Rock star Sabina Cane had heard plenty about the wealthy Hamilton Regan Thorndon III, head honcho of Thorn Oil. His brother, Al, warned her of Thorn’s reputation for breaking hearts, but singing was Sabina’s life and she was grateful for any work she could get. She and her band would take the gig in the New Orleans nightclub, even if it was owned by Mr. Thorndon III.

But Thorn wasn’t the stuffy old businessman she’d expected. He was prickly, passionate, rock stubborn and liked to play matchmaker. And he had the perfect match in mind: he wanted Sabina, no matter what the cost. Didn’t he know that there are some things money can’t buy?

After the Music

New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

I really can’t express how flattered I am and also how grateful I am to Mills & Boon Books for releasing this collection of my published works. It came as a great surprise. I never think of myself as writing books that are collectible. In fact, there are days when I forget that writing is work at all. What I do for a living is so much fun that it never seems like a job. And since I reside in a small community, and my daily life is confined to such mundane things as feeding the wild birds and looking after my herb patch in the backyard, I feel rather unconnected from what many would think of as a glamorous profession.

But when I read my email, or when I get letters from readers, or when I go on signing trips to bookstores to meet all of you, I feel truly blessed. Over the past thirty years, I have made lasting friendships with many of you. And quite frankly, most of you are like part of my family. You can’t imagine how much you enrich my life. Thank you so much.

I also need to extend thanks to my family (my husband, James, son, Blayne, daughter-in-law, Christina, and granddaughter, Selena Marie), to my best friend, Ann, to my readers, booksellers and the wonderful people at Mills & Boon Books—from my editor of many years, Tara, to all the other fine and talented people who make up our publishing house. Thanks to all of you for making this job and my private life so worth living.

Thank you for this tribute, Mills & Boon, and for putting up with me for thirty long years! Love to all of you.

Diana Palmer

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter One

It was sad to see a tour end, Sabina Cane thought as she watched the electricians strike the lights at the auditorium where she and the band had performed the night before. It had been a sellout performance here in Savannah, and thank God for road tours. Times had been hard lately, and as it was, they’d make only a small profit after all the hands were paid. Sabina often wondered if there would ever come a time when she’d have financial security. Then she threw back her head and laughed at her own silly fears. She was doing what she loved best, after all. Without singing, she’d have no life at all, so she ought to be grateful that she had work. Besides, she and The Bricks and Sand Band were already booked for two weeks back home in New Orleans at one of the best clubs in town. And this month on the road had netted them some invaluable publicity.

She stared down the deserted, littered aisles, and spared a sympathetic smile for the tired men taking down equipment at this hour of the night. They had to be in New Orleans tomorrow for rehearsals, so there was no time to waste.

Sabina stretched lazily. Her slender body in its satin shorts and sequined camisole top and thigh-high cuffed pirate’s boots was deliciously outlined by the fabric that was her trademark. The Satin Girl had wavy dark hair, which she wore down to her waist, and eyes almost like silver. Her complexion had been likened to pure pearl, and she had eyelashes no photographer believed were actually real.

Albert Thorndon grinned at her from the front of the auditorium, where he was passing the time with her road manager, Dennis Hart, who was also doubling as their booking agent. Dennis had done well so far for a young publicist seeking new directions. She smiled at both of them, waving at Al.

He was one of her best friends. She’d met him through her childhood pal Jessica, who was hopelessly in love with Al. He was Jess’s boss at Thorn Oil. Al didn’t know about that infatuation, and Sabina had never betrayed Jess by telling him. The three of them went around together infrequently, and maybe at the very beginning Al had been mildly attracted to her. But Sabina wanted nothing from a man in any emotional or physical sense, and she let him know it right off the bat. After that, he’d accepted her as a friend. It was Al who’d managed to get them the club engagement in New Orleans, and he’d flown here all the way from Louisiana to tell her so. Thorn Oil had many subsidiaries. One of them was that nightclub in New Orleans. She wondered if his older brother knew what Al had done.

She’d heard plenty about Hamilton Regan Thorndon the Third, and most of it was unfavorable. The elder brother was the head honcho of Thorn Oil, which was headquartered in New Orleans, and he had a reputation for more than a shrewd business head. Rumor had it that he went through women relentlessly, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him. He was the kind of man Sabina hated on sight, and she was glad Al had never tried to introduce her to his family. There wasn’t much family, apparently. Only the two brothers and their widowed mother, who was on the stage somehow or other and spent most of her time in Europe. Al didn’t talk about his family much.

At times, it all seemed odd to her. Al was always avoiding his family. He never even invited Jessica to those big company barbecues out at the family ranch in Beaumont, Texas, and Jess had been his secretary for two years. Sabina found his behavior fascinating, but she never questioned him about it. She’d thought at first that her background might have been the reason that he didn’t introduce her, and she’d felt murderous. But when she realized that he’d left Jessica off the guest list, too, she calmed down. Anyway, Al didn’t know about her past. Only Jess did, and Jess was a clam.

