Free Gabriel's Redemption (Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy) by Sylvain Reynard

the Witch and the Wardrobe
.”
    “That’s what they say,” Gabriel said in a clipped voice.
    She rested her forehead against the leaded glass. “Do you think his ghost ever wanders around here?”
    “I doubt he’d haunt a room like this.” Gabriel sniffed. “He’s probably at the pub.”
    Julia closed her eyes. It had been a long day, traveling from the hotel in London to the railway station, then to Oxford, and now here. She was so very, very tired.
    He took in her subdued form from across the room.
    “There’s no such thing as ghosts, Julianne. You know that.” His voice was gentle.
    “What about when you saw Grace and Maia?”
    “That was different.”
    She looked at the statues wistfully before joining him at the door, wearing a defeated expression.
    “Would it make you unhappy to stay at the hotel?” His eyes searched hers. “We’d have greater privacy.”
    “We would, yes.” She looked away.
    He glanced at the twin beds. “Sex is almost impossible in those things. There isn’t enough room.”
    She smirked. “That isn’t how I remember it.”
    A slow, provocative smile spread across his face, and he brought his lips within inches of hers.
    “Is that a challenge, Mrs. Emerson?”
    Julia regarded him for a moment. Then she seemed to shrug off her fatigue as she wrapped his silk tie around her hand, pulling his mouth to hers.
    Gabriel dropped their luggage and kissed her, forgetting his irritation. Then he reached back with his foot and kicked the door shut behind them.

Chapter Eight
    S ome time later, Gabriel was entwined with his wife in one of the narrow beds. She breathed his name against his chest.
    “You haven’t lost your skill. I found your most recent innovation extremely—satisfying.”
    “Thank you.” His chest swelled. “It’s late now. Time for sleep.”
    “I can’t.”
    Gabriel coaxed her chin upward. “Are you worried about your paper?”
    “I want to make you proud.”
    “I will always be proud of you. I
am
proud of you.” His blue eyes lasered into hers.
    “What about Professor Picton?”
    “She wouldn’t invite you if she thought you weren’t ready.”
    “What if someone asks me a question and I don’t know the answer?”
    “You answer it as best you can. If they press you, you can always say they’ve asked a good question and you’ll give the matter some thought.”
    Julia rested against his chest, her fingers scaling his abdominal muscles.
    “Do you think if I asked C.S. Lewis to intercede on my behalf, he’d pray for me?”
    Gabriel snorted.
    “Lewis was a Protestant from Northern Ireland. He didn’t believe in petitioning the saints. Even if he heard you, he’d ignore you. On principle.
    “Ask Tolkien. He was Catholic.”
    “I could ask Dante to pray for me.”
    “Dante is already praying for you.” He spoke against her hair.
    Julia closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. She always found its rhythm comforting.
    “What if people ask why you left Toronto?”
    “We’ll say what we always say—I wanted to be in Boston because you were going to Harvard and we were getting married.”
    “Christa Peterson has been telling a different story.”
    The Professor’s eyes narrowed. “Forget about her. We don’t need to worry about her at this conference.”
    “Promise me you won’t lose your temper if you hear something—unsavory.”
    “Give me a little credit.” He sounded exasperated. “We’ve had to deal with gossip at BU and Harvard and I haven’t lost my temper.”
    “Of course.” She kissed his chest. “But academics get bored and like to talk. Nothing is more exciting than a sex scandal.”
    “I beg to differ, Mrs. Emerson.” Gabriel’s eyes twinkled.
    “Oh, really?”
    “Sex with you is more exciting than a scandal.”
    He flipped her to her back and proceeded to kiss her neck.

    Before the sun peeked over the horizon, Julia crept back into the room. A shaft of light from the window partially illuminated the