‘I was under the impression— Eric told me weeks ago that you would be returning to the Paris gallery after the opening night of the New Artists Exhibition.’
‘Did he?’ Gabriel gave a humourless smile.
Bryn looked up at him searchingly, a sick feeling forming in the pit of her stomach as he met her gaze unblinkingly. ‘You don’t intend going back to Paris tomorrow?’ she guessed weakly.
‘No, I don’t,’ he answered with satisfaction. ‘In fact, Rafe, Michael and I were discussing that very thing when you arrived. Michael is flying to New York tomorrow to take over the gallery there for a month, Rafe is going to Archangel in Paris and I’m staying right here to oversee the rest of the New Artists Exhibition and auction.’
And Bryn knew that the exhibition was being opened to the public tomorrow, the paintings to be on display until they were included in the next Archangel auction in two weeks’ time.
Which meant that Gabriel was going to be in London for at least those same two weeks, possibly longer—and his very presence in London would continue to be such a torment and torture that she wouldn’t know a moment’s peace.
‘Let me go, Gabriel,’ she instructed. ‘Please,’ she added as his arms remained firmly about her waist. ‘I have to be at the coffee shop by ten o’clock.’
He frowned darkly as he slowly released her. ‘You’re working today?’
‘Of course I’m working today,’ she dismissed impatiently as she stepped away from him, finally able to breathe again now that she wasn’t pressed up against the disturbing length of his body. ‘I haven’t sold any of my paintings yet, and I still have my rent to pay at the end of the month,’ she added ruefully.
Gabriel moved to lean back against the front of his desk. ‘As of this morning, one of your paintings has a reserved sticker on it.’
Her gaze sharpened. ‘It does?’
Gabriel nodded. ‘Michael wants it.’
Her eyes widened. ‘He does?’
Gabriel smiled ruefully. ‘Hmm.’
‘Which one?’
‘The rose.’
The dying red rose, Bryn’s representation of the death of hopes and dreams rather than just the flower itself.
Did the austere Michael D’Angelo, a man who gave the appearance of being so totally self-contained, a man who surely had no hopes and dreams to die, appreciate the full meaning of her painting?
‘That’s— I’m flattered,’ Bryn murmured softly.
Gabriel nodded grimly. ‘You should be. Michael’s private art collection is very exclusive. I have every reason to believe that Lord Simmons is very interested in purchasing one too.’
‘That’s...amazing.’ Bryn’s eyes glowed excitedly as she reached out and grasped his hands impulsively. ‘This is really going to happen, isn’t it, Gabriel? I’m really going to sell some of my paintings, maybe even be able to paint full-time!’
‘It’s as real as it gets, yes,’ Gabriel confirmed huskily as he pulled her in between his parted thighs before placing her hands against his chest. ‘Tonight is your night, Bryn.’ His hands cupped either side of her face as he gave in to the hunger and kissed her gently on the lips that had haunted and tormented him for the past five years. ‘And I want you to enjoy it. Every single moment of it,’ he encouraged.
‘Oh, I will,’ she assured him happily, her hands warm against his chest. ‘I— Thank you, Gabriel, for giving me this chance. I really— I know I’ve been difficult on occasion—’ she grimaced ‘—but I—I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.’
Gabriel could only hope that Bryn still felt that way after tonight.
The past two weeks of being close to Bryn, but never quite close enough, had been enough of a hell for Gabriel to know that the two of them couldn’t go on like this indefinitely, that something had to change, and that it wasn’t going to be the way he felt about Bryn.
So he had made his arrangements accordingly. Carefully and quietly. Arrangements that would come to full fruition later this evening.
And he wasn’t sure Bryn would ever forgive him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘IS IT EVERYTHING you hoped it would be?’
Bryn turned to smile warmly at Eric as he came to stand beside her. ‘It’s so much more!’ Her smile widened as he handed her one of the glasses of champagne he carried.
There were over two hundred people crowded into the west gallery for this invitation-only showing, the men all wearing evening suits, the women chic and glittering in their evening gowns and expensive jewellery. Two dozen waiters circulated amongst them carrying trays of finger food and glasses of champagne and half a dozen huge arrangements of flowers perfumed the brightly lit room, all adding to Bryn’s light-headed euphoria.
Bryn had chosen to wear a simple black sheath of an above-the-knee length, her only jewellery a simple silver bracelet about one of her wrists and a silver locket at her throat, both of them presents from her mother.
Her smile faded a little at thoughts of her mother, knowing how much Mary would have loved all of this, how proud she would have been of Bryn’s success. Instead, Bryn still hadn’t so much as dared to tell her mother about the exhibition; how could she when that exhibition was being held at the Archangel Gallery?
As might be expected, the D’Angelo brothers all looked amazingly handsome in their evening suits as they stood head, and sometimes shoulders, above the other guests, the darkness of their different lengths of hair becoming a sable sheen below the glittering lights of the chandeliers above them. Michael was as remotely austere as ever when he gave her a brief nod of acknowledgement earlier, Rafe as rakishly devil-may-care as he shot her another wink.
But to Bryn’s biased gaze Gabriel was far and away the most distinguished man in the room, and she once again found her gaze shifting to the other side of the gallery where he stood in conversation with David Simmons. His mesmerising and dark good looks drew Bryn’s gaze to him again and again as if pulled by a magnet, her heart now skipping a beat as Gabriel laughed easily at something the older man had just said to him.
A heart that ached. To be with Gabriel. To make love with him, just once.
* * *
Gabriel stilled as he felt a prickle of awareness, of being watched, at his nape and down his spine. Allowing his gaze to move unhurriedly about the room, he sought the source of that awareness even as he continued his conversation with the enthusiastic David Simmons.
Bryn.
Standing beside Eric on the other side of the crowded gallery, her eyes a deep and misty grey as they looked directly into his, the fullness of her lips curving into an enigmatic smile.
Gabriel raised his champagne glass to her in a silent toast; the exhibition was only an hour old but already Bryn’s paintings were noticeably attracting the most attention.
