Italian Bachelors: Devilish D'angelos. Кэрол Мортимер
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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.
She frowned slightly as she realised the people in the queue behind Gabriel were getting restless; six o’clock in the evening was one of their busiest times, when the people leaving work called in to collect a drink and something to eat on their way home, or to linger in the coffee shop while they relaxed for an hour or so with friends. It was even busier as it was a Friday evening, and the end of the working week for most people.
‘What can I get for you this evening, Mr D’Angelo?’ she repeated tightly.
He looked up at the board behind her. ‘Black coffee?’
‘Black coffee,’ she repeated slowly; the coffee shop served six different brands of coffee and just as many types, as well as several flavoured teas, all of which could have milk, runny or whipped cream or several different flavoured shots, and Gabriel was asking for black coffee!
He nodded. ‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ he drawled derisively.
‘It’s no trouble at all.’ Bryn was aware of the keen eyes of the manager fixed beadily on the two of them as she watched Bryn ring up the sale and take Gabriel’s money—unless, of course, Sally was just enjoying the chance to ogle the six feet three inches of hot, heart-poundingly attractive man standing on the other side of the counter.
Which appeared to be what all the other women in the coffee shop were doing—surreptitiously by the ones with a man of their own, the others openly eating Gabriel up with their eyes!
‘If you would like to follow me,’ Bryn instructed sharply as she moved farther down the crowded counter to fill his order, at the same time allowing one of the other assistants to take her place and serve the next customer. ‘What are you doing here, Mr D’Angelo?’ she muttered under her breath as she prepared his tray.
‘Sorry?’
‘I said—’
‘You’ll have to speak up a little, Bryn,’ he drawled. ‘I can’t hear you with all the other noise and chatter in the room.’
She shot him an irritated frown as she raised her voice slightly. ‘I asked what you’re doing here.’
‘Oh.’ He nodded. ‘You left something of yours on my office floor when you left earlier today, and I thought you might want them back.’
Bryn stilled, her breath catching in her throat, as she realised that the half a dozen or so people standing closest to them had fallen silent as they overheard his remark, their eyes wide as they obviously drew their own conclusions as to what Bryn might possibly have left on Gabriel D’Angelo’s office floor....
* * *
‘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