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,
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,
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