A Bargain with the Enemy

‘What did you say?’ He frowned as he heard her mutter something in the vicinity of her knees.

‘I said,’ she bit out succinctly as she raised her head to glare at him, her face deathly pale, eyes deep grey wells of anguish, ‘I don’t give a damn about your thirty-year-old single-malt whisky!’

‘I doubt you’ll feel that way when I take the price of the bottle out of the sale of your paintings,’ Gabriel assured her dryly as he sat back on his heels.

‘What sale?’ she came back bitterly, sitting up in the chair now that the first danger of her fainting had obviously passed, her expression one of proud fragility. ‘How could you do that?’ she continued accusingly before he could answer. ‘How could you just come out with a statement like that without—without giving me some sort of prior warning?’

Well, it hadn’t taken long for her to recover from the initial shock, Gabriel appreciated ruefully. ‘What sort of warning should I have given you, Bryn?’ he challenged as he stood up to throw the sticky whisky-soaked cloth disgustedly down onto the bar. ‘“Oh, by the way, I think the two of us may have met before across a crowded courtroom”? Or, “You look a lot like Sabryna Harper, the daughter of—”? Do not collapse on me again, Bryn!’ he warned harshly as her face took on a grey tinge, her chest barely moving beneath the black T-shirt as she breathed shallowly.

‘I’m not about to collapse.’ Instead, she stood up abruptly, taking a few seconds to steady herself before straightening determinedly, her chin held high. ‘How long have you known?’

He quirked one dark brow. ‘That Bryn Jones is Sabryna Harper?’

‘Yes!’ she hissed, jaw clenching.

Gabriel gave a dismissive shrug. ‘Since the beginning.’

‘Since...?’ Bryn gasped, reaching down to grasp the arm of the chair as she felt herself sway again, despite her earlier claim that she wouldn’t collapse again. She gave a shake of her head. ‘You can’t have done!’

Brown eyes looked across at her calmly. ‘Why can’t I?’

‘Because— Well, because— Because you can’t!’ Her mouth firmed as she shied away from listing those reasons why. ‘I would never have got this far in the competition if you had known who I was from the beginning!’

He shrugged, his shoulders wide and muscled in the cream silk shirt. ‘Admittedly my brother Rafe advised against your inclusion, but I decided—’

‘Your brother Raphael knows who I am too?’ She stared at him in disbelief.

‘You know, Bryn, we’re going to get a lot further with this conversation if we work on the understanding that I invariably tell the truth. No matter what the consequences,’ he added harshly.

And one of those consequences had been Bryn’s father going to prison. An indisputable fact that hung between the two of them, unsaid but there nonetheless.

‘It was Michael who recognised you initially,’ Gabriel continued calmly. ‘He saw you when you came in for an interview with Eric at the gallery that first day, and then he spoke to Rafe about it, who then told me.’

‘Quite the secret little coterie of spies, aren’t you?’ Bryn snapped defensively, still completely thrown and befuddled by Gabriel’s admission of having known who she was from that first day.

Something she was still having trouble absorbing. Because if that really was the truth, as Gabriel claimed it was, then he had chosen her as a finalist for the New Artists Exhibition knowing exactly who and what she was.

Had ogled her breasts, that first day here in his office knowing exactly who she was. Had taken her out to dinner at Antonio’s knowing exactly who she was. Had kissed her later that same evening in his car knowing exactly who she was.

Which made absolutely no sense to Bryn whatsoever.

‘I don’t think insulting me, or my brothers, is helpful to this conversation either,’ Gabriel drawled.

Gabriel had decided while he was away in Rome and thinking of her constantly that the truth couldn’t remain unspoken between them once he returned to London. And if Bryn wouldn’t tell him the truth, then it was up to him to do it.

Bryn so obviously disliked, perhaps even hated, Gabriel for the part he had played in her father’s trial. Her desire now, her physical response to him, much as she might hate it, and him, was just as undeniable. And Gabriel couldn’t see any way forward for the two of them if the truth of who Bryn really was continued to remain unspoken between them.