Al murmured something else to Dennis, and with a wave of his hand, went to join Sabina. His green eyes frankly approved of the baby-blue and silver-satin shorts that displayed her long, tanned legs to advantage. She laughed at the stage leer, knowing it was only an old joke between them.

“Well, aren’t you the picture, Satin Girl?” he said with a laugh. He had dark hair and was just her height.

“I don’t know. Am I?” She struck a pose.

“My kingdom for a camera.” He sighed. “Where do you get those sexy costumes, anyway?”

“I make them,” she confided, and laughed at his astonished reassessment of her garments. “Well, I did take a sewing course, and it relaxes me when I’m not singing.”

“Little Miss Domestic,” he teased.

“Not me, mister,” she drawled. “I know all I care to about housework.”

“In that tiny apartment.” He sighed. “Don’t make me laugh. You could mop the floor with a paper towel.”

“It’s home,” she said defensively.

“It would be better stocked if you wouldn’t give away everything you earn,” he said, glaring at her. “Secondhand furniture, secondhand TV, secondhand everything, just because you’re the softest touch going. No wonder you never have any money!”

“A lot of my neighbors are worse off than I am,” she reminded him. “If you don’t believe in poverty, let me introduce you around my neighborhood. You’ll get an education in the desperation of inescapable struggle.”

“I know, you don’t have to rub it in.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I just wish you’d save a bit.”

“I save some.” She shrugged.

“End of conversation,” he murmured dryly. “I know when I’m beaten. Are you coming to my party tomorrow night?”

“What party?”

“The one I’m giving at my apartment.”

She’d never known Al to give a party. She stared at him suspiciously. “Who’s going to be there?”

“A lot of people you don’t know, including Thorn.”

Just the sound of his nickname threw her. “Hamilton Regan Thorndon the Third in the flesh?” she taunted.

“If you call him that, do it from the other side of a door, will you?” he cautioned, smiling. “He hates it. I’ve called him Thorn since we were kids.”

“I suppose he’s a stuffy old businessman with a thick paunch and a bald head?”

“He’s thirty-four,” he told her. His eyes were calculating. “Why do you react that way every time I mention him? You clam up.”

She stared down at her black boots. “He uses women.”

“Well, of course he does,” he burst out. “For God’s sake, they use him, too! He’s rich and he doesn’t mind spending money on them. He’s a bachelor.”

Her mind drifted to the past. Rich men with money. Bait. Using it like bait. Catching desperate women. She winced at the memory. “Mama,” she whispered and tears welled up. She turned away, shaking with subdued rage.

“Odd that he isn’t married.”

Al was watching her with open curiosity. “My God, no one could live with Thorn.” He laughed bitterly. “Why do you think our mother stays in Europe, and I have an apartment in the city?”

“You said he loves women,” she reminded him.

“Nobody is allowed that close,” he said flatly. “Thorn was betrayed once, and he’s never cared about a woman since, except in the obvious ways. Thorn is like his nickname. He’s prickly and passionate and rock stubborn. His executives bring jugs of Maalox to board meetings.”

“I’d bring a battle-ax,” she commented dryly. “Or maybe a bazooka. I don’t like arrogant ladies’ men.”

“Yes, I know. You two would hit it off like thunder,” he returned, “because Thorn doesn’t like aggressive women. He prefers the curling kitten type.”

She’d have bet he’d been hoping all his life for someone to match him. She was almost sorry because the pattern of her own life had made it impossible for her to be interested. It would have been fascinating to take him on. But she was as cold as the leather of the boots she wore onstage. Ironic. She was a rock star with a sensuous reputation, and her experience of men had been limited to a chaste kiss here and there. She found men unsatisfying and unreliable. Her heart was whole. She’d never given it. She never would.

She got up from her perch and flexed her shoulders wearily. It had been a long night.

“I could use a few hours’ sleep,” she said on a sigh. “Thanks for coming all this way to give us the news.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “The vocalist who had been hired by the club manager was involved in a car crash. She’ll be okay, but she won’t perform for a while. They were relieved that you and the band didn’t mind rushing home to fill the spot.”

Sabina smiled. “We’re always rushing somewhere. We’re grateful to get the work.”

“About tomorrow night.” He seemed oddly hesitant.

“The party?” She studied him and sensed something. “You’re up to something. What is it?”

He shook his head ruefully. “You read me too well. There’s this benefit.”

“Aha!”

“I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow night when I pick you up. I need some help. It’s for underprivileged kids,” he added.

“Then count me in, whatever it is.” She stifled a yawn. “Who’s the hostess for you?”

“Jessica.” He looked sad and lost. His eyes met hers and fell. “I wish…nothing.”

“You’ve never invited Jess to a party before,” she remarked gently.

“Thorn would eat her alive if he thought I was interested in her,” he said, grinding his teeth. “I told him I couldn’t get anyone else to hostess…. Oh, hell, I’ve got to run. My pilot’s waiting at the airport. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I thought I’d catch your last performance and tell you about the club date. Pick you up tomorrow night at six, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, reluctant to let the matter drop. What a horror his brother sounded! “See you. And thanks for the club date, pal.”

