Italian Bachelors: Devilish D'angelos

‘Pretty girl,’ David Simmons remarked as the two men watched Bryn join Linda out in the hallway before closing the door firmly behind her.

‘Linda?’ Gabriel deliberately misunderstood the older man.

David gave him a knowing glance. ‘Does Miss Jones paint as beautifully as she looks?’

‘More so, if anything,’ Gabriel answered truthfully; Bryn’s work really was exceptional, and he had no doubt that David Simmons would recognise that talent as easily as he had, and would most likely be happy to buy one of her paintings in the exhibition next month.

‘Interesting...’ The older man nodded as he followed Gabriel to the seating area in front of the window.

It wasn’t until much later, after his business with David had been concluded and Linda had escorted the older man down the stairs that Gabriel was able to pause and replay his meeting with Bryn from earlier.

The prickly outspokenness she had been unable to hide had shown that she hadn’t even begun to forgive him for the part he had played in her father’s downfall. A defensive manner that was also an indication of the resentment she felt at having to be even slightly beholden to the D’Angelo family—clearly telling Gabriel that Bryn wouldn’t have entered the New Artists competition, or the Archangel Gallery, if she hadn’t considered it the very last resort. It was—

A glance across the office showed something glinting from beneath one of the armchairs. A something that, upon closer inspection, proved to be an item that he knew must have fallen out of Bryn’s handbag earlier.

* * *

‘And what can I get you to drink this evening— Gabriel?’ The last word came out much louder than Bryn would have wished after glancing up and seeing that her next customer was Gabriel D’Angelo.

A Gabriel D’Angelo who was much more casually dressed—but no less lethally attractive—than he had been in his office earlier today; he wore a thin black cashmere sweater, the sleeves pulled up to just below his elbows—which emphasised every toned muscle and dip of those broad shoulders, chest, and the flatness of his stomach—with faded denims resting comfortably on the leanness of his hips. His overlong dark hair had also been slightly tousled by the warm evening breeze outside and fell softly, rakishly, onto his brow.

He’d claimed earlier never to have been inside a coffee shop, which posed the question of what was he doing in one now? And not just any coffee shop, but the one in which Bryn worked, because there was no way she believed his being here was just a coincidence.

She frowned slightly as she realised the people in the queue behind Gabriel were getting restless; six o’clock in the evening was one of their busiest times, when the people leaving work called in to collect a drink and something to eat on their way home, or to linger in the coffee shop while they relaxed for an hour or so with friends. It was even busier as it was a Friday evening, and the end of the working week for most people.

‘What can I get for you this evening, Mr D’Angelo?’ she repeated tightly.

He looked up at the board behind her. ‘Black coffee?’

‘Black coffee,’ she repeated slowly; the coffee shop served six different brands of coffee and just as many types, as well as several flavoured teas, all of which could have milk, runny or whipped cream or several different flavoured shots, and Gabriel was asking for black coffee!

He nodded. ‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ he drawled derisively.

‘It’s no trouble at all.’ Bryn was aware of the keen eyes of the manager fixed beadily on the two of them as she watched Bryn ring up the sale and take Gabriel’s money—unless, of course, Sally was just enjoying the chance to ogle the six feet three inches of hot, heart-poundingly attractive man standing on the other side of the counter.

Which appeared to be what all the other women in the coffee shop were doing—surreptitiously by the ones with a man of their own, the others openly eating Gabriel up with their eyes!

‘If you would like to follow me,’ Bryn instructed sharply as she moved farther down the crowded counter to fill his order, at the same time allowing one of the other assistants to take her place and serve the next customer. ‘What are you doing here, Mr D’Angelo?’ she muttered under her breath as she prepared his tray.

‘Sorry?’

‘I said—’

‘You’ll have to speak up a little, Bryn,’ he drawled. ‘I can’t hear you with all the other noise and chatter in the room.’

She shot him an irritated frown as she raised her voice slightly. ‘I asked what you’re doing here.’

‘Oh.’ He nodded. ‘You left something of yours on my office floor when you left earlier today, and I thought you might want them back.’

