been a mistake for him to come here at all; he accepted that now. He should have just passed her property on to Eric Sanders to give back to her on Monday, or bagged it up and had it delivered by courier to her tomorrow rather than come here personally.
He knew he should stay well away from Bryn, that it was better for both of them if he did so; she so obviously wanted nothing to do with him outside Archangel, and he knew from their meeting how dangerous she was to his self-control.
It seemed he just hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming here when the opportunity presented itself.
His jaw tightened. ‘I do have something of yours that I thought you might need returning to you sooner rather than later.’
‘Really?’ She eyed him sceptically.
Gabriel leaned back in the leather armchair to look up at her through narrowed lids. ‘You know, Bryn, I’ve found your attitude towards me to be...less than polite since meeting you. Surprisingly so, considering that I’m one of the owners of the gallery where your paintings are going to be exhibited. If you have a problem with me, or my gallery, then perhaps now might be a good time for you to tell me what that problem is?’
A delicate blush coloured her cheeks as she chewed on her bottom lip, her artistic ambitions obviously once again at war with the past—and present—resentment Bryn felt towards him.
It was a resentment Gabriel understood, and sympathised with, but it rankled that Bryn still so obviously held him to blame for what had happened in the past; Gabriel wasn’t responsible for William Harper’s attempt to sell a forged Turner to the D’Angelos. Only for showing the other man up as the charlatan he so obviously was.
Bryn had initially talked herself into entering her paintings in the New Artists competition by reassuring herself that in all likelihood she would never have to meet any of the three D’Angelo brothers personally. She now found it totally disconcerting that she had met and spoken with one of them—twice in one day!—and that that one should happen be Gabriel!
Even so, she knew she deserved Gabriel’s criticism. She was guilty of allowing the past to influence her manner towards him, something he must consider highly disrespectful, as well as puzzling, given that he only knew her as Bryn Jones, aspiring artist, and had given no indication of recognising her as Sabryna Harper. If Gabriel ever learned the truth, it would no doubt result in that seventh, reserve artist being asked to take her place in the exhibition!
‘I apologise if I’ve seemed less than...grateful, Mr D’Angelo,’ she muttered stiffly. ‘Obviously it’s a privilege and an honour to be chosen as one of the new artists to display their paintings in a gallery as prestigious as Archangel—’
‘As I told you earlier, Bryn, abject apology doesn’t sit well on your slender shoulders,’ he drawled, dark eyes gleaming with mocking humour.
Her gaze fell from his. ‘In that case, I believe you said you came here this evening to return something of mine?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘And?’ she prompted.
He glanced down at the gold watch on his wrist. ‘What time do you finish this evening?’
Bryn frowned. ‘In a couple hours.’
‘Eight 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
He knew he should stay well away from Bryn, that it was better for both of them if he did so; she so obviously wanted nothing to do with him outside Archangel, and he knew from their meeting how dangerous she was to his self-control.
It seemed he just hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming here when the opportunity presented itself.
His jaw tightened. ‘I do have something of yours that I thought you might need returning to you sooner rather than later.’
‘Really?’ She eyed him sceptically.
Gabriel leaned back in the leather armchair to look up at her through narrowed lids. ‘You know, Bryn, I’ve found your attitude towards me to be...less than polite since meeting you. Surprisingly so, considering that I’m one of the owners of the gallery where your paintings are going to be exhibited. If you have a problem with me, or my gallery, then perhaps now might be a good time for you to tell me what that problem is?’
A delicate blush coloured her cheeks as she chewed on her bottom lip, her artistic ambitions obviously once again at war with the past—and present—resentment Bryn felt towards him.
It was a resentment Gabriel understood, and sympathised with, but it rankled that Bryn still so obviously held him to blame for what had happened in the past; Gabriel wasn’t responsible for William Harper’s attempt to sell a forged Turner to the D’Angelos. Only for showing the other man up as the charlatan he so obviously was.
Bryn had initially talked herself into entering her paintings in the New Artists competition by reassuring herself that in all likelihood she would never have to meet any of the three D’Angelo brothers personally. She now found it totally disconcerting that she had met and spoken with one of them—twice in one day!—and that that one should happen be Gabriel!
Even so, she knew she deserved Gabriel’s criticism. She was guilty of allowing the past to influence her manner towards him, something he must consider highly disrespectful, as well as puzzling, given that he only knew her as Bryn Jones, aspiring artist, and had given no indication of recognising her as Sabryna Harper. If Gabriel ever learned the truth, it would no doubt result in that seventh, reserve artist being asked to take her place in the exhibition!
‘I apologise if I’ve seemed less than...grateful, Mr D’Angelo,’ she muttered stiffly. ‘Obviously it’s a privilege and an honour to be chosen as one of the new artists to display their paintings in a gallery as prestigious as Archangel—’
‘As I told you earlier, Bryn, abject apology doesn’t sit well on your slender shoulders,’ he drawled, dark eyes gleaming with mocking humour.
Her gaze fell from his. ‘In that case, I believe you said you came here this evening to return something of mine?’
‘I did, yes.’
‘And?’ she prompted.
He glanced down at the gold watch on his wrist. ‘What time do you finish this evening?’
Bryn frowned. ‘In a couple hours.’
‘Eight 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
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