Authors: Rochelle Alers
“Do you have proof he’s been dealing?”
“Not yet.”
She shook her head. “It’s not your responsibility to—”
“Don’t you dare stand in my face and tell me my responsibility!” he shouted, interrupting her. The veins in his neck bulged. “This is
my
school.”
Summer wanted to tell him Weir
wasn’t
his school. It was Patricia Cookman’s school. She was the principal.
“I want you to know that if his parents file a complaint against you for assault and I’m called as a witness, I will tell the truth.”
She left the bathroom, stood in the hall, trying to understand the change in Dumas’s personality. She’d found him popular with the students and staff. Whenever he walked the halls, most students gave him high-fives. Teachers found him approachable and supportive.
She wanted to believe he was having a bad day, but his display of violence directed at her and the student was unconscionable and unacceptable.
Pushing off the wall, she checked the remaining bathrooms before returning to the gymnasium.
Summer balanced a small Styrofoam plate filled with Swedish meatballs, hot wings, miniature spicy beef patties, and potato salad in one hand, while attempting to take a sip of cranberry juice in a cup from the other.
“Do you need some help with that?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at Gabriel. “Yes, thank you. Please hold my plate.”
He took her plate, while she took a swallow of her drink. His gaze shifted to the middle of the gym, where students gyrated to 2Pac’s “California Love.”
He smiled, swaying in time with the infectious rhythm. “Dance, Miss Montgomery?”
Summer put her cup on a table. “Let’s do it.”
Gabriel placed her plate next to the cup, captured her hand and led her to the middle of gym. Snapping his fingers, he closed his eyes, and rolled his leather-clad hips in a movement reminiscent of riding a horse. Her fiancé was bumping and grinding as if he were a dancer in a hip-hop video. Summer turned her back to him, unable to believe his suggestive body language. She gasped when she felt his groin graze her hips.
“Show me what you got, baby,” he whispered in her ear.
Accepting his challenge, she raised her right hand, spread her legs, and wiggled her hips, then dropped her hips until they were inches from the floor before she wiggled her hips again without moving her feet. A loud roar erupted from the students as they formed a circle to watch two teachers who quickly had become favorites challenge each other in a dance-off.
Summer strutted in her heels, her hips moving as if they had taken on a life of their own as she smiled seductively over her shoulder at her colleague and lover. Executing a quick spin on her toes, she faced him, spread her arms, and thrust her chest at him.
Gabriel’s right arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his body, right leg anchored between her knees, and dipped her low enough for the untamed wig to sweep the floor.
The boys howled, pumping their fists in the air and giving one another high-fives.
“Don’t let him do that to you, Miss Monty,” a girl screamed over the blaring music.
Smiling, Summer pushed Gabriel back. Within seconds she became Tina Turner as the DJ segued into “Proud Mary.” Half a dozen girls joined in, becoming Ikettes as they spun around, then executed high kicks.
The dancing became infectious as other teachers and staff joined the students in what had become a montage of music that overlapped generations.
The fever-pitched dance music continued non-stop for the next half hour, until it finally slowed once a ballad by Sade came through the speakers. A collective sigh of relief went up by everyone.
Summer walked off the dance floor, her skin moist from the unaccustomed exertion. It had been years since she’d danced that much. She was breathing heavily,
her heart racing; she was so wrapped in a silken cocoon of euphoria that she did not want to acknowledge that she wasn’t in the best physical shape she could be.
She missed lifting weights, pounding the heavy bag, and sparring with a partner trained in marital arts. What she did do was jog for endurance and go for marksmanship qualifying training at least four times each year.
What she refused to acknowledge was that she missed being on stage. Whenever she performed in front of an audience she wasn’t Summer, but the role she had assumed.
She had come to Weir Memorial as Summer Montgomery, drama teacher, and that was who she was and wanted to be again. She wanted to work with young people to help them recognize their talents.
Although some of the students who had auditioned for lead parts for the spring musical would not get the roles of their choice, they still had talent and ambition—enough to come on stage to become the subject of ridicule and rejection.
She had selected her principal singers and dancers, but none of the eighty-four who had auditioned would be rejected outright. She would utilize them either in the chorus or in crowd scenes. Desiree had offered to take several and train them to change sets, help with costume changes, lighting, and sound.