Bryn stilled, her breath catching in her throat, as she realised that the half a dozen or so people standing closest to them had fallen silent as they overheard his remark, their eyes wide as they obviously drew their own conclusions as to what Bryn might possibly have left on Gabriel D’Angelo’s office floor....

* * *

‘Did you do that on purpose?’

Gabriel looked up at Bryn a short time later as she came over to wipe and clear the table next to the one where he sat in a comfortable armchair, enjoying his mug of surprisingly good Colombian coffee. ‘Did I do what on purpose?’

She frowned, her skin appearing creamier than ever against the black T-shirt she now wore in place of the gauzy blouse of earlier. ‘You implied— You deliberately gave the impression a few minutes ago that I had left an item of clothing on the floor of your office earlier today!’

He raised dark brows. ‘I did?’

Bryn’s mouth thinned as she pretended to wipe his table. ‘You know you did.’

He had, yes. Because, until she had seen him, Bryn had looked relaxed and smiling as she served customers, that smile instantly replaced by an annoyed frown the moment she’d recognised him, arousing his own feelings of irritation.

It had been a mistake for him to come here at all; he accepted that now. He should have just passed her property on to Eric Sanders to give back to her on Monday, or bagged it up and had it delivered by courier to her tomorrow rather than come here personally.

He knew he should stay well away from Bryn, that it was better for both of them if he did so; she so obviously wanted nothing to do with him outside Archangel, and he knew from their meeting how dangerous she was to his self-control.

It seemed he just hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming here when the opportunity presented itself.

His jaw tightened. ‘I do have something of yours that I thought you might need returning to you sooner rather than later.’

‘Really?’ She eyed him sceptically.

Gabriel leaned back in the leather armchair to look up at her through narrowed lids. ‘You know, Bryn, I’ve found your attitude towards me to be...less than polite since meeting you. Surprisingly so, considering that I’m one of the owners of the gallery where your paintings are going to be exhibited. If you have a problem with me, or my gallery, then perhaps now might be a good time for you to tell me what that problem is?’

A delicate blush coloured her cheeks as she chewed on her bottom lip, her artistic ambitions obviously once again at war with the past—and present—resentment Bryn felt towards him.

It was a resentment Gabriel understood, and sympathised with, but it rankled that Bryn still so obviously held him to blame for what had happened in the past; Gabriel wasn’t responsible for William Harper’s attempt to sell a forged Turner to the D’Angelos. Only for showing the other man up as the charlatan he so obviously was.

Bryn had initially talked herself into entering her paintings in the New Artists competition by reassuring herself that in all likelihood she would never have to meet any of the three D’Angelo brothers personally. She now found it totally disconcerting that she had met and spoken with one of them—twice in one day!—and that that one should happen be Gabriel!

Even so, she knew she deserved Gabriel’s criticism. She was guilty of allowing the past to influence her manner towards him, something he must consider highly disrespectful, as well as puzzling, given that he only knew her as Bryn Jones, aspiring artist, and had given no indication of recognising her as Sabryna Harper. If Gabriel ever learned the truth, it would no doubt result in that seventh, reserve artist being asked to take her place in the exhibition!

‘I apologise if I’ve seemed less than...grateful, Mr D’Angelo,’ she muttered stiffly. ‘Obviously it’s a privilege and an honour to be chosen as one of the new artists to display their paintings in a gallery as prestigious as Archangel—’

‘As I told you earlier, Bryn, abject apology doesn’t sit well on your slender shoulders,’ he drawled, dark eyes gleaming with mocking humour.

Her gaze fell from his. ‘In that case, I believe you said you came here this evening to return something of mine?’

‘I did, yes.’

‘And?’ she prompted.

He glanced down at the gold watch on his wrist. ‘What time do you finish this evening?’

Bryn frowned. ‘In a couple hours.’

‘Eight o’clock?’

‘Eight-fifteen,’ she corrected warily.

He nodded. ‘Then I’ll meet you outside at eight-fifteen.’

Bryn’s brows rose. ‘I don’t understand.’

He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘I think it would be a good idea for the two of us to have dinner together, so that we can discuss, and hopefully dispose of, whatever your problem is with me or my gallery.’

