She was feeling better this morning. Much better. Her conversation with Aaron the night before had gone well. Although he continued to be disappointed that the wedding was off, he told her over and over again that he would rather have her than a wedding.

“We don’t have to get married right away. We can delay the wedding until you’ve finished grieving. But I still want you, Rachel. I’ll always want you. As my wife, as my lover…Right now, I’ll take whatever I can get, because I love you. Come back to me.”

Aaron’s words burned through the haze of depression and grief that clouded Rachel’s mind. And suddenly, everything was clear. She’d thought she was running away from Scott and her father and the ghost of her mother.

But perhaps she was running from Aaron too, and to hear him voice those words…as if it was possible for her to leave him. As if she could even contemplate staying away from him.

His statement had almost broken Rachel’s heart and made her realize how much she truly wanted to be his wife. And how determined she was not to make him wait too long to be her husband while she sorted herself out. Life was too short to be miserable. Her mother had taught her that.

Gabriel entered the kitchen wearing his glasses, kissed the top of her head, and slid a wad of bills in front of her. She glanced at the cash suspiciously and flipped through it, her eyes widening.

“What’s this for?”

He cleared his throat and sat down next to her. “Aren’t you going shopping with Julianne?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s Julia, Gabriel. And no, we aren’t. She’s working on some project all day with a guy named Paul. Then he’s taking her to dinner.”

Angelfucker, thought Gabriel . The expletive sprang into his mind, unbidden and uncensored, and he tensed, rumbling low in his chest.

Rachel slid the money back to him and returned to her magazine.

He placed the cash in front of her again. “Take it.”

“Why?”

“Buy something for your friend.”

Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Why? This is a lot of money.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“This is five hundred dollars. I know you have money to waste, but jeepers, Gabriel, that’s a bit much.”

“Have you seen her apartment?”

“No. Have you?”

He shifted on his bar stool. “Just for a moment. She was caught in the rain, and I drove her home and…”

“And?” Rachel draped an arm over his shoulder and leaned toward him with a delicious grin. “Spill.”

Gabriel pushed her arm off his shoulder and glared. “It wasn’t like that. But I saw her place briefly while I was dropping her off, and it’s awful.

She doesn’t even have a kitchen, for God’s sake.”

“No kitchen? What the hell?”

“The girl is as poor as a church mouse. Not to mention the fact that she carries around this loathsome excuse for a book bag. Spend all the money on buying her a decent briefcase, I don’t care. But do something. Because if I see that knapsack one more time, I’m going to burn it.”

Gabriel raked his hands through his chestnut hair and finally kept them there, hunching his tall frame over the breakfast bar. With the power of perception only possessed by a sister, Rachel regarded him carefully. Gabriel appeared to be the ideal poker player: impassive, unemotional, cold.

Oh, so very cold. Not merely cool, like a breeze, or water from a stream in the autumn, but cold. Cold like a rock against your skin in the shade of the setting sun. Rachel believed that his coldness was his worst character flaw — his ability to say and do things without regard for the feelings of others, including his family.

Despite his failings, Gabriel was her favorite. And as the baby of the family and ten years younger, she was his favorite too. He’d never fought with her the way he’d fought with Scott or their father. He’d always and only protected her — loved her, even. At his worst, there was no possibility of Gabriel intentionally hurting Rachel. She’d only been hurt by watching him hurt everyone else. Especially himself.

She knew that upon closer inspection Gabriel would make a lousy poker player. He had too many tells, too many ways he revealed his inner turmoil. He shut his eyes when he was close to losing his temper. He rubbed his face when he was frustrated. He paced when he was distressed or afraid.

Rachel watched him begin to pace and wondered what he was afraid of.

“Why are you so worried about her? You weren’t that friendly when she was here for dinner. You won’t call her Julia. ”

“She’s my student. I have to be professional.”

“Professionally mean?”

Gabriel stood still and scowled.

“Fine. I’ll take the money for Julia, and I’ll buy her a briefcase. But I’d rather buy her shoes.”

Gabriel sat back on his bar stool. “Shoes?”

“Yes. What if we were to buy her something to wear? She likes pretty things, she just can’t afford them. And she’s cute, don’t you think?”

Gabriel twitched beneath his gray wool trousers. He brought his thighs closer together to hide the disturbing fact from his sister.

“Spend the money on whatever you like, but you must replace the book bag.”

“Good! I’ll buy her something fabulous. But I’ll probably need more money…and we should take her somewhere special so she can show off her new clothes.” Rachel batted her eyes playfully at her older brother.

Without argument or negotiation, he removed a business card from his wallet, picked up his Montblanc fountain pen, and slowly unscrewed the cap.

“Do normal people still use those kinds of pens, or just medievalists?”

She leaned over inquisitively. “I’m surprised you’re not using a quill.”

Gabriel frowned. “This is a Meisterstück 149 ,” he said, as if that should mean something.

Rachel rolled her eyes as he used his sparkling eighteen karat gold nib to write a brief note on the back of his business card in a confident but old-fashioned hand. Her brother was beyond pretentious.

“There.” He slid the business card across the counter. “I have an account at Holt Renfrew. Show this to the concierge, and he will direct you to Hilary, my personal shopper. She’ll place everything on my account. Don’t go completely mad, Rachel, and you can keep the cash for yourself. Happy Birthday, six months in advance.”

