A D'Angelo Like No Other

by Carole Mortimer

  Except to know he hadn’t liked seeing Eva so relaxed and comfortable in another man’s company. That same ease of companionship Michael had thought he and Eva had uniquely shared together over these past few days.

  Until last night...

  Last night had changed everything between them, and Michael hadn’t been at all sure that Eva would keep the appointment.

  To realise that she had come to the gallery after all, but had delayed going up to his office because she was downstairs in conversation with the too-handsome and too-charming Pierre, had tipped Michael’s already precarious mood over into burning displeasure.

  He wasn’t angry...he was jealous!

  Michael drew in a sharp, hissing breath at the thought of what that might mean.

  Because he knew, despite the circumstances under which they had met and his initial assumption she was a gold-digger, that he liked Eva... Not only was she beautiful, but she was also intelligent. Her conversation was astute and thought-provoking, and her exquisite photographs, most especially ‘Harmony’, proved she was also a gifted photographer.

  And, after last night, it would be ridiculous of Michael to even attempt to deny he also desired her.

  Added to which, he also admired her for her emotional resilience, after losing both her parents and her sister in so short a time. And he had no doubt about the deep love she felt for the twins—that love perhaps all the more intense because of those other recent family losses?

  But to imagine, to think, that he might be starting to have any deeper feelings for Eva was totally unacceptable to him.

  It was unacceptable to him to realise he had actually liked, enjoyed, these evenings he and Eva had spent together, playing with the twins before feeding and bathing them and then putting them to bed, before the two of them then sat down to enjoy a leisurely dinner together, along with scintillating and intelligent conversation.

  So much so that Michael was aware the apartment was going to feel empty, lonely, once Eva and the twins had returned to England...

  That last realisation was especially unacceptable to him!

  Michael was never lonely—the opposite, in fact. He had always enjoyed his own company, and valued his solitude. As well as the fact that he was answerable to no one in his private life. Business was a different matter, of course, because there he had a responsibility to Gabriel and Rafe, but in his private life he did exactly as he pleased.

  And for the past three evenings it had pleased him to be with Eva and the twins...

  ‘Take a seat,’ he ground out in invitation once he and Eva had entered his office, closing the door behind them before crossing the room to resume his seat behind the marble desk.

  Which was when Michael realised Eva had made no move to do as he asked, his eyes narrowing as he realised how seasonably bright and lovely she looked standing across the room in a sundress of pale lilac, her complexion creamy and smooth, just a pale lip gloss on the full pout of her lips. Her hair was that silky, ebony curtain against the bareness of her lightly tanned shoulders, her legs slender beneath the dress’s just-above-the-knee length, flat white sandals on her feet.

  His mouth tightened as he felt his shaft throb in recognition of all that unaffected loveliness. ‘Eva?’

  She still didn’t move. ‘You really were incredibly rude to Pierre just now—’

  ‘I believe you can safely leave my dealings with my staff to me!’ Michael dismissed unyieldingly.

  Eva’s eyes widened at the unmistakeable coldness in his tone. Could this man, who looked at her with such cool indifference, really be the same one who had made such exquisite love to her last night? Whose hands and lips had touched her everywhere? Who had tasted her so intimately?

  The answer to those questions was no, of course this wasn’t the same man...

  This man was every inch the one she had first met, the unapproachable and suspicious Michael D’Angelo, wealthy part-owner of the Archangel galleries, rather than the man who last night had revealed a sensitivity Eva had only guessed might exist.

  ‘You do know that Pierre is married...?’

  She frowned across at Michael, not liking the scorn she detected in his expression. ‘I had assumed so,’ she answered slowly, ‘after you told me he has two children of his own...’

  Michael nodded abruptly. ‘I just thought I would make sure you’re aware of that fact.’

  ‘Michael—’

  ‘Eva.’

  She gave a shake of her head at the hardness of his tone. ‘I don’t think I like what you’re implying.’

