never let go of him. There was always some part of her connected to him — mouth, hand, breast. It was as though she knew that to break the connection was to break the spell.
And then their bodies joined as one and Gabe was lost to it, riding a wave of unbelievable joy that he had found something he’d not thought possible to ever find since Lauren and Henry had died. It wasn’t love — he knew that. It wasn’t even affection because they’d barely paused to consider any fondness which might exist between them. He couldn’t call it emotional … there hadn’t been time to build this relationship.
It was purely the physical closeness to another that he’d denied himself for so long. She was unlocking years of pent-up need. There was nothing else but Angelina in his hollow, sterile life. Only her — beneath and above him. She was suddenly his sun, his sky, his earth, his sea. And he travelled with her now, drowning in her depths and soaring to her heights.
Did it last for eternity or was it just a brief interlude? Gabe lay confused and ashamed. The candles still blinked and guttered softly from a draft somewhere; the bloodstained tea towel still lay on the floor where it had dropped. His thumb had stopped bleeding now but he could see smudges of blood on the sheets. He glanced at the clock next to the bed. It was only just coming up to nine. He’d arrived at his building at around seven-forty he guessed. So he’d lost not even an hour and a half of his life and yet it felt as though he’d been absent for days.
He turned to gaze at Angelina, sleeping as still as a corpse next to him with her lips parted. There was blood smeared on her cheek where he’d held her face to kiss her, and seeing the blood reminded him of René’s warning. She will bring you harm. He leaned close until he could feel her breath against his lips, smell that curious hint of sweet violets on it. Her skin looked lilac-blue in the low light, except that her cheeks had a small pinch of colour, as though they alone held the memory of their passion. He swung his legs to the floor and held his face.
‘Insensé!’ he cursed beneath his breath. ‘Vous êtes fou!’
She stirred. ‘Who is mad?’ But she rolled over and her mumbling dissipated.
Gabe watched her for a moment, struck again by her ethereal beauty, the dark almost black hair such a contrast to the pale skin. He smiled in spite of himself — she was irresistible and he could only imagine what René would think if he could see this scene.
René. There had to be fallout from this. The man so jealously guarding Angelina was hardly going to take this event on the chin and with a grin. Gabe sighed again.
He padded over to the coffee machine and flicked it on. All he knew was that the myriad sensations of being with Angelina had swept away years of pain. As he ground the coffee beans, heedless of whether it disturbed his guest, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Turning around, he was alarmed to see the raven sitting on the balcony, backlit by the streetlight so that a halo of gold surrounded its menacing shape. It made no sound. Gabe was speared by its gaze, and Angelina’s arrival into the kitchen area nearly made him yell with fright.
‘Hello,’ she said sleepily.
He snapped his fear-filled attention from the bird to her. ‘Evening,’ he replied, as casually as he could. He glanced back to the window but the raven was gone.
‘What time is it?’ she asked, yawning.
‘Well past nine. Toast? Coffee?’
She shook her head with a smile. ‘But thank you.’
‘Do you ever eat?’
Angelina laughed. ‘I suppose I’d better go.’
He wasn’t sure what to say and watched her turn away. He took another worried look at the window. The bird was definitely no longer there but he felt rattled by its presence. Neighbours hadn’t mentioned ravens. He would have to make some enquiries.
Gabe sipped his espresso before moving after Angelina. She was pulling on her clothes. She’d never looked more desirable than now, half-dressed, her hair tousled and a bit sleepy still.
‘You don’t have to leave, you know.’
Angelina paused. ‘I’ll be missed.’
‘You never did tell me how you slipped René’s watch.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I just feel lucky I’ve had this chance to be alone.’ She shrugged.
‘Does he lock you up?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve never disobeyed him.’
‘I’ve noticed. You’ve had opportunities to slip him even in my presence.’
‘No point.’
‘Why?’
‘Because here is where I want to be.’
He frowned. Didn’t understand. Angelina was behaving in an obtuse manner.
‘Here? But you don’t like Paris, you said you wanted to leave … and go home. A home that was far away.’
‘I’m glad you paid attention.’
‘You’re hard to ignore.’
She pulled on her sweater, a small strip of her belly showing at its lower edge. And once again he felt a pulse of desire. Not again, he told himself.
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Angelina remarked and sat on the bed to pull on her boots.
‘Except what we did was wrong.’
‘Why?’ she asked conversationally, not even looking at him.
‘I mean, what I did was wrong.’
Now she gazed up at him. ‘I had some say in it, you know.’
‘Yes,’ he sighed, all too aware of how patronising he was sounding. ‘I’m trying to say that the blame is mine, not yours.’
She looked at him unimpressed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It looked very much to me like I was seducing you.’
‘Yes, but —’
‘And men are so predictable in this regard,’ she added, echoing his earlier thought.
‘We’re simple creatures,’ he said in mock apology.
‘Not you, Gabe,’ she said.
He gave a low snort. ‘I’m as simple as the next man.’
Angelina stood and walked over to him. He loved the way she moved. Silent and as though she glided over the surface of his carpet. ‘You underestimate yourself.’
‘And you know so much about me,’ he gently rebuked her.
‘You’d be surprised how much I do know.’
‘Angelina, don’t go.’
‘Why?’
‘Because
