She was so tiny in his arms, although some considered her tall for a woman. As if God above specifically constructed her to fit his measurements, she molded against his frame like wet silk.

Bending slightly, Gabriel scooped Celia up, inwardly amused when she gave a muffled cry of surprise. She never stopped kissing him, however, not even when he stalked to a chair by the window and gently deposited her in it.

Only when he straightened did their lips finally part. Harsh pants for breaths hung suspended between them as Gabriel stared down at her. He must commit to memory this moment. The moment when this lovely creature gazed at him as if he’d hung the moon and presented her with all the stars in the sky as gifts. He would, too, if it were possible to accomplish such a fanciful notion.

“Gabriel,” Celia’s whisper was one of longing.

It was the first time she’d used his given name. By God, Gabriel decided he would happily give the Devil his soul if it meant hearing her say it again while he was deep inside her.

“Shhh,” he murmured. Looking around, he found the matching footstool and dragged it closer with the toe of his boot. “Let me see the extent of your injury.”

Celia peered up at him, then, with a deep sigh, nodded her consent. She watched as he pulled the low, upholstered stool in front of her and sank upon it. Very carefully, he lifted her leg and placed her foot in his lap. He slipped off her shoe, then after a moment of hesitation, dispensed with the other as well.

His hands traveled over her ankle beneath the mound of her skirts, gently skimming the network of bones and tendons under her silk stockings. When he glanced up at her, she was watching him with an expression of dazed sensuality.

“May I remove your stockings, Celia?”

He promised himself he would stop if she asked, but she simply nodded her head and said, “Yes.”

His hands trembled as they slid up until he reached her knee. A banding of ribbon held the stockings in place, and he expertly dispensed with the flimsy garments before she could change her mind. Pulling her injured ankle up so that her foot rested in his lap, he examined it. The bruises were turning an awful color, but there was relatively little swelling.

Gabriel’s eyes met hers. “You did this trying to get away from me today, isn’t that so?”

There was a flash of rebellion in her dark gaze, but her head moved in a quick jerk of agreement.

For several minutes, he stroked the softness of her skin, marveling over the fineness of it until Celia drifted into a state of drowsy acceptance.

“I’m sorry I stole your horse,” she mumbled, eyes half closed.

“Arion lived up to his name, I think.” Gabriel’s lips tugged upward with amusement at her slight frown of confusion. “He carried you swiftly away from danger, did he not?”