All For You: Halfway ThereBuckhorn Ever AfterThe One You WantOne Perfect Night

by Susan Mallery

  Initially, Ford hadn’t been interested in participating in a film about himself. Not just because he still sometimes felt like a kid playing in the sandbox of the rock-and-roll playground with Jagger and Bowie having earned their places on the swings—but also because he had no interest whatsoever in strangers digging into his past. It had only been when Natasha had made it clear that she was only interested in his music, and the powerful way it affected people around the world, that he consented to allow her to begin filming his current tour. Of course, he also had final approval over anything that went into the film. So far, he’d been nothing but impressed with what Natasha had shown him—not only clips from his shows and interviews with his band members and recording engineers, but also interesting discussions with music therapists who used his music to help heal their patients.

  “This recording is from five years ago. You were playing a small club in Seattle as a preview for your first major label release, so there were plenty of cameras filming the gig. I found some better quality clips, but I thought this was one of the most interesting, and I’d like to know what you think of it.”

  Five years ago?

  Seattle?

  Ford’s grip tightened on the new water bottle he’d been about to open as she clicked Play.

  Holy hell, there she was.

  The cameraman had zoomed in on Ford walking out onstage to play his first song before panning back from the stage to an audience that was going crazy. His fans danced, sang along and hollered out praise, but one woman stood out from among them all.

  In her little silver dress, with blond hair falling over her shoulders and an expression of pure sensual pleasure on her face, she let his music wash over her. The cameraman clearly couldn’t pull his lens away from her.

  Ford hadn’t been able to drag his gaze away from her, either. When the camera zoomed out to frame both Ford and the crowd, the moment when he and Mia Sullivan first looked into each other’s eyes for the first time was caught on film.

  And it was utterly electric.

  Everything came back to him in such a rush—the amazement that a woman could be that beautiful, the shock that someone could allow a stranger to see so much honest emotion in her eyes. Every inch of her silky hair, soft skin and luscious curves was pure sensuality—and Ford nearly reached for the computer screen. The belated realization that Natasha was watching him carefully held him back.

  “You were amazing that night, Ford.”

  Natasha was right. That night in Seattle had been one of the best shows he’d ever played. Because for the first time ever, he’d played for more than just himself and a crowd of strangers.

  He’d played for Mia.

  Natasha paused playback, and before he could get his brain to work to tell her to stop, she opened another small window to the right of her screen. “I also wanted you to check out this backstage clip.”

  Every muscle in Ford’s body was tense now as she clicked Play again and he guessed correctly at what he was about to see: Mia being brought backstage. From that first glimpse of her in the audience, Ford had been desperate to meet her, to touch her...to claim her as his.

  If the sparks between them had been hot when he’d been onstage and she’d been in the audience, flames nearly shot from the screen as they approached each other in the windowless backstage room where he had been about to do his post-show meet and greet with the press.

  As Ford took Mia’s hand in his, Natasha pushed pause. “Do you remember her?”

  Though they’d only had one week together, Ford hadn’t been able to stop himself from periodically checking online to see if Mia was in a serious relationship. Again and again, over the years, he continued to torture himself like this, even though every time he saw a picture of her with some other guy, his heart would stop, just like it had tonight. To try to recover, he’d drink more, party harder, spend even more hours in the studio and on the road to try to forget her.

  But he never could.

  Because Mia Sullivan was unforgettable.

  “Since this documentary is about my music and not my private life, I don’t see why it matters.”

  Unlike most people, who only wanted to know how high to go when he said, “Jump,” Natasha didn’t back off at his clear message to do just that. And even though he hadn’t yet confirmed that he remembered Mia, Natasha asked, “Have you kept in touch with her?”

  “No.” The one short word from his lips was little more than an irritated growl.

  Unable to remain sitting in the booth anymore, he got to his feet. Ford had never played the rock star card with Natasha before, but seeing Mia on-screen so unexpectedly made every inch of him, inside and out, feel raw.

  “Why the hell do you want to know this?”

  “I’ve spent the past couple of months practically living in your back pocket, Ford. You’re great with your crew and fans, and I meant it when I said my intention with this film is to capture your music. Where it comes from. How it affects people. But there’s no way I could do any of that—or do it well—without learning, and showing, what’s made you who you are and why you write these songs. And I’m afraid that somewhere along the way, I’ve started to like you,” she said with a small smile. “Quite a bit more than I thought I’d ever like a rock star who has the entire world at his feet.”

  Natasha looked back at the footage that had captured two of the most important moments of his life. “I’ve never seen this woman before. I’ve never heard you talk about her. But as soon as I saw these clips, my gut told me that she was vitally important. I’ve learned the hard way over the years to always listen to my gut. Even,” she added with a slightly apologetic look, “when I know it’s going to piss off the subject of my film-in-progress.”

  She slid off her reading glasses and looked at him in the way he’d always thought a sister or a mother who cared about him might have if he’d been lucky enough to have either of those people in his life. “I promise you, when I’m asking you about this woman, this isn’t about my film anymore. This is me talking to you as your friend.”