Summer went over to the table where a waiter poured drinks, asking for water. Smiling, he screwed the top off a bottle of water and handed it to her. “Nice performance.”
“Thanks.” She took a deep swallow, enjoying its iciness bathing her parched throat.
“I’m impressed, Summer.”
She forced herself not to glare at Dumas. The image
of him holding that boy by the throat against a wall was still too fresh in her mind for her to be civil to the assistant principal.
Cutting her eyes at him, she said, “You should be.” Turning on her heel, she strutted away, feeling the heat of his eyes boring into her back.
She had met a lot of men she did not like because of how they’d earned their money, but this was the first time she had met one who did not sell or traffic in drugs that made her want to cause him pain—intense pain.
To her, children were gifts to love, protect, nurture, and inspire, not beat, threaten or intimidate. If Dumas suspected the boy was dealing, then he should have alerted the authorities responsible for authenticating his suspicions.
Dumas followed Summer as she walked out of the gym. She may have been an artist-in-residence, but she was still a part of the faculty, and that meant she answered to him.
The first time he saw her he couldn’t believe how much she looked like his ex-wife: tall, slender, with a drop-dead gorgeous, in-your-face body. Even her coloring and hair was similar to Beverly’s. The only difference was that Summer looked young, too young for thirty-three, while Beverly looked like a woman—a woman under whose spell he had fallen the first time he saw her waiting for him after a college football game.
And when he’d looked at the ring on Summer’s hand, in that instant she had become Beverly. It was a ring his ex-wife would’ve been willing to sell one of her ovaries to flaunt.
He had been at the top of his game when he met
Beverly, and a lot of women were throwing their panties at him. He deflected all of the others, and caught Beverly’s.
They dated each other exclusively for a year, became engaged, and married a week following his being drafted by the NFL. He’d sat on the bench the first season, but life threw him a vicious curve when two weeks before the start of the next season he hurt his knee when he tripped over a toy his wife had neglected to pick up after playing with their young son. He underwent arthroscopic surgery to repair a shattered kneecap. He’d gained sixty pounds while convalescing, which compromised his recovery. He missed a second season, and his contract wasn’t renewed, neither was he picked up by any other team.
Having a wife, and now two children to support, Dumas signed with a Canadian semi-pro team, earning just enough money to keep his head above water. It was when Beverly came to him, saying she wanted out of the marriage and that she was taking his sons that Dumas thought about taking her out, then himself. She said she’d married him because she thought he would get product endorsements that would permit them to live in a mansion, drive luxury cars and wear expensive jewelry. The Gellises were living in a three-bedroom split-level and traveled around in a minivan in a country where winter temperatures were comparable to those in the Arctic.
He’d called his minister, who counseled him about losing his soul. His thoughts of murder-suicide were quickly dashed, and he granted Beverly her divorce. After meeting with their respective lawyers, she told him she would take him back if he ever had enough money to give her want she wanted.
And he wanted his ex-wife. He wanted to see his sons every day, not just during school holidays and summer months. What he wanted was his family back. He was close, so very close to achieving his greatest wish.
Dumas Gellis knew he had two things going for him: intelligence and patience. He had found a way to amass a small fortune without declaring any of it. He had fooled them all: the police, IRS, and the DEA.
But all of that had been jeopardized because Summer Montgomery had come into the boys’ bathroom. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw her staring at him with his hand around Omar Knight’s throat.
Quickening his pace, he caught up with her. He touched her arm. “Wait, Summer. Please.” He dropped his hand.
She stopped, but did not turn around. “What do you want?”
“Look, can we go somewhere and talk?”
She closed her eyes. “No, Dumas. Not tonight.”
“When?”
“Monday. I’ll come to your office after classes.”
He smiled, his gaze admiring her straight back, the womanly flare of her hips in the short skirt, and the perfection of her incredibly long legs in the heels. Hell, Tina Turner had nothing on Summer Montgomery in the legs department.
“Thank you.” He continued to stare at her until he heard approaching footsteps. Shifting, he saw Gabriel Cole. Affecting a smile, he said, “Hey.”
Gabriel slowed, placing one booted foot in front of the other in what had become a swaggering stroll. He lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “Hey, Dumas. I just came to ask Summer if she needed a ride home.”
