Italian Bachelors: Devilish D'angelos. Кэрол Мортимер
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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.’
‘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, Bryn!’ he warned harshly as her face took on a grey tinge, her chest barely moving beneath the black T-shirt as she breathed shallowly.
‘I’m not about to collapse.’ Instead, she stood up abruptly, taking a few seconds to steady herself before straightening determinedly, her chin held high. ‘How long have you known?’
He quirked one dark brow. ‘That Bryn Jones is Sabryna Harper?’
‘Yes!’ she hissed, jaw clenching.
Gabriel gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Since the beginning.’
‘Since...?’ Bryn gasped, reaching down to grasp the arm of the chair as she felt herself sway again, despite her earlier claim that she wouldn’t collapse again. She gave a shake of her head. ‘You can’t have done!’
Brown eyes looked across at her calmly. ‘Why can’t I?’
‘Because— Well, because— Because you can’t!’ Her mouth firmed as she shied away from listing those reasons why. ‘I would never have got this far in the competition if you had known who I was from the beginning!’
He shrugged, his shoulders wide and muscled in the cream silk shirt. ‘Admittedly my brother Rafe advised against your inclusion, but I decided—’
‘Your brother Raphael knows who I am too?’ She stared at him in disbelief.
‘You know, Bryn, we’re going to get a lot further with this conversation if we work on the understanding that I invariably tell the truth. No matter what the consequences,’ he added harshly.
And one of those consequences had been Bryn’s father going to prison. An indisputable fact that hung between the two of them, unsaid but there nonetheless.
‘It was Michael who recognised you initially,’ Gabriel continued calmly. ‘He saw you when you came in for an interview with Eric at the gallery that first day, and then he spoke to Rafe about it, who then told me.’
‘Quite the secret little coterie of spies, aren’t you?’ Bryn snapped defensively, still completely thrown and befuddled by Gabriel’s admission of having known who she was from that first day.
Something she was still having trouble absorbing. Because if that really was the truth, as Gabriel claimed it was, then he had chosen her as a finalist for the New Artists Exhibition knowing exactly who and what she was.
Had ogled her breasts, that first day here in his office knowing exactly who she was. Had taken her out to dinner at Antonio’s knowing exactly who she was. Had kissed her later that same evening in his car knowing exactly who she was.
Which made absolutely no sense to Bryn whatsoever.
‘I don’t think insulting me, or my brothers, is helpful to this conversation either,’ Gabriel drawled.
Gabriel had decided while he was away in Rome and thinking of her constantly that the truth couldn’t remain unspoken between them once he returned to London. And if Bryn wouldn’t tell him the truth, then it was up to him to do it.
Bryn so obviously disliked, perhaps even hated, Gabriel for the part he had played in her father’s trial. Her desire now, her physical