Rising off the bed, Summer reached for Gabriel, hoping to capture the one thing which would end her erotic torment. She wanted and needed his hardness inside her. She needed him to relieve the burning, throbbing ache that threatened to shatter her into so many pieces that she would never be whole again.
Lifting his hips, Gabriel guided his swollen flesh into Summer’s body. If possible, the scent of her rising desire made him harder, and he resisted the urge to ram into her. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, as her flesh stretched to welcome him home.
It was only when he was buried up to the root, he began moving. Slowly, deliberately until he established a rhythm she followed easily. Her well-toned body moving in concert with his became a piano establishing the theme, then the soulful wail of a soprano sax taking him higher and higher. Then it changed, and the melody blended with the haunting sound of an oboe, sensual moan of a cello, and changed again with the soaring strains of violins and violas when her legs curved around his waist.
He was lost, drowning in the music they’d created with their joining. They had become one. They were one.
Summer felt like a budding flower, opening and yielding the nectar her lover could taste, savor, and possess. Gabriel made her feel things she never knew existed. Each moan, groan, thrust of his powerful hips increased the coil of pleasure building up in her womb.
It came upon her so quickly she did not have time to react. The fireball exploded at the same time she threw back her head and screamed his name. It had erupted from the back of her throat before it faded to a whisper of wonderment.
Gabriel did not want to concentrate on the flesh squeezing his in long measured convulsions, but he failed. Summer’s soft whimpers in his ear took him higher and higher until he, too, exploded, the force hurtling him beyond reality.
Broad shoulders convulsed and shuddered violently as he collapsed heavily on her slender frame, the crescendo in his head fading with the ebbing passion softening his flesh nestled in her moist, feminine heat.
He did not want to move, but was forced to. He weighed too much to lie on her. He reversed their position, cradling her legs between his. They lay without moving, until their respiration resumed to a normal rate.
Summer listened to the strong pumping of Gabriel’s heart against her cheek. “I thought we were going swimming.”
He chuckled softly, staring up at her through a fringe of long lashes. “We just did, darling. Didn’t you feel the undertow?”
She laughed softly. “No, I didn’t because I was drowning in the sweetest ecstasy I have ever experienced in my life.”
Gabriel dropped a kiss on her hair. What he wanted to tell her was that it was only the beginning of their life together, because he had so many places to explore, so many things he wanted to share with her.
His hand played with her hair, undoing the single plait. When her hair floated over her shoulders, he reversed their position, staring down at her as her hair flowed over the pillow.
One of his fantasies had been fulfilled: to have her in his bed with her hair flowing on the pillow. He combed his fingers through the strands. “You have beautiful hair.”
“You won’t say that when you see it frizz up. That’s why I have it relaxed at least three to four times a year.”
Rubbing several strands between his fingers, he shook his head. “It feels so soft.”
“That’s why it frizzes. Coarse hair will hold a set longer than what I have been blessed with.”
Gabriel kissed her mouth. “You are blessed, Summer. Blessed with beauty, brains and an incredible musical talent.” He flashed a lopsided smile. “You’re not the only one who has been blessed.” He paused, staring at her mouth. “I’m blessed to have found you.”
“Were you looking, Gabriel?”
“I didn’t know I was until I saw you.”
They stared at each other, basking in the warm glow of love. Gabriel shifted until he lay beside Summer. He threaded his fingers through hers and closed his eyes. A comfortable silence descended on them once again.
There was no need for words. Their bodies and hearts had communicated silently everything that needed to be said.
Fifteen
Summer lay on a blanket on the beach, her face pressed to Gabriel’s bare chest. The sun had set, taking with it the intense heat and leaving a warm tropical breeze. Millions of stars and a slip of a moon lit up the navy-blue sky.
It was Saturday night, and she and Gabriel would spend one more night in Ocho Rios before they prepared to return to the States Monday morning.
“Why Aaron Copland and not Duke Ellington?” she said softly.
“I suppose you’re talking about my tattoo.”
“Yes.”
Gabriel told her he’d had the opening notes of Copland’s “Fanfare for the Common Man” tattooed on his lower back a week after he’d enrolled in graduate school. The music from the Fourth Movement of Copland’s Symphony no. 3 had haunted him for years. It crept into his head when he least expected or wanted it to. He copied the music for a tattoo artist, who made a stencil of the notes. The moment he’d felt the bite of the needle, he’d changed his mind. But he’d endured the pain and avoided strong sunlight for two weeks. Once the tattoo healed, the melody was exorcised from his mind.
“You’re really a rebel, aren’t you? Tattoos and earrings.”
“I’m no more a rebel than my father or Michael. Dad has both and Michael has an elaborate red and black dragon tattooed on his golden triangle.”
She smiled at his reference to the area on the lower back. “Is he really a thug?”
“Michael?”
“Yes.”
“No. But he can be quite dangerous when crossed. He graduated from West Point like his father, and was involved with military intelligence before he left the army to teach military law.”
“If his father is your father’s brother, then why is his name Kirkland?”
“Uncle Josh was once one of the family’s dirty little secrets. My grandfather had an extramarital affair with his secretary, and my uncle was the result of that liaison.”
