Renegade by Rochelle Alers

smiled at him. “There’s no need to apologize.”
    “Becoming a party animal is the quickest way to shortcircuit 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 curiosity 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,