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 before speaking. ‘It was very kind of you to return them to me so promptly and in person.’
He gave a hard, derisive smile. ‘That sounded as if it actually hurt.’
‘Of course it didn’t.’ Her cheeks had warmed at the taunt. ‘And I apologise if you think my manner towards you has been...less than polite. I really am grateful for the opportunity to show my paintings at Archangel.’
‘As far as you’re concerned, Bryn, I am the Archangel Gallery,’ he admonished harshly.
And quite what she was going to do about that Bryn had no idea; she only knew, having come this far, having worked so hard and for so many years towards this, it was now totally unthinkable she should be forced to withdraw her paintings from the exhibition because of the man who owned and ran the gallery! Or for Gabriel to decide her manner was so unacceptable he decided to withdraw them for her.
‘I’m not sure what you mean by that, Mr D’Angelo,’ she prompted uncertainly; she hadn’t forgotten those few brief moments of intimacy between them in his office earlier, when she had been certain that he was going to touch or kiss her breasts. But, grateful as she was that he hadn’t recognised her, if Gabriel believed for one moment that his position as owner of the Archangel Gallery gave him some sort of power over her, then—
‘I’m not sure I like your implication either, Bryn!’ he responded, dismissing that illusion.
Her throat moved as she swallowed before speaking. ‘Maybe we could go somewhere and grab a bite this evening after all? Talk this through—’
‘I can see no point in us even attempting to do that unless you’re going to be completely honest with me.’ Those brown eyes glittered as he looked down the length of his nose at her. ‘Are you going to be honest with me, Bryn?’
Bryn’s breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him sharply, searchingly. Had Gabriel realised who she was after all?
Of course he hadn’t! For one thing Bryn doubted this man had ever given so much as a single thought towards William Harper’s wife and daughter once her father had been sent to prison. For another, she had changed so much in the past five years, not just her name, but the way she looked and behaved too that he couldn’t possibly have recognised her as the gauche teenager he had once kissed. And last, if he had known who she really was, he would never have allowed her anywhere near him or his gallery—
‘Bryn, I need you to go back on the counter now.’ There was an underlying edge of steel to her manager’s tone as her rebuke cut across the tension between Gabriel and Bryn.
Bryn gave a guilty start as she turned to face Sally, knowing that the pointed remark was deserved; she had been talking with Gabriel D’Angelo for far too long. ‘I’ll be right there,’ she promised lightly before turning back to Gabriel. ‘Shall I meet you outside at eight-fifteen?’
For a moment Gabriel thought about refusing, about walking away from this woman and not looking back.
The plans for the exhibition were well in hand, and as such there was absolutely no reason why the two of them should even meet again before the night of that exhibition. Eric was more than capable of handling any and all future meetings with Bryn Jones.
And there were far too many reasons why Gabriel should keep his distance from her....
GABRIEL WAS STILL having second, third—and fourth!—thoughts as to the wisdom of meeting up with Bryn Jones again this evening as he sat in his parked car waiting for her to emerge from the coffee shop.
It didn’t take too much intelligence to know what Bryn had been thinking earlier. Or to know why she had thought it. Gabriel’s behaviour earlier hadn’t exactly been businesslike, most especially that remark about her not wearing a bra. Especially considering the fact that he had been down on his knees in front of her, staring at her breasts, when he’d made it!
Which was, Gabriel had reasoned with himself, all the more reason for him to meet with her again this evening, if only to reassure her that the two of them were to have a business relationship in future and nothing more.
Gabriel’s senses all went on full alert—making a complete nonsense of that last sentiment—as he looked through the smoked glass of the window beside him and saw Bryn step out of the coffee shop at last, a short denim jacket over top of the gauzy blouse she had worn earlier today, a frown darkening her