she turned to look at Gabriel, at which point her gaze had quickly become guarded and her cheeks had paled.
His mouth tightened as he glanced across at Eric. ‘If you’ve finished with Bryn for this evening, I need to speak with her for a few minutes.’ It was a statement rather than a question, Gabriel having no intention of taking no for an answer. From either Eric or Bryn.
‘Actually,’ Bryn began tentatively, ‘I—’
‘I think it’s best if we go upstairs to my office for this conversation, Bryn.’ Gabriel held the door open pointedly.
Her eyes widened, her creamy throat moving as she swallowed then wet the dryness of her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I— Yes, of course.’ Her hands were gripped tightly together in front of her, knuckles showing white. ‘A rain check on that drink, Eric?’
Eric gave a relaxed smile, obviously completely oblivious to the underlying tension between Gabriel and Bryn. ‘No problem,’ he agreed easily.
Which was perhaps as well; Gabriel had always had a healthy respect and liking for their London in-house art expert, and he would hate to ruin their working relationship by having to exert his executive power. ‘Bryn?’ he prompted tersely.
She grabbed her denim jacket and shoulder bag from a chair before hurrying across the room to join him, pressing her spine back against the door frame so as not to come into contact with him as she slipped out into the hallway, her expression apprehensive as she waited for Gabriel to join her.
An entirely appropriate apprehension, as it happened.
‘Whisky?’
Bryn stood awkwardly in the middle of Gabriel’s elegant office watching as he removed his jacket and draped it over a chair before moving to the bar in long, easy strides. They had travelled up in the lift together in complete silence. Bryn’s apprehensive. Gabriel’s grimly foreboding.
It didn’t help that Bryn was still uncomfortably aware of how young and gauche she must appear to him, in her casual clothes and wearing no make-up, only to then chastise herself for even caring what, if anything, he might think of her appearance. Gabriel D’Angelo was one of the owners of the gallery where her paintings were to be exhibited next month, nothing more. She couldn’t allow him to be any more than that.
‘It’s a little early in the evening for me, thanks,’ she refused lightly. ‘Unless you think I might need it?’ she added uncertainly as she saw the hard implacability of his expression.
A hard implacability that showed her just how relaxed Gabriel had been on the previous occasions the two of them had met and spent time together....
Gabriel made no comment as he poured an inch of whisky into two crystal glasses before crossing the room and holding one out to Bryn.
The past four days had been successful ones for him as far as business went, but far less so on a personal level, as Gabriel hadn’t been able to shake off thoughts and memories of Bryn. Of that last evening with her, when the desire the two of them felt for each other had raged so out of control.
As Gabriel had no doubt it would rage out of control again, despite the business-only arrangement Bryn had suggested and Gabriel had reluctantly agreed to. Gabriel had wanted this woman five years ago, and he wanted her still. A fact that had been brought painfully home to him after he had spent an evening with the beautiful Lucia while in Rome, and then politely walked her to the door of her apartment before leaving again, rather than spending the night with her as he would normally have done. He hadn’t felt a shred of desire to bed the raven-haired beauty because Bryn was the woman he wanted. In his arms. In his bed. In his possession! And that was never going to happen while the events of the past were allowed to continue to lurk in the shadows between them.
‘You’re going to need it,’ he confirmed gruffly. ‘We both are,’ he added with hard self-derision, taking a much-needed sip from his own whisky glass as Bryn’s perfume, that heady spice and desirable woman, invaded his senses.
Her hand moved up and her fingers curled around the proffered glass, a hand that shook as she made no effort to drink any of it. ‘How was Rome?’
‘Beautiful, as always.’ Gabriel stepped away from her to stand with his back to one of the floor-to-ceiling picture windows, needing to put space between himself and Bryn—between himself and that insidious perfume invading his senses. ‘It took some persuading but I finally managed to acquire the two magnificent frescoes for the gallery that I went to look at.’
‘Oh?’
His mouth twisted mockingly as he saw, and recognised, the surprise in her expression. ‘I did tell you I was going away on business.’
Yes, he had, but Bryn hadn’t believed him, after his previous comment. Not that it really mattered whether or not she believed him, then or now; it was none of her business what Gabriel had been doing in Rome for the past few days.
At the same time as she knew part of her wanted to know, had anguished over it during those days and nights, as to what woman, or women, Gabriel was spending his time with in Rome.
Nor did she feel in the least reassured about his mood now as she saw the grimness of his expression. ‘So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’ she prompted with forced lightness.
‘Sabryna Harper.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘BRYN, SIT DOWN here, put your head between your knees and just breathe, damn it! Yes, that’s right,’ Gabriel rasped harshly, slamming his glass down on the coffee table before guiding Bryn over to an armchair to push her head down between her knees as she drew huge gasping breaths of air into her starved lungs. ‘Damn it, woman, do you have something against my thirty-year-old single-malt whisky?’
Gabriel bent down to retrieve the glass from where Bryn had dropped it a minute or so ago as she’d looked in danger of passing out completely. He put the glass back on the bar and grabbed a cloth to soak up the golden puddle of whisky that had seeped into the pale carpet.
‘What did you say?’ He frowned as he heard her mutter something in the vicinity of her knees.
‘I said,’ she bit out succinctly as she raised her head to glare at him, her face deathly pale, eyes deep grey wells of anguish, ‘I don’t give a damn about your thirty-year-old single-malt whisky!’
‘I doubt you’ll feel that way when I take the price of the bottle out of the sale of your paintings,’ Gabriel assured her dryly as he sat back on his heels.
‘What sale?’ she came back bitterly, sitting up in the chair now that the first danger of her fainting had obviously passed, her expression one of proud fragility. ‘How could you do that?’ she continued accusingly before he could answer. ‘How could you just come out with a statement like that without—without giving me some sort of prior warning?’
Well, it hadn’t taken long for her to recover from the initial shock, Gabriel appreciated ruefully. ‘What sort of warning should I have given you, Bryn?’ he challenged as he stood up to throw the sticky whisky-soaked cloth disgustedly down onto the bar. ‘“Oh, by the way, I think the two of us may have met before across a crowded courtroom”? Or, “You look a lot like Sabryna Harper, the daughter of—”? Do not collapse on me again,
