Page 107 of Gabriel: Duke of Bencalor

Gabriel had set aside his anger to com­fort her. She in­haled sharply and fought back more tears as her heart twisted painfully.

She nudged him in the ribs with her el­bow in a weak at­tempt at de­flec­tion. “Now you’ve met my par­ents. Par­ent.”

“He told me that he gave you his word never to come here. I hope you will tell me why later,” Gabriel said. “But he broke his prom­ise be­cause he is con­cerned for your safety. As am I.” The last put an edge in his voice, but it soft­ened again as he said, “He loves you.”

“Maybe he does, but it’s a con­ve­nient kind of love. There when it’s easy for him, ban­ished when it gets in his way.”

“You are hard on him.”

“I have good rea­son to be.” She took his free hand and in­ter­twined her fin­gers with his, sa­vor­ing the el­e­gance and strength of his mu­si­cian’s hand. “I will tell you all about my fa­ther later, but Mikel is com­ing in twenty min­utes, so we should go down­stairs.”

Gabriel leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, his lips a soft, warm brush of re­as­sur­ance. “Any­time you want the meet­ing to end, you let me know. I will stop it in­stantly.”

His voice had the ring of com­mand, the bone-deep con­vic­tion that peo­ple would do as he di­rected. She would have called it ar­ro­gance, ex­cept that he used it in ser­vice to the peo­ple he loved.

She cupped the side of his face, feel­ing the aris­to­cratic bones be­neath her palm. “Thank you, but I can take care of my­self.”

“But you are not alone now.” He turned to place a kiss in­side her hand. “Let me help.”

Stop­ping the tears took all her con­cen­tra­tion, so she just nod­ded.

Gabriel stood, bring­ing her to her feet with him be­fore he re­leased her. He held the door to let her walk through and down the stairs in front of him. Yet she could feel his pres­ence be­hind her, and for the first time in many years, she be­lieved she wasn’t alone.

Chap­ter 27

Gabriel opened the back door for Mikel, who was dressed in black jeans and a black polo shirt. The se­cu­rity chief gave Gabriel a re­spect­ful nod, but the man’s at­ten­tion went im­me­di­ately to where Quinn and her fa­ther stood.

“Señor Pier­son,” Mikel said with a tip of his head in Bren­dan’s di­rec­tion, a bare sketch of ac­knowl­edg­ment.

So, Mikel did not re­spect Quinn’s fa­ther. Be­cause of what he knew about Quinn’s past or be­cause of some­thing about Bren­dan him­self?

“Mr. Silva.” Quinn’s fa­ther walked for­ward with his hand out­stretched. “Thank you for tak­ing such good care of my daugh­ter. I am in your debt.”

With an an­gry huff, Quinn opened her mouth and then closed it af­ter a quick glance at her boss’s tightly con­trolled face.

“Your daugh­ter is a val­ued col­league. You owe me noth­ing,” Mikel said, ex­tend­ing his hand only once Bren­dan reached the place where he stood.

Quinn’s stance re­laxed a tiny amount.

The air was thick with a ten­sion Gabriel did not un­der­stand. “I think we could all use a drink,” he said to ease the at­mos­phere. “Your usual, Mikel?”

“Gra­cias, Don Gabriel,” Mikel said af­ter a mo­ment’s hes­i­ta­tion.

Gabriel didn’t bother to tell him to drop the don. Mikel would have a rea­son for us­ing it, pos­si­bly to re­mind Quinn’s fa­ther that he was deal­ing with pow­er­ful peo­ple. Gabriel walked be­hind the kitchen is­land to rum­mage in Quinn’s cab­i­nets and re­frig­er­a­tor while he kept an eye on the three main play­ers, alert for more in­for­ma­tion.

For now, he had put aside his anger at Mikel and Quinn. There were too many un­der­cur­rents here that he needed to nav­i­gate with cau­tion. He didn’t want to do dam­age to her.

Quinn went back to her arm­chair, while Bren­dan re­turned to his seat on the sec­tional. Mikel pulled a chair from the din­ing ta­ble and po­si­tioned it where he could eas­ily see both of them.

Af­ter pour­ing a tall glass of seltzer for Mikel, Gabriel splashed whiskey into a rocks glass for Bren­dan and de­canted gen­er­ous por­tions of red wine for him­self and Quinn. Her jaw was clenched so tight that he could al­most hear her teeth grind­ing. Maybe the rich, smooth wine would loosen some of that rigid­ity.

He handed out the drinks, mak­ing sure his fin­gers brushed against Quinn’s as he passed her the stemmed glass. She gave him a tremu­lous smile of thanks. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and shel­ter her small body with his.

If only she would let him.

He seated him­self again and took a sip of the wine as Mikel locked his gaze on Quinn’s fa­ther. “I un­der­stand you have in­for­ma­tion re­gard­ing Jean-Pierre Dupont that you wish to share with me.”

“Only be­cause you’ve put my daugh­ter in that mur­der­ous bas­tard’s crosshairs,” Bren­dan said, his voice los­ing its lilt­ing hint of Irish.

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