“My pleasure. Night.” He turned and walked away, and her eyes followed him with open speculation. Could he be getting interested in Jessica? What a wonderful thing that would be. Her two best friends. She smiled to herself.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Sabina finally got to her own apartment. She walked up the steps, gazing fondly down at the block of row houses. She’d lived here all her adult life, ever since she’d left the orphanage at the age of eighteen. It wasn’t a socially acceptable neighborhood. It was a poor one. But she had good neighbors and good friends here, and she loved the children who played on the cracked sidewalk. It was close to the bay, so she could hear the ships as they came into port, and she could smell the sea breezes. From her room on the fourth floor, she sometimes watched them as they passed, the heaving old freighters moving with an odd grace. But the very best thing about her apartment was the rent. She could afford it.

“Back home, I see, Miss Cane,” Mr. Rafferty said at the foot of the staircase. He was about seventy and bald and always wore an undershirt and trousers around the building. He lived on his Social Security checks and had no family—unless you counted the other tenants.

“Yes, sir.” Sabina grinned. “Got something for you,” she murmured. She dug into her bag and produced a small sack of pralines she’d bought on the way home. “For your sweet tooth,” she said, handing them over.

“Pralines.” Mr. Rafferty sighed. He took a bite, savoring the taste. “My favorite! Miss Cane, you’re always bringing me things.” He shook his head, staring with sad eyes. “And I have nothing to give you.”

“You’re my friend,” she said. “And besides, I’ve already got everything I need.”

“You give it all away,” he uttered darkly. “How will you heat your place with winter coming on?”

“I’ll burn the furniture,” she said in a stage whisper, and was rewarded with a faint smile from the pugnacious, proud old man who never smiled for any of the other tenants. He was disliked by everyone, except Sabina, who saw through the gruff exterior to the frightened, lonely man underneath. “See you!” Laughing, she bounded upstairs in her jeans and tank top, and Mr. Rafferty clutched his precious pralines and ambled back into his room.

Billy and Bess, the blond twins who lived next door, laughed when they saw her coming. “Miss Dean said you’d be back today!” they chattered, naming the landlady. “Did you have a big crowd?”

“Just right,” she told them, extracting two of the huge lollipops she’d bought along with the pralines. “Here. Don’t eat them before your dinner or your mama’ll skin me!”

“Thanks!” they said in unison, eyeing the candy with adoration.

“Now I really have to get some sleep,” she told them. “We’ve got a gig downtown!”

“Really?” Billy asked, wide-eyed. He and his sister were ten, and Sabina’s profession awed them. Imagine, a rock star in their own building! The other kids down the block were green with envy.

“Really. So keep the noise down, huh?” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

“You bet! We’ll be your lookouts,” Bess seconded.

She blew them a kiss and went inside. The twins’ only parent was an alcoholic mother who loved them, but was hardly reliable. Sabina tried to look out for them at night, taking them into her apartment to sleep if Matilda stayed out, as she often did. Social workers came and went, but they couldn’t produce any antidote for the hopeless poverty Matilda lived in, and threats to take the children away only produced tears and promises of immediate sobriety. Unfortunately, Matilda’s promise lasted about an hour or two, or until the social worker left, whichever came first.

Sabina knew that kind of hopelessness firsthand. Until her mother died and she was put in the orphanage, she’d often gone hungry and cold herself. Losing her mother in the brutal way she did hadn’t helped. But the struggle had given her a fixation about rich men and hard living. She hated both. With the voice that God had given her, she was determined to claw her way out of poverty and make something of her life. She was doing it, too. If only it had been in time to save her mother…

She lay down on the bed with a sigh and closed her eyes. She was so tired. She put everything she had, everything she was, into her performances. When they were over, she collapsed. Dead tired. Sometimes she felt alive only in front of an audience, feeding on their adrenaline, the loud clapping and the cheers as she belted out the songs in her clear, haunting voice. Her own feet would echo the rhythms, and her body would sway. Her long, dark hair would fly and her silver-blue eyes would snap and sparkle with the electricity of her performances. She withheld nothing, but it was telling on her. All the long nights were wearing her down, and she was losing weight. But she had to keep going. She couldn’t afford to slow down now, when she and the band were so close to the golden ring. They were drawing bigger crowds all the time wherever they appeared, and getting great coverage in the local press. Someday they’d get a recording contract, and then, look out!

Smiling as she daydreamed about that, she closed her eyes and felt the lumpy mattress under her with a wistful sigh. Just a few minutes’ rest would do it. Just a few minutes…

* * *

The loud pounding on the door woke her up. Drowsily, she got to her feet and opened it, to find Al on the other side.

“I fell asleep,” Sabina explained. “What time is it?”

“Six o’clock. Hurry and throw something on. You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.”

“What are you feeding me?” she asked on a yawn, preceding him into the apartment.

