A Bargain with the Enemy. Carole Mortimer
her eyes. ‘Obviously I must have been so overwhelmed at being told I was one of the six artists chosen for the exhibition that I didn’t hear all the details that followed.’
Some of Gabriel’s tension eased as he saw the continued anger in Bryn’s eyes accompany her too-sweetly-made statement. It also reminded him that Bryn had actually been physically ill, rather than ‘overwhelmed’, once he had fully explained her inclusion in the exhibition, a nausea she had no doubt still been suffering from when the two of them had sat down together and discussed the details of what still had to be done before the exhibition.
Not to mention the distracting attention he had given her breasts a few minutes ago!
Not that Gabriel was particularly proud of that lapse; he had recognised five years ago that she represented a danger to his self-control, and his meeting today with the older and more self-assured—even more beautiful!—Bryn Jones had shown him that danger still existed. Very much so...
Perhaps he should have taken Rafe’s advice after all and stayed well away from Bryn Jones.
‘Just make the appointment, Bryn,’ he bit out tersely. ‘I’ll instruct Eric that he needs to explain those details to you again on Monday.’
She turned to give the older man a warm smile. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Lord Simmons. Mr D’Angelo.’ Her voice had noticeably cooled, and there was no smile, or mention of her feeling any of that same pleasure in meeting Gabriel.
‘Pretty girl,’ David Simmons remarked as the two men watched Bryn join Linda out in the hallway before closing the door firmly behind her.
‘Linda?’ Gabriel deliberately misunderstood the older man.
David gave him a knowing glance. ‘Does Miss Jones paint as beautifully as she looks?’
‘More so, if anything,’ Gabriel answered truthfully; Bryn’s work really was exceptional, and he had no doubt that David Simmons would recognise that talent as easily as he had, and would most likely be happy to buy one of her paintings in the exhibition next month.
‘Interesting...’ The older man nodded as he followed Gabriel to the seating area in front of the window.
It wasn’t until much later, after his business with David had been concluded and Linda had escorted the older man down the stairs that Gabriel was able to pause and replay his meeting with Bryn from earlier.
The prickly outspokenness she had been unable to hide had shown that she hadn’t even begun to forgive him for the part he had played in her father’s downfall. A defensive manner that was also an indication of the resentment she felt at having to be even slightly beholden to the D’Angelo family—clearly telling Gabriel that Bryn wouldn’t have entered the New Artists competition, or the Archangel Gallery, if she hadn’t considered it the very last resort. It was—
A glance across the office showed something glinting from beneath one of the armchairs. A something that, upon closer inspection, proved to be an item that he knew must have fallen out of Bryn’s handbag earlier.
* * *
‘And what can I get you to drink this evening— Gabriel?’ The last word came out much louder than Bryn would have wished after glancing up and seeing that her next customer was Gabriel D’Angelo.
A Gabriel D’Angelo who was much more casually dressed—but no less lethally attractive—than he had been in his office earlier today; he wore a thin black cashmere sweater, the sleeves pulled up to just below his elbows—which emphasised every toned muscle and dip of those broad shoulders, chest, and the flatness of his stomach—with faded denims resting comfortably on the leanness of his hips. His overlong dark hair had also been slightly tousled by the warm evening breeze outside and fell softly, rakishly, onto his brow.
He’d claimed earlier never to have been inside a coffee shop, which posed the question of what was he doing in one now? And not just any coffee shop, but the one in which Bryn worked, because there was no way she believed his being here was just a coincidence.
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