Gabriel David's White Horse

by Gina Watson

  Gabriel David’s

  White Horse

  David Family Saga

  Bayou Billionaires

  by

  Gina

  Watson

  Copyright © 2015 by Gina Watson

  Whiskey Cove Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-941059-24-1

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  Table Of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  About the Author:

  Other books by Gina Watson:

  Chapter One

  Gabriel David had just awakened from a restless sleep, drenched in sweat and feeling like he’d been swallowing thumbtacks, his throat raw and thirsty from abject gripping fear. There was something that existed in his dreams that was pure evil. There was goodness in his dreams too, and he hated that both elements existed in the same plane. In his dreams, his mother was with him and they were watching the wild white horse as it sailed across their land with the ease and beauty of a swan gliding across a lake.

  He sat up and warily glanced around the room to get his bearings. His hands gripped the white leather chaise where he sat. Swallowing thickly he whispered, “You’re okay.”

  He saw the canvases and paints. His brush strokes were too heavy against the canvas. Tacky beige, the color of her skin was wrong. The lighting cast shadows that should not be there and the heavy dark painting was a far cry from the depiction he’d seen that day in the rolling grassland. He wrapped his fingers around the thick handle of the canvas prep brush and pulled it from the water that had been muddied with burnt umber. He slung the residual paint that clung to the thick boar hair brush bristles across the canvas. Effectively ruined, the sight before him caused his body to shake and hum with frustration. In one long sweep, his hands cleared the easel of the abomination and he screamed, “Mirabelle!”

  He fucking had her…he had her! Max had deleted her images. The images she’d modeled for Gabriel. She’d been almost perfect, and for the first time in ten years he’d found some semblance of the woman in his dreams in Cara Presley. He needed her sweet, but he also needed to burn when he looked at her. Cara’s creamy skin and curvaceous form combined with her sweetness had awakened his senses, and just for a moment he’d been able to sketch. She wasn’t perfect because she wasn’t Mirabelle, but she’d been damn close.

  Max didn’t know that Gabe still had some rough sketches of his precious Cara. For six years he’d ignored the beauty, but as soon as Gabe had revealed interest in her the bastard had suddenly become head over heels in love.

  Gabe wasn’t interested in Cara the way Max was interested in Cara, but he did need her—the image of her anyway.

  For ten years Gabe had tried to recreate the images that haunted his memory, but they wouldn’t manifest. He’d been a teenager when his mother had died but he’d already acquired skills. Something his mother did just for him was to take him deep into their property. They’d pack a picnic lunch and wade through the grass of the outlying grounds until they reached the open prairie, where they would wait for the white horse. Those memories were special to him because it had been just him and her.

  Gabriel used to be exceptionally gifted at mixing colors. Lately, he couldn’t mix colors or get his brush strokes right. Looking around his studio, dozens of paintings mocked and scorned his genius. Canvas after canvas of meadow scenes with green, lush fields and weathered fences with a lone white Arabian horse with concave profile, flowing mane, and high-carried tail glided across the scene, minus one key element…its keeper. Her—Mirabelle. It wasn’t really her horse but he hadn’t known that when he’d seen her. They were equally yoked. A matched set in all of their white, billowy glory.

  Gabriel was known for his provocative paintings featuring women in various poses of allure and arousal…all in the name of art, of course. His work had been praised and displayed across the country and even in Europe. None of the acclaim affected him however because, without his Mirabelle, he’d been left unsatisfied.

  Gabriel pushed the easel into the paintings that leaned against the far wall, causing a loud crash as splintered wood rained down.

  “Gabe!”

  He turned to find his brother Zach standing in the middle of the loft.

  “You mind keeping it down up here? I’m trying to film downstairs.”

  Zach was still filming? “I thought Max told you not to film at his place.”

  “I’m still under contract. I can’t just up and walk away in the middle of it. Until I find another studio I’m here.”

  Gabriel nodded. He could understand that. Besides, how the hell was anyone supposed to keep up with Max? For years Max had cared about nothing but his high-rolling university donors and then all of a sudden he resigns from his job at the university and unearths his moral compass.

  “So are you going to be quiet? We’re about to reshoot.”

  “I need to take a break.”

  “I don’t give a shit, but I need you to be quiet.”

  “All right!” He answered gruffly. With his self-centered attitude and hyperactivity, Zach could irritate him like no one else.

  Gabriel followed Zach down the stairs

  Zach and Gabe had been using the pool clubhouse on Max’s estate as their own private studio. With its floor-to-ceiling windows, the upstairs loft had been the only place Gabe found the light setting he needed to paint, sketch, and sculpt.