Summer turned around for the first time since Dumas
had stopped her. Her features were deceptively composed. “Thanks for asking. And yes, I’ll take that ride.”
Gabriel smiled, but the warmth never reached his eyes. “I’ll you see you later.” He inclined his head. “Dumas.”
Summer watched Gabriel walk, then without glancing at Dumas, she followed him.
The return trip to Cotuit was accomplished in complete silence. There was no conversation, no music—nothing to break the swollen silence.
Gabriel pressed a button on the visor of the car, and the garage door slid up silently. He maneuvered into the space, shut off the engine, and came around to open the passenger side door for Summer. He felt the delicate bones in her hand as his larger, stronger one closed on hers. She was so fragile, delicate. All he had to do was increase the pressure and the bones would break.
Holding her hand called to mind what he had observed when Dumas had held the hand of the woman whom he now thought of as
his
. What he had wanted to do was launch himself across the gym and tackle Dumas before he had a chance to react. A jealous rage had threatened to turn him into a wild man wherein he would cause another human being serious physical harm.
Tucking her hand in the curve of his elbow, he led her along the path to the front door. He had to let go of her hand when he unlocked the front door. A wave of heat greeted him as he stepped into the entryway, pulling Summer in with him. He closed the door,
pressed her back against it, his hands anchored on either side of her head.
Light from a lamp on the table in the space permitted him to see her questioning expression. “What’s up with you and Dumas?”
Summer did not blink, as she said, “Nothing. Why?”
Gabriel moved closer. “Every time I looked I saw him hovering over you.”
Her expression softened as a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Jealous, baby?”
His expression was impassive. “Yes.”
She leaned forward and her breasts touched his chest. “There’s no need for that, sweetheart. Who was it I was shaking my booty for tonight?”
A grin overtook his features until his whole face spread into a smile. “How did you do that little step where you stand still and your booty bounces?”
“Step back and I’ll show you.”
He complied, and Summer took off her coat, placing it on a chair. Showing him her back, she leaned down and grasped her ankles while keeping her knees straight. She did not see Gabriel’s shocked expression as she gave him an up close and personal view of her buttocks moving as if they had taken on a life of their own. She completed her routine when she dropped down then sprang up, peering at him over her shoulder.
“That’s called ‘dropping it like it’s hot.’ ”
The blood roared in Gabriel’s head, as he stared at Summer mouthing words. The only thing he registered was
hot
.
He did not give her time to react when he looped an arm around her waist, lifting her high off her feet. Her legs flailed as he took long strides through the living room and to the staircase, taking the stairs two at a time.
Summer knew they had crossed the threshold of their prior coming together when they fell on the bed, tearing at each other’s clothes. She heard her heels hit the floor with a dull thud, following by the sound of Gabriel’s boots joining them. He ripped off her Tina Turner wig, throwing it across the room. She laughed because it looked like a small furry creature running to escape a larger predator.
Naked, mouths open, and breathing heavily, they literally tried to devour the other. Her shock was magnified when Gabriel lifted her off the bed and carried her into the adjoining bathroom.
He opened the door to the shower stall, pulling her in with him. Closing the door, he turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was a softly falling warm spray. The water beat down on their heads and bodies as they clung together. They danced together for the second time that night, this dance of desire, wild and unrestrained.
Gabriel strummed her body like he did a guitar. He tasted the nectar of her sweet mouth the way he licked a reed to moisten it before he inserted it in a mouthpiece for a sax or clarinet.
Cradling her breasts, he moved down her body, ignoring her plea for him to stop. He would stop, but only when he got his fill—for now.
Still holding her breasts, he went to his knees and drank the honey flowing between her thighs. He felt the bite of her nails against his scalp, heard her hoarse gasps as she sucked much needed air into her lungs.
Her moans turned into a keening that snapped the last fragile thread on his control. He kissed the wet curls between her legs as he retraced his upward journey. The look on her face would be imprinted on his
brain forever. Eyes closed, lower lip trembling in desire, Summer was in the throes of a passion every man wanted to glimpse just once in a lifetime from the woman he loved.
Cradling her face between his hands, he licked at her mouth, leaving teasing kisses at the corners. She licked him back, and each time their tongues met, she moaned her pleasure.