  ‘I’m not implying anything—’

  ‘Oh, I believe that you are!’ she said with certainty, sure now more than ever that Michael’s obvious distrust of women lay somewhere in his past...

  ‘Won’t you please sit down, Eva?’ Once again Michael indicated the chair across the desk from his own.

  Eva supposed she should be grateful that at least he had said please this time...

  She moved slowly forward before perching on the edge of the chair facing Michael across that marble desk, instantly regretting it as she became aware of the way in which it seemed to put more than just the distance of the width of that desk between them, turning this meeting businesslike rather than personal.

  As it was meant to?

  Of course it was meant to do that, Eva ruefully answered her own question; no doubt Michael was as eager as she was to put their relationship back on an impersonal footing.

  She sat up straighter in her chair. ‘I assure you, I have absolutely no personal interest in Pierre.’

  ‘And I apologise if you thought I was implying anything else.’ Michael nodded brusquely, only too well aware that he had been implying something else, that he had totally overreacted to seeing Eva talking with Pierre.

  As aware as he was that he refused to acknowledge the reason for that overreaction...

  ‘So, what was it you wanted to discuss with me?’ Eva prompted just as briskly.

  Michael’s brows rose. ‘I take it you’re not in the mood to exchange pleasantries first?’ he drawled dryly. ‘Polite enquiries as to whether or not we’ve both had an enjoyable, or in my case profitable, morning?’

  ‘No,’ she dismissed hardly. ‘Could we just get this conversation over with?’ she added impatiently as Michael continued to look at her steadily. ‘It’s getting late, and I want to take the twins to the Eiffel Tower today.’

  Michael had been aware that Eva had filled her days by taking the babies around Paris. Where the three of them had been, and the things they had seen, had been part of their conversations over dinner in the evenings.

  What surprised him now was the tug he felt to accompany the three of them on this afternoon’s excursion...

  The Paris Archangel had been open for eight years now, and Michael had spent at least three years of those eight in the French capital in two-to-three-month periods, and he had long grown accustomed to seeing the historical sights of Paris. In fact, he could see the Eiffel Tower from his apartment.

  Which would seem to indicate that his interest wasn’t in visiting the Eiffel Tower at all but in spending time with Eva and the twins...

  His mouth tightened at that realisation. ‘I wanted this meeting to take place here at the gallery because I have a business proposition I’d like to discuss with you.’

  Eva instantly grew wary as she could think of only one business proposition Michael could possibly have in mind. And after their lapse last night she shouldn’t really be surprised. No doubt, having had the morning to think about it, Michael was now eager for her to leave his apartment.

  She gave a shake of her head. ‘I don’t believe you should think about paying me off until after we’ve spoken to your brother—’

  ‘We aren’t speaking to Rafe, Eva, I am,’ Michael correct
ed harshly as he straightened abruptly. ‘And I have no intention of paying you off, as you put it, when we haven’t yet established that Rafe is the father of your sister’s children!’

  Eva felt the flush of anger in her cheeks at his continued doubting of her claim; Rachel might have been many things, immature and irresponsible being two of them, but she certainly hadn’t been a liar, and before she died she had clearly told Eva that Rafe D’Angelo was the father of the twins. ‘I will speak to your brother myself—’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ Michael assured her grimly.

  Eva’s eyes widened at the certainty in his voice. ‘You may be a rich and powerful man, Michael, but you can’t prevent me from seeing and talking to Rafe if I want to. And I do,’ she added determinedly.

  ‘This has nothing to do with how rich or how powerful I may or may not be.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Eva, don’t you think it would be...kinder to Nina, Rafe’s wife, if I were the one to talk to him? Privately,’ he added softly.

  The blush deepened in Eva’s cheeks at the quiet rebuke she could hear in Michael’s voice. ‘If I had wanted to make things unpleasant for Rafe’s wife then I would already have done so. Instead I agreed to wait until they return from their honeymoon before talking to him.’

  She had, Michael accepted. Because he had asked her to do so.

