Introduction To Romance (10 Books). Кэрол Мортимер

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