* * *
‘Did you do that on purpose?’
Gabriel looked up at Bryn a short time later as she came over to wipe and clear the table next to the one where he sat in a comfortable armchair, enjoying his mug of surprisingly good Colombian coffee. ‘Did I do what on purpose?’
She frowned, her skin appearing creamier than ever against the black T-shirt she now wore in place of the gauzy blouse of earlier. ‘You implied— You deliberately gave the impression a few minutes ago that I had left an item of clothing on the floor of your office earlier today!’
He raised dark brows. ‘I did?’
Bryn’s mouth thinned as she pretended to wipe his table. ‘You know you did.’
He had, yes. Because, until she had seen him, Bryn had looked relaxed and smiling as she served customers, that smile instantly replaced by an annoyed frown the moment she’d recognised him, arousing his own feelings of irritation.
It had been a mistake for him to come here at all; he accepted that now. He should have just passed her property on to Eric Sanders to give back to her on Monday, or bagged it up and had it delivered by courier to her tomorrow rather than come here personally.
He knew he should stay well away from Bryn, that it was better for both of them if he did so; she so obviously wanted nothing to do with him outside Archangel, and he knew from their meeting how dangerous she was to his self-control.
It seemed he just hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming here when the opportunity presented itself.
His jaw tightened. ‘I do have something of yours that I thought you might need returning to you sooner rather than later.’
‘Really?’ She eyed him sceptically.
Gabriel leaned back in the leather armchair to look up at her through narrowed lids. ‘You know, Bryn, I’ve found your attitude towards me to be...less than polite since meeting you. Surprisingly so, considering that I’m one of the owners of the gallery where your paintings are going to be exhibited. If you have a problem with me, or my gallery, then perhaps now might be a good time for you to tell me what that problem is?’
A delicate blush coloured her cheeks as she chewed on her bottom lip, her artistic ambitions obviously once again at war with the past—and present—resentment Bryn felt towards him.
It was a resentment Gabriel understood, and sympathised with, but it rankled that Bryn still so obviously held him to blame for what had happened in the past; Gabriel wasn’t responsible for William Harper’s attempt to sell a forged Turner to the D’Angelos. Only for showing the other man up as the charlatan he so obviously was.
Bryn had initially talked herself into entering her paintings in the New Artists competition by reassuring herself that in all likelihood she would never have to meet any of the three D’Angelo brothers personally. She now found it totally disconcerting that she had met and spoken with one of them—twice in one day!—and that that one should happen be Gabriel!
Even so, she knew she deserved Gabriel’s criticism. She was guilty of allowing the past to influence her manner towards him, something he must consider highly disrespectful, as well as puzzling, given that he only knew her as Bryn Jones, aspiring artist, and had given no indication of recognising her as Sabryna Harper. If Gabriel ever learned the truth, it would no doubt result in that seventh, reserve artist being asked to take her place in the exhibition!
‘I apologise if I’ve seemed less than...grateful, Mr D’Angelo,’ she muttered stiffly. ‘Obviously it’s a privilege and an honour to be chosen as one of the new artists to display their paintings in a gallery as prestigious as Archangel—’
‘As I told you earlier, Bryn, abject apology doesn’t sit well on your slender shoulders,’ he drawled, dark eyes gleaming with mocking humour.
Her gaze fell from his. ‘In that case, I believe you said you came here this evening to return something of mine?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘And?’ she prompted.
He glanced down at the gold watch on his wrist. ‘What time do you finish this evening?’
Bryn frowned. ‘In a couple hours.’
‘Eight o’clock?’
‘Eight-fifteen,’ she corrected warily.
He nodded. ‘Then I’ll meet you outside at eight-fifteen.’
Bryn’s brows rose. ‘I don’t understand.’
He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘I think it would be a good idea for the two of us to have dinner together, so that we can discuss, and hopefully dispose of, whatever your problem is with me or my gallery.’
Bryn’s mouth gaped open. Had she imagined it or had Gabriel just— Had he just invited her to have dinner with him tonight?
No, of course he hadn’t, Bryn answered her own question; Gabriel had made a statement, not asked a question. Because he was a man used to issuing orders and then expecting them to be obeyed? Or simply because it didn’t even occur to him that Bryn—or any other woman, for that matter—would ever think of turning down a dinner invitation with the darkly attractive and eminently eligible Gabriel D’Angelo?
Bryn had a feeling that both of those things were true, but going out to dinner with him, discussing whatever her problem was with him or his gallery, was not an option.
Gabriel could almost see the struggle going on inside Bryn’s beautiful head as she tried to find a polite way of refusing his invitation.
An invitation Gabriel knew he never should have made when he couldn’t even look at Bryn without wanting her and she so obviously detested the very sight of him.
This prickly Bryn was so different from the Sabryna of five years ago, but even then Gabriel had known how much her beauty and innocence had appealed to him. He had only kissed her the once, a sweet and yet arousing kiss, a kiss that had affected him so deeply he had continued to think about her for months after her father’s trial was over and she had refused to so much as see Gabriel again, and off and on in the years that followed too, as he’d found himself wondering what she was doing with her life, if she was happy.
That single meeting with her earlier today had shown him that the woman she had become, the woman she was now, had just as deep an effect on him.
So much so that being alone in his office with her, knowing he would have been able to touch her soft and creamy skin if he had just lifted his hand, and that unique spicy, womanly smell of her had invaded his senses, had resulting in his thinking of nothing else but her for the past six hours.
As for his arousal...! That had been a pounding ache for those same six hours, and even now the hardness of his shaft was pressing painfully 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