A Prize Beyond Jewels. Carole Mortimer

having absolutely no idea how his mother, very petite at all of five feet tall, still managed to silence each and every one of her three six-foot-plus sons, all aged in their thirties, with just their full name spoken in that particularly reproving tone of voice!

      Although he was thankfully saved from having to turn and face further admonishment from her as the organ played out the wedding march, announcing Bryn’s arrival.

      The tension instantly eased from Gabriel’s shoulders as the three brothers stood up.

      Rafe winced as he felt the vibration of his mobile against his chest to announce another incoming call. He chose to ignore it as he turned to look at Bryn as she walked slowly down the aisle on her stepfather’s arm.

      ‘Oh, wow, Gabe, Bryn looks absolutely stunning,’ he breathed sincerely. Bryn a vision in white lace and satin, the glow of her smile as she looked down the aisle at Gabriel enough to light up the whole church.

      ‘Of course she does,’ Gabriel murmured smugly, an expression of adoration on his face as he gazed at the woman he loved more than life itself.

      * * *

      ‘Who the hell would be crass enough to phone you during your own brother’s wedding?’ Michael demanded critically as he joined Rafe to one side of where the wedding guests now stood outside the church in the summer sunshine, watching indulgently as the bride and groom were photographed together. Both Gabriel and Bryn were glowing with happiness.

      Rafe grimaced as he looked up from checking his mobile; this was the first occasion he’d had to look for any messages. ‘Just a friend calling to warn me that Monique is on the warpath since she found out I won’t be returning to Paris after the wedding.’

      The three brothers rotated the management of the three privately owned and world-renowned Archangel galleries and auction houses. Michael would be taking over from Rafe at the Paris gallery on Monday, Gabe was to be based in London once he had returned from his honeymoon, and Rafe was flying to New York tomorrow to take over the gallery there.

      ‘You couldn’t have just told her that before you left?’ Michael barked irritably.

      Rafe shrugged. ‘I thought I had.’

      ‘Obviously she didn’t get the message.’ Michael scowled before turning to look over at Gabriel and Bryn between narrowed lids. ‘Can you believe our little brother is now a married man?’

      Rafe gave an affectionate grin as he also looked over at the happy couple. ‘And obviously loving every minute of it!’ And Gabriel wasn’t such a ‘little’ brother to them either, only two years younger than Michael’s thirty-five, and one year younger than Rafe’s thirty-four.

      As well as being close in age, the three brothers were alike in their appearance and colouring: all tall and ruggedly handsome, with ebony-dark hair, brown eyes, and olive-toned skin, all courtesy of their Italian grandfather.

      Michael was the remote and austere brother, preferring to keep his ebony hair styled short, his eyes so deep brown they appeared piercing black, and just as unfathomable as the man behind those eyes.

      Gabriel was quietly but lethally determined, his hair curling about his ears and nape, his eyes a warm chocolate-brown.

      Meanwhile Rafe kept his hair styled well below his collar, and much longer than either of his two brothers, and his eyes were so light brown that they glowed with the gold of a predator. He was also considered by most to be the least serious of the three D’Angelo brothers. At least by those who didn’t really know him well; those that did were fully aware that Rafe was just as steely as his two brothers beneath that outwardly flirtatious and teasing manner.

      Michael raised mocking brows. ‘I take it that Monique wasn’t the one for you, any more than the rest of the legion of women you’ve been involved with over the last fifteen years?’

      Rafe gave his brother a pitying look. ‘I’m not looking for “the one”, thank you very much!’

      Michael smiled slightly. ‘One of these days she might just find you!’

      ‘Hah, in your dreams.’ Rafe chuckled. ‘I accept that Gabe is ecstatically happy with Bryn, but I don’t for one minute believe in that “one love of your life” thing when it comes to myself. Any more than you do,’ he added knowingly.

      ‘No,’ his brother confirmed emphatically, his eyes an unreadable black. ‘I’m not going to be plagued with telephone calls and visits from this Monique woman when I get to Paris, am I, pleading with me to tell her where you are and how she can contact you?’

      ‘I hope not.’ Rafe sighed wearily. ‘We had fun for a few weeks, but now it’s over.’

      Michael gave a shake of his head, his expression one of irritation.

      ‘She doesn’t seem to realise that.’ He gave Rafe a hard stare. ‘Perhaps you could turn your charm onto something more useful once you get to New York? Dmitri Palitov’s daughter will be coming to the gallery on Tuesday,’ he explained at Rafe’s questioning look. ‘She’s personally overseeing the installation of the display cabinets she designed for her father’s jewellery exhibition at the gallery next weekend. She will be staying for the duration of the exhibition, along with Palitov’s own security.’

      Rafe’s eyes widened disbelievingly. ‘What the hell?’

      ‘Palitov wanting his own security is understandable.’ His brother gave a brief shrug. ‘Allowing his daughter to design the display cabinets and her continued presence at the gallery before and during the exhibition were also conditions for Palitov agreeing to there being an exhibition at all.’

      Rafe was as aware as Michael that it was a coup for the Archangel gallery that the reclusive Russian billionaire had agreed to allow his private collection to be exhibited at all. No one but Dmitri Palitov had seen the majority of that jewellery for decades, some of it reputed to have belonged to the Tsarina herself, after it had disappeared from Russia last century.

      ‘I’m relying on you to keep the daughter sweet for the next few weeks,’ Michael added.

      ‘What exactly does that mean?’ Rafe frowned incredulously. ‘Palitov is pushing eighty, so how old is his daughter?’

      ‘Does it matter how old she is?’ Michael dismissed uninterestedly. ‘I’m not asking you to sleep with her, just use some of that lethal Raphael D’Angelo charm on her,’ his brother drawled mockingly before giving Rafe a patronising pat on the back and strolling away to join their parents.

      Rafe gave a disgusted huff, not at all happy at being expected to use his charm on the middle-aged daughter of a reclusive Russian billionaire.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Three days later. The Archangel gallery, New York.

      ‘WOULD YOU MIND moving? I’m afraid you’re in the way.’

      Rafe straightened in the doorway of the east gallery of Archangel, where he had been standing for the past few minutes observing the installation of the glass and bronze cabinets being brought in for the displaying of the Palitov jewellery collection. He turned now to look at the young lad who had just spoken to him so abruptly.

      He seemed to be in his teens, and a couple of inches under six feet tall, dressed in the same faded denims and bulky black sweatshirt as the other workers, and wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face.

      A face that was a little too pretty for a boy, Rafe realised: arched dark brows above eyes the green of fresh moss, and surrounded by long and thick dark lashes, a pert nose with a light smattering of freckles, high cheekbones above hollow cheeks, with full and lush lips above a pointed and determined chin.

      Yes, he was a bit too pretty, Rafe acknowledged ruefully, although he didn’t seem to be having any trouble helping to wheel the display cases into place.

      Rafe had arrived at the gallery at eight-thirty as usual, only to learn from his