‘WHAT DO YOU THINK?’ Unable to suppress the disagreeable sense of disappointment that was churning in his gut, Jake Sorenson glanced up at the stage at Rick—his ‘partner in crime’—who was all but wearing out the floor, pacing back and forth in his worn Cuban-heeled boots. The auditions weren’t exactly going well.

Rick abruptly stopped pacing to spear an exasperated hand through his dull gold hair. Studying Jake, he snapped, ‘What do I think? I think that Rosie Rhys-Jones, or whatever her name is, just isn’t good enough. God knows Marcie is a hard act to follow, but Rosie…’

‘Josie.’

‘Josie. Whatever…’ Scowling, Rick folded his muscular arms across his leather waistcoat and continued. ‘The woman would be fine on a cruise ship, entertaining folk with more money than taste, but she’s not lead vocalist material and that’s a fact. Bottom line is, Jake, I can’t see any of the singers we’ve heard so far fronting a potentially great band like Blue Sky—can you?’

In answer, Jake stared off into the distance. Mentally reviewing the past few auditions, he couldn’t help but agree. He returned his arresting blue gaze to his friend and the characteristic dimple that highlighted a rare smile appeared at the side of his mouth.

‘You’re right, of course. We’ll just have to keep on looking.’

Jake rarely elaborated. Not unless he absolutely had to. But he knew that when it came to making a decision ultimately the final say would be his. Although Rick had been in the music business even longer than he had—at the height of his career Jake had been one of the most successful record producers in the business—he knew that the other man valued his expertise and judgement.

‘Is there anyone left outside to see?’ Yawning as he rose to his feet, Jake stretched his arms high above his head. The movement made his shirt ride up several inches to reveal a taut flat stomach tapering into lean hips and long-boned thighs, currently encased in faded dark blue denim.

At the same time Rick expertly jumped off the stage and ambled across the dusty wooden floor to join him. ‘Not unless they’re lurking in the graveyard out there’ he joked.

He feigned an exaggerated shiver, his bemused expression conveying exactly what he thought about conducting auditions in an obscure village hall deep in the heart of rural England. But Jake knew that doing things this way at least afforded them a certain amount of privacy that wasn’t always possible in London.

The music press and tabloids were always keen to know what he was up to. He was the man who had famously brought several acts from the UK to prominence. But at the height of his career he’d been caught up in a destructive scandal that had cut short his seemingly unstoppable rise to the top when it hit the headlines. After that Jake had dropped out of producing and promoting bands to lick his wounds, reassess his life and reflect on what he might do instead.

For a few years following his very public fall from grace he’d become a perpetual nomad, travelling the world. And while he’d thought he would never entertain the idea of working in the music industry again, when he’d been travelling he’d begun to listen to and study the ethnic music of other cultures and realised that he couldn’t leave music alone. It had always been and still was his abiding interest—the thing that made life worth living. And when he’d finally brought his explorative sojourn to an end he’d returned to the UK and made the decision to go back to his roots.

He’d started out managing a band long before he’d become a producer and now, after fifteen years in the business, had come full circle to manage Blue Sky.

Glancing down at his watch, he grimaced. ‘Anyway, I think I’ve heard enough to know that we haven’t found our singer yet. Want to call it a day?’

Dropping his hands to his hips, Jake glanced across at the three band members who were waiting expectantly for him to make a decision about what they were going to do next.

‘No doubt these guys have had enough, too. So let’s go get a hot pie and a beer. We can make an early start in the morning. There’s a girl from Birmingham that might be a possibility. She’s lead vocalist in a band that have attracted quite a following in her home town’

Despite trying to sound hopeful, Jake knew his downbeat tone conveyed that the girl from Birmingham was more than likely another no. What he was looking for—what they were all looking for—was someone extraordinary, a girl who stood out from the crowd, who could hold her own fronting a band that had been on the brink of major success before Marcie’s sudden and abrupt departure.

It was a crying shame that the woman should have decided at the eleventh hour that she’d rather marry her childhood sweetheart and go and cultivate grapes in the Dordogne than front a rock band. But that, as they said, was showbiz. Still, if anyone could work a miracle Jake knew that he could. All he needed to prove it was to find an amazing singer.

A door slammed loud and hard and the shock in the room was tangible. The sound reverberated round the vaulted high-ceilinged hall like a cannon exploding. What the hell…?

Jake was taken aback when he saw the perpetrator. Tall, slim and dark-haired, she was struggling with the belt of her raincoat, which he could see had become trapped between the hall’s back doors when they’d slammed shut. His transfixed gaze worked its way up from long black suede boots to slim toned legs clad in sheer black hosiery. For a long moment he was fixated by a shapely knee, where its smooth flesh peeped intriguingly through a frayed tear the size of a small

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