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Annabelle sipped her wine, her meal sitting heavy in her stomach.

She’d not missed Gabriel’s interest when she’d introduced Isobella.

Nor his gaze returning unerringly to her sister throughout the meal.

Unlike the heat in his eyes when he looked at her, there was…

concern and…awe. What was up with that? Did she even want to know?

Or was she seeing things that weren’t there, because having Gabriel here was messing with her state of mind? She wasn’t normally the jealous type.

And Dutton… Annabelle pursed her lips. How the hell had he known about this meeting?

Now more than ever, she was glad she’d kept the book a secret, even from Aunt Marjory.

She’d have to move it and find somewhere more secure.

Maybe she could take it back to Rarity. One book among many, it would be easy to conceal.

“You’ll need to practice your French,” said Gabriel. “They speak an older, mostly forgotten dialect, but you’ll be able to understand them well enough.”

“My French is a little rusty,” admitted Annabelle.

“I can help you,” offered Isobella.

Annabelle’s eyebrows shot up. “You speak French?”

Isobella grinned. “The French teacher at Flintridge Sacred Heart was cute. French was one of my best subjects.”

Gabriel beamed at Isobella. “Excellent. That will save a lot of time.”

Really? Annabelle would refresh her French no faster with Isobella than if Gabriel taught her.

“And we’ll need to get some clothes made for you, clothes that will help you blend in,” said Gabriel, his focus, again, not on Annabelle, but Isobella.

Her chest tightened and her stomach churned. No, she wasn’t imagining things at all. With one look at Isobella, had he moved on already? If the man could walk away from her on Christmas Eve, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine a pretty face could distract him.

“One of our coven is a seamstress,” interjected Annabelle, trying to draw Gabriel’s gaze. Isobella didn’t need any more heartache. And she didn’t need to have her ex-lover stopping by for a tryst with her sister while she slept in the next room. “She can make anything we ask her to.”

Dutton smirked. Annabelle shot him a look that promised she’d disembowel him at the earliest opportunity.

“Good. That’s a start then.” Gabriel leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed.

Beneath the table, a foot brushed against hers. Annabelle tensed. Dutton’s? Gabriel’s attention swiveled to her, and a lazy, sexy grin curled at the corners of his full lips. Kissable lips. She knew what he was capable of with that mouth.

She jerked her foot away and took a gulp of wine, anything to douse the fire that was building in her body.

Gabriel lifted his nose and sniffed the air.

His grin bloomed into a knowing smile, and Annabelle’s cheeks heated.

He dipped his gaze down her body, a not-so-subtle slide from her face to her breasts.

Her nipples peaked, and she squirmed in her seat.

Damn it. She should’ve worn a bra. She’d thought only to taunt Gabriel, but now, seeing his gaze fixate on her breasts…she was the one in trouble.

Annabelle glared at him. He let out a low chuckle, and that made her squirm in her seat even more.

His chest heaved, his nostrils flared and his grin slipped. He abruptly stood. “I think we’ve done enough tonight.” He signaled the server and settled the bill.

Relieved, Annabelle slid from her seat, and they all collected their coats and scarves before heading to the lobby.

She had much to think about. Gabriel had given them a lot of information about what she could expect in the tenth century.

As grim as it sounded, she was still going. Annabelle couldn’t let her family down.

At the elevators, Gabriel halted and pressed the button. He took Isobella’s hand and something twisted in Annabelle’s chest. They even looked alike. Similar coloring, that same dark curly hair. If Annabelle didn’t know otherwise, it would be easy to mistake them as siblings.

“It was an honor meeting you, Isobella. I would like to spend more time getting to know you, but if that opportunity does not arise before our time is up, then voyager en toute securitie .”

Anabelle frowned. Her French was a little rusty, but she thought he’d said safe travels. What an odd thing to say.

Gabriel squared off with the Kings’ pride and joy. “Dutton.”

Dutton nodded, his face pinched tighter than a cat’s asshole.

The elevator doors opened, and Gabriel beckoned out the operator. “Would you be so kind as to organize a cab each for Miss Rodriguez and Mr. King, please?”

“Of course, Mr. Montagne.”

Before Annabelle could wonder at her exclusion, Gabriel dipped, grasped her by her thighs, flung her over his shoulder and stepped into the elevator.

The closing doors cut off Annabelle’s squawk, leaving her with a brief glimpse of Isobella’s surprise and Dutton’s outrage.

Gabriel reached out, swiped his pass key and stabbed two buttons on the panel.

The penthouse?

“Gabriel, put me down!” She dropped her coat, scarf and purse and slapped his back, hard, but he barely flinched. “Gabriel!”

“ Belle, must you shriek so loudly?” He slid her down his body, set her on her feet and pressed her against the elevator wall. “All you have to do is ask.”

She planted her hands on his chest to push him off, ignoring the urge to curl her fingers in his shirt.

God, the man not only looked good in black, he felt good in black.

He’d feel better in nothing. She shut her eyes against that image, but she couldn’t shut out the feel of his body against hers, the hard planes of his chest and the harder press of his cock against her stomach.

Her traitorous body burned for him. Lord, it was like the fourth of July in her panties.

“Gabriel.” She opened her eyes and tried for calm, but her voice wobbled.

He dipped his head into the crook of her neck and ran his nose along the sensitive skin of her throat. Her knees quivered and her determination wavered. A growl rumbled in his chest, and his musky scent filled the elevator.

“Gabriel, this is… We can’t… I can’t…”

Why isn’t my mouth or my brain working?

“We can, Belle. ”

He tugged her dress up her thighs until it bunched around her hips, and he slipped his knee between her legs.

One large hand brushed against the underside of her breast, eliciting a moan.

Annabelle clamped her lips together. They shouldn’t be doing this.

He’d left her once. She couldn’t survive it happening again.

“I have a mission to prepare for, then… Then you’ll be gone again.” Annabelle squeezed her eyes tight, mortified at the stark vulnerability in her voice he couldn’t fail to hear.

He nuzzled her ear. “ Ma Belle, I made an oath to myself the moment I saw you in your High Priestess’ office.”

He sucked on her ear, and the sensation zipped like a rocket to her clit. Her head thudded against the elevator wall as he nipped his way along her jawline, and it was all she could do not to rub herself against his thick thigh.

He paused, his lips hovering over hers. So close and yet so far.

“Look at me, Annabelle.”

She sucked in a shaky breath. She opened her eyes, and was drowning, drawn into him by the intensity of his liquid brown eyes and the carnal delights they promised.

“I vowed that even if I had to follow you into the past, I was never leaving you again. Tu es à moi et seulement à moi, Belle. Pour toujours. ”

Then he claimed her mouth, delving deep, and any hope she had of resisting this, resisting him, vanished with the press of his lips and the swipe of his tongue.

His hand found its way to the zipper of her dress, releasing it.

Her dress sagged, and he tugged at the neckline, dragging it down.

And she let him. Helped him push it down, baring her breasts to his hungry eyes.

She should stop this now. Pull up her dress and press the elevator button for the lobby, the ground floor, anywhere but here.

She shouldn’t want sex with the man who’d ghosted her three years ago, but she did.

And that confused the hell out of her. Her head was saying no, her heart… maybe. Her body—hell, yes!

The elevator dinged, the doors swished open, and Annabelle threw her arms around Gabriel’s neck and her legs around his body.

Tomorrow. She would worry about the stupidity of this tomorrow.

Tonight, she wanted him, needed him, as she’d never needed another man before him or would after him. To hell with the consequences.