She leaned over to press a light kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. What’s Holt Renfrew?”

“The Canadian Saks Fifth Avenue — they have everything. But you must replace the book bag. That’s all I care about. The rest are just…inconsequential details.” His voice sounded gruff all of a sudden.

“Fine. But I want you to explain why you’re so agitated about an L. L.

Bean knapsack. All the undergrads had one. I had one, for crying out loud.

Before I grew up and discovered Longchamp.”

“I don’t know.” Gabriel removed his glasses and began rubbing his eyes.

“Hmmm. Should I add lingerie to my shopping list? Do you like her — like her?” Rachel grinned annoyingly.

He snorted. “How old are we, Rachel? Remember, she’s my student.

It isn’t about romance — it’s about penance.”

“Penance?”

“Penance. For sin. My sin.”

Rachel snorted. “You really are medieval. What sin have you committed against Julia? Apart from being a jackass! You don’t even know her…”

He replaced his glasses, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He was twitching at the mere thought of sin and Miss Mitchell. Together. In the same room. With him. And nothing else…except perhaps a pair of couture stilettos…which he could finally touch…

“Gabriel? I’m waiting.”

“I don’t need to confess my sins to you, Rachel. I just need to atone for them.” He snatched the magazine out of her hand.

She set her teeth. “How good is your French? And your knowledge of women’s fashion?”

Gabriel glanced down to find the magazine open to a photo of an airbrushed and spread-eagled model wearing a très petite white bikini. His eyes widened.

Rachel crossed her arms in annoyance and glared at him. “Don’t bark at me. I’m not one of your students, and I’m not going to put up with your shit.”

He sighed and began to rub his eyes again, minutely adjusting his glasses to do so.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, returning the magazine, but not before he gave the model one more serious look, purely for research purposes, bien sûr.

“Why are you wound up so tight? Are you having girl troubles? Do you even have a girl right now? When was the last time you had one? And by the way, what’s with those photos in your…”

He interrupted her quickly. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I don’t ask who you’re fucking.”

Rachel bit back an angry response and took a very deep breath. “I’m going to forgive you for that remark, even though it was insensitive and crass. When you’re down on your knees making your penance, include the sin of envy, will you?

“You know I’ve only ever been with Aaron. And I think you know that what we do together goes way beyond what you said. What’s wrong with you?”

Gabriel muttered an apology and refused to make eye contact. But his warning shot across the bow had accomplished what he wished it to, and that was to divert her attention from one of her questions. So he felt no remorse. Not really.

Rachel toyed with her brother’s business card for a moment as she tried to calm down.

“If you don’t like Julia, then you must feel sorry for her. Why? Is it just because she’s poor?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed and shook his head.

“Julia brings out the protective side in people. She was always a little sad and a little lost. Although make no mistake, she has steel in her bones.

She survived an alcoholic mother and a boyfriend who…”

Gabriel’s blue eyes shifted to hers with interest. “Who?” he prompted.

“You said you didn’t want to know about her personal life. It’s too bad, really. If you and she weren’t in a professional relationship, you might have liked her. You might have been friends.”

She smiled at him, testing the waters, but Gabriel kept his eyes on the breakfast bar and began rubbing his chin absently.

Rachel drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Do you want me to tell her the briefcase and the shoes are from you?”

“Of course not! I could get fired for that. Someone will jump to the wrong conclusion, and I’ll be hauled in before the judicial committee.”

“I thought you were tenured.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

“So you want to spend all of this money on Julia, and you don’t care if she knows that they gifts are from you? It’s a bit like Cyrano de Bergerac, don’t you think? I guess your French is better than I thought.”

He stood up, effectively ignoring her, and walked over to the large espresso machine on one of the counters. He began the somewhat laborious process of making the perfect espresso, keeping his back to his annoying sister.

She sighed. “All right. You want to do something nice for Julia. You can call it penance, if you like, but maybe it’s just kindness. And it’s doubly kind, because you want to do it in secret and not embarrass her or make her feel like she owes you something. I’m impressed. Sort of.”

“I want her petals to open,” Gabriel breathed softly.

Rachel dismissed his admission as incoherent mumbling, because she couldn’t believe that he’d said what she in fact heard. It was too bizarre.

“Don’t you think you should treat Julia as an adult and tell her the gifts are from you? Let her make her own decision about whether she should accept them or not?

“She wouldn’t accept them if she knew they were from me. She hates me.”

Rachel laughed. “Julia is not the type of girl to hate people. She’s far too forgiving for that. Although if she hates you, you probably deserve it.

But you’re right — she doesn’t accept charity. She would never let me buy things for her except on very special occasions.”

“Then tell her it’s for a backlog of Christmas presents from you. Or tell her it’s from Grace.” A meaningful look passed between the siblings.

Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. “Mom was the only person Julia would accept charity from, because she thought of Mom as her mother.”

Gabriel was at her side in an instant and wrapped her in his arms, trying to comfort her as best he could.

In his heart, he knew exactly what he was doing by persuading his sister to buy some pretty, girlish things for Miss Mitchell. He was paving hell with energy — buying an indulgence, forgiveness for sin. He’d never reacted this way to a woman before. But no, Gabriel wouldn’t indulge himself with that line of thought. That would serve no purpose, no purpose at all.