What on earth was wrong with her?
Anyone would think that she wanted Rafe D’Angelo to find her attractive. To kiss her, even.
Which was ridiculous. She was only at the Archangel gallery in order to oversee the installation and security of her father’s jewellery collection, nothing more. The fact that she was so totally aware of everything about Rafe D’Angelo—the silkiness of his overlong dark hair, that predatory glint in those golden eyes, the hard contours of that sculptured and ruggedly handsome face, the muscled strength of his body—was irrelevant, when she had no intention of allowing her attraction to him to go any further. When her father’s protection of her wouldn’t allow that attraction to go any further.
‘I’ve made arrangements for you to go down to the basement and view our security at twelve o’clock,’ Rafe D’Angelo informed her briskly now, the expression in those golden eyes guarded. ‘I trust that time is convenient for you?’
‘Perfectly, thank you.’ Nina nodded coolly. ‘You’re also aware, once the collection is in place, that there will be two men from my father’s own security detail in the east gallery guarding the collection at all times?’
‘So I believe.’ He nodded tersely.
Her brows rose at his tone. ‘You don’t approve?’
‘It isn’t a question of whether or not I approve,’ Rafe rasped. ‘But I find it a tad insulting that your father should feel it necessary, if you really want to know,’ he added with obvious impatience.
She shrugged. ‘I doubt my father suspects that you, or any of your employees, intend to steal the collection.’
‘How reassuring!’
Nina thought they had gone as far as they could on that particular subject; there was no way her father would back off on security for his precious jewellery collection, whether Rafe D’Angelo felt insulted or otherwise. ‘So, what was it you wished to discuss with me, Mr D’Angelo?’ she prompted lightly.
‘I thought we had agreed it would be Rafe and Nina?’ he reminded dryly. ‘Mr D’Angelo makes me sound like my stern older brother.’ He grimaced.
Nina raised auburn brows. ‘That would be the Michael D’Angelo who visited my father some weeks ago?’
‘You were able to recognise him from my description, hmm?’ Rafe drawled ruefully.
Nina shrugged narrow shoulders. ‘I found him to be polite, if a little...austere.’
That golden gaze narrowed. ‘You’ve actually met my brother Michael?’
Her eyes widened at the sharpness of his tone. ‘I was present when he and my father signed the contracts for the exhibition, yes.’ She nodded.
What the hell?
Rafe had spoken to Michael just an hour ago, a conversation in which his brother hadn’t acknowledged having actually met Nina Palitov. Admittedly Rafe hadn’t actually asked him if he had, but Michael certainly hadn’t mentioned having met her, either. Not earlier, or when the two of them had spoken on the subject at Gabe’s wedding; a conversation in which Michael also hadn’t bothered to contradict Rafe when he had made the assumption that Nina Palitov was middle-aged.
‘I saw the beautiful photographs, in the Sunday newspapers, of your younger brother’s—Gabriel, is it?—wedding on Saturday. The three of you are very alike.’
Rafe had been studying the tips of his highly polished black shoes, but he now looked up at Nina Palitov, his eyes narrowing as he saw how the sun, shining in through the window behind him once again picked out those gold highlights in that glorious red hair, her eyes a soft moss-green against her creamy soft skin, and as for her lips...
Rafe cursed softly under his breath as he straightened before moving to sit back behind his desk, his already semi-hard erection having given an acknowledging throb in response to his looking appreciatively at Nina Palitov’s lushly parted lips.
A totally unacceptable reaction as far as Rafe’s intellect was concerned—he had always liked a lack of complication in those tall leggy blondes he was usually attracted to. They spent a few weeks of enjoying each other, mainly in bed, and with no expectations on either side. Nina Palitov, who she was, who her father was, made an attraction to her as complicated as hell.
Unfortunately his once again rapidly hardening manhood still seemed to have an entirely different opinion on the subject.
Rafe chose to ignore that physical reaction as he now looked across the width of his desk at Nina Palitov between narrowed lids. ‘Yes, we are,’ he bit out dismissively. ‘And it was a lovely wedding. As lovely weddings go,’ he added with a dismissive lack of interest.