Of course, there was always the possibility that there was still no way forward for the two of them once they had spoken of it, but Gabriel knew they couldn’t go on any longer with this lie standing between them, that the longer he allowed that omission to continue, the less chance there was that he and Bryn could ever come to any sort of understanding of each other.

‘I asked you to trust me several times, Bryn, to talk to me,’ he reminded huskily.

Her eyes widened. ‘And this was what you meant? That I should trust you enough to tell you I’m really Sabryna Harper, William Harper’s daughter?’

‘Yes,’ Gabriel bit out tautly.

Bryn continued to stare at him disbelievingly. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said to me!’

He gave a derisive smile. ‘Nevertheless, it’s the truth.’

She gave a dazed shake of her head. ‘In what universe did you think that was ever going to happen?’ Gabriel seriously expected her to— He had really thought that she would one day trust him enough to tell him, to confide in him. ‘It was never going to happen,’ she stated flatly.

He drew in a sharp breath. ‘That’s...unfortunate.’

‘I don’t see why,’ she challenged scathingly. ‘Luckily for you, you already have your reserve candidate for the New Artists Exhibition, so no problem there once you’ve had the pleasure of kicking me off—’

‘I’m not kicking you off anything, Bryn, and I resent the fact that you think it would ever be a pleasure for me to do so,’ he cut in harshly, running an agitated hand through the darkness of his hair as he scowled. ‘And why the hell would I do that, when you’re far and away the best artist in the exhibition?’

‘Why would you?’ she repeated challengingly. ‘I’m William Harper’s daughter!’ she reminded him—as if saying it repeatedly would help her to accept that Gabriel really did know, had always known, exactly who she was.

‘And, as I’ve already stated, I knew that when you were chosen as one of the six finalists.’

Yes, he had, which again made absolutely no sense to Bryn. Her father’s name was so shrouded in scandal that her mother had decided to distance them from it all by changing their last name after he had died. A scandal that had been connected to this very gallery and the D’Angelo name; she couldn’t believe that Gabriel would ever want to risk the resurrection of that scandal by exhibiting the paintings of William’s daughter. And certainly not intentionally.

She looked across at him guardedly, once again aware of how he owned the elegantly furnished office rather than the opulence dominating the man; Gabriel was such a force in his own right that he seemed to own the very air around him, no matter what his surroundings. Something that had been all too apparent during her father’s trial—even the judge hearing the case had treated him with a deference and respect he hadn’t shown to anyone else in the courtroom. Something that had no doubt added weight to the evidence Gabriel gave against her father.

Not that any weight had needed to be added; there had been no doubting her father’s guilt, not only for attempting to sell a fake Turner, but for having commissioned the forgery in the first place, having paid an artist in Poland a pittance to paint the forgery and then attempting to sell it for millions of pounds to Gabriel and the Archangel Gallery.

‘Bryn, even without Michael’s help, I would have known who you were the first time I looked at you again....’

She looked up at Gabriel sharply. ‘I don’t see how when my name and appearance are so different from five years ago.’

He gave a humourless smile. ‘It’s unlikely I’d ever forget the young woman who glared her hatred across a courtroom at me for days on end. Those eyes alone would have given you away.’

Bryn had never forgotten him either, but for quite a different reason.

Gabriel D’Angelo had, quite simply, been the most charismatic and darkly intriguing man she had ever set eyes on. But it was more than that; he was more than that. Gabriel had awakened something deep inside the eighteen-year-old overweight and slightly shy Sabryna that had filled her night fantasies for weeks before her father’s arrest, and months after the trial had ended.

The same fantasies that had filled all of her nights since meeting Gabriel again a week ago. The same desire that had awakened in her again, a few minutes ago in the basement, the second she had heard his voice behind her. The same desire that had caused her breath to catch in her throat when she’d turned to look at him. The same desire that raged through her even now, just from seeing how his cream silk shirt fitted so well over the broadness of his shoulders and tapered waist, the tailored brown trousers of his suit draping elegantly from his hips. This man—Gabriel—awakened that hunger inside her just by being in the same room with her.