He didn’t know what he was saying. No one knew Summer Montgomery. Not even her mother and father. The actors and actresses with whom she had worked so closely only saw what she wanted them to see. They did not know that her parents were doctors or that she had had a younger brother. Lucas Shelby and those at the Department knew Renegade, but not Summer.
Her parents did not know their firstborn.
The only exception was her grandmother.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I am saying. We can have fun without a declaration of love or committing to each other.”
She opened her eyes, more shaken than she cared to admit. She told Gabriel she didn’t want to become involved with him, yet her heart refused to believe what her mind told her. She had a mission to see to its conclusion and she couldn’t afford to be distracted by romantic notions.
If she had been Summer Montgomery civilian, she would have been flattered by Gabriel Cole’s interest in her, but she was a special agent working for a federal law enforcement agency.
“We won’t rush into it,” he crooned close to her ear. “If it doesn’t work out, then it was never meant to be.”
“And if it does?” she whispered.
His smile was brilliant. “Then it will be wonderful.”
Vertical lines appeared between her eyes. “What an arrogant thing to say!”
His smile faded. “It has nothing to do with arrogance. I know who I am and what I want.”
He knew who he was while she was living a double life. The only thing she was certain of was what she wanted at that moment. She wanted Gabriel Cole more than she wanted to identify the person or persons responsible for Weir’s drug dealing.
A wave of fatigue seized her, and she felt a return of the tiredness. She was tired of fighting what she wanted and needed most—a normal life doing what most women her age did. She wanted to go out dancing, take in a movie, share a romantic dinner, and she wanted a physical liaison with a man wherein she was reminded of why she had been born female.
“All right,” she conceded softly. “We’ll let destiny tell our story.”
Curving an arm around her waist, Gabriel pulled her close. Angling her head, she rested it on his shoulder. They sat, staring at the water as the sun shifted, taking with it the warmth of the afternoon.
Four
Summer snuggled closer to Gabriel, capturing some of his body’s heat. “Were you named for the Archangel of the Annunciation?”
Gabriel chuckled softly. “No. Actually I was named after an uncle. He’s my mother’s brother. I believe my name means God is my strength, or God gives him strength.”
“Do you believe that?”
He smiled. “What I believe is that God is giving me the gift to compose music.”
She glanced up at him. “Isn’t your father a musician?”
“Yes. However, he’s been a producer for more than thirty years. He plans to retire next year on his seventieth birthday.”
“Will you take over?”
Gabriel shook his head. “No. My younger brother and sister are being groomed to head up Serenity Records.”
“How old are they?”
“Twenty-five.” He smiled. “They’re twins.”
“Isn’t that a little young to head a major record company?”
“Not for Jason and Ana. In fact, all of us have grown up in the company of wannabe heartthrobs and divas, listening to demo records and sometimes being privy to contract negotiations before we reached our teens. Ana and Jason’s focus has always been the business end of Serenity, while I prefer the creative component.”
“Tell me about Gabriel Cole. The real Gabriel and not the one I occasionally see on Entertainment Tonight or read about in People or the supermarket tabloids. I want to know why you’ve elected to live on Cotuit instead of in Hollywood or South Beach? What or who are you hiding from?”
Gabriel stared at Summer, complete surprise freezing his features until she dropped her gaze. “You think I’m hiding?”
She nodded mutely. A slight smile softened his mouth. “I’m not hiding from anyone or anything.” Removing his arm from around her body, he extended his long legs and rested his hands on his denim-covered knees. “I’m a loner. I’ve always been a loner.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Three, two sisters and a brother. Our house in Boca Raton was always filled with music and lots of noise, noise that never seemed to bother my parents. My father said quiet homes were for the sick and dead, so we were raised somewhat as free spirits. But that’s not to say we grew up without boundaries. Even before we were teenagers my father had what he called the Cole Manifesto: no underage drinking and absolutely no drugs. He said we did not want to know the punishment for a single infraction. He had me so traumatized that I was twenty-four before I took my first drink.”
“I suppose your parents didn’t mind you piercing your ears?”
“I was eighteen when I got the first piercing, and eight years later I decided I wanted two more. Dad, who had had his left ear pierced when he was in his late teens, had his right ear pierced on the same day. There was quite a commotion when we showed up at my grandmother’s house to celebrate my Dad’s sixtieth birthday. She took one look at our ears and took to her bed for the rest of the day.”
“What did everyone do?”
“Hell, we parried on without her. She came around the next day, crossing her breasts while imploring the saints to help her son and grandson see the error of their ways.” Gabriel made the sign of the cross over his chest, rolled his eyes upward in supplication and began praying in Spanish in a falsetto voice.
Summer punched him softly on the shoulder. “Stop that!”
He sobered, but was unsuccessful when he attempted to hide a smile. “Well, that’s how she sounded.”
Summer’s gaze followed a lone seagull gliding gracefully with the wind currents. “You were saying you’re a loner. What about all those actresses and singers you dated?”
“It was only for publicity.” Women who dated the very private Gabriel Cole were never identified or photographed.
