Читать книгу Mills & Boon Modern February 2014 Collection - Ким Лоренс, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 20

CHAPTER TEN

THE NEXT TWO weeks were absolute hell for Bryn, compelled, as Gabriel had promised she would be, to go to Archangel and see him on a daily basis as they dealt with putting the final details of the exhibition into place.

Not that he ever attempted, or even indicated he wished, to repeat the intimacy of that night at his apartment. Oh, no, Gabriel had a much more subtle torment than that, as he took every opportunity to touch her, always seemingly accidentally: brushing lightly against her to emphasise a point, placing his hand on hers, or at the sensitive base of her spine, or the glide of her hips, whenever the opportunity arose.

And he did it all without saying a word or showing outward acknowledgement of the attraction that sparked and burned between the two of them every time they were together.

Bryn quickly realised that Gabriel really was intent on torturing her.

And how well he was succeeding.

As day followed torturous day Bryn’s awareness of Gabriel grew to such a degree that she began to tremble and shake even as she approached the Archangel Gallery. Her nerves would be strung tightly, her body tingling with awareness, as she wondered if that would be the day Gabriel would relent and kiss her, caress her, before she went quietly insane with this growing need for him.

By the day of the exhibition Bryn knew she had never been so aware of a man in her life: his smell—that seductive male smell, a spicy musk, that was uniquely Gabriel—the rippling play of muscles across his shoulders and back when he removed his jacket and tie. He’d unfasten the top two buttons of his shirt to reveal a light dusting of dark hair on his chest whenever they weren’t in the public galleries, allowing her to fully appreciate that masculinity. Her fingers literally itched to become entangled in the glossy dark hair she could see on his chest, to caress the firm line of his back, the silky hair at his nape.

She only had to get through one more day, just a few more hours of this torture, Bryn told herself on that final morning as she made her way to Archangel and the closed west gallery, where the paintings of the six artists were finally ready to be exhibited at a private invitation-only showing this evening.

Unfortunately, Bryn realised as she came to an abrupt halt in the doorway to the west gallery, today was going to be the most difficult twenty-four hours of the past two weeks of torture. Her breath caught in her throat and her face paled as she saw, and easily recognised, the three men talking quietly together across the room.

Gabriel was instantly recognisable, of course, but the unmistakable likeness between all three men—tall and lean, dark haired, with hewn and handsome olive-skinned faces—told her that the other two men had to be Gabriel’s two brothers, Michael and Raphael D’Angelo.

Two men who had absolutely no reason to feel in the least kindly towards Sabryna Harper.

* * *

Gabriel sensed Bryn’s presence in the gallery even before he turned and saw her standing pale and still across the room; his senses had become so heightened to her presence during these past two weeks that he now felt a thrum of awareness beneath the surface of his skin whenever she was anywhere near. His shaft would harden, becoming a painful throb just at the smell of her perfume—that exotic spice, and the womanly smell that he knew was all uniquely aroused Bryn—the husky sound of her voice enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck and send shivers of pleasure down the length of his spine.

Gabriel had lost count of the amount of times he had been tempted to put an end to the torment that made his days a living hell and his nights a sleepless nightmare, to just take Bryn in his arms and make love to her, to keep her there until she admitted she wanted him with the same fierce hunger that he wanted her.

The only thing that held him back from doing that was Bryn herself.

For both their sakes she had to be the one to come to him this time. Through her own choice, and not because of any physical coercion on his part. And if that required that he go quietly out of his mind while he waited—hoped—for that to happen, then so be it!

The fact that Bryn looked small and vulnerable today in a dark grey blouse and black jeans, her eyes apprehensive as she stared across the gallery at the three of them, was enough to tell him that she had found the past two weeks as much of a strain as he had.

‘Bryn?’ he prompted gently as she made no effort to come farther into the gallery.

Her chin rose. ‘I— Excuse me, I just wanted— I didn’t realise there was anyone— I’ll come back later,’ she muttered awkwardly as she turned away with the obvious intention of hurrying from the gallery. And maybe Archangel itself?

‘Bryn!’ Gabriel called out harshly.

She came to an abrupt halt, her tension visible in the stiffness of her shoulders and spine, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides as she obviously debated whether or not she was going to turn back and face him or simply continue running.

Gabriel mentally willed her to do the former rather than the latter, to be that strong and confident Bryn that he so admired as well as desired.

Bryn felt slightly light-headed as she forgot to breathe, her heart beating so loud and wildly in her chest that she felt sure the three men standing across the room must be able to hear it.