“Chicken Kiev,” he told her. “Pommes de terre, and broccoli in hollandaise sauce—with cherries jubilee for dessert.”

“You must have kept Susi in the kitchen all day!” she exclaimed with a laugh, picturing Al’s cook, a stooped little Cajun woman cursing a blue streak as she prepared that luscious repast.

“I did,” he said, green eyes gleaming. “I had to promise her a bonus, too.”

“Well, she certainly deserves it. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be out in a jiffy.” She took a quick shower and pulled on an elegant electric-blue satin dress with spaghetti straps, a square neckline, and a drop waist with a semifull skirt. It suited her slenderness and gave her gray eyes a blue look. Normally she’d never have been able to afford it on her budget, but she’d found it at an elegant used dress shop and paid only a fraction of its original price. Bargain hunting was one of her specialties. It had to be, on her erratic salary. She wore black sling pumps with it, and carried a dainty little black evening bag, and put on a long cashmere coat, because nights were getting cold in late autumn. She left her hair long instead of putting it into a high French twist, as she usually did in the evening. When she went back out into the living room, Al got to his feet and sighed.

“You dish,” he murmured. “What an eye-catcher!”

“Why does that make you look so smug?” she asked suspiciously.

“I told you I had a project in mind,” he said after a minute. “You remember hearing me talk about the children’s hospital I’m trying to get funds to build?”

“Yes,” she said, waiting.

“I’m trying to put together a benefit for it. On local television. If I had a couple of sponsors, and you for a drawing card, I could get some local talent and present it to the local stations.” He grinned. “I guarantee we’d raise more than enough.”

“You know I’d do it for you, without pay,” she said. “But we’re not big enough….”

“Yes, you are,” he said stubbornly. “A television appearance here would give you some great publicity. Look, I’m not asking you to do it for that reason and you know it, so don’t ruffle up at me. The kids will benefit most, and I’ve got some other talent lined up, as well,” he told her. “But I can’t sell the idea to the television stations until I’ve got the sponsors. I want to wheedle Thorn into being one of them.”

“Will he?”

“If he’s persuaded,” he said with a sly glance at her.

“Now, wait a minute,” she said curtly. “I am not playing up to your poisonous brother, for any reason.”

“You don’t have to play up to him. Just be friendly. Be yourself.”

She frowned. “You aren’t going to paint me into a corner, are you?”

“Scout’s honor,” he promised with a flash of white teeth. “Trust me.”

“I don’t trust anybody, even you,” she said with a smile.

“I’m working on that. Let’s go.”

He led her down the long flight of stairs.

“Couldn’t you ask him yourself?” she murmured. “After all, blood is thicker…”

“Thorn’s kind of miffed with me.”

“Why?”

Al stuck his hands in his pockets with a sigh and glanced at her ruefully. “He brought a girl home for me last night.”

Her eyes widened. “He what?”

“Brought a girl home for me. A very nice girl, with excellent connections, whose father owns an oil refinery. He was giving a dinner party, you see.”

“My God!” she burst out.

“I called my mother after it was over, and she called up and chewed on his ear for a while. That made him mad. He doesn’t like her very much most of the time, and he needs that refinery damned bad.” He shrugged. “If I could get him a refinery, he’d sure rush over to sponsor my benefit.”

“You could buy him one,” she suggested.

“With what? I’m broke. Not totally, but I don’t have the kind of capital I’d need for business on that scale. I’m a partner on paper only, until I come into my share of Dad’s estate next year.”

“I’m beginning to get a very interesting picture of Hamilton Regan Thorndon the Third,” she said stiffly. “A matchmaker, is he?”

“That’s about the size of it,” Al confessed. He gestured toward his car when they reached the street. “I’m parked over there.”

She followed him, scowling. “Does he do this to you often?”

“Only when he needs something he can’t buy.” He sighed. “You’d never guess how many businessmen have eligible daughters they want to marry off. Especially businessmen with refineries and blocks of oil stock and…”

“But that’s inhuman!”

“So is Thorn, from time to time.” He unlocked the car and helped her inside. “Haven’t you wondered why I usually keep you and Jessica away from company parties?”

“I’m beginning to realize,” she said to herself. She waited until he got inside the green Mercedes-Benz and started the engine before she added, “He doesn’t want you associating with the peons, I gather?”

He stiffened, started to deny it, and then huffed miserably. “He’s not marriage-minded himself. Thorn Oil is worth millions, with all its subsidiaries. He wants an heir for it. But with just the right girl, you see. Jessica has been married before, and her family isn’t socially prominent,” he said, biting it out. “Thorn would savage her.”

It all became crystal clear. Everything…How he felt about Jessica, why he’d been so secretive. “Oh, Al,” she breathed piteously. “Oh, Al, how horrible for you!”

“Next year I can fight him,” he said. “When I’ve got money of my own. But for now I have to lie low and bide my time.”

“I’d punch him out,” she growled softly, gray eyes throwing off silver sparks, her long hair swirling like silk as her head jerked.