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. I never slept with any of them. We’d show up at a party, stay an hour, then I’d take them home or drop them off to see whomever it was their studios did not want them to be seen with.”
“You just shattered my impression of you being a playa’.”
“Sorry about that.”
She smiled at him. “There’s no need to apologize.”
“Becoming a party animal is the quickest way to short circuit one’s career and creativity. I’ve never been able to compose in chaos.”
“Is that why you didn’t turn on your car’s radio or CD player?” His car had a state of the art sound system, yet he had driven the entire trip without music.
He flashed his sensual crooked smile. “So, you noticed?”
She wanted to tell Gabriel there weren’t too many tilings about him she did not notice. Just glancing at him she could tell his waist and shoe size. She could tell whether he was tense or relaxed by the set of his strong jaw, and she knew when he was staring at her, even with her gaze averted. It was as if she could feel the heat from his golden-brown eyes searing her skin.
“Are you working on something new?” she said, answering his question with one of her own.
He nodded, saying, “It’s a little jazz number with a syncopated riff for a horn.”
“Would you mind if I hear it?” His left eyebrow lifted a fraction, and Summer held up her hands. “If you’re superstitious about—”
“I’m not superstitious,” he said in a quiet voice, cutting her off. Pushing to his feet, he reached down to pull her up. “Come with me.”
Summer followed Gabriel into the house, through the entryway, past the family room, and a formal living room with two gleaming black concert pianos facing each other, noticing both were Steinways. Her curiosit
y was piqued when he opened the door to another room, the overhead recessed lights coming on automatically.
Her shock was complete when she stood in the middle of a recording studio. Turning around, she took in everything: recording booth, equipment for laying down tracks, mixers, tuners, speakers, and a computer.
“Very, very nice,” she said softly. “One stop shopping for composing and recording.”
Tightening his hold on her hand, he led her to a synthesizer. “Do you play?”
“Only piano.”
He seated her on a bench, then sat down beside her. “I want you to listen to this.”
Summer watched, transfixed, as his long, slender fingers spanned the keys. His hands were exquisite, the backs broad and covered with a sprinkling of black hair. His nails were short, even and square-cut.
The first eight chords conjured up drops of water splashing into an empty tin pail as a muted horn played out a syncopated rhythm in double time. She found herself humming counterpoint to the horn.
The sound of Summer scatting along with the work-in-progress quickened Gabriel’s pulse. Her voice was the perfect accompaniment to a tune that had haunted him for more than year. Touching a key, he added the soft brushing sound of a snare drum. It was perfect. All the composition needed was a piano, flugelhorn, drum and voice. Her contralto voice was a beautiful instrument.
He stopped, his fingers resting lovingly on the keys. Excitement fired his gold eyes. “Perfect. You were perfect!”
She wrinkled her nose. “The piece is wonderful.”
“No, Summer, you are fabulous.”
They stared at each other for a full minute until Summer lowered her gaze and peered at him through her lashes. The smoldering fire she saw in Gabriel’s eyes shocked her. It had surfaced again—the magnetism that made him who he was had captured her in a web of longing from which she did not want to escape.
“Aren’t you going to give me a tour of your house?” She had said the first thing that had come to her mind. She needed to move, get away before he saw how much he disturbed her.
Gabriel inclined his head. “We’ll start upstairs then work our way down.” He stood up and walked out of the studio, leaving her to follow, her gaze fixed on the profusion of graying hair swaying between his shoulder blades.
Closing her eyes, Summer inhaled deeply. As Renegade, she would’ve been totally immune to Gabriel Cole, but this weekend as Summer she was powerless to resist his virile appeal. And, she had to ask herself did she really want to resist him. She knew the answer even before her mind had formed the question: No.
Gabriel was reserved and formal as a tour guide when he showed her the bedrooms and adjoining baths on the second floor. Fireplaces, sitting rooms, and French doors, allowing for an abundance of natural light were repeated in all of the bedrooms, but that was where the similarities ended. Furnishings in each depicted a mix of contemporary and French country, Queen Anne, Mediterranean, and Spanish. Every bathroom featured a dressing room, freestanding shower stall, bidet, and sunk-in bathtub with a Jacuzzi.
“I had the second floor expanded to include private bathrooms for each of the bedrooms.”
Summer walked alongside him as they descended the staircase. “What made you decorate each bedroom with a different style?”
“I wouldn’t know a Queen Anne from a Louis the twentieth.”
“The period ended with the sixteenth,” she corrected softly.
“Whatever,” Gabriel drawled, repeating the word which seemed to have become the only one in Weir’s student population’s lexicon.
She smiled at him. “Hey. That was very good.”
He returned her smile. “I don’t know anything about decorating, but what I didn’t want was a farmhouse or early American look. I have an aunt who is an interior decorator who offered me several options. The second story one period, the first story another, or each room a mix. I do like contemporary, so I went along with the more eclectic styles. The only exception is the living and dining rooms.”
