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 creamy brow as she looked for him amongst the crush of people still milling about on the busy pavement.
No doubt she was adding tardiness, or standing her up completely, to Gabriel’s already long list of sins.
* * *
‘Bryn.’
She turned in the direction of Gabriel’s voice, giving a rueful grimace as she saw he had emerged from the sleek black sports car parked illegally outside the coffee shop. The smoky black windows had prevented her from seeing him seated inside. ‘Mr D’Angelo,’ she greeted as she hurried over to where he stood. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long?’ she murmured politely.
‘Not in the least.’ He just as politely opened the passenger door of the car before standing back to allow her to get inside. ‘And it’s Gabriel,’ he reminded her gently.
Bryn didn’t move, or respond to his comment. ‘Er—there’s a pizza place just round the corner.’
He grimaced. ‘I saw it. And trust me, Bryn, what they serve isn’t real Italian pizza.’
‘But—’
‘The name is D’Angelo, Bryn.’ He quirked dark, pointed brows.
It hadn’t been part of Bryn’s plans for this evening to go off somewhere in Gabriel’s car with him. She had envisaged them getting a quick slice at the place round the corner, an hour or so of—hopefully—pleasant conversation, before they each went their separate ways. But, considering this was supposed to be a conciliatory meeting, it would look petty for her to refuse him now—besides which, with his Italian ancestry he probably did know more about pizza than she did!
‘Fine.’ She gave a bright, unconcerned smile as she moved forward to slide into the black-leather passenger seat, determined that this evening was going to go better than their previous two meetings had. Determined that she was going to act more like the fledgling-artist-grateful-to-the-art-gallery-owner-for-this-opportunity that she was supposed to be.
She had to push firmly to the back of her mind that the sleek sports car, the interior smelling richly of leather, along with a spicy, totally male smell that was pure Gabriel, was so reminiscent of that evening he had kissed her.
Gabriel closed the passenger door once Bryn had settled into the seat, before moving back to the other side of the car and resuming his seat behind the wheel. ‘You didn’t have any trouble after I left earlier?’ he prompted as he fastened his seat belt and turned on the ignition.
‘No, it was fine,’ she dismissed; there was no need to tell him of the lecture she had received from Sally earlier about not spending her time talking to one of the customers, no matter how hot he was, and how there were plenty of other people who would like her job if she didn’t want it. ‘Where are we going exactly?’ Bryn prompted interestedly as Gabriel manoeuvred the vehicle out into the evening flow of traffic.
‘It’s a little family-run place I know in a back street in the East End— Trust me on this, Bryn,’ he drawled as he noticed her surprise.
‘I’m sure it’s fine. I was just— It doesn’t sound like your sort of place,’ she amended awkwardly.
‘My sort of place being...?’
Bryn realised she was once again on shaky ground as she heard the hard challenge in Gabriel’s tone; it hadn’t taken long for the tension to return between them, despite her earlier promise with herself to keep the conversation light and pleasant. ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ she answered honestly.
‘Good answer, Bryn.’ Gabriel chuckled wryly, his seat all the way back to accommodate his long legs, and appearing very relaxed as his hands moved lightly on the steering wheel of the powerful sports car.
He had nice hands, Bryn noted abstractedly. Long and artistic, and yet gracefully powerful at the same time. ‘How did you become such an art expert?’ she prompted interestedly. ‘Do you paint yourself? Or did you inherit the galleries?’
It was clear to Gabriel that Bryn had decided to make a concerted effort to be more polite to him and to keep their conversation impersonal rather than personal, if possible. Unfortunately she had chosen the wrong subject if that was her intention.
‘I wanted to paint,’ he answered abruptly. ‘I even took a degree in art with that intention, only to very quickly realise that I’m someone who can appreciate art rather than be good enough to participate.’
‘That’s...unfortunate.’
‘Very.’ One of the biggest disappointments of Gabriel’s life was realising that his real artistic talent was for the visual rather than painting itself.