“Your grandmother accepted him?”
“Yes, but only after quite a few years. Once Emily and Michael were born the family had closed ranks and reconciled. Anyone named Cole or claims one drop of Cole blood is la familia. We’re far from perfect, but the family bond is fierce and sometimes fanatical. Mess with one, and you’d better make arrangements for your funeral.”
Summer froze. “It’s like that?”
“Yes, Summer. It’s like that.”
She thought about his threat to the photographer who had attempted to take his photograph, and it was not the first time that she detected danger in her lover. She did not want to believe the man who had the face and body of an Adonis, the man who sang with so much passion that he brought one to tears was capable of such violence.
What Gabriel did not know was that she was capable of extreme violence. She’d trained to kill: with her body and a weapon. Her shield and government-issued semi-automatic weapon were concealed in a small safe in the back of a closet in her bedroom. And she wondered how Gabriel would react if he discovered he had shared his bed with a DEA agent.
Merrick Grayslake’s entreaty to get out now came rushing back whenever she opened the closet and saw the small ironclad box. Lucas Shelby had planned to retire in July. What he did not know was that she planned to join him. Lucas would retire and she would leave—permanently.
“Gabriel?”
“Yes, baby.”
“Aren’t we going to get up and go into the house?”
His hand moved from her waist to her hips. “No. I want to stay out here tonight.”
“We can’t sleep on the beach.”
“Why not?”
“I—”
She was never given the opportunity to reply as she found herself on her back. Gabriel loomed over her, hands catching in the waistband of her bikini bottom. Summer knew her reaction time had
slowed when he eased his knee between her legs and entered her in one, sure thrusting of his hips.
They had gone swimming an hour before the sun had set, then returned to the beach to relax. Gabriel had removed his trunks in the encroaching darkness, while she had taken off the top to her bathing suit.
Raising his hips, Gabriel pulled her bikini bottom down and off her legs. Then he began to move, slowly, in a measured back and forth motion. He did not think of the consequences of this coupling until later—much later. He, who had never slept with a woman without using a condom, risked getting Summer pregnant as he lost his mind and his heart in her fragrant embrace.
He withdrew, his mouth traveling from her lips to her throat, then lower to her breasts, where he worshiped them until she moaned and writhed, her hips establishing their own rhythm. Her gasp was magnified in the stillness of the night as he journeyed down her body, his tongue lapping up the moisture at the apex of her thighs.
The primitiveness of the act awakened a primal hunger in Summer as her body was buffeted under the sensual assault when his thumb found the swollen protuberance and massaged it in tandem with his tongue.
Gabriel increased the pressure of his thumb on the engorged nodule, swallowing his own groans when he felt his own throbbing hardness straining for release. He waited until Summer stiffened, convulsing in climax before he moved up her body and sheathed himself in her feminine heat. He rode her long, hard until he felt the floodgates open. At the last possible moment sanity reigned, and he rolled off her and the blanket, spilling his seed in the sand.
Tears leaked from under Summer’s lids. Gabriel Cole possessed the power to assuage her physical need for him, but unknowingly, he also had the power to make her forget who she was and why she was teaching at Weir Memorial High School.
He had the power to make her forget everything—except the love she felt for him.
Rising to her knees, she crawled across the sand and lay over his body. She wasn’t disappointed when he curved an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Gabriel.”
“I hope I pulled out in time.”
Summer wanted to tell Gabriel it would not have mattered if he did not pull out because she was taking oral contraceptives. As an undercover female agent she had decreased her chances of becoming pregnant by ninety-nine percent if ever she found herself in a physically compromising situation. And it would be the only time she would consider killing a man if she thought he was going to rape her.
“It’s all right.”
He tried making out her face in the darkness. The light from the house did not reach as far as the beach. “What if I get you pregnant?”
You can’t she wanted to tell him. “You won’t.”
There was a moment of silence. “What if it does happen?”
“Are you asking me what would I do?”
“Yes.”
“I’d have it, of course.”
“Would you marry me?”
She lay completely still, counting the beats of his heart. He had said it. He had mentioned the word. The five-letter magical word every woman dreams of hearing from the man she loves.
“I would marry you even if I wasn’t carrying your child, Gabriel.”
He sighed audibly. “Is that a promise, Summer?”
She nodded, the hair on his chest tickling her nose and cheek. “Yes, Gabriel, that is a promise.”
They lay on the sand, listening to the lapping of gentle waves washing up on the beach, and to the other’s heart.
They had made a promise to each other, a promise they intended to keep, but the only question was when would it be fulfilled.
Desiree Leighton’s blue eyes squinted slightly as she stared at Summer. “Have you been to a tanning salon?”
Summer rolled her eyes at Desiree. “Hel-lo, Miss Leighton. Black women don’t frequent tanning salons, thank you.”
Desiree managed to look insulted. “Well, I knew one in California who did.”
“Trust me when I say it, but the sister was no black girl.”