  ‘All I want to do is get to the truth,’ Eva added softly.

  ‘As do I.’ Michael nodded tersely. ‘And I believe we will achieve that more...discreetly, if I’m the one who talks to Rafe.’

  Although how the hell Michael was even going to begin to broach the subject of Rachel Foster to his newly married brother, let alone whether or not Rafe could be the father of her twin babies, he had no idea!

  Even if Rafe denied it, as Michael seriously expected him to do—his brother might have been something of a playboy before he met and fell in love with Nina, but he certainly hadn’t been irresponsible enough not to have used contraception in all of his previous relationships—then he had no doubt that Eva would demand blood tests in order to prove that denial, further complicating an already delicate situation.

  Michael had never seen Rafe as happy as he had been since he fell in love with Nina, and the thought of Eva’s accusations of Rafe’s paternity and the damage it might cause to his brother’s relationship with Nina, made Michael feel physically ill.

  But at the same time he felt empathy for Eva’s situation.

  He had come to know Eva well enough to know she wasn’t doing any of this out of spite or malice, or any sense of revenge, or with the intention of blackmailing Rafe for money, that she truly was just finding it impossible to financially care for Sophie and Sam, and needed their father’s help to continue doing so. Understandably so, when caring for the twins meant Eva could no longer work at her chosen profession, and the day-to-day care of two babies was an expensive business.

  Which left Michael feeling damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

  And the stiffness of Eva’s pride told him she would never accept financial help from him, no matter what the outcome of his conversation with Rafe.

  ‘I really didn’t ask you here to talk about any of that,’ he dismissed evenly.

  Eva sighed. ‘Then why did you ask me here?’

  His mouth thinned at the weariness of her tone. ‘As I said, I have a business proposition to put to you—it doesn’t involve paying anyone off!’ he bit out as he saw she was about to refuse a second time.

  Eva looked at him searchingly for several long tense seconds, but as usual she could read none of Michael’s thoughts from his closed expression. ‘Then what does it involve...?’ she finally prompted slowly, suspiciously.

  ‘Your Tibetan photographs.’

  She blinked her surprise at his answer. ‘Sorry?’

  Michael shrugged. ‘You mentioned you had brought back enough photographs of Tibet from your visit there last year for a second exhibition?’

  ‘Yes...’

  ‘And you already know that I’m a great admirer of E J Foster’s work,’ he drawled ruefully.

  ‘Yes...’ Eva felt the warmth enter her cheeks at the memory of exactly how she knew that. Of exactly where she had been, where they had both been, when she had discovered that. And the intimacies that had followed...

  Michael nodded. ‘I’m also—conveniently,’ he added dryly, ‘one of the owners of a collection of international art galleries and auction houses.’

  ‘Yes...’

  He eyed her impatiently. ‘Is that “yes” spoken in that less than trusting way going to be your only contribution to this conversation?’

  ‘That depends...’

  Those onyx-black eyes narrowed guardedly. ‘On what?’

  ‘On exactly where this conversation is going!’ Eva wasn’t sure what else she could say, when she had no idea yet what Michael was leading up to with this conversation. An idea had occurred to her, certainly, but it was such a fantastically unrealistic one it couldn’t possibly be right.

  No way Michael would ever want, ever think of suggesting, that she—that E J Foster—consider having an exhibition of her Tibetan photographs in one of the three prestigious Archangel galleries!

  No, of course Michael wasn’t suggesting that. It would be madness on Eva’s part to even think that he might—

  ‘What I’m proposing, Eva,’ Michael bit out evenly, ‘is that you consider exhibiting a selection of E J Foster’s Tibetan photographs in the Archangel gallery of your choice.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  EVA’S EYES WENT wide with disbelief as she continued to stare across the desk at Michael for several long seconds, before another emotion took its place, her eyes glittering with anger as she stood up abruptly, a flush to her cheeks now. ‘How could you?’ she accused emotionally, trembling hands clenching into fists at her sides, angry tears blurring her vision. ‘I knew from the moment I met you that you were a hard, cold man—’

  ‘Eva—’

  ‘—who didn’t believe a word I was saying to you—’

  ‘Eva!’

