Gabriel's Inferno 01 - Gabriel's Inferno by Sylvain Reynard Read Free Book Online

for only a junior year abroad.”
    “I began studying it in high school.”
    He looked across the small and intimate table and saw that she actively avoided his eyes. She was studying the menu as if it were an exam, worrying her lovely lower lip between her teeth.
    “You are invited, Miss Mitchell.”
    Her eyes darted to his with a questioning look.
    “You are my guest. Order whatever you like, but please order some meat.” He felt the need to add that qualification since the express purpose of their dinner was to provide her with something more fortifying than couscous.
    “I don’t know what to choose.”
    “I could order for you, if you prefer.”
    She nodded and closed her menu, still worrying her lip back and forth.
    Antonio returned just then and proudly displayed a bottle of Chianti with a handwritten label. Julia smiled as he opened the bottle and poured a little into her glass.
    Mr. Emerson watched, almost breathless, as she swirled the wine in her glass expertly, then lifted it so that she could examine it more closely in the candlelight. She brought the glass to her nose, closed her eyes, and sniffed. Then she placed the glass to her plump lips and tasted the wine, holding it in her mouth for a while before swallowing. She opened her eyes, smiled even more widely, and thanked Antonio for his precious gift.
    Antonio beamed, complimented Mr. Emerson on his choice of dining companion a little too enthusiastically, and filled both of their glasses with his favorite wine.
    Meanwhile, Mr. Emerson had been adjusting himself under the table because the sight of Miss Mitchell tasting wine was the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed. She was not merely attractive; she was beautiful, like an angel or a muse. And she wasn’t merely beautiful; she was sensual and hypnotic, but also innocent. Her pretty eyes reflected a depth of feeling and radiant purity that he had never noticed before.
    He had to drag his eyes away from her as he adjusted himself once more for good measure, suddenly feeling dirty and more than a little ashamed of the reaction she was eliciting from him. A reaction that he would need to attend to later that evening. When he was alone. And surrounded by the scent of vanilla.
    He ordered their meals, making sure that he requested the largest possible portions of filet mignon. When Miss Mitchell protested, he dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand, remarking that she would be able to take her leftovers home with her. If Mr. Emerson had his way, this meal would feed her for a couple of days.
    He wondered what she would eat after her leftovers were exhausted but refused to allow himself to dwell on the problem. This was a one-time event, and only because he’d shouted at her and shamed her. After this, things between them would be strictly professional. And she would be left to face future calamities alone.
    For her part, Julia was happy to be with him. She wanted to be able to talk to him, to really talk to him, to ask him about his family and the funeral. She wanted to comfort him over the loss of his mother. She wanted to tell him secrets and have him whisper secrets to her in return. But with his eyes determinedly but somewhat distantly fixed on her, she knew she could not have what she wanted. So she smiled and fidgeted with the silverware, hoping that he wouldn’t find her nervousness and its desperate outlets annoying.
    “Why did you start studying Italian in high school?”
    Julia gasped. Her eyes grew wide, and her beautiful red mouth hung open.
    Mr. Emerson’s eyebrows furrowed at her reaction. It was completely out of proportion to his question; he hadn’t asked her for her bra size. His eyes dropped involuntarily to the swell of her breasts and returned to her eyes. He reddened as a number and a cup size miraculously entered his head.
    “Um, I became interested in Italian literature. In Dante and Beatrice.” She folded and refolded the linen napkin in her lap, a few loose curls