He glanced at her as he drove toward his apartment down the brightly lit streets. “Yes, I believe you would. You’re like him. Fire and high temper and impulsive actions.” He smiled. “You’d be a match, even for my brother.”

“With all due respect, I don’t want your brother.”

“Yes, I know. But please don’t take a swing at him tonight. I need you.”

“Now, wait a minute….”

“Just to help present my case, nothing else,” he promised. His smile faded as he studied her. “I wouldn’t strand you with him. Thorn isn’t much good with innocents. You’ll know what I mean when you see the woman he’s got with him tonight. She’s as much a barracuda as he is. I only want you to help me convince him to sponsor the benefit. I’ll get an accompanist and you can do the aria from Madame Butterfly for him.”

“He likes opera?” she asked.

“He loves it.”

She eyed him closely. “How does he feel about rock singers?”

He shifted restlessly, and looked worried. “Well…”

“How?”

His jaw clenched. “Actually, he’s never said. Don’t worry, we’ll find out together.”

She had grave misgivings, but she didn’t say anything. After all, his older brother would probably be nothing like she imagined. He might like women, but she pictured him as a retiring sort of man like the pictures of businessmen she’d seen in magazines. She knew all too well that a rich man didn’t have to be good-looking to get women.

Al’s house overlooked the bay, and Sabina dearly loved it. It was white and stately, and had once belonged to his grandmother. She could picture the huge living room being the scene of elegant balls in the early days of New Orleans. There were shrubs all around it, assorted camellias and gardenia and jasmine. Now, of course, everything was dormant, but Sabina could imagine the grounds bursting with color, as they would in the spring.

Jessica came darting out of the big living room, where several people were socializing over drinks, and her face was as red as her hair. She was small and sweet, and Sabina loved her. She and Jess went back a long way. They’d shared some good times when Sabina was at the orphanage just around the corner from where Jessica lived. They’d met by accident, but a firm friendship had developed, and lasted all these years.

“Hi, Sabina!” Jessica said quickly, then turned immediately to Al. “We’re in trouble. You invited Beck Henton.”

“Yes. So?” Al asked blankly.

“Well, he and Thorn are competing for that oil refinery in Houston. Had you forgotten?”

Al slapped his forehead. “Damn!”

“Anyway, they just went out the back door together, and Thorn was squinting one eye. You know what that means.”

“Damn!” Al repeated. “I was going to ask Beck to help sponsor my benefit,” he growled. “Well, that’s blown it. I’d better go and try to save him.”

Sabina stared after him with wide, curious eyes. She was getting a strange picture of the sedate older brother.

“I’d better get Beck’s chauffeur,” Jessica said miserably. “He’ll be needed.”

“Before you go, is there any ginger ale in there?” she asked, nodding toward the bar in the living room.

“Not a drop. But I left you a bottle in the kitchen. I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Thanks!” Sabina darted quickly into the kitchen and filled a glass with ice. She was just reaching for the bottle of ginger ale when the back door suddenly flung open and, just as quickly, slammed again.

She turned, and froze in place when she saw him. He was tall and slender, with the kind of body that reminded Sabina of the men who appear in television commercials. He was powerful for all that slenderness, and the darkness of his tuxedo emphasized his jet-black hair and the deep tan of his face and hands. His eyes were surrounded by thick, black lashes, and they glittered at her.

“Hand me a cup of that,” he said in a crisp voice, holding out a lean, long-fingered hand. There was no jewelry on it, but she got a glimpse of crisp black hair on his wrist surrounding a Rolex watch.

She handed him the ice automatically, noting a faint scar on his cheek, near his eye. His nose was arrow-straight and gave him a look of arrogance. He had a jutting jaw that hinted of stubbornness, and his mouth was perfect, the most masculine mouth she’d ever seen. He was fascinating, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“What’s so fascinating, honey?” he drawled. “Haven’t you ever seen a man with a black eye before?”

This, she thought, must be the Beck Henton they’d discussed, because he certainly didn’t fit the long, pretentious name Al’s brother had.

“Not many walking around in tuxedos.” She grinned. He did fascinate her, not only with the way he looked, but with that air of authority that embodied him.

She seemed to fascinate him, too, because a smile played at the corners of his mouth as he wrapped the ice in a tea towel and held it just under his bruised eye. He moved closer, and she saw that the glittering eyes under the jutting brow were a pale, icy-blue. The color was shocking in so dark a face.

He let his gaze fall to her smooth, faintly tanned shoulders and down the bodice of the trendy dress to her long, slender legs encased in blue-patterned stockings. They moved back up slowly, past her long neck and over the delicate planes of her face to her soft mouth, her high cheekbones, her dark, wavy hair and to the incredibly long lashes over her silver eyes.

“Why are you hiding in here?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“I came for some ginger ale,” she confessed, showing the bottle. “I don’t drink, you see. Jessica hides some soft drinks for me, so I don’t have to look repressed in front of Al’s guests.”

He cocked his head. “You don’t look repressed.” That faint smile was still playing on his firm mouth. “Al’s secretary must be a friend of yours.”