She hadn’t known—hadn’t even guessed. No one had thought to warn her—certainly not Gabriel—that his brothers were going to be in London today. For the purpose of attending the exhibition this evening?

Wasn’t it bad enough that she had been forced to deal with Gabriel on a daily basis for the past two weeks, that her nerves were shot to hell because of it, without having to now face his two disapproving brothers?

Except there was no escaping the fact that Michael and Raphael D’Angelo were both here, that they were the co-owners of the Archangel Galleries, and as such Bryn knew she had no choice but to face them at some point today. So perhaps it was better if she did so sooner rather than in public later, when the meeting could be even more embarrassing?

Bryn drew in a ragged, steadying breath before turning slowly, her chin tilting defensively as she kept her gaze fixed firmly on Gabriel rather than looking at either of his two brothers. ‘I was just—’ She moistened the dryness of her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I thought I would come and take a last look in here before the exhibition this evening.’

‘I’m glad you did.’ Gabriel nodded, dark eyes hooded, his expression unreadable as he crossed the room in long graceful strides to stand in front of her. ‘My brothers would like to meet you,’ he encouraged gruffly.

Bryn barely managed to hold back her snort of derision as she looked up at him sceptically; they both knew she was the last person Michael and Raphael D’Angelo would ever wish to be introduced to. ‘I thought your brothers didn’t approve of my inclusion in the exhibition?’ she said loud enough for all three men to hear.

Gabriel’s jaw tightened at the directness of her challenge, his gaze dark and disapproving as he frowned down at her.

‘We initially questioned your motives for entering the New Artists competition, yes,’ one of the two men across the room—Michael or Raphael?—came back just as directly.

‘Shut up, Rafe,’ Gabriel rasped dismissively.

‘Some of us still do.’ Raphael ignored him as he strolled across the gallery, dark sable hair long and curling silkily onto his shoulders, more casually dressed than his two brothers in a tight black T-shirt that emphasised the muscled width of his shoulders and chest, faded denims resting low down on the leanness of his hips, heavy black boots on his feet. ‘I don’t believe Gabriel has bothered to ask you this, but why us and why here, Miss Jones?’ He quirked a dark and mocking brow.

‘Shut up, Rafe,’ the third man instructed harshly—he had to be Michael D’Angelo—as he crossed the room with more forceful strides, his sable hair cropped close to his head, his eyes so dark a brown they appeared black and unfathomable, a three-piece charcoal-grey suit perfectly tailored to his muscular frame, his shirt the palest grey, a darker grey silk tie neatly knotted at his throat. ‘I’m Michael D’Angelo, Miss Jones.’ His tone was compelling as he held his hand out to her.

Bryn eyed that hand uncertainly even as she felt the compulsion in that voice, enough so that she ran the dampness of her own hand down her denim-clad thighs before raising it to be clasped firmly, briefly, in Michael D’Angelo’s much stronger one before he released her again. ‘I believe we all know that my name isn’t really Jones,’ she murmured.

‘Confrontational. I like that,’ Raphael D’Angelo drawled encouragingly.

‘Shut up, Rafe.’ Gabriel and Michael spoke together this time, both their tones weary, as if they had suffered years of repeating that same phrase.

Bryn bit her lip uncertainly as she quickly looked at each of the three D’Angelo brothers in turn: Gabriel glowered at Rafe impatiently, Michael also frowned at his sibling while Rafe grinned unrepentantly at both of them before turning to give Bryn a conspiratorial wink.

Her eyes widened as she realised Rafe D’Angelo, rather than seriously challengingly her, was, in fact, deliberately annoying his two brothers.

‘I don’t understand any of this.’ She gave a dazed shake of her head.

‘Not even Gabriel?’ Raphael came back speculatively.

‘Rafe—’

‘I know, shut up.’ Raphael lightly acknowledged Gabriel’s rebuke as he pushed his hands into the front pockets of his denims. ‘I don’t know why it is, but you and Michael just love to ruin all my fun.’ He shrugged.

Bryn really was baffled by Michael and Raphael D’Angelo; she had expected hostility, at least, from the two of them because of who she was and the damage her father could have caused the Archangel Galleries five years ago. A hostility that she realised simply wasn’t there.

Admittedly Michael was a little austere, self-contained, restrained, in both appearance and manner, but that seemed to be his normal demeanour, rather than any personal animosity directed towards her.

As for Raphael... Bryn had a feeling, looking into those predatory and shrewd golden eyes, that Rafe D’Angelo was a man who maintained a wickedly irreverent appearance on the outside as a way of keeping his real feelings very close to that beautifully muscled chest.

