Yes, he’d been drinking. He’d done a lot of drinking since his career had started to skid and hers had kept climbing. Yes, they’d been fighting, because neither of them had understood what had happened to the dreams they’d once had. She’d answered their questions; she’d suffered the press until she had thought she’d go mad.

Maggie squeezed her eyes tight. That was over, she told herself. She couldn’t bring Jerry back and solve his problems now. He’d found his own solution. Turning from the door, she went back to the music room.

In her work she found the serenity and the discipline she needed. It had always been that way for her. She could escape into the music so that her emotions found their outlet. She could train her mind on timing and structure. Her drive had always been to release the emotions, hers by the creation of a song and the listener’s by hearing it. If she was successful in that, she needed no other ambition.

Talent wasn’t enough in itself, she knew. It hadn’t been enough for Jerry. Talent had to be harnessed by discipline; discipline, guided by creativity. Maggie used all three now.

As time passed, she became absorbed in the music and in the goal she’d set. The title song had to be passionate, full of movement and sexuality, as the title itself suggested. When it was played, she wanted it to stir the senses, touch off needs, build longings.

No one had been signed to perform it yet, so she was free to use whatever style she chose. She wanted something bluesy, and in her mind she could hear the moan of a sax. Sexy, sultry. She wanted the quiet wail of brass and the smoky throb of bass. Late the night before, when she’d been restless, she’d written down a few phrases. Now she experimented with them, twining words to music.

Almost at once she knew she’d found the key. The key was unexplained passion, barely controlled. It was desire that promised to rip aside anything civilized. It was the fury and heat that a man and woman could bring to each other until both were senseless from it. She had the key now, Maggie thought as her pulse began to pound with the music, because she’d experienced it herself. Yesterday, on the rise, in the sun, with Cliff.

Madness. That was the word that streamed through her mind. Desire was madness. She closed her eyes as words and melody flowed through her. Hadn’t she felt that madness, the sweetness and the ache of it, when his mouth had moved on hers? Hadn’t she wanted to feel him against her, flesh to flesh? He’d made her think of dark nights, steamy, moonless nights when the air was so thick you’d feel it pulse on your skin. Then she hadn’t thought at all, because desire was madness.

She let the words come, passionate, wanton promises that simmered over the heat of the music. Seductive, suggestive, they poured out of her own needs. Lovers’ words, desperate words, were whispered out in her low, husky voice until the room was charged with them. No one who heard would be unmoved. That was her ambition.