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
