Gabriel's Angel by Nora Roberts Page A

again. “Or, if I’m feeling reckless, champagne. French, in fluted crystal.”
    â€œIt’s too bad I don’t have any wineglasses handy. It would help the illusion. Are you hungry?”
    â€œIt’s a myth about eating for two, and if I gain much more weight I’ll begin to moo.” Content, she settled back again. “That painting of Paris . . . did you do it here?”
    He glanced over at the work. So she’d been there, he thought. It was a moody, almost surreal study of the Bois de Boulogne. “Yes, from old sketches and memory. When were you there?”
    â€œI didn’t say I’d been to Paris.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t have recognized it otherwise.” He took the empty glass out of her hand and set it aside. “The more secretive you are, Laura, the more it makes me want to dig.”
    â€œA year ago,” she said stiffly. “I spent two weeks there.”
    â€œHow did you like it?”
    â€œParis?” She ordered herself to relax. It had been a lifetime ago, almost long enough that she could imagine it had all happened to someone else. “It’s a beautiful city, like an old, old woman who still knows how to flirt. The flowers were blooming, and the smells were incredible. It rained and rained, for three days, and you could sit and watch the black umbrellas hurrying by and the blossoms opening up.”
    Instinctively he put a hand over hers to calm the agitated movement of her fingers. “You weren’t happy there.”
    â€œParis in the spring?” She concentrated on making her hands go limp. “Only a fool wouldn’t be happy there.”
    â€œThe baby’s father . . . was he with you there?”
    â€œWhy does it matter?”
    It shouldn’t have mattered. But now, whenever he looked at the painting, he would think of her. And he had to know. “Did you love him?”
    Had she? Laura looked back at the fire, but the only answers were within herself. Had she loved Tony? Her lips curved a little. Yes, she had, she had loved the Tony she’d imagined him to be. “Very much. I loved him very much.”
    â€œHow long have you been alone?”
    â€œI’m not.” She laid a hand on her stomach. When she felt the answering movement, her smile widened. Taking Gabe’s hand, she pressed it against her. “Feel that? Incredible, isn’t it? Someone’s in there.”
    He felt the stirring beneath his hand, gentle at first, then with a punch that surprised him. Without thinking, he moved closer. “That felt like a left jab. Makes you feel as though it’s fighting to get out.” He knew the feeling, the impatience, the frustration at being trapped in one world while you longed for another. “How does it feel from the other side?”
    â€œAlive.” Laughing, she left her hand over his. “In Dallas they put a monitor on, and I could hear the baby’s heartbeat. It was so fast, so impatient. Nothing in the world ever sounded so wonderful. And I think . . .”
    But he was looking at her now, deeply, intently. Their hands were still joined, their bodies just brushing. Even as the life inside her quickened, so did her pulse. The warmth, the intimacy, of the moment washed over her, leaving her breathless and full of needs.
    He wanted to hold her, badly. The urge to gather her close and just hold on was so sharp, so intense that he hurt. He dreamed of her every night when he struggled for sleep on the floor of the spare room. In his dreams they were curled in bed together, with her breath warm on his cheek and her hair tangled in his hands. And when he woke from the dreams he told himself he was mad. He told himself that again now and moved aside.
    Though they were no longer touching, he could feel, as well as hear, her long, quiet sigh.
    â€œI’d like to work some more, if you’re up to it.”
    â€œOf course.” She