both fell silent as she hurried over to the pushchair before going down on her haunches to coo and attempt to gently soothe the second baby.
Michael had seen and heard enough. ‘Will someone, for the love of God, tell me what the hell is going on here?’ His voice cut harshly through the cacophony of noise.
* * *
Silence.
Absolute blissful silence, Eva realised with a sigh of appreciation for her aching head, as not only the two employees of the Paris Archangel remained silent, but even the babies’ cries both quietened down to a soft whimper.
Eva remained down on her haunches as she turned to look through sooty black lashes at the source of that harshly controlling voice, her eyes widening as she took in the appearance of the man standing across the hallway.
He was possibly aged in his mid to late thirties, his short black hair was neatly trimmed about his ears and nape, and framed an olive-skinned and handsomely etched face that any of the male models Eva had photographed at the beginning of her career would surely die for. Dark brows arched above eyes of obsidian black, his nose a long straight slash between high cheekbones, with sculptured, slightly sensual lips above a firm and determined chin.
His wide shoulders, muscled chest, tapered waist, and lean hips above long legs also ensured that he wore the expensively tailored dark suit, white silk shirt and grey tie, rather than the clothes wearing him.
And leaving Eva in no doubt, along with the deference on the faces of the two silent gallery employees, and the fact that he had come from the office across the hallway, that this man had to be D’Angelo. The very man she had come here to see!
It was a realisation that ensured there was absolutely no deference in Eva’s own expression as she straightened before crossing the room to thrust Sophie at him. ‘Take her so I can get Sam,’ she instructed impatiently as he made no effort to lift the baby from her arms but instead looked at her incredulously, down the long length of his aristocratic nose, with those black-on-black eyes.
Michael found himself having to look a long way down. Goodness, this woman was small, only an inch or two over five feet tall compared to his own six feet three inches. She had a coltish slenderness that was saved from appearing boyish by full and thrusting breasts tipped by delicate nipples, breasts that were completely bare beneath the purple T-shirt, if Michael wasn’t mistaken. And he was pretty sure that he wasn’t.
Those full breasts, along with the confident glint in those violet-coloured eyes surrounded by thick sooty lashes, were enough to tell Michael that she was indeed a woman rather than a girl, and possibly aged in her early to mid-twenties.
She was also, he acknowledged grudgingly, extremely beautiful, her face dominated by those incredible violet-coloured eyes, a short pert nose, and full and sensuous lips, while her skin was as pale and delicate as the finest porcelain. Dark shadows beneath the violet eyes gave her an appearance of fragility.
A fragility that was somewhat nullified by the stubborn set of the woman’s full lips above an equally determined and thrusting chin.
Michael dragged his gaze away from that arrestingly beautiful face to instead stare down in horror at the pink-dress-clad baby this young woman held out in front of him; horror, because he had absolutely no experience with holding young babies. How could he have, when he had never been this close to a small baby since being one himself?
He recoiled back from the now-drooling infant. ‘I don’t think—’
‘I’ve found that it’s best not to think too much around Sophie and Sam, especially now they’re teething,’ he was assured dryly. ‘You might want to put this on your shoulder to protect your jacket.’
The woman handed him a square of white linen as she dumped the baby unceremoniously into his arms before turning to stride back across the office, giving Michael a perfect view of her curvaceous denim-covered bottom as she bent down to unclip the strap that secured the second, still-whimpering baby into the pushchair.
Michael held the first baby—Sophie?—at arm’s length, totally at a loss as to what to do with her, and more than a little disconcerted to find himself the focus of eyes the same beautiful deep violet colour as her mother’s. A steady and intense focus that seemed far too knowing, almost mocking it seemed to him, for a baby of surely only a few months old.
Eva lifted Sam up out of the pushchair as she straightened, more than a little annoyed that the two gabbling Archangel employees had woken the babies up at all; it had taken the whole of the walk from the hotel to the gallery to lull them into falling asleep in the first place, after a disjointed night of one or other of the twins—and consequently Eva—being woken up with teething pains.
As a result both Eva and the babies were feeling a little disgruntled this morning. Which didn’t prevent her from almost laughing out loud as she turned to find D’Angelo was still holding Sophie with both arms straight out in front of him, a look of absolute horror on his face, as if the baby were a time bomb about to go off!
But Eva only almost laughed...
Because there had been very little for her to laugh about these past few nightmarish months.
Those memories sobered Eva instantly. ‘Sophie doesn’t bite,’ she snapped impatiently as she cuddled a denim-and-T-shirt-clad Sam in her arms. ‘Well...not much,’ she amended ruefully. ‘Luckily they both only have four teeth at the moment...’
Michael wasn’t known for his patience at the best of times—and right now, in the midst of this chaos, was far from the best of times. ‘I’m more interested in knowing what they, and you, are doing in the private area of Archangel, than in hearing how many teeth your children have!’
The woman’s pointed chin rose as she looked at him with hard and challenging violet eyes. ‘Do you really want me to discuss that in front of your employees, Mr D’Angelo? I take it that you are Mr D’Angelo?’ She quirked a derisive brow.
‘I am, yes.’ Michael scowled darkly. ‘Discuss what in front of my employees?’ he prompted cautiously.
Her mouth thinned. ‘The reason I’m in the private area of Archangel.’
He gave an impatient shake of his head. ‘As I have absolutely no idea what your reasons might be I can’t answer that question.’
‘No?’ she scorned.
‘No,’ Michael bit out harshly. ‘Perhaps you would care to come through to my office...?’
Pierre, a man several years his junior, voiced his concern by launching into all the reasons—in French, of course!—as to why he felt it inadvisable for Michael to be alone with this woman, with several less than polite references made as to whether or not she was quite sane, along with the suggestion that they call security and have her ejected from the building.
‘I understood all that,’ their visitor answered in fluent French as she turned her glittering violet and challenging gaze on the now less than comfortable Pierre. ‘And you can call security if you want, but, I assure you, I’m quite sane,’ she mocked Michael.
‘I never doubted it for a moment!’ Michael drawled, equally mockingly. ‘It’s fine, Pierre,’ he assured in English. ‘If you would care to come through to my office...?’ he prompted the woman again, before stepping out of the doorway to reveal the room behind him, still having
