through his hair.
She looked across at Gabriel searchingly, noting the dark shadows beneath his eyes, the sharp blade of his cheekbones above slightly hollow cheeks, lines etched beside his nose and mouth that she was sure hadn’t been there before, and realised that this past week really hadn’t been any easier for Gabriel than it had been for her.
‘Why won’t you just accept that I can’t do this, Gabriel?’ she groaned achingly.
‘Because neither of us knows what this is yet,’ he maintained stubbornly. ‘And I’m not willing to just give up on it until we do know.’
She gave a shake of her head. ‘Isn’t it enough that we both know that the events of the past makes this impossible?’
‘I refuse to accept that.’ His gaze was tormented as he reached across the table to once again take one of her hands in his.
‘You have to! We both do.’
Gabriel gave a shake of his head. ‘Did you speak to your mother?’
‘About you?’
‘Obviously not about me,’ he drawled knowingly at her shocked expression. ‘But did you at least ask her to confirm the things I told you about your father?’
‘And what if I did?’ Colour warmed her cheeks as she avoided meeting his gaze. ‘Knowing who and what my father was, the things he did, changes nothing, Gabriel.’
‘It means we can put the past where it belongs—in the past! It can’t be undone, or remade, because it is what it is, but if we— If we want each other enough, we should be able to talk about it, to get by it. And I do want you, Bryn, and the trembling of your hand when I touch you is enough to tell me that you still want me too.’ His fingers tightened about her shaking ones as she would have pulled away. ‘Nothing else matters at this moment but that.’
‘And what about later? What happens once the—the wanting has all gone, Gabriel?’ Tears glittered in her eyes. ‘What happens then?’
‘Who says it’s ever going to be gone?’
‘I do.’
‘Then we deal with later when later comes along,’ he stated firmly. ‘For now I just want us to be together and see where this takes us. Can we do that, do you think?’ The soft pad of his thumb caressed the back of her hand as he looked across at her intently.
Could they? This past week had been absolute hell for Bryn too, her desire for this man taking over her every thought as she remembered how it had been between them that night in Gabriel’s office. The way they had still responded to each other despite both knowing who the other was, before her feelings of guilt had once again made her deny that desire she still felt for him. A desire that Gabriel so obviously reciprocated and refused to dismiss. Refused to allow her to dismiss.
Could the two of them really have a relationship for however long these feelings lasted and simply ignore the pain of the past?
Could she do that?
CHAPTER NINE
‘COME IN AND make yourself at home, Bryn, and I’ll pour us both a glass of wine,’ Gabriel encouraged huskily as she stood hesitantly in the doorway to the sitting room of his apartment.
He had felt an inner sense of relief earlier, when Bryn had finally capitulated to the idea of the two of them meeting up again when she finished work at ten; he might have deliberately given her the impression he was both confident and unyielding in his demand for them to talk this evening, but inwardly he hadn’t been at all sure, until that moment, that Bryn would agree.
Gabriel had been waiting outside in his car for her when she and several of her co-workers left the coffee shop a little after ten o’clock, the two of them not speaking after he climbed out of the car and opened the passenger door for her to get in, or during the short drive to his apartment.
She had lost weight, he realised as Bryn finally entered the sitting room, the black denims she wore not quite as figure-hugging as they had been a week ago, her collarbone visible at the open neck of her black shirt, those grey eyes appearing huge in the paleness of her face. Evidence that she was finding fighting the attraction between them as difficult as he was? Gabriel certainly hoped so, because this past week of not seeing her since the two of them had made love together had been sheer torture.
His expression softened as Bryn sank down wearily into the comfort of one of the brown leather armchairs. ‘Busy evening?’ he prompted as he poured two glasses of pinot grigio.
‘Very.’ Bryn accepted one of the glasses before taking a welcome sip. ‘You have a nice apartment,’ she added with an appreciative glance at the obviously masculine decor and original artwork on the walls.
‘It isn’t mine particularly.’ He shrugged. ‘We all use it whenever we’re in London— Don’t worry, Bryn, Michael and Raphael aren’t in London at the moment,’ he added ruefully as she instantly looked alarmed. ‘Michael is in Paris, Raphael in New York.’
Her frown eased slightly. ‘They really are wonderful names.’
He nodded. ‘The family estate in Berkshire is called Archangel’s Rest—and, I assure you, I’ve heard all the jokes.’
She smiled slightly but it quickly faded. ‘Gabriel, I only came back with you tonight because I agree that we need to dispense with this situation once and for all, and then just move on— What are you doing?’ she gasped as Gabriel put his glass down on the coffee table before kneeling down at her feet and beginning to unfasten the laces on her shoes.
He looked up to quirk a teasing brow. ‘Removing your shoes, obviously.’
‘Why?’ She tried, and failed, to pull her foot from his grasp as he slipped one shoe off before turning his attention to the other.
Gabriel sat back on his heels after removing the second shoe. ‘I’m guessing your feet ache from all that standing?’
‘Yes.’
He nodded. ‘Then a foot massage should be very welcome about now.’
‘A foot— Gabriel, stop that.’ She tried to pull away as he took one of her bare feet into both his hands and began to gently knead the aching flesh. ‘Gabriel!’ Her protest was less convincing this time, and she gave a low sigh of pleasure as his fingers continued to massage the tension from her tired muscles.
‘Good?’ he prompted.
‘Oh, yes.’ Her head fell back against the chair, lashes fanning over her cheeks as her lids closed and Gabriel continued to knead and massage her foot.
She had tiny elegant feet, the nails painted a bright—and defiant—red, Gabriel noted indulgently as he turned his attention to her other foot and continued to massage her aching muscles.
Bryn knew she should stop Gabriel doing what he was doing, that his kneeling at her feet was intimate enough, without the sensuous touch of his long fingers massaging her to add to that dangerous intimacy.
She should stop him.
But she couldn’t.