Bryn was frowning slightly as she turned sideways in her seat to look at him. ‘I can’t imagine not being able to express myself through my painting.’
‘The art world would be all the poorer for it too,’ he assured gruffly. Knowing it was true, that Bryn showed an insight in her paintings, a sense, a knowing, for what was inside her subject, even a dying rose, rather than what was only visible with the naked eye; it was the quality that made her paintings so unique.
‘The art world hasn’t exactly been beating a path to my door before now,’ she said with a shrug.
Gabriel gave her a sideways glance. ‘That’s probably because the galleries you’ve approached with your work before now have all been looking for chocolate-box paintings, stuff they can sell to the tourists to hang in their sitting rooms when they get back home to remind them of their visit to London. Your paintings are too good for that. Archangel would have no interest in showing them if they weren’t.’
Bryn had stilled beside him. ‘I don’t remember mentioning what galleries I’ve approached in the past.’
‘You didn’t need to,’ Gabriel dismissed lightly, having no intention of reigniting the tension between them by confiding that he now had a file on her at Archangel—another file on her. Michael apparently had one too, a security file, although Gabriel hadn’t seen that one. To be fair, they now had a professional file on all seven of the finalists of the competition, which listed previous sales, of which Bryn had three. But Gabriel had good reason to know that Bryn was more sensitive than most—quite rightly so—about sharing the personal details of her life.
‘But—’
‘We’re here,’ Gabriel announced as he saw they had reached Antonio’s; just in the nick of time too, as Bryn seemed intent on pursuing a subject he would rather not continue. ‘Don’t be misled by the exterior. Or the interior either, for that matter,’ he added dryly as he parked the car in front of the small bistro before getting out and moving around to open Bryn’s door for her. ‘Antonio makes the best Italian food in London, and none of his customers gives a damn about the decor.’
Bryn was glad of the warning as they walked into the brightly lit interior. There was a strong smell of garlic in the air, crowded tables covered with plastic red-and-white-checked tablecloths, artificial plants dangling from every conceivable nook and cranny and an overly enthusiastic Italian tenor playing over the audio system.
‘Toni sings and records all his own songs,’ Gabriel explained as he saw Bryn wince at a particularly off-key moment.
‘Something else I’m going to have to trust you on, hmm?’ she came back teasingly. Only to stiffen as she realised what she had just said. And Gabriel D’Angelo was the very last man she should ever trust. For any reason.
‘Gabrielo!’ A round-faced and portly man rushed across the room to greet them, standing at least a foot shorter than Gabriel as he s
hook the younger man’s hand enthusiastically. ‘We ’ave not seen you ’ere for some time.’
‘That’s because I’ve been in Paris—’
‘Aha, I see what has kept you away from us, Gabrielo.’ Warm brown eyes had settled knowingly on Bryn. ‘You ’ave brought your young lady to meet Mamma and me, yes?’
‘No—’ Bryn started to interrupt.
‘I promised Bryn one of your famous pizzas with everything on, and a bottle of your best Chianti, Toni,’ Gabriel interjected, cutting lightly across Bryn’s denial as he took a firm hold of her elbow and squeezed warningly.
‘No problem.’ The older man beamed. ‘You will find somewhere for you and your young lady to sit, and I will ’ave Mamma bring the wine to you.’ He waddled off in the direction of the door at the back of the room marked Kitchen, stopping often to chat with one or other of his many customers.
Finding somewhere to sit wasn’t as easy as it sounded; Gabriel was right, the place was heaving, despite the decor and the music. Luckily a young couple with a baby were just preparing to leave, and Bryn and Gabriel were able to grab their table before someone else did.
‘This is wonderfully mad,’ Bryn murmured a few minutes later, feeling slightly bemused by all the people around them talking in loud voices, most of them in Italian, and gesticulating with their hands to emphasise a point.
Gabriel grinned. ‘My mother always refers to Antonio’s as “picturesque”.’
Bryn looked across the table at him. ‘Your mother comes here too?’