Bryn’s mouth gaped open. Had she imagined it or had Gabriel just— Had he just invited her to have dinner with him tonight?

No, of course he hadn’t, Bryn answered her own question; Gabriel had made a statement, not asked a question. Because he was a man used to issuing orders and then expecting them to be obeyed? Or simply because it didn’t even occur to him that Bryn—or any other woman, for that matter—would ever think of turning down a dinner invitation with the darkly attractive and eminently eligible Gabriel D’Angelo?

Bryn had a feeling that both of those things were true, but going out to dinner with him, discussing whatever her problem was with him or his gallery, was not an option.

Gabriel could almost see the struggle going on inside Bryn’s beautiful head as she tried to find a polite way of refusing his invitation.

An invitation Gabriel knew he never should have made when he couldn’t even look at Bryn without wanting her and she so obviously detested the very sight of him.

This prickly Bryn was so different from the Sabryna of five years ago, but even then Gabriel had known how much her beauty and innocence had appealed to him. He had only kissed her the once, a sweet and yet arousing kiss, a kiss that had affected him so deeply he had continued to think about her for months after her father’s trial was over and she had refused to so much as see Gabriel again, and off and on in the years that followed too, as he’d found himself wondering what she was doing with her life, if she was happy.

That single meeting with her earlier today had shown him that the woman she had become, the woman she was now, had just as deep an effect on him.

So much so that being alone in his office with her, knowing he would have been able to touch her soft and creamy skin if he had just lifted his hand, and that unique spicy, womanly smell of her had invaded his senses, had resulting in his thinking of nothing else but her for the past six hours.

As for his arousal...! That had been a pounding ache for those same six hours, and even now the hardness of his shaft was pressing painfully against the restricting material of his jeans.

Which was as good a reason as any for him to get the hell as far away from Bryn Jones as was possible.

‘Obviously not,’ he dismissed harshly, pushing his cooling mug of coffee away from him before standing up abruptly. ‘These are yours, I believe,’ he rasped abruptly as he withdrew a silver metal tube from the front pocket of his jeans.

Bryn was still so shocked by Gabriel’s suggestion that the two of them have dinner together this evening that it took several seconds for her to register the significance of the metal tube he held out to her. ‘My reading glasses...’ she finally recognised softly as she took the tube from him, glancing up at him quickly—guiltily—as she realised he really had come here this evening to return something that had obviously fallen out of her handbag earlier.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue before speaking. ‘It was very kind of you to return them to me so promptly and in person.’

He gave a hard, derisive smile. ‘That sounded as if it actually hurt.’

‘Of course it didn’t.’ Her cheeks had warmed at the taunt. ‘And I apologise if you think my manner towards you has been...less than polite. I really am grateful for the opportunity to show my paintings at Archangel.’

‘As far as you’re concerned, Bryn, I am the Archangel Gallery,’ he admonished harshly.

And quite what she was going to do about that Bryn had no idea; she only knew, having come this far, having worked so hard and for so many years towards this, it was now totally unthinkable she should be forced to withdraw her paintings from the exhibition because of the man who owned and ran the gallery! Or for Gabriel to decide her manner was so unacceptable he decided to withdraw them for her.

‘I’m not sure what you mean by that, Mr D’Angelo,’ she prompted uncertainly; she hadn’t forgotten those few brief moments of intimacy between them in his office earlier, when she had been certain that he was going to touch or kiss her breasts. But, grateful as she was that he hadn’t recognised her, if Gabriel believed for one moment that his position as owner of the Archangel Gallery gave him some sort of power over her, then—

‘I’m not sure I like your implication either, Bryn!’ he responded, dismissing that illusion.

Her throat moved as she swallowed before speaking. ‘Maybe we could go somewhere and grab a bite this evening after all? Talk this through—’

‘I can see no point in us even attempting to do that unless you’re going to be completely honest with me.’ Those brown eyes glittered as he looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘Are you going to be honest with me, Bryn?’

Bryn’s breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him sharply, searchingly. Had Gabriel realised who she was after all?