“A very good one.”

“Jessica’s all right. Al said he couldn’t get anyone else to hostess for him, and she’s doing a pretty good job.”

Faint praise, she thought, and a bit condescending, but he had a right to his opinion. “You’re going to have a gorgeous shiner, there,” she remarked.

“You ought to see the other guy,” he mused.

She sighed. “Poor Hamilton Regan Thorndon the Third. I hope you didn’t hit him too hard.”

His dark eyebrows arched, and his eyes widened. “Poor Hamilton…?”

“Al said the two of you were competing for an oil refinery,” she volunteered, grinning impishly. “Why don’t you just leave the oil in the ground and pump out what you need a little at a time?”

He chuckled softly. “You’re impertinent, miss.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Henton. You are Beck Henton, aren’t you?” she persisted. “You certainly couldn’t be Al’s brother. You don’t look like a man with a mile-long name.”

“I don’t? And what do you imagine Al’s brother looks like?”

“Dark and chubby and slightly graying,” she said, fascinated by his faint smile.

“My God, I never knew Al to lie.”

“But he didn’t. I mean, he didn’t ever describe his brother.” She poured ginger ale into her glass, lifted it up and peeked at him over its rim. “You really shouldn’t have hit Al’s brother. Now he’ll leave and I won’t get a shot at him.”

One eye narrowed. “Why did you want to?”

“Well, he’s got an oil company,” she said. “And there’s a project…”

Before she could tell him why, his expression grew stern and he laughed unpleasantly. “There’s always a project.” He moved closer. “Why don’t you have a shot at me, honey? I’ve got an oil company myself.”

“Aren’t you…with someone?” she asked nervously. He was so close that she could feel the vibrant energy of him, smell his expensive cologne. He towered over her.

“I’m always with someone,” he murmured, letting his fingers toy with strands of her soft hair. “Not that it matters. They all look alike, eventually.”

“Mr. Henton…” she began, trying to move away.

He backed her against the counter and pinned her there with the delicate, controlled weight of his body. He was almost touching her, but not quite. Her hands shook as he took the glass from her and set it aside on the counter.

“Shh,” he said softly, touching her mouth with one long finger. He wasn’t smiling now. His eyes were darkening, intense. He tossed the towel and ice aside, and framed her oval face in his big, warm hands. They felt callused, as if he used them in hard work, and she felt threatened.

“You mustn’t…”

“We’re cutting a corner or two, that’s all,” he whispered, bending. “You’re very lovely.”

She should move, she should push away! But her hands flattened helplessly on his shirtfront, and she felt hard muscle and warmth against her cold fingers. His breath teased her lips as he poised his mouth over hers.

“No,” she protested weakly and tried to move away.

His hips pressed her into the counter, and the twisting motion of her body provoked a shocking reaction. He drew in a sharp breath, and his fingers tightened on her face. “My God, it’s been years since that’s happened so quickly with a woman,” he said curtly and then his mouth was on hers.

She stiffened, feeling the shock from her head to her toes, which tried to curl up in her high heels as his lips relented. He seemed to feel her uneasiness, her reticence. He drew away and searched her face with odd, puzzled eyes. Then, slowly he lowered his head again and traced her bottom lip with his teeth, slowly, gently in masterful exploration that was years beyond her experience of men. Her fingers clung to the lapels of his jacket and her breath came quickly. She could taste him, the smoky and minty warmth of his mouth doing wild things to her pulse.

“Yes, like that,” he whispered into her slowly parting lips. “A little more, honey…yes. Kiss me back this time. Kiss me…”

He incited her in wild, reckless ways. It was like some wild fantasy, that she could be standing in an intimate embrace, kissing a man whom she’d only just met in a deserted kitchen. He was no ordinary man, either; he was an expert at this; he knew ways of using his mouth that she’d never even imagined.

She gasped as his tongue probed and his mouth demanded. All at once the hunger broke through her natural reserve and she felt warmth spread through her body. A tiny, surprising moan broke from her lips as she went up on tiptoe and gave him her mouth hungrily. Her hands reached up to the thick, cool waves of his hair and she held his head to hers.

“God!” he groaned. His arms lifted her and the room seemed to whirl away. It was the wildest, deepest, hungriest kiss she’d ever shared with a man, and it didn’t seem as if he had any intention of stopping. She should be fighting him. Why couldn’t she fight?

A long minute later, he set her back on her feet and looked down into her wide gray eyes with curiosity and caution. One of his blue eyes narrowed, and a warning bell rang somewhere in her mind, but her body was throbbing wildly and she hardly connected the telltale sign.

“You’re gifted, lady,” he breathed, studying her. “Not very experienced yet, but I can take care of that. Come home with me.”

Her face burned and her lips trembled. “I can’t,” she whispered shakily.

“Why not?” His eyes blazed down at her body.

“I…What about Al?” she began.

