gabriel a few minutes ago and he’d stretched out an arm and covered her waist. He was sound asleep, judging by his breathing. Funny how he reached for her instinctually, as if their souls were so in tune with one another, he could sense her presence even while sleeping.

She touched Gabriel’s face—the face of the man she loved. She traced his aristocratic cheekbones and the slight dimple of his chin. Her fingers caught on the stubble.

She kissed his cheek and brushed her mouth across his. He murmured a response, but didn’t move.

A wave of love and want washed over her. She wanted to drown in it.

She caressed his chest and floated her hand over his original tattoo and the new piece that was still healing. It was an image from one of Botticelli’s illustrations of Paradiso; Dante swoons at the base of Jacob’s ladder and Beatrice embraces him.

The tattoo artist who had marked Gabriel’s right pectoral with the image had been the same artist who gave him the dragon and heart. Woven into Botticelli’s image were the names Julianne and Clare, in an elegant minuscule script.

Julia’s hand hovered over the image. It had been a surprise. Gabriel had been inked two days after his shopping spree with Clare.

I need to have you immortalized on my skin. And under my skin. And over my heart, he’d whispered, when he bared the image to her eyes.

She reached over and kissed his chest, just over his heart.

Gabriel shifted, but didn’t awaken.

His body was a feast for her senses. So she explored him, her fingers dancing over his strong pectorals, his shoulders, his muscled arms.

She touched his ribs and dipped into his navel. Then she traced the ridges of his abdominal muscles. She reached the band of his underwear and stopped.

A sharp inhalation drew her attention.

Gabriel’s eyes were open, their stark blueness standing out against the dark hair that swept his brow.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Never apologize for touching me,” he rasped. “If my soul is yours, my body is also.”

He adjusted the pillow behind his head so he could see her better.

She sat back, carefully moving her ankle. “I need you.”

“Then take what you need.” Gabriel’s eager, curious look was encouraging.

Julia returned her hand to his body, caressing and touching him, before cupping him through his underwear. He made a strangled noise.

She removed the underwear, tugging it determinedly down his legs before dropping it to the floor. Then she knelt next to him and placed his hand at the hem of her nightgown. Hastily, he tore off her nightgown and panties.