Of course he hadn’t! For one thing Bryn doubted this man had ever given so much as a single thought towards William Harper’s wife and daughter once her father had been sent to prison. For another, she had changed so much in the past five years, not just her name, but the way she looked and behaved too that he couldn’t possibly have recognised her as the gauche teenager he had once kissed. And last, if he had known who she really was, he would never have allowed her anywhere near him or his gallery—

‘Bryn, I need you to go back on the counter now.’ There was an underlying edge of steel to her manager’s tone as her rebuke cut across the tension between Gabriel and Bryn.

Bryn gave a guilty start as she turned to face Sally, knowing that the pointed remark was deserved; she had been talking with Gabriel D’Angelo for far too long. ‘I’ll be right there,’ she promised lightly before turning back to Gabriel. ‘Shall I meet you outside at eight-fifteen?’

For a moment Gabriel thought about refusing, about walking away from this woman and not looking back.

The plans for the exhibition were well in hand, and as such there was absolutely no reason why the two of them should even meet again before the night of that exhibition. Eric was more than capable of handling any and all future meetings with Bryn Jones.

And there were far too many reasons why Gabriel should keep his distance from her....

CHAPTER FOUR

GABRIEL WAS STILL having second, third—and fourth!—thoughts as to the wisdom of meeting up with Bryn Jones again this evening as he sat in his parked car waiting for her to emerge from the coffee shop.

It didn’t take too much intelligence to know what Bryn had been thinking earlier. Or to know why she had thought it. Gabriel’s behaviour earlier hadn’t exactly been businesslike, most especially that remark about her not wearing a bra. Especially considering the fact that he had been down on his knees in front of her, staring at her breasts, when he’d made it!

Which was, Gabriel had reasoned with himself, all the more reason for him to meet with her again this evening, if only to reassure her that the two of them were to have a business relationship in future and nothing more.

Gabriel’s senses all went on full alert—making a complete nonsense of that last sentiment—as he looked through the smoked glass of the window beside him and saw Bryn step out of the coffee shop at last, a short denim jacket over top of the gauzy blouse she had worn earlier today, a frown darkening her creamy brow as she looked for him amongst the crush of people still milling about on the busy pavement.

No doubt she was adding tardiness, or standing her up completely, to Gabriel’s already long list of sins.

* * *

‘Bryn.’

She turned in the direction of Gabriel’s voice, giving a rueful grimace as she saw he had emerged from the sleek black sports car parked illegally outside the coffee shop. The smoky black windows had prevented her from seeing him seated inside. ‘Mr D’Angelo,’ she greeted as she hurried over to where he stood. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long?’ she murmured politely.

‘Not in the least.’ He just as politely opened the passenger door of the car before standing back to allow her to get inside. ‘And it’s Gabriel,’ he reminded her gently.

Bryn didn’t move, or respond to his comment. ‘Er—there’s a pizza place just round the corner.’

He grimaced. ‘I saw it. And trust me, Bryn, what they serve isn’t real Italian pizza.’

‘But—’

‘The name is D’Angelo, Bryn.’ He quirked dark, pointed brows.

It hadn’t been part of Bryn’s plans for this evening to go off somewhere in Gabriel’s car with him. She had envisaged them getting a quick slice at the place round the corner, an hour or so of—hopefully—pleasant conversation, before they each went their separate ways. But, considering this was supposed to be a conciliatory meeting, it would look petty for her to refuse him now—besides which, with his Italian ancestry he probably did know more about pizza than she did!

‘Fine.’ She gave a bright, unconcerned smile as she moved forward to slide into the black-leather passenger seat, determined that this evening was going to go better than their previous two meetings had. Determined that she was going to act more like the fledgling-artist-grateful-to-the-art-gallery-owner-for-this-opportunity that she was supposed to be.

She had to push firmly to the back of her mind that the sleek sports car, the interior smelling richly of leather, along with a spicy, totally male smell that was pure Gabriel, was so reminiscent of that evening he had kissed her.

Gabriel closed the passenger door once Bryn had settled into the seat, before moving back to the other side of the car and resuming his seat behind the wheel. ‘You didn’t have any trouble after I left earlier?’ he prompted as he fastened his seat belt and turned on the ignition.

