Gabriel's Angel by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online Page A

it.”
    He had to grin. “Maybe, but now and again I like to have some space. Once you make a name, people tend to look over your shoulder.”
    â€œWell, I, for one, am glad you came here, for whatever reason.” She brushed the hair away from her face. “I should go back in, but I don’t want to.” She was smiling as she leaned back against the post.
    His eyes narrowed. When he cupped her face in his hands, his fingers were cold and firm. “There’s something about your eyes,” he murmured, turning her face fully into the light. “They say everything a man wants a woman to say, and a great deal he doesn’t. You have old eyes, Laura. Old, sad eyes.”
    She said nothing, not because her mind was empty, but because it was suddenly filled with so many things, so many thoughts, so many wishes. She hadn’t thought she could feel anything like this again, and certainly not this longing for a man. Her skin warmed with it, even though his touch was cool, almost disinterested.
    The sexual tug surprised her, even embarrassed her a little. But it was the emotional pull, the slow, hard drag of it, that kept her silent.
    â€œI wonder what you’ve seen in your life.”
    As if of their own volition, his fingers stroked her cheek. They were long, slender, artistic, but hard and strong. Even so, he might merely have been familiarizing himself with the shape of her face, with the texture of her skin. An artist with his subject.
    The longing leaped inside her, the foolish, impossible longing to be loved, held, desired, not for her face, not for the image a man could see, but for the woman inside.
    â€œI’m getting tired,” she said, managing to keep her voice steady. “I think I’ll go to bed now.”
    He didn’t move out of her way immediately. And his hand lingered. He couldn’t have said what kept him there, staring at her, searching the eyes he found so fascinating. Then he stepped back quickly and shoved the door open for her.
    â€œGood night, Gabe.”
    â€œGood night.”
    He stayed out in the cold, wondering what was wrong with him. For a moment, damn it, for a great deal longer than a moment, he’d found himself wanting her. Filled with self-disgust, he pulled out a cigarette. A man had to be sinking low to think about making love to a woman who was more than seven months along with another man’s child.
    But it was a long time before he could convince himself he’d imagined it.

Chapter 3
    He wondered what she was thinking. She looked so serene, so quietly content. The pale pink sweater she wore fell into a soft cowl at her throat. Her hair shimmered to her shoulders. Again she wore no jewelry, nothing to draw attention away from her, nothing to draw attention to her.
    Gabe rarely used models in his work, because even if they managed to hold the pose for as long as he demanded they began to look bored and restless. Laura, on the other hand, looked as though she could sit endlessly with that same soft smile on her face.
    That was part of what he wanted to capture in the portrait. That inner patience, that . . . well, he supposed he could call it a gracious acceptance of time—what had come before, and what was up ahead. He’d never had much patience, not with people, not with his work, not with himself. It was a trait he could admire in her without having the urge to develop it himself.
    Yet there was something more, something beyond the utterly feminine beauty and the Madonna-like calm. From time to time he saw a fierceness in her, a warriorlike determination. He could see that she was a woman who would do whatever was necessary to protect what was hers. Judging from her story, all that was hers was the child she carried.
    She had more to tell, he mused as he ran the pencil over the pad. The bits and pieces she’d offered had only been given to keep him from asking more. He hadn’t asked for more. It