  ‘—but even knowing that,’ she continued as those tears began to fall hotly down her cheeks, ‘I didn’t think even you would ever be so deliberately cruel.’

  ‘Damn it, don’t cry...!’ Michael stood up to move quickly out from behind his desk before reaching out for her.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ Eva warned through numbed lips even as she stepped away to evade his grasp. ‘How could you, Michael? How could you be so cruel? How could you...?’ she choked again as she raised her hands to bury her face in them, the scalding-hot tears falling between her fingers.

  ‘Damn it, Eva...!’

  Eva had no fight left inside her to be able to pull away a second time as Michael drew her firmly into his arms, her salty tears instantly dampening the pristine whiteness of his silk shirt as one of his hands cupped the back of her head and held her gently to his chest.

  She knew none of this could be easy for Michael—any easier than it had all been for her when she first learnt of Rachel’s pregnancy and illness—and she empathised with the shock he must have felt when she had turned up at the gallery with the twins.

  Yes, Eva could sympathise, but this—this was uncalled for. Cruel, as she had already said, when Eva ached inside, longed for nothing more than to be able to continue with her career, and to exhibit more of her photographs.

  The very carrot Michael was now dangling so temptingly in front of her nose...

  But she would never, could never take that carrot, when the price might endanger the twins’ future!

  Michael was at a complete loss to know what to do with the silently sobbing Eva as he continued to hold her in his arms.

  Not sure whether he felt angry or hurt at Eva’s accusation of ‘I didn’t think even you wou
ld ever be so deliberately cruel...’

  Even him?

  What did that mean? That Eva believed him to be cold and hard obviously, but that she also hadn’t believed that coldness and hardness to be deep enough, ingrained enough, for him to treat her cruelly?

  Bad enough in itself, but Michael had no idea what cruelty Eva was referring to.

  He had thought she would be pleased with his proposition.

  What the hell sort of cruelty could there possibly be in his having invited her to exhibit her latest photographs in one of the Archangel galleries—?

  Michael tensed as the answer hit him squarely between the eyes. ‘Eva, do you think my offer of the exhibition is another way of me paying you off...?’ he grated slowly. ‘As in, your silence about Rafe in exchange for exhibiting your photographs at Archangel?’

  ‘What else could it be?’ She sniffled miserably as she attempted to mop up some of the tears dampening Michael’s chest.

  What else indeed...?

  Michael now knew exactly what emotion he was feeling! ‘You know, Eva,’ he bit out with steely calm, ‘I knew, from the moment I met you, that you could be impetuous and outspoken, but I hadn’t realised until now that you could also be so damned insulting as to accuse me of blackmailing you into silence!’

  ‘You don’t like the accusation any more than I did...’

  No, he didn’t. Because he had believed, after last night, that Eva was learning to trust him. As much as he now trusted her...?

  Whatever he had believed he had been wrong, damn it!

  He reached up to grasp her arms and hold her away from him as he looked down at her with glittering black eyes. ‘Look at me, Eva,’ he instructed harshly as she continued to look down at that damp patch on his shirt. ‘I said, look at me, damn it!’ he repeated hardly.

  She raised wet dark lashes to look up at him with eyes of a deep and bruised purple, her face deathly pale. ‘I never—I didn’t use the word blackmail...’

  ‘You didn’t need to!’ A nerve pulsed in Michael’s tightly clenched jaw. ‘It was right there alongside your other accusations...coldness and cruelty.’ He released her arms to walk across to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the Champs Élysées, not seeing any of the grandness of the wide avenue. ‘I thought you had come to know me better than that, Eva. Believed we had reached an understanding— Oh, to hell with what I believed; why should you be any different from every other bloody woman?’ he added bleakly. ‘I think you should leave now, before one or both of us says something else we’re going to regret.’