After The Music

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.

Chapter Two

Sabina got up the next morning with a feeling of dread. Immediately, her mind raced back to the night before, and her heart burned at the memory of a hard mouth invading hers.

It had been the first time she’d ever felt like that. How ironic that it should be with a man who was quickly becoming her worst enemy. She had no inclination whatsoever for the lighthearted alliances other women formed. She knew too much about their consequences.

How odd, that Hamilton Thorndon the Third should think that she was easy. She almost laughed. If there was one woman in the world his money couldn’t get, it was Sabina.

With drooping eyelids she dragged herself into the exclusive Bourbon Street nightclub where she and the band were working. She’d never felt less like working, but the rehearsals went on regardless.

It was late afternoon, barely an hour from curtain time, and she was just finishing a tune about lost love, when Al came walking in. He looked as miserable as she felt, and his face looked sullen.

“Can you spare a minute?” Al asked.

“Sure,” she said, jumping down from the stage in her satin shorts and top, and black leather boots. “Be right back!” she called to the boys.

Ricky Turner, the tall, thin bandleader and pianist, waved back. “Ten minutes, no more. We’ve still got two numbers to go over.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “He worries,” she told Al as they sat down at a nearby table while around them busboys put out napkins and silver and glassware. “He’s terrified that the stage will fall through, or the lights will come down on our heads, or that I’ll trip over a cord and bash in the drums.” She laughed softly. “Concerts are hard on Ricky’s nerves. He’s just started to relax since we’ve been doing this gig.”