He made a rough sound under his breath. “What about him, for God’s sake? Have you got some wild crush on him? You won’t get to first base, I promise you. Al’s bringing that damned rock singer he’s courting. I came because of her, but I can deal with her later.” He touched her cheek gently and seemed oddly hesitant, mistaking her frozen posture for fear instead of the shock it really was. “I won’t hurt you,” he said mildly. “I won’t rush you, either. We can discuss…projects.”

The words began to take affect on her numb brain, and she stared up at him with dawning comprehension.

“Rock singer?”

He looked utterly dangerous, the tender lover suddenly growing cold and businesslike and threatening. “Al’s got himself a new girl. But not for long,” he added on a short laugh. “That’s got nothing to do with you and me. You said you need money—let’s go talk about it.”

“You’re…Hamilton Regan Thorndon the Third,” she said.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Smart lady. Does it make a difference? I told you I had an oil company. Come on, honey, let’s get away from this crowd.” He touched her shoulder lazily, caressingly. “You won’t go away empty-handed, I promise.”

She felt sick all over—sick that she’d let him kiss her, that she’d responded. She felt as her mother must have years ago, but with one major difference: she wasn’t desperate. She’d never be desperate enough, and her kindling eyes told him so. She began to tremble with the force of her anger, her disgust.

“Hey, what is it?” he asked suddenly, frowning.

“You have such a line, Mr. Thorndon the Third,” she said with a voice as cold as ice. Her fists were clenched at her sides as she backed sharply away from him. “‘You won’t go away empty-handed,’” she mimicked.

“How suddenly principled you are, lady,” he said bitterly. “You’re the one who started talking terms right off the bat. Okay, I’m willing. How much?”

Oh, Lord, what a mess she’d made of things. Why hadn’t she said something about the project? Now he thought she was a prostitute! But what a monumental ego he had, she thought, glaring up at him. “You couldn’t afford me,” she told him.

His eyes ran over her body again and this time there was no appreciation in his stare. “You overestimate yourself. I’d say twenty dollars would do it.”

She slapped him. It was completely unpremeditated, without thought, but she wasn’t taking any more insults from this creature, even if he was Al’s brother.

He didn’t even flinch. His cheek turned red, but he simply stared at her with those icy eyes.

“You’ll pay for that,” he said quietly.

“Make me,” she challenged, backing away. “Come on, oil baron, hit me back.” She was beautiful in her fury, silver eyes flashing, black hair flying, body taut and poised and elegant. “I’m not afraid of you.”

His face gave nothing away; his gaze was unblinking and hard. “Who are you?” he asked sternly.

“I’m the tooth fairy,” she said with a mocking smile. “Too bad you didn’t lose any to Mr. Henton. I’ve got a pocketful of quarters.”

She turned, forgetting her ginger ale, and strode out the door and through the house. She was livid by the time she reached the crowded living room.

Al spotted her, moving forward with a glass in his hand. He looked worried and nervous, but when he saw Sabina’s face he looked shocked.

“What happened?”

“Never mind.” She would hate to tell him. “Where’s Mr. Henton?”

“Gone home in a snit, with a broken nose,” he grumbled. “So much for that potential sponsor.” He sighed. “Well, we’ll just have to work on Thorn.”

“Al, about working on your brother…”

A door slammed, and even amid the noise of the guests, she knew who it was and why. She stiffened as Al looked over her shoulder and grinned.

“Well, Beck sure left you a present, didn’t he?” Al chuckled. “Why didn’t you duck?”

“I did,” came a familiar, cold drawl from behind her. “Are you going to introduce me?” he asked, pretending ignorance.

“Sure.” Al placed a casual arm across Sabina’s shoulder and turned her to face the man with the black eye. Al sounded casual, but his arm was tense and trembling a little. “This is Sabina Cane.”

The tall man looked suddenly murderous. “The rock singer?”

“Yes,” Al said defensively.

The man who’d kissed her so passionately not five minutes before glared at Sabina as if he’d like to cut her throat.

“I should have known,” he said with a harsh laugh, ramming one lean hand into his pants pocket. “You look the part.”

She curtsied sweetly. “Thank you, Mr. Thorndon the Third.”

Al glanced from one to the other with open curiosity. “Thorn, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said.

“Forget it,” Thorn told him. He gave Sabina a long, insulting appraisal. “Your taste in women stinks.” He turned and walked straight toward an elegant blonde in a gold lamé bodysuit. The woman slipped into his arms, clinging to him like glue.

Sabina glared at him with eyes that burned when she saw him bend to kiss the blonde warmly on the mouth. She averted her gaze. “Al, I can’t stay here. I can’t possibly.”

“Sabina, I’m sorry…”

She spotted Jessica and motioned to her. “Can you run me home?”

“Sure, what’s wrong?”

“I just have a bad headache, Al,” Sabina lied smoothly. She couldn’t go into it now. “I’m sorry, I thought it would get better.”

“If it’s because of Thorn,” he began, glaring at his brother, “I apologize for his bad manners.”

“I’d like to tell him what to do with them, too,” she told Al. “But my head’s splitting. Jessica?”