  In the kitchen, Gabe took an old-fashioned glass from an open shelf and poured from the carafe of high-dollar bourbon on the counter. The open concept of the clubhouse gave him a clear shot to the living room that also served as the set for Zach’s porno films. Gabriel took a seat at one of the bar chairs and sipped his whiskey, grimacing as it burned its way down. Truth told, Gabe preferred cocktails—cosmos or appletinis being his favorite—but he’d never admit it, especially to one of his brothers. He watched a woman dressed in nothing but a pair of ridiculously high-heeled platforms give head to her costar and dropped his eyes. He pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Max.

  Gabe: Where the fuck R U? I need those pics of the girl.

  Gabe sipped the whiskey, and then checked his phone.

  Max: No. I already want to burn your eyes with hot needles for seeing her like that.

  Gabe: WTF Max
? 6 yrs U ignored her. As soon as I’m interested in her U suddenly can’t live without her?

  Max: You’re interested in her?

  Gabe: I just need pics of her face to finish the white horse. I’ve been working on this for 10 yrs. How can U take this away from me?

  Max: I’m aware of your demons with the white horse but I never anticipated any of this happening. I love her Gabe. Please don’t push this. Have you met her mother? They could be twins.

  Gabe: When the hell would I have met her mom?

  Max: You may want to photograph her for your project is all.

  Gabe: The mom?

  Max: As I texted previously, they could be twins.

  Gabe: Douche.

  “As I texted previously” Gabe imitated Max’s pompous speech. He didn’t buy it, how could Cara’s looks resemble her mother’s? The woman had to be at least twenty years older. The woman in his memories was young—her beauty unparalleled to even that of the most exquisite Arabian horse.

  “Cut!”

  Gabe looked across the room to Zach who currently scowled at him and pointed to a large microphone. “Do you see this, brother?”

  Gabe shrugged. The woman on her back massaged between her legs while the guy stood and pumped his cock to remain hard. Most disturbing however was that he masturbated while his eyes sized up Gabe. The cocky grin on his face made Gabe uncomfortable.

  “This microphone picks up sound from the direction it’s pointed in. Since it’s facing in your direction, it caught your bitching.”

  Gabe shot his whiskey, and then headed toward the door. Before exiting he turned back and offered, “My apologies for interrupting your masterpiece.”

  Zach flipped him the finger.

  Chapter Two

  Wrapped around the pole, Mirabelle Presley held the handstand position with an inside leg hold. Her world came to her through inverted visions. Men at tables drank, laughed, and watched the women in the club with intent. Given that her world wasn’t right side up, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought she’d seen Victor Palmer enter the club and she couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  She repositioned to an upright pole sit variation and confirmed it was in fact Victor. She frowned and her position slipped a bit. Redoubling her focus on the dance, she completed her routine. After she finished she gathered the bills that had been dropped for her on the stage and exited toward the bubblegum room.

  “Somebody’s going to be happy tonight.” Julie teased and smiled at Mirabelle. Other than herself, Julie had worked at the club longer than any of the other girls. Julie enjoyed the art of erotic dance and made excellent money, with her long red hair and big brown eyes. She was also stacked in all the right places, something she shared with her best friend of nearly ten years.

  “He shouldn’t be here. It’s too soon,” Mirabelle huffed.

  “What do ya mean it’s too soon?”

  “I mean I just got over him and now he’s back. I love it when he’s here, it’s when he leaves that I crash and burn.”

  “It’s a given he’s gonna leave, Belle…he’s got a family. You know that.”

  “Yes, I know, but every few months I can handle. It’s every week that ‘s gonna give my liver a workout.”

  “You still chugging back a fifth of whiskey every time he blows through town?”

  Belle’s eyes grew large. “No! Only half a fifth.” She changed from her pole-dancing costume into her street clothes. Today she’d worn a maxi dress with navy-blue, pink, and white stripes. She’d seen the dress at Zazzle’s Boutique and had been unable to go on living without it. She pulled the dress on and held one strap in each hand.

  “Here, tie me.” She turned toward Julie and handed her the reigns.

  “You know Belle, there are a number of eligible men that constantly ask about you, Mr. Barrilleaux for one.”

  “Ew, the lawyer.” She wrinkled her nose. “Mirabelle Barrilleaux sounds like the name of a serial killer.”

  “I didn’t say you had to marry the guy, just have a little fun with him. If you squint just right you can even pretend he has hair.”

  “Ouch!” Mirabelle rubbed where Julie had tied a little of her hair into the knot at her neck.

  “Sorry about the hair.” Julie leaned into the mirror to apply lipstick to her lips. “You know, they say men with hair loss have higher testosterone levels.”