Gabriel easily saw the bewilderment in Bryn’s expression as she looked at his two brothers.

Just as he recognised Rafe’s open appreciation for Bryn as he mockingly returned that curious gaze. An appreciation that Gabriel didn’t like in the least, following his own two weeks of private hell as he had forced himself not to touch or kiss Bryn.

He put a proprietary hand beneath Bryn’s elbow now as he stepped closer to her. ‘If the two of you will excuse us, I want to talk to Bryn upstairs in my office for a few minutes.’

‘“Talk” to her, Gabriel?’ Rafe came back derisively.

He gave his brother a narrow-eyed look of warning. ‘I’ll see the two of you later this evening.’

‘You can count on it,’ Rafe came back challengingly. ‘I’m very much looking forward to seeing you again this evening, Bryn,’ he added huskily.

‘For God’s sake, Rafe, will you just—?’

‘I know, I know. Shut up,’ Rafe sighed heavily at Michael’s terse admonishment.

Gabriel gave a shake of his head as he and Bryn finally left the gallery together, maintaining his hold on her elbow as the two of them walked towards the private lift at the end of the marble hallway. ‘I apologise for Rafe,’ he bit out abruptly. ‘As you may have gathered, he has a warped sense of humour.’ A warped sense of humour that on this occasion had been at Gabriel’s expense; Rafe knew and had played upon the fact that Gabriel hadn’t liked the interest he had shown in Bryn.

‘He seemed...very nice,’ Bryn answered him uncertainly as they stepped into the lift together.

‘Nice is not a word I would ever use to describe my brother,’ Gabriel rasped. ‘Annoying, irritating, sometimes infuriating, but never anything as insipid as “nice”.’ Even as he said it Gabriel knew he was being unfair to Rafe; after all, his brother had been the one to warn him that Bryn Jones was Sabryna Harper after Michael had decided against doing so.

‘Both your brothers were far more polite to me than I could ever have expected, in the circumstances,’ she murmured softly as they stepped out of the lift and walked down the hallway to Gabriel’s office.

Gabriel shot her a sideways glance. ‘Than I led you to believe, perhaps?’

‘Well... Yes.’

He drew in a sharp breath at the speculation in Bryn’s tone. ‘I advise you not to complicate an already impossible situation by falling for the charms of one of my brothers!’ he bit out harshly.

‘I wasn’t— I didn’t— Why would you even think I might do that?’ Bryn reacted with predictable accusation.

‘You already know the answer to that question, Bryn,’ Gabriel murmured as they entered his office, closing the door firmly behind them before turning Bryn in his arms, his hands resting lightly on the slenderness of her hips.

‘Do I?’

‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘But just so that there’s no misunderstanding—if any of the D’Angelo bothers is going to be allowed to kiss these delectable lips today, then it’s going to be me,’ Gabriel assured her gruffly as he raised one of his hands to run a fingertip gently over her fuller, sensuous bottom lip.

Her eyes darkened, cheeks suffusing with colour. ‘I’m not interested in being kissed by either Raphael or Michael,’ she breathed softly.

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Gabriel’s hand moved beneath her chin and tilted her face up towards his, his other arm moving lightly about her waist as he moulded the softness of her curves against his much harder ones. ‘How about me, Bryn? Are you interested in kissing me?’

‘Gabriel...’ she groaned breathily.

It took every particle of willpower Gabriel possessed not to just take that kiss as he felt the way Bryn’s body trembled against his, but he knew that he couldn’t, wanting, needing Bryn to make the first move. ‘A single kiss, Bryn,’ he encouraged throatily. ‘For luck. To the success of the exhibition this evening.’ His breath caught in his throat as he waited for her answer.

Bryn gazed up at him searchingly, longing, aching to once again feel Gabriel’s lips on hers, to lose herself in that pleasure. At the same time as she knew that a single kiss wouldn’t be enough, that she wanted so much more from Gabriel than just passion and pleasure. So very much more. And that Gabriel didn’t have any more than that to give her.

‘I can’t,’ she breathed softly as she pushed against his chest to be released.

Something dark and primal moved in the depths of his eyes as his arms tightened about her. ‘Can’t or won’t, Bryn?’ he rasped harshly.

She closed her eyes briefly before answering him. ‘Let me go, Gabriel.’

His mouth thinned, a nerve pulsing in the tightness of his jaw. ‘Why are you doing this, Bryn?’ he groaned. ‘Why are you making us both suffer because of your stubbornness?’

This wasn’t about Bryn being stubborn; it was so much more than that—she felt so much more than that. ‘You know why.’