He nodded. ‘My father insists on coming to eat here at least once a week whenever my parents are back in London.’
Bryn slipped off her jacket as she settled more comfortably on her chair. Talking about Gabriel’s parents might not be ideal but it was certainly a safer subject than her own family. ‘Where do your parents live?’
‘They moved to Florida ten years ago when my father retired, and left the running of the original Archangel Gallery, which was all we had at the time, to myself and my two brothers.’ Gabriel shrugged, surprising Bryn by appearing totally relaxed in his surroundings.
She smiled slightly. ‘That would be Raphael and Michael.’
He grimaced. ‘My mother’s romantic choice of names rather than my father’s.’
‘And you’ve opened two more galleries since then, one in New York and one in Paris. With the Italian connection, why not Rome?’
‘The D’Angelos have always visited Italy for pleasure, not work.’ He gave one of those totally disarming smiles that made him appear several years younger and which made it all too easy for Bryn to guess exactly what sort of ‘pleasure’ the three D’Angelo brothers enjoyed when in Italy.
‘Have you—?’
‘Gabrielo!’ A tall, voluptuous, dark-haired woman—no doubt Toni’s wife—descended on them, placing a raffia-bottomed bottle of Chianti and two glasses down on the table before pulling a now-standing Gabriel in tightly against her overabundant bosom as she burst into a flourish of Italian.
‘English, please, Maria.’ Gabriel chuckled.
‘You are as ’andsome as ever, I see!’ She leant back to beam up at him. ‘Ah, if I were only twenty years younger!’ she added wistfully.
‘Even if you were you would never leave Antonio.’ Gabriel smiled at her warmly.
Bryn felt a bit disconcerted, both by the friendly way that Toni and Maria had greeted Gabriel, and his warm response to them in return. It was much easier for her to keep her own distance from Gabriel when she could continue to think of him as that cold and ruthless man who had sealed her father’s fate. The warmth shown to him by Toni and Maria, and his own obvious and long-standing affection for both of them, revealed a completely different side to the arrogantly ruthless Gabriel D’Angelo than the one Bryn had come to expect. Especially following so quickly on the heels of those moments of intimacy between them in his office.
‘Toni tells me you ’ave brought your young lady with you?’ Maria eyed Bryn speculatively as she stepped away from Gabriel.
‘No embarrassing Bryn, please, Maria!’ Gabriel warned quickly as he slipped off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, wondering if it had been a wise move on his part to bring Bryn to Antonio’s. The Italian couple were always asking when he intended settling down and having bambinos, and Bryn was the first woman he had ever brought here.
In his defence, bringing Bryn to Antonio’s had been a knee-jerk reaction to her obvious belief that he was a man who thought himself far above frequenting high-street coffee shops, or little Italian bistros, instead favouring exclusive restaurants and bars. Gabriel had just forgotten to factor in the consequences of bringing a woman to Antonio’s for the first time; in the past he had only ever come to the bistro with members of his family, knowing the women he usually dated wouldn’t give a damn how good the food was—this little bistro simply wasn’t fashionable enough or exclusive enough for their ‘sophisticated’ tastes.
Not that he thought Bryn unsophisticated. His sole reason for bringing her here had been to show her that he wasn’t the arrogant sophisticate she so obviously believed him to be.
Nor should he think of this as being a date—
Oh, to hell with this; whatever his reason for bringing Bryn here, she was here now, and it was his own fault if he had to suffer Toni and Maria’s teasing speculation. ‘Maria, Bryn. Bryn, Toni’s wife, Maria,’ he introduced stiffly.
* * *
‘None of this is what you expected, is it...?’
Bryn took a sip of the Chianti that Gabriel had poured into the two glasses, Maria having hurried off to the kitchen shortly after the introductions to see if their pizza was ready. Introductions where, Bryn had noted, Gabriel had made no effort to correct Maria’s assumption as to who Bryn was—or wasn’t!
