After The Music

“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.