The art teacher crossed her arms under her breasts. She even looked like a holdover from the sixties: long straight graying hair parted down the middle, small round glasses reminiscent of the ones worn by John Lennon, wooden or suede clogs, long skirts, bellbottom slacks, and turtleneck or ribbed sweaters. She always protected her vintage wardrobe by covering them with paint-splattered lab coats.
“We haven’t seen the sun in a week, so you had to go away. Where did you go?”
“The Caribbean.”
Desiree sat down on the edge of Gabriel’s desk. “There are lots of places in the Caribbean. Where?” She had drawn out the last word.
“Jamaica.”
The bright blue eyes sparkled. “Very nice. Who did you go with?”
Summer held up her hand. “I can’t tell you.”
“Okay, Summer. You don’t have to tell me. Besides, I like it when a person’s life has a little mystery.”
She wanted to tell Desiree that not only was her life shrouded in mystery, but also drama. Instead, she said, “Are you busy after classes for the rest of the week?”
“Not really. Why?”
“I’m auditioning students for the spring pageant beginning this afternoon. I’m scheduled to see a total of eighty-four students for three-minute skits. That translates into a little more than four hours. I’ve set up to see twenty kids each day. Barring delays, I should get through them in about ninety minutes.”
“What do you plan to have?”
Summer told her about her concept of profiling music through the centuries. “What I want to focus on are the songs and dances beginning with the forties through today’s hip-hop.”
Desiree nodded. “Sure. What time will it begin?”
“Two o’clock in the auditorium.”
“I’ll see you there.”
“Thanks.”
“There’s no need to thank me, Summer. I want you to know that you’ve come up with a winner.”
“I’m going to need some psychedelic sets for the sixties when we do Hair and Jesus Christ, Superstar.”
“They’re going to be dynamite. I’ve got some very talented art students.”
“You sound like Gabriel when he talks about his music students. However, I have a feeling I’m going to come up with my own divas and heartthrobs.”
“If that’s the case, then it’s not going to be easy selecting two students from three genres for the scholarships.”
“You’re right.” What Summer did not tell Desiree was that Gabriel had offered to underwrite the cost of two more scholarships. Four were better than two, but six would be even better. Then, each of them could select two from their disciplines.
Summer sat in the darkened auditorium, staring up at the lit stage. One by one, students had stood in front of the microphone and sung, delivered monologues or danced to taped music they’d brought as an accompaniment. Of the first eight, only one exhibited any degree of talent.
“Not bad,” whispered a familiar voice behind her seat.
She smiled, but did not turn around. “In fact, she’s pretty good.”
Gabriel rested his arms on the back of Summer’s seat, his fingers toying with the hair on the nape of her neck. Memories of their weekend in Ocho Rios had lingered with him. It was as if he could still taste her on his tongue, while the scent of her perfume had lingered in his nostrils even after showering. Everything that was Summer Montgomery had seeped into his pores.
Summer ignored the velvet touch on her neck as she checked off a name on the list on a clipboard. “Thank you, Jody.”
Jody Van Walls left the stage. Less than a minute later a short, chubby blond girl with glasses stood in front of the microphone.
“Please state your name,” Summer called out for the tenth time that afternoon.
“Robyn Phillips,” she said into the mic
rophone, her voice echoing loudly. She stepped back a few inches. The acoustics in the auditorium were perfect. “I’m sorry, Miss Montgomery, but I didn’t bring my music.”
“What do you plan to do, Robyn?”
“Sing.”
“What song?”
“‘Respect.’”
“Can you sing a cappella?
“What, Miss Montgomery?”
“I’ll play for her,” Gabriel said, rising to his feet.
“Mr. Cole will accompany you, Robyn.”
Summer, Desiree, and the other students waiting back stage stared through the curtains when Gabriel mounted the stage and sat down at the piano.
Summer held her breath as a spotlight shimmered on his long hair and deeply tanned face. Instead of his ubiquitous black, he had exchanged it for a camel-colored pullover sweater and dark brown corduroys. Low-heeled cordovan boots completed his outfit.
Gabriel smiled at the girl with a fringe of flaxen bangs hanging in her eyes. Tapping his right foot, he began playing. Robyn watched for his cue to begin, and when he raised his right hand she opened her mouth.
Summer and Desiree sat up straighter, unable to believe the sound coming out of the girl’s mouth. If someone hadn’t seen her they would’ve thought Aretha Franklin herself had come to Weir Memorial to perform.
“Oh, good grief!” Summer whispered. “That girl can blow.”
“Tell me about it,” Desiree said in agreement.
Halfway through song, Summer found herself singing background vocals while snapping her fingers. Desiree, Gabriel and the other students chorused “R-E-S-P-E-C-T,” and “sock it to me” with such enthusiasm and passion that everyone was dancing and gyrating to the rocking rhythm.
Eyes closed, face flushed, Robyn moved to a beat that would’ve made the Queen of Soul proud.
The song ended amid thunderous applause. Summer stood up, clapping with the others.
Gabriel, caught up in the fervor launched into “Do Right Woman, Do Right Man.” Robyn took his cue and held the microphone close and belted out, “I don’t want nobody always—sittin’—’round—me and my man.”
Renegade Page 15
