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her, but her head picked that moment to try its luck at a
dervish dance again. Gabriela stumbled to the bed's nearest
post, latching onto it with a weak moan.
Almost immediately Marcus was behind her again. His
broad torso anchored her; his hands circling her upper arms,
slowing the dervish. He eased her down to the bed's wide
counterpane, made of cloud-soft white down.
"You got up too quickly, aye?" he rebuked in a rough
murmur. "Little fool." The knuckles of a cool hand brushed
her brow. "Drink this," he prodded. "It will help smooth your
nerves."
That same hand pressed a silver goblet of wine into hers.
But even after she gained a secure hold on the chalice with
both hands, Marcus didn't let go. He assisted her with several
long sips of the rich, earthy vintage. Gabriela didn't resist,
simply for the pleasure of feeling his fingers over hers.
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"Better?" he asked quietly, depositing the half-downed
glass on a dark wood night stand. His other hand raised to
skim some stray curls from her cheek.
Gaby nodded. She leaned her cheek into his broad, hard
hand. "That . . . feels good," she whispered.
And it was the truth. While the wine mellowed her tattered
nerves, Marcus's touch swirled magic through her blood.
Silken warmth enveloped her. A slow, aching need rose inside
her, like nothing she'd ever felt before. A need to hold this
man, to touch him . . .
"Gabriela . . . " He began the word a protest, but ended in
a guttural grate. He tried to lower his hand. She wouldn't let
him. Instead, she took his hand in both of hers, urged him
closer toward her.
"You feel good," she amended. Every word of it was the
truth. God had made this man with such infinite care . . .
even his hands were so carved, so magnificent. Gabriela ran
her marveling touch over his knuckles and palm, through the
valley created by his thumb and forefinger, over his wide
wrist, up his broad forearm.
"And I trow you are feeling much better." Marcus
extricated himself with gentle haste. With equal tension, he
rose from the bed. Though he turned and held out a hand to
assist her up, too, his gaze fled, fast and unfocusing, back out
to the apartment's main area. He was breathing as if he'd just
swum the Channel to France and back. "I'll . . . escort you
back now."
She gave his hand a cursory glance. Then folded her arms
in her lap. "I don't think so."
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That prompted his eyes back to her. Ready for him,
Gabriela responded with a resolute scrutiny of her own.
"Damn it, Gabriela," he finally growled. "If I must be
rude "
"Go right ahead." She rearranged her skirts with dainty
tugs. "It won't change a thing. We have a few things to
discuss, Mr. Danewell namely, why you feel you can appear
and disappear from my life on your whims and I'm not going
anywhere until that is accomplished."
His lips twisted. "I owe you no explanations."
"You owe me quite a number of explanations." She crossed
her knees and shifted her folded hands to cap them. "But
tonight, I'm only interested in a few."
"I want you to leave."
"And I said no."
"Then I order you to leave."
"No."
In a sudden sweep, he hauled her up by the waist. Though
she half-expected it, Gabriela's breath exploded from her in a
whoosh. Despite that, as he snapped her head within inches
of his, she swore she heard a snarl resonate from his throat.
Not a frustrated male snarl. Something more akin to a . . .
hounds of hell snarl.
Marcus didn't give her time to wonder about the
occurrence. "You. Are. Leaving." His grip clamped harder. His
eyes roiled with dark grey thunder.
But despite all the ways he tried, he didn't frighten her.
The old hurt that throbbed anew in her heart that frightened
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her. "No," she rasped at him from the depths of that pain. But
she wouldn't cry. Blast him, he would not make her cry.
"Damn it to hell," Marcus spat. "Why are you being so
difficult about this?"
Too late. Her cheeks burned with wet heat. Furious with
embarrassment, Gabriela fired a glare up at him. "Why did
my kiss repulse you so much?"
His left brow plummeted. "What?"
Gaby notched her chin higher. "You you heard me."
"Aye," he answered, slower and softer. "But what the
bloody why do you think "
"Answer me, damn you!" She freed herself from him in a
shaking backstep. If he was going to reject her, why didn't he
just do it, then?
Marcus stepped to her again, reaching for her hands.
Gabriela slapped him away, trying to move back again, too.
But he trapped her against the bedpost, looming powerfully,
undeniably close.
"What makes you think your kiss repulsed me?"
Each word hung eternally between them, drenching her
senses, like moonlit snowflakes melting into crystalline rain.
Beyond her control, Gabriela's soul drank eagerly of those
precious drops. Like the idiot she was, she accepted them
even in all their feigned tenderness. She closed her eyes and
cursed herself for this unrequited weakness; hated herself for
the fresh rush of tears down her cheeks.
She finally twisted her head away. "Don't," she implored.
"Please don't keep making me believe you care. Just tell me
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the truth this time, Marcus. I want to hear it from your own
lips, then I'll be gone."
"God's blood," he muttered to that. It came as no surprise
that he followed the oath with a grunt of dark laughter. "How
you arrive at these conclusions, woman, pales my
comprehension."
"Don't!" Gaby pushed a fist into his chest. "Damn you, just
stop it! I've been dismissed enough times in my life that I
know how to accept it, all right? But I will not be lied to about
why. Not by you, Marcus!"
"Gabriela." He caught her fist and held on. Tight. "By all
that is in me, I am not dismissing you."
"Liar!"
"I do not lie. But there are things I cannot tell you things
you nay want to know "
"Tell me."
His jaw locked. "I cannot."
"Tell me!"
This time, she didn't dare imagine the expletive he bit
back. It was prelude to his animalistic bellow. "Why?" Marcus
exploded at her, grabbing her other wrist and hauling her
against his heaving chest. "Why do you push me like this?"
The answer erupted out of her before thought or reason or
fear could throw themselves in the way.
"Because," she sobbed, pressing her hand against the side
of his storm-dark face, "Because . . . I'm falling in love with
you."
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SEVEN
* * * *
They both stopped breathing.
Then started again together.
She stared at Marcus through aching tears, enduring the
inevitable barrage on her brain. Oh, Gabriela Angelica. What
have you done now? What have you said now? Nothing
you've thought about, that's for certain. You're still dizzy from
the catwalks. Or fuzzy from the wine. Or hopelessly furious
with this man.
Or hopelessly in love with this man.
No inner argument retaliated to that. Which only squeezed
more painful tears from her heart and released a wave of
realization so strong, she took back her rage, and redirected
it inward.
He'd made things clear from the beginning, hadn't he?
He'd all but commanded her not to need him, declaring his
very world off limits, let alone his heart. But she hadn't
listened. One more time, Gabriela had gambled her soul on
the conviction that if she believed hard enough, wanted
strong enough and worked diligently enough, somebody
would open the gates of their trust and love her in return.
And oh, how she wanted this man to be that someone. She
just had to be an extra good person this time. And she had
been good, hadn't she? Surely God would see that, and give
her the miracle she'd prayed so long for.
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