‘No, it was fine,’ she dismissed; there was no need to tell him of the lecture she had received from Sally earlier about not spending her time talking to one of the customers, no matter how hot he was, and how there were plenty of other people who would like her job if she didn’t want it. ‘Where are we going exactly?’ Bryn prompted interestedly as Gabriel manoeuvred the vehicle out into the evening flow of traffic.

‘It’s a little family-run place I know in a back street in the East End— Trust me on this, Bryn,’ he drawled as he noticed her surprise.

‘I’m sure it’s fine. I was just— It doesn’t sound like your sort of place,’ she amended awkwardly.

‘My sort of place being...?’

Bryn realised she was once again on shaky ground as she heard the hard challenge in Gabriel’s tone; it hadn’t taken long for the tension to return between them, despite her earlier promise with herself to keep the conversation light and pleasant. ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ she answered honestly.

‘Good answer, Bryn.’ Gabriel chuckled wryly, his seat all the way back to accommodate his long legs, and appearing very relaxed as his hands moved lightly on the steering wheel of the powerful sports car.

He had nice hands, Bryn noted abstractedly. Long and artistic, and yet gracefully powerful at the same time. ‘How did you become such an art expert?’ she prompted interestedly. ‘Do you paint yourself? Or did you inherit the galleries?’

It was clear to Gabriel that Bryn had decided to make a concerted effort to be more polite to him and to keep their conversation impersonal rather than personal, if possible. Unfortunately she had chosen the wrong subject if that was her intention.

‘I wanted to paint,’ he answered abruptly. ‘I even took a degree in art with that intention, only to very quickly realise that I’m someone who can appreciate art rather than be good enough to participate.’

‘That’s...unfortunate.’

‘Very.’ One of the biggest disappointments of Gabriel’s life was realising that his real artistic talent was for the visual rather than painting itself.

Bryn was frowning slightly as she turned sideways in her seat to look at him. ‘I can’t imagine not being able to express myself through my painting.’

‘The art world would be all the poorer for it too,’ he assured gruffly. Knowing it was true, that Bryn showed an insight in her paintings, a sense, a knowing, for what was inside her subject, even a dying rose, rather than what was only visible with the naked eye; it was the quality that made her paintings so unique.

‘The art world hasn’t exactly been beating a path to my door before now,’ she said with a shrug.

Gabriel gave her a sideways glance. ‘That’s probably because the galleries you’ve approached with your work before now have all been looking for chocolate-box paintings, stuff they can sell to the tourists to hang in their sitting rooms when they get back home to remind them of their visit to London. Your paintings are too good for that. Archangel would have no interest in showing them if they weren’t.’

Bryn had stilled beside him. ‘I don’t remember mentioning what galleries I’ve approached in the past.’

‘You didn’t need to,’ Gabriel dismissed lightly, having no intention of reigniting the tension between them by confiding that he now had a file on her at Archangel—another file on her. Michael apparently had one too, a security file, although Gabriel hadn’t seen that one. To be fair, they now had a professional file on all seven of the finalists of the competition, which listed previous sales, of which Bryn had three. But Gabriel had good reason to know that Bryn was more sensitive than most—quite rightly so—about sharing the personal details of her life.

‘But—’

‘We’re here,’ Gabriel announced as he saw they had reached Antonio’s; just in the nick of time too, as Bryn seemed intent on pursuing a subject he would rather not continue. ‘Don’t be misled by the exterior. Or the interior either, for that matter,’ he added dryly as he parked the car in front of the small bistro before getting out and moving around to open Bryn’s door for her. ‘Antonio makes the best Italian food in London, and none of his customers gives a damn about the decor.’

Bryn was glad of the warning as they walked into the brightly lit interior. There was a strong smell of garlic in the air, crowded tables covered with plastic red-and-white-checked tablecloths, artificial plants dangling from every conceivable nook and cranny and an overly enthusiastic Italian tenor playing over the audio system.

‘Toni sings and records all his own songs,’ Gabriel explained as he saw Bryn wince at a particularly off-key moment.