The formal living and dining rooms were filled with exquisite mahogany pieces, reminding Summer of the elegant homes she had seen in the Caribbean. Gabriel had expanded the lower level to include a media room complete with a seventy-two inch wall-mounted plasma television screen and two smaller screens for simultaneous viewing of other channels. The elaborate audio/video and lighting system, activated by a press of a few remote-control buttons, visually concealed any evidence of equipment A comfortable sofa, love seat, a quartet of armchairs and the walls covered with framed classic movie posters of Black films invited one to come and stay for hours.
Summer was totally enchanted by what Gabriel referred to as his entertainment room. The space, twice the size of the media room, was set up like a nightclub: recessed lights, a raised stage with a keyboard, space for dancing, bistro tables and chairs, and a colorful jukebox with hundreds of CDs. It was apparent he had spared no expense when it came to decorating his home.
She peered into the jukebox. “How many CDs do you have?”
Gabriel stood behind her, his breath whispering over an ear. “I lost count after eight hundred. I have them programmed on a changer. What do you want to hear?”
Peering at him over her shoulder, she smiled. “You pick something.”
Leaning over, he pressed nine buttons in rapid succession and the familiar opening beats for Michael Jackson’s “Billy Jean” came through the powerful speakers.
“Oh, no you didn’t,” she said, swaying and snapping her fingers.
Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, watching Summer imitate the King of Pop’s celebrated dance steps. By the time her bare feet moonwalked across the floor, he was singing along with her. “Billy Jean” segued into Tina Turner’s “You Better Be Good to Me,” then Wilson Pickett’s “In The Midnight Hour.”
He found everything about Summer uninhibited and expressive. She sang from her soul, moving as if she had been born to dance. There was no doubt she was a natural talent.
She collapsed in his arms, her breasts pressed to his heaving chest. Waiting until she’d regained her breath, Summer smiled up at Gabriel smiling down at her. “You’ll have to excuse me, but it’s been a long time since I’ve just let myself go.”
He saw the excitement in her eyes. Whether she wanted to accept it or not, Summer was a consummate performer. “You’re an incredible talent.”
“And you’re a very kind critic,” she countered. Pulling away from him, she floated down to the floor, folding her legs in a yoga position.
Sobering, Gabriel sat down beside her. “It has nothing to do with kindness. You are what you are.”
“Does this mean you’re ready to sign me to your father’s record label?”
He wanted to tell her that if he offered her a contract with Serenity Records it would be for life. Now that he had found a woman who appeared to share his passion for music, he did not want to let her go.
“Yes. That is, if you want it.”
Reaching up, she twisted her hair, tucking it into a tight bun at the back of her head. “If you had offered me something like this ten or even fifteen years ago I would have accepted it without batting an eye. But times have changed and so have I.” She gave him a smile that made his insides quiver like gelatin. “Thank you anyway, Gabriel.”
He forced a brittle smile. “We could be the new Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. Moving closer, he launched into a rendition of “If I Could Build My Whole World Around You.” Gabriel sang Marvin’s part, and Summer Tammi’s, the words flowing from his heart to his lips. And he did want to build his whole world around her. He wanted to calm her fears, make her laugh until her sides hurt, and protect her forever. What he did not want to acknowledge was that he was beginning to like Summer more than he wanted to.
Like a small child, she crawled trustingly into his lap and rested her head on his shoulder. He held her close singing in her ear, “Like sweet morning dew I took one look at you, and it was plain to see that you
were my destiny.”
Summer went completely still when she recognized the words to “You’re All I Need to Get By.” She pressed her fingertips to his mouth. “No more. Please.”
He caught her small wrist, holding it firmly. “Why not?”
“You’re moving too quickly.”
He shook his head. “Wrong, Summer. If I move any slower we’ll both be ninety before we acknowledge this … this thing that’s pulling us together.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “I feel it, too.”
“What do you plan to do about it?” he asked, his tongue tracing the fullness of her lower lip.
Renegade would have had a quick answer for him, but it wasn’t her alias sitting on Gabriel Cole’s lap, enjoying the touch of his mouth on hers. It was Summer Montgomery, completely unmasked and unplugged.
“Wait until the time is right to act upon it,” she whispered, then parted her lips to accept the heat of his kiss. It sang through her veins like the words of the love song they’d just shared. Somehow she found the strength to pull away. Running her forefinger down the length of his nose, she gave him a demure smile. “I think it’s time we close this nightclub.”
He nodded, smiling. “We’ll reopen it again after I prepare dinner for you.”
“You cook?”
“A little.”
Summer gave him a skeptical look. “Why can’t I believe you whenever you say that word?”
Rising to his feet, he pulled her gently off the floor, brushing a gentle kiss across her forehead. “I thought in the eyes of the law everyone is considered innocent until proven guilty.”
She wanted to tell him that she was the law, but held her tongue. Instead, she enjoyed the protection of his arm around her waist as they made their way to the kitchen.
Five
Summer sat in a dining area in the kitchen, across the table from Gabriel, her gaze fixed on the outline of his mouth under the black mustache. The facial hair was new because in all of the photographs she had seen of him he had been clean-shaven. The mustache changed his face, adding maturity and character.
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