‘Because you’re worried about your mother,’ Gabriel rasped. ‘Because of how you believe she would feel about the two of us being together.’

Tears burned in her eyes. ‘And you don’t think that’s important?’ she choked. ‘You believe that I should just take what I want and to hell with how it affects anyone else?’

‘If I’m what you want, then, yes, damn it, that’s exactly what I think you should do!’ His eyes glittered darkly.

Bryn gave a shake of her head. ‘You said it yourself, Gabriel. This is an impossible situation that doesn’t need to be made any more complicated than it already is.’

‘And when I said it I was warning you not to take Rafe’s flirtation seriously,’ he grated harshly.

Bryn blinked back the heat of tears. ‘Gabriel, we only have one last day together to get through. Do you think we could try to do that without arguing?’

His expression sharpened. ‘You think I’m just going to gracefully bow out of your life after tonight?’

She tensed. ‘I was under the impression— Eric told me weeks ago that you would be returning to the Paris gallery after the opening night of the New Artists Exhibition.’

‘Did he?’ Gabriel gave a humourless smile.

Bryn looked up at him searchingly, a sick feeling forming in the pit of her stomach as he met her gaze unblinkingly. ‘You don’t intend going back to Paris tomorrow?’ she guessed weakly.

‘No, I don’t,’ he answered with satisfaction. ‘In fact, Rafe, Michael and I were discussing that very thing when you arrived. Michael is flying to New York tomorrow to take over the gallery there for a month, Rafe is going to Archangel in Paris and I’m staying right here to oversee the rest of the New Artists Exhibition and auction.’

And Bryn knew that the exhibition was being opened to the public tomorrow, the paintings to be on display until they were included in the next Archangel auction in two weeks’ time.

Which meant that Gabriel was going to be in London for at least those same two weeks, possibly longer—and his very presence in London would continue to be such a torment and torture that she wouldn’t know a moment’s peace.

‘Let me go, Gabriel,’ she instructed. ‘Please,’ she added as his arms remained firmly about her waist. ‘I have to be at the coffee shop by ten o’clock.’

He frowned darkly as he slowly released her. ‘You’re working today?’

‘Of course I’m working today,’ she dismissed impatiently as she stepped away from him, finally able to breathe again now that she wasn’t pressed up against the disturbing length of his body. ‘I haven’t sold any of my paintings yet, and I still have my rent to pay at the end of the month,’ she added ruefully.

Gabriel moved to lean back against the front of his desk. ‘As of this morning, one of your paintings has a reserved sticker on it.’

Her gaze sharpened. ‘It does?’

Gabriel nodded. ‘Michael wants it.’

Her eyes widened. ‘He does?’

Gabriel smiled ruefully. ‘Hmm.’

‘Which one?’

‘The rose.’

The dying red rose, Bryn’s representation of the death of hopes and dreams rather than just the flower itself.

Did the austere Michael D’Angelo, a man who gave the appearance of being so totally self-contained, a man who surely had no hopes and dreams to die, appreciate the full meaning of her painting?

‘That’s— I’m flattered,’ Bryn murmured softly.

Gabriel nodded grimly. ‘You should be. Michael’s private art collection is very exclusive. I have every reason to believe that Lord Simmons is very interested in purchasing one too.’

‘That’s...amazing.’ Bryn’s eyes glowed excitedly as she reached out and grasped his hands impulsively. ‘This is really going to happen, isn’t it, Gabriel? I’m really going to sell some of my paintings, maybe even be able to paint full-time!’

‘It’s as real as it gets, yes,’ Gabriel confirmed huskily as he pulled her in between his parted thighs before placing her hands against his chest. ‘Tonight is your night, Bryn.’ His hands cupped either side of her face as he gave in to the hunger and kissed her gently on the lips that had haunted and tormented him for the past five years. ‘And I want you to enjoy it. Every single moment of it,’ he encouraged.

‘Oh, I will,’ she assured him happily, her hands warm against his chest. ‘I— Thank you, Gabriel, for giving me this chance. I really— I know I’ve been difficult on occasion—’ she grimaced ‘—but I—I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.’

Gabriel could only hope that Bryn still felt that way after tonight.

The past two weeks of being close to Bryn, but never quite close enough, had been enough of a hell for Gabriel to know that the two of them couldn’t go on like this indefinitely, that something had to change, and that it wasn’t going to be the way he felt about Bryn.

So he had made his arrangements accordingly. Carefully and quietly. Arrangements that would come to full fruition later this evening.

And he wasn’t sure Bryn would ever forgive him.