‘I’m not kicking you off anything, Bryn, and I resent the fact that you think it would ever be a pleasure for me to do so,’ he cut in harshly, running an agitated hand through the darkness of his hair as he scowled. ‘And why the hell would I do that, when you’re far and away the best artist in the exhibition?’
‘Why would you?’ she repeated challengingly. ‘I’m William Harper’s daughter!’ she reminded him—as if saying it repeatedly would help her to accept that Gabriel really did know, had always known, exactly who she was.
‘And, as I’ve already stated, I knew that when you were chosen as one of the six finalists.’
Yes, he had, which again made absolutely no sense to Bryn. Her father’s name was so shrouded in scandal that her mother had decided to distance them from it all by changing their last name after he had died. A scandal that had been connected to this very gallery and the D’Angelo name; she couldn’t believe that Gabriel would ever want to risk the resurrection of that scandal by exhibiting the paintings of William’s daughter. And certainly not intentionally.
She looked across at him guardedly, once again aware of how he owned the elegantly furnished office rather than the opulence dominating the man; Gabriel was such a force in his own right that he seemed to own the very air around him, no matter what his surroundings. Something that had been all too apparent during her father’s trial—even the judge hearing the case had treated him with a deference and respect he hadn’t shown to anyone else in the courtroom. Something that had no doubt added weight to the evidence Gabriel gave against her father.
Not that any weight had needed to be added; there had been no doubting her father’s guilt, not only for attempting to sell a fake Turner, but for having commissioned the forgery in the first place, having paid an artist in Poland a pittance to paint the forgery and then attempting to sell it for millions of pounds to Gabriel and the Archangel Gallery.
‘Bryn, even without Michael’s help, I would have known who you were the first time I looked at you again....’
She looked up at Gabriel sharply. ‘I don’t see how when my name and appearance are so different from five years ago.’
He gave a humourless smile. ‘It’s unlikely I’d ever forget the young woman who glared her hatred across a courtroom at me for days on end. Those eyes alone would have given you away.’
Bryn had never forgotten him either, but for quite a different reason.
Gabriel D’Angelo had, quite simply, been the most charismatic and darkly intriguing man she had ever set eyes on. But it was more than that; he was more than that. Gabriel had awakened something deep inside the eighteen-year-old overweight and slightly shy Sabryna that had filled her night fantasies for weeks before her father’s arrest, and months after the trial had ended.
The same fantasies that had filled all of her nights since meeting Gabriel again a week ago. The same desire that had awakened in her again, a few minutes ago in the basement, the second she had heard his voice behind her. The same desire that had caused her breath to catch in her throat when she’d turned to look at him. The same desire that raged through her even now, just from seeing how his cream silk shirt fitted so well over the broadness of his shoulders and tapered waist, the tailored brown trousers of his suit draping elegantly from his hips. This man—Gabriel—awakened that hunger inside her just by being in the same room with her.
‘How is your mother, Bryn?’
She looked at him warily. ‘Why are you asking?’ she came back defensively.
He shrugged. ‘Because I’d like to know?’
‘My mother is fine. She remarried two years ago. Happily.’
‘That’s good.’ He nodded.
‘Gabriel, if this is some sort of guilt trip on your part—’
‘It’s not,’ Gabriel cut in harshly. ‘Damn it, Bryn, I have nothing—absolutely nothing—to feel guilty about. Am I sorry for the way it happened, the way your mother’s and your own life were affected? Yes, I am. But your father was the guilty one, Bryn, not me. Am I sorry that he died in prison only months later? Yes, of course I am,’ he rasped. ‘But I didn’t put him there. He put himself there by his own actions!’
Yes, he had. And part of Bryn had never forgiven her father for that.
Which was something she had to live with. ‘You kissed me the night before my father was arrested!’ she reminded accusingly.
He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again. ‘I know that. And I wanted to tell you— Despite being warned by the police, and my lawyers, not to discuss the case with anyone, I almost told you that night! It almost killed me not to do so.’ He gave a shake of his head.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she breathed heavily.
‘No,’ he accepted heavily. ‘I tried to see you, Bryn. Against the advice of my lawyers I tried to see you again, after your father was arrested, during the trial, after the trial. I tried, Bryn! I wanted to explain, to— I never wanted to hurt you, Bryn,’ he assured earnestly.
‘But you did it anyway.’
‘I told you, I had no choice, damn it.’
Perhaps he hadn’t, but that didn’t stop Bryn from resenting his silence. From resenting the fact that he had kissed her that night. From resenting the fact that he had broken her heart the following day....
‘I didn’t want to see or speak with you again.’ She gave an abrupt shake of her head. ‘You had nothing to say that I wanted to hear.’
‘I guessed that,’ he said bleakly.
She breathed in deeply. ‘So where do we go from here?’
Gabriel looked at her from beneath hooded lids. ‘Where do you want us to go?’
To his bed. On top of his marble desk. On the sofa. Up against a wall! Bryn didn’t care about the ‘where’ as long as Gabriel finished what he had started in his car last Friday evening. The desire she had felt then was nothing compared to what it was now, after days of not seeing him, not being with him.
And she hated herself for it. Hated that in spite of everything, she still felt that way, still wanted him!
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I need to know— Have these past few days all been some sort of sick game? An act of revenge for what my father—’
‘I could ask the same of you!’ he grated harshly, anger flaring in those deep brown eyes, lips thinned, a nerve pulsing in his aggressively set jaw. His body was rigid with that same tension, his hands clenched at his sides before he reached out to pick up the whisky glass he had put down earlier, drinking down the contents in one swallow. ‘In fact, my brothers insist on it!’
‘Then ask, damn it,’ Bryn bit out shakily. He looked at her guardedly.
‘Why did you do it, Bryn? Why did you enter your paintings in a competition being run by the gallery, the man, who helped put your father in prison?’
Bryn drew her breath in sharply, all the colour draining from her cheeks as the starkness of Gabriel’s words hammered into her like a blow she wasn’t sure she was ever going to recover from.
The truth was completely out in the open now, spoken aloud between them with no going back, and no fooling herself, allowing herself to indulge her desire for this man, by assuring herself that it was okay to do so because Gabriel had no idea who she really was. Because he did know. He had always known.
She avoided meeting that accusing gaze. ‘The truth?’
That nerve pulsed in his clenched jaw. ‘In the circumstances, I’ll accept nothing less.’
Bryn nodded. ‘I was desperate. I’m an unknown artist who wants more than anything to succeed, and the best way to do