  Mirabelle folded the dressy boy shorts and sequined halter-top that rounded out her pole dancing costume. “That’s great, Jules. It’d be just my luck he’d get me pregnant.” Belle pulled a makeup remover wipe from a container on the counter. Staring at her face in the mirror, she removed the dark kohl from her eyes and brows revealing the blonde hair beneath. The hair on her head was long and thick, and judging from the look of it in the mirror, matted to high hell. She sighed and grabbed a brush.

  “Yes, but at least he’d maintain good stamina while getting you that way.”

  “Belle?”

  A knock at the door of the bubblegum room had Jules jumping behind the dressing screen.

  “Come in.” Belle continued to comb her hair, her ice blue eyes watering from the pain of removing the knots.

  The manager entered the dressing area. “Victor’s asking for you.”

  “I’m coming, Mr. Falcon.” He was Mr. Falcon Junior, but his father had since retired and the employees had dispensed with the designation. She finished combing her hair, and then said her goodbyes to Jules.

  Belle had been teaching pole fitness classes for almost ten years. In fact, years ago she’d been hired by the club to teach several of the girls some moves. When Mr. Falcon Senior had seen her perform he’d made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.

  Her mind had strayed from the immediate topic of Victor Palmer.

  Belle sighed. Did she love him? No. That would be ridiculous. She did however love spending time with him. They had fun together and enjoyed one another immensely. He came through Baton Rouge five or six times a year and it was nice to feel needed and desired. Nice to be wanted by someone. Had Victor wanted more, Belle would have been scared. She’d been in a relationship with Cara’s father for six years when he’d up and left without warning. She knew she wouldn’t survive anguish like that a second time around, and so she wasn’t interested in anything too serious. Not with a guy like Victor anyway. He’d have to be one helluva charming bastard for Belle to risk her heart, and Victor just wasn’t—although he sure thought he was.

  She walked from the dressing room—dubbed the bubblegum room for the various shades of pink represented throughout the space—and out to the lounge floor. She found Victor having a drink at one of the pub tables while he enjoyed a table dancer.

  His dimples were deep as he displayed his sexy smile for Cindy. Victor was a lady’s man and the biggest flirt Belle had ever met. When his charm was on full power his eyes danced like liquid, dark chocolate fountains. The final blow in his arsenal came when he smiled and revealed his glittering white perfectly straight teeth. No woman could resist his smile that shone like a diamond necklace…and after all, diamonds are a girl’s best friend. Even if a woman could withstand the first and second hits, once his smooth liquid vibrato voice chimed in, the fight was over. That voice of his reached out and grabbed a woman right between the legs. Most of the women in the club thought she was the luckiest woman alive since it was always her that he took to his bed. The memories hit her in tingles…God, the things he did to her body should be illegal.

  And that was the problem with Victor…he had a short attention span. He was separated—or something—from his wife. Belle thought it quite sad. They were married, but estranged. However, they wouldn’t divorce because of the kids—or something. There were a lot of or something’s with Victor. She’d known the man for seven years and she’d just found out he habitually came to Baton Rouge for more than business. Turns out, his father lived in the area.

  Walking toward the bar, Belle clicked her tongue as she passe
d a delighted Victor engaging with the woman who danced atop his table. He and his wife each had significant others in their lives. Well, Belle didn’t know if she was the only S.O. in his life. Victor was a passionate guy, and she suspected he also had someone back home in Philly.

  Belle set her bag on the bar and dug to unearth her cell. She had a missed call from Cara. Belle’s eyes filled with tears at the thought of her daughter so far away. She missed Cara something terrible and would give anything to have her back in Baton Rouge. Her greatest worry these days was that Cara would fall in love with the Big Apple and never return to the South. She wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “Hey kid, would you like a drink?” Victor asked over her shoulder.

  “Nope. Just waiting for you to finish with Cindy.”

  He placed his lips near her ear so only she would hear, “I’d rather you danced for me up on that table.”

  She pulled away from him, intent on not providing a public display. “That’s not going to happen. Victor, what are you doing here?”

  “Can we get out of here first? I’ve got the hotel, shall we go there?”

  Belle didn’t want to go to a hotel. She wasn’t entirely sure she was glad to see Victor. Besides, it was late and tomorrow afternoon she was playing piano at the nursing home, and she had a load of laundry to wash. Plus she needed to get down to Sears and buy a new dishwasher.

  “I can’t go to your hotel tonight, Victor.” Belle stuffed the phone in her bag and walked to the door. Victor followed.

  “Belle, you don’t seem happy to see me.”

  In the parking lot of the club, he shoved his hands in his pockets and huffed about frustrating women. He wasn’t as bright-eyed as she’d remembered and she wondered what was up with him. His clothes, normally impeccable, were wrinkled. His expensive suit trousers hung loosely at his hips. He’d lost some weight. “Victor, is everything all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m worried about you.”

  “Me?” Belle pressed her index finger into her breastbone.