“I’m ready. Come on. See you later, boss,” she told Al with a shy smile.

“I’ll talk to Thorn,” Al said brusquely.

“Don’t waste your breath on him,” Sabina added. “Good night.”

She walked out the door with a breathless Jessica right behind, grateful for the nippy autumn air and the dark.

“What happened in the kitchen?” Jessica demanded as they were driving back toward Sabina’s apartment.

“I antagonized him,” Sabina said stiffly. “Al will never forgive me, but I couldn’t stand that man another minute!”

“Al says that Thorn is used to expecting the worst and he usually finds it. He’s a sad kind of man, really. He doesn’t let anybody get close—he spends most of his time all alone.”

“Alone?” Sabina said gruffly. “That’s not what I saw….”

“Window dressing,” Jessica replied as she sped down the street where her friend lived. “His women come and go. Mostly they go.”

“How do you know so much about him?” Sabina asked.

“He comes in and out of our office. His own offices are in the new building, the addition. But he and Al have business dealings they have to discuss now and then. He’s always polite. Once, he even brought me coffee when I was hurrying to get some correspondence out for him and Al,” she added with a smile.

He could afford to be polite to Al’s secretary, Sabina thought angrily. But if Al got serious about Jessica, she knew Thorn would wage a desperate battle. He had said as much with that offhand remark at the party. And Al did feel something for Jess, Sabina was sure of it. She wanted so much to tell Jessica what she suspected.

“Thorn probably bribes people when he can’t get them any other way,” Sabina grumbled.

Jessica pulled into a parking space outside the apartment building and glanced at her friend. “I’ll bet he’s never needed a bribe.” She sighed. “But Al’s terrified of him, you know? So am I, really. If I ever looked twice at Al, I’ll bet Thorn would have me transferred to Saudi Arabia or somewhere.”

Yes, Sabina thought miserably, being nice to Al’s secretary was one thing. But Hamilton Regan Thorndon the Third would cut Jess up like sausage for merely smiling at his brother.

“Just remember one thing. Al isn’t blind about you,” Sabina said softly. “And if he cared enough, he’d even take on big brother.”

“He’d only notice me if I died and there was nobody to make coffee,” Jess groaned.

“Ha! Well, I guess I’ll go up and eat some toast. Damn Hamilton Regan Thorndon the Third, anyway,” she muttered. “He’s cost me my supper. Imagine having to work for him!”

“His secretaries kind of come and go, like his women,” Jessica confided. “He’s hard on women. They say he hates them.”

Sabina felt herself shudder. “Yes, I felt that. He’s very cold.”

“Not in bed, I’ll bet,” Jessica said under her breath.

Sabina’s face flushed, and she got out before Jess could see it. “Thanks for the ride! Want to have lunch one day?”

“I’ll call you. Are you sure you’re okay?” Jess added with a worried frown.

Sabina shrugged and smiled. “Just a little battle scarred.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I hit him,” she said, noticing the wary look on Jess’s face. “Then I dared the oil baron to hit me back.”

Jess looked uneasy. “That wasn’t wise. He has the memory of an elephant.”

“He tried to buy me for the night,” Sabina said curtly.

Jess made a soft sound. “Oh, my. No wonder you hit him! Good for you! Will you tell Al?”

She debated about that. “I’d rather not. Al doesn’t know about my background. Just tell Al I’m not sorry I did it, but I’m sorry I embarrassed him.”

“Al doesn’t embarrass easily.” Jessica toyed with the steering wheel. “I was pretty shocked when he asked me to hostess for him.” She glanced up. “He’s never invited me to his apartment before.”

“He’s started to notice you,” Sabina said cautiously.

“Well, at least Thorn didn’t toss me out tonight,” Jess replied sadly. “He strikes me as a little snobbish where his family is concerned.”

Sabina’s temper flared again. “What he needs is someone who can put him in his place. And if he isn’t careful, I may blacken his other eye for him!”

Jess laughed. “I can see it now—a TKO in the fifth round…”

“Good night,” Sabina said, closing the car door behind her. She waved at Jess and went upstairs. Of all the unexpected endings to what had begun as a lovely evening. Closing the door of her apartment, she decided to skip dinner. She’d lost her appetite anyway. Sleep would be a welcome relief. But instead of losing herself to dreams, her mind replayed an image of Thorn and the way he’d kissed her. He’d touched her deeply, in ways she’d never expected to be touched.

How could she blame him for thinking she was easy, after the way she’d reacted to his unexpected ardor? He couldn’t have known about her childhood, about her mother. She turned her hot face into the pillow. Now she’d made an enemy of him, and what was Al going to think? If only she’d stayed out of the kitchen, none of it would have happened.

She had a feeling she was going to be under siege shortly. The oil baron wasn’t going to stand for having her in Al’s life after this. She’d have bet money that he was already brooding about ways to get her away from Al, because she knew he had the impression that she and Al were more than friends. And part of her was even looking forward to the confrontation. She liked a sporting enemy.

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