And no, this disorganised and noisy bistro wasn’t the sort of place Bryn would ever have imagined seeing the Gabriel D’Angelo she had met earlier at Archangel, when he had looked every inch a wealthy and arrogant D’Angelo brother in his designer-label suit and silk shirt and tie.
‘I have every reason to hope the pizza will be as delicious as this Chianti,’ she murmured noncommittally.
‘Oh, it will be.’ Gabriel nodded, dark eyes hooded as he looked across the table at her. ‘But I probably should have taken you somewhere a little more...upmarket, to celebrate your inclusion in the New Artists Exhibition.’
Her brows rose. ‘Then shouldn’t the other five finalists, and the reserve, have been invited too?’
He gave a hard smile. ‘No.’
‘Oh.’ Bryn could feel her cheeks warm, but wisely said nothing; she had already made one wrong assumption about Gabriel this evening, an assumption he had taken exception to, and she wasn’t inclined to make another. ‘Well, this is absolutely fine for me,’ she continued quickly. ‘I would probably have felt out of my depth somewhere overly sophisticated anyway. Dining out hasn’t exactly been something I’ve done a lot of since— This is fine,’ she repeated flatly, lowering her eyes to avoid meeting his suddenly piercing and probing gaze. She had almost—almost—said ‘since my father went to prison’. A slip that could have been extremely costly to her inclusion in the exhibition.
Bryn had no doubts that it was the very informality of their surroundings that was responsible for her feeling so relaxed she had almost spoken without thinking, rather than the man seated opposite her. There was nothing about Gabriel that caused her to feel in the least relaxed—not his dangerous good looks, or her own unwelcome response to them.
‘To you, Bryn.’ Gabriel held up his glass in a toast, seeming unaware of her inner turmoil. ‘Let’s hope that the Archangel exhibition is not only a successful one but also the first of many for you.’
‘I’ll drink to that!’ Bryn took a grateful sip of her own wine. ‘Do you—? Oh, wow!’ Her eyes widen
ed as she saw Maria winding her way deftly through the other diners towards their table, holding aloft the biggest pizza Bryn had ever seen in her life. Maria placed the hot plate down in the centre of their table with the beaming instruction to ‘Enjoy!’ before she hurried off again.
Bryn’s mouth watered as she stared down at the laden pizza, seeing pepperoni, mushrooms, onions, spinach, ham and aubergines.
‘I hope you don’t mind that there are no anchovies?’ Gabriel shrugged ruefully. ‘Toni knows that I don’t like them.’
‘Are you kidding? Who would ever miss them with all these other toppings?’ Bryn laughed delightedly as she continued to look at the pizza.
Gabriel felt his mouth go dry as he drank in the sight of Bryn relaxed and smiling; those dove-grey eyes warm and glowing, her creamy cheeks slightly flushed, her full and sensual lips—that had no need of the lip gloss so many women wore and which Gabriel, for one, found such a turn-off—delectably plump and rosy.
And watching those tempting lips as Bryn ate the pizza was going to be nothing short of physical torture for him!
‘Tuck in before it gets cold,’ he encouraged gruffly. ‘There are no knives and forks,’ he added dryly as Bryn frowned slightly at the obvious omission of utensils from the table. ‘The only way to eat pizza is with your fingers,’ he explained as she looked up at him questioningly.
‘Is that another Gabrielism?’ she teased as she helped herself to a slice of the pizza.
‘Trust me,’ Gabriel murmured softly.
She stilled before raising suddenly guarded eyes. ‘You keep saying that....’
Yes, he did. Because, after meeting Bryn again, after spending time with her this evening knowing that she believed he had no idea who she was, and knowing how much he still wanted her, Gabriel did want Bryn to trust him.
* * *
‘I had a really good time this evening, thank you,’ Bryn murmured as she and Gabriel sat together in the darkened interior of his sports car. He had parked outside the old Victorian building where she lived, only the moonlight from above illuminating the quiet residential street.
A Bargain with the Enemy Page 6