  The shade was up on the long window behind the built-in table, and as they traveled at a steady sixty-five miles an hour on the freeway at midnight, all Ford could see was a blur of taillights, lit-up billboards and gas station signs. He’d spent his entire adult life with the blacktop burning up beneath the tires of his van, then bigger and bigger buses as his fame and income grew. He often rented hotel suites in Los Angeles and New York City for occasional days off the road here or there, but he never thought of them as home. He’d always told himself he didn’t want or need that, the road was his home, and that was just the way he’d always wanted it.

  But he wasn’t stupid enough or young enough anymore to pretend that the day when he’d be too old to run around on a stage every night wasn’t coming. Especially considering how much a three-hour show took out of him now. What would it be like in five years at this relentless pace? In ten? Where would he go then? And with whom would he go?

  He couldn’t see himself back in Boston where he’d grown up—or in New York City, Los Angeles or London, cities where he conducted the bulk of his nontouring business. No matter how hard he tried to stop it, his brain always circled back to Seattle, where he’d spent one incredible week with the most beautiful girl in the world.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”

  Over the years, Ford had worked with many musicians who were recovering alcoholics. He understood that even if an addict was sober for years, one sip was all it would take for their addiction to come raging back even stronger than it had been before, as if the years of abstinence had never happened. Now he knew exactly what that felt like, because he couldn’t stop staring at the computer screen where Mia’s beauty and vitality drew him even more now than it had then.

  “Five years.”

  �
��Have you ever tried to get back in touch with her?”

  Again, his answer was a curt, “No.”

  He’d done everything but that. He’d worked like hell to try to forget, to try to bury what he’d felt for her. He’d moved from one woman to another, one city to another, one stage to another. But, God, just thinking about having Mia back in his arms sent long-simmering yearnings and cravings rushing through him.

  “Why haven’t you?”

  How could he explain how good it had been with Mia...and then how badly it had ended? Especially since, even if he could put words to it, he knew he shouldn’t tell Natasha anything more. Not when he’d already told—and shown—her too much. Because if she decided to break her promise to him and go public with any of this, his grave was already dug. Deep.

  Interestingly, just as writing a song felt like discovering the mystery of what he truly believed, one lyric at a time, he was surprised to find that so did this very unexpected conversation.

  Finally, he admitted, “We were young.”

  But that wasn’t the whole truth. Not even close. He’d made every mistake in the book with Mia. Pride. Ego. Blame. They’d all been huge forces in his decision to leave her, and then staying away.

  “I was young. Stupid. Just like you said, I thought the whole world should be waiting at my feet. Including her.”

  “We were all young and stupid once,” Natasha pointed out. “But if you ask me, the fact that you’re still in love with her trumps all of that.”

  She waited then, as if to give him a chance to try to deny that he was still in love with Mia. But he couldn’t.

  Not when he now realized that every word of the denial would be a bald-faced lie.

  “The way you looked at her from that stage in Seattle five years ago...I wish I had been filming you just now so you could see that you looked at her image on my computer screen in exactly the same way. And, Ford, what if she’s still just as much in love with you, too?” Her voice gentled as she added, “I know people think you have everything. Fame. Success. Packed stadiums and hit songs. And I’ve personally seen that you really enjoy what you do.” She looked around at the luxurious interior of the tour bus. “But I have to wonder—if the two of you could make things work this time around, what would you be willing to give up to have her back?”

  The word everything busted into his brain at the exact moment the old backstage video clicked back on. Watching it, he remembered that Mia had just told him her name when several scantily clad groupies had pushed between the two of them. Even as he’d given the women their autographs, he’d been counting down the seconds until he could be with Mia again.

  Now, as he stood in his tricked-out tour bus, Ford realized he’d never stopped counting those seconds for the entire five years since he’d last seen her.

  Once upon a time, he’d believed that his music, his guitar and his songs were everything he needed. But tonight, as his tour bus roared down yet another highway to yet another stadium, Ford finally realized that his songs and audiences could never even come close to filling the hole inside him.

  Only one thing—only one person—had ever been able to do that.

  Only Mia.

  Copyright © 2013 by Oak Press, LLC.

  About the Author

  New York Times bestselling author Bella Andre is known for “sensual, empowered stories enveloped in heady romance” (Publishers Weekly) about sizzling alpha heroes and the strong women they’ll love forever. Winner of the Award of Excellence, the Washington Post has called her “one of the top digital writers in America.” If not behind her computer, you can find her reading her favorite authors, hiking, swimming or laughing. Married with two children, Bella splits her time between Northern California wine country and a one-hundred-year-old log cabin in the Adirondacks.

  You can visit Bella online at www.BellaAndre.com, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/bellaandrebooks or on Twitter @BellaAndre.

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  ISBN-13: 9781460380475

  All For You

  Copyright © 2015 by Harlequin Books S.A.

  The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

  Halfway There

  Copyright © 2013 by Susan Macias Redmond

  Buckhorn Ever After

  Copyright © 2013 by Lori Foster

  The One You Want

  Copyright © 2015 by Gena Showalter

  One Perfect Night

  Copyright © 2014 by Oak Press, LLC.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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