After The Music

After The Music
Diana Palmer

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?

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 TimesandUSA TODAYBestselling Author

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

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 (#u9fb54416-2855-5f0a-88f3-78f8f5e551be)

Chapter Two (#u4060bd06-5bd0-5877-80d0-c2ccf2d4dbb7)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

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.”