Gabriel's Mission

“Hi,” he offered with dark, gleaming eyes. “You look enchanting.” A rare enough quality, but it was true. Tonight she wore her marvellous hair—red, amber, gold, a combination of all three—in an unfamiliar style. Pulled back off her face and arranged in a thick upturning roll but molten little tendrils sprang out around her face and nape. Her deep blue eyes, large and liquid, had picked up the colour of her dress, her skin was blushed porcelain, her mouth surprisingly full, tender, even a little pouty. He wondered as he always did what it would be like to kiss it, to open soft lips with the tip of his tongue.

She was always immaculately turned out in her little blouses and skirts, the snappy little suits, but he had never seen her in an evening dress before. The frothy shimmering ruffle of the bodice plunged low to reveal the shadowed cleft between her delicate breasts. He had to fight down the irresistible urge to reach for her. He knew she would only recoil in dismay.

“Why, thank you.” She dropped a graceful little bob, some note in his voice had got to her. This was McGuire, remember? Her old combatant and sparring partner. “Would you like to come in for a moment?” Keeping him on the doorstep was impossibly rude.

“Yes, I would.” He stepped across the threshold, looking like someone who could very easily mix it with the mega-rich. “This is a wonderful old house,” he said almost wistfully, glancing down the wide hallway with its glowing parqueted floor and rosy Chinese rug. A circular rosewood library table holding a jade horse on a carved stand and a large crystal bowl massed with white roses stood midway between the graceful arches that led to the formal rooms.

“I love it.” Chloe smiled, standing at his shoulder. “Let me show you through, that’s if we have time.”

“I’d like that.” Amazingly his whole expression had softened. “The house was built by your great-grandfather, I understand.” It had heritage listing he knew.

Chloe paused, lifting her chin. She so hated people talking about her. “Who told you that?”

He gave an easy shrug of his powerful shoulders, breaking the slight tension. “I do a lot of checking.”

“I suppose it goes with the territory,” she answered wryly.

“You should know, Chloe.”

At the use of her Christian name, so honeyed and intimate, a mild giddiness overtook her.

“If one could really chart the course of one’s life, this is just the sort of house I’d have liked to live in,” he said.

“Really? I thought you’d like something very modern, very strong, with sweeping clear places.” And terrible pictures that looked like cubic puzzles on the walls.

Once again his black eyes roved over her, checking out her too innocent expression. “I won’t say I don’t like to integrate old and new, but in terms of architecture I love these old Queensland Colonials with their sweeping verandah and white iron lace. They’re perfect for the subtropical climate. I particularly like the high ceilings and large rooms.”

“A big man would.” She was surprised by how sweetly that came out. They walked side by side, Chloe in her exquisite flowered chiffon, McGuire in his beautifully cut evening clothes. It was all so extraordinarily civilised.

“Someone had a very graceful hand with the decorating,” he commented.

Chloe felt her throat tighten. “My mother.” She couldn’t say a word more.

He admired the classic elegance of the living room, the mix of fine antique pieces with overstuffed chintz-covered sofas and armchairs in shades of ivory, peach and rose. A huge gilt-framed antique mirror hung over the fireplace with its beautiful white marble surround, and he walked towards it, studying the detail. “It must comfort you to have the stamp of her personality all around you.”

“Sometimes,” Chloe said softly, surprised by his perceptiveness. “Other times it hurts dreadfully.” She gestured towards an adjoining room. “Come through to the library. It’s my favourite room.”

The instant before she turned on the lights, Chloe came close to believing someone was sitting in her father’s wing-back chair beside the fireplace. She even drew in her breath.

“Everything okay?” McGuire stood very close, tall, powerful, protective.

“Of course.” It had to be an optical illusion. Particularly when she had the sense of someone small. Her father had been almost as tall as McGuire, but a completely different build, very spare with long, elegant limbs. She didn’t feel ready to deal with the odd things that were happening to her. She couldn’t dismiss them, either.

“You’ve gone a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” she said huskily.

“Do you ever feel nervous by yourself?”

“I’ve got my guardian angel on call.” Her eyes mirrored the sudden comfort that wrapped her soul.

“I’m glad.” His finger touched the tip of her nose, gentle as a feather, then he turned to inspect the large, graceful room.

He looked around keenly, showing considerable interest in everything, Chloe thought, the plaster work, the cedar panelling, the inbuilt floor-to-ceiling bookcase, the leatheround gold-foiled volumes. Even the 19th-century French gilt chandelier. If she gave him enough time he might make an offer for house and contents. “You must have enjoyed growing up here,” he murmured, the slight moodiness of his expression lending him the disturbing charm of Jane Eyre’s Rochester.

She couldn’t speak for a moment until her voice was under control. Though he was far from her ideal, he was, she began to realise, a ruggedly handsome man who carried himself superbly. “Where did you grow up?” she asked gently. The graciousness of her own surroundings were definitely having their effect on her, but he smiled his familiar taut smile.

“A small town outside Sydney, but I guess what you’d call the wrong side of the tracks.”

For once a sharp retort was easy to resist. “But you’ve come a long way.”

“That was the intention, Chloe. As far away as I could get.” The intonation was harsh. He shot back a cuff and glanced down at his gold watch. “Thank you for showing me your beautiful home. I’d like to see more, but I think we should be on our way.”

“Of course.” She flushed a little and as he passed her, he very gently stroked her cheek. “Now I know why you’re such a princess,” he said in a deep, low voice.

They were gliding away from the house before she could contribute another word. “I didn’t know you drove a Jaguar?” It was, in fact, a late model.

“I’ve been promising myself one since I was a kid.”

“It’s my kind of car.” She smiled.

“Of course. You didn’t think I was going to pick you up in what I drive to work?”

“I didn’t think at all.”

“Why’s that, Cavanagh?” He shot her a challenging glance.

“Hey, you’ve been calling me Chloe,” she protested for a second, strangely hurt.

“And you’ve been calling me nothing at all. To my face. I know what you call me behind my back.”

“Oh, please, don’t believe it all.” Chloe was embarrassed. “We’re going to a party, remember?” She realised with a sense of shock she wanted to maintain the unusual harmony that flowed between them.

“So, say it, then,” he prompted gruffly.

“Say what?” Inside the soft enfolding darkness of the beautiful car with its smell of fine leather mingled with her own perfume, the atmosphere was oddly intimate.

“My name,” he answered, shooting a glance at her. “Gabe, Gabriel, whatever you like.”

Chloe sucked in her breath. “Gabriel, the Messenger of God. You must admit it’s a shade incongruous with your powerful physique and dark colouring.”

“You’d relate better to Lucifer?”

She could see his eyes, dark and shimmery like the night. “Even for you that’s too scary. What do you say to a truce? I’ll call you Gabriel for the night, if you continue to call me Chloe. We can revert to our normal selves Monday morning.”

“Suits me.” He nodded. “I mean, can you imagine us being friends?” He sounded openly mocking and he had good reason.

“You know what they say, anything’s possible,” Chloe replied jauntily.