Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary in West ChicagoBy 6:00 PM, the rain over Chicago’s west side fell in heavy, steady sheets, washing away the dirt left on my driveway.
Dominic Moretti and his men had been removed quietly by Gabriel's loyal lieutenants, the front doors were locked, and the sheer white curtains were drawn tight against the storm.
My studio was warm, smelling of pine floor polish, fresh rain, and the rich, cedarwood scent of Gabriel’s expensive cologne.
Rose sat in the plush armchair near the reception desk, sipping sweet tea, reading a magazine, while Gabriel and I stood in the center of the polished maple floor under the warm yellow overhead lights.
The soft, romantic notes of a classic instrumental waltz floated from the speakers.
Gabriel held my left hand in his broad, calloused palm. His other hand rested gently against my shoulder blade—not gripping like I owed him money, but holding me with an iron, protective reverence that made every nerve in my body tingle with a sweet, dangerous heat.
"Slow... slow... quick... quick," I instructed softly, guiding his frame through a smooth, circular box step.
Gabriel stepped forward. His leather shoes glided effortlessly across the maple floor, his broad shoulders moving in perfect, unhurried harmony with mine. He didn't look down at his feet. His dark, storm-gray eyes remained locked entirely onto my face.
"You learned fast, Mr. Moretti," I murmured, my heart hammering against my ribs as his warm breath brushed against my temple.
"Call me Gabriel, Claire," he requested, his baritone dropping into a quiet, intense rhythm. "When I'm in this room... I don't want to be Mr. Moretti."
"And what do you want to be, Gabriel?" I asked softly, my hazel eyes searching his handsome, severe features.
Gabriel stopped in the center of the floor, his frame sweeping me close against his broad chest, his long fingers tightening slightly against my waist.
"I want to be a man who can hold a woman without controlling her," Gabriel confessed softly, his storm-gray eyes burning with an unshakeable, terrifying honesty. "For fifteen years, everyone in this city has looked at me with fear or greed. You looked at me, laughed at my pride, and told me I was holding a person."
A hot, thrilling blush flared across my cheeks and neck. I looked up into his face, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart beating against my chest beneath his silk shirt.
"You are a person, Gabriel," I whispered gently. "A very dangerous one... but a person."
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Gabriel offered a rare, breathtaking smile—a look of pure, unarmored warmth that transformed his fierce face into something agonizingly handsome.
"Then teach me how to dance with you, Claire," Gabriel promised into my hair. "Not just for twelve lessons... but for as long as you'll have me."
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