by Bella Andre
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 leaving 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 that you could see how you looked at her on my computer exactly that 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 that 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 the last time he’d 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 of him.
Only one thing—only one person—had ever been able to do that.
Only Mia.
Chapter Two
Mia Sullivan knew nothing about the man she was about to meet...except that he must be rich.
Really stinking rich.
Mia had been contacted the previous day by a lawyer representing a client who was in the market for a home in Seattle. The budget? Ten million dollars, give or take a few million, if necessary.
The location? On the water, of course.
The time frame? Immediately.
The client? Anonymous until today’s showing.
As the owner of Sullivan Realty with a half-dozen agents working under her, Mia already had a full slate of showings and meetings set up for Friday morning. Plus, she’d found the anonymous-buyer aspect more than a little suspect. What possible reason could a potential client have for keeping his or her identity a secret from her? Especially when she’d previously sold property to some of the wealthiest men in the world, not to mention being cousin to movie star Smith Sullivan and pro-baseball player Ryan Sullivan. Quickly running through various possibilities in her head, Mia figured it was possible that the buyer might be a wealthy and dangerous convict who had done his time and now wanted to restart his life with a big house on the water in the Pacific Northwest.
Of course, she’d love the commission on a ten-million-dollar sale, but at this point she didn’t absolutely need it. Besides, Mia Sullivan had four older brothers and loving parents who had taught her well about looking out for herself, and she was nobody’s fool.
Well, that is, apart from that one week five years ago when she’d been a complete and utter fool, all for love...
Shoving that ugly thought back into the dark depths where it belonged, she’d point-blank asked, “Has your client done time for a horrible crime?”
It had sounded like the lawyer was barely restraining his laughter as he’d said, “No. I can promise you that he is most definitely not a murderer.”
Then she’d known it was a man, at least. “I’m afraid it’s going to be extremely difficult to help choose the perfect house for a client who insists on remaining anonymous.” At the lawyer’s continued silence, she’d added, “I’d have to know his age and the size of his family or staff, at the very least.”
“I truly do apologize for not being able to divulge any further details about my client, but I can promise that he is of sound mind and does not intend to do you any harm.”
“If that’s intended to be reassuring—”
“I have also couriered over a check for twenty thousand dollars as a down payment on your fee. Whether you are able to find a home that my client wishes to purchase, or not, the money is yours.”
As if it had been choreographed, Mia’s assistant, Orlando had brought in an envelope just as the lawyer finished speaking.
Mia had slid out the cashier’s check for twenty grand, and this time when her mouth opened, no further protests had come out. So despite the red flags waving inside her head, warning that something was definitely off with this whole situation, the fact was that no Realtor on the planet would ignore this client. Anonymous or not, he was clearly serious about buying a waterfront home in Seattle, so she’d decided to shift her original Friday clients to Orlando and book new showings at three of the best waterfront listings in Seattle.
In any case, Mia thought now as she headed up the front walk of the first house, it was far more likely that he was going to end up being a twenty-two-year-old nerd who had struck it rich with a high-tech start-up and didn’t have any social skills to speak of, rather than a crazy, dangerous convict sprung from prison on a technicality.
As she unlocked the front door to the amazing waterfront estate, she gave silent thanks that it was a perfect day. The clouds were white and fluffy in a brilliantly blue sky, and the water of Lake Washington was so calm it looked like glass. Mia really enjoyed living in her high-rise condo looking out over downtown Seattle, but she could certainly see the allure of a place like this. No doubt about it, she thought with a grin as she walked into the spectacular house, if she had ten million dollars lying around collecting dust, she would definitely buy a place like this for herself.
Quickly and efficiently, she made her way through each room on the ground floor, turning on lights, adjusting vases of flowers, and shifting furniture slightly to make the house look truly perfect.
Not, however, that this home needed much help in that department. Because while she believed all three houses on today’s agenda would suit even the pickiest buyer, she was particularly partial to this one because of one very unique feature.
The tower.
What girl didn’t love the thought of a gorgeous, strapping prince climbing up stone and vines to give her true love’s kiss in a tower? And what boy wouldn’t have loved to stealthily track invaders from high above like a warrior would have so many centuries ago? Plus, on a more practical note, the tower had great light, beautiful stone walls, and an incredible view.
The house was currently owned by a really nice couple who were, unfortunately, splitting up. Mia had attended a few of their parties over the years and had always been amazed by how similar they were—everything from their blond good looks to their classic fashion sense. She’d been extremely surprised when they had called to let her know they were getting a divorce and wanted her to list their home. As far as she had seen, they had never argued or seemed angry with each other beneath brittle smiles and fake endearments, like so many couples often did. Then again, the more she’d thought about it, she couldn’t ever remember them touching, either. Their divorce, it seemed, was now proceeding with as little passion as their marriage.
Mia stopped halfway up the spiral staircase that led to the tower room and gazed out a small window that overlooked the extensive grounds.
How, she wondered, do people eve
r figure out the balance between love and lust? Friendship and passion?
Gazing out at the blue lake and the yacht moored just outside the window, she barely saw them as she mulled over the questions that had been popping into her head again and again now that so many of her family members had found the one. First, her eight cousins in San Francisco had all fallen in love. Four were already married and another four were engaged, with Marcus and Nicola’s wedding coming up on Sunday at his winery in Napa Valley. And then, this past summer, her brother Rafe had fallen head over heels in love with their old friend Brooke.
Of course, Mia was thrilled for her brother and cousins. But after seeing each of the happy couples together, she’d seriously begun to doubt that she’d find what they all had with each other. Especially when, given her big past relationship mistake, she clearly had no idea what real love was.
The sounds of a seagull squawking just a few yards outside the window yanked her from her musings. Her anonymous buyer would be arriving in fifteen minutes, and she wanted to be completely ready for him. Taking the final stairs two at a time, she reached the thick wooden door to the tower room thirty seconds later.
She was slightly surprised to find the door open. But when she stepped inside she was far more surprised to realize that the room wasn’t empty...and that the anonymous buyer was the very last man on earth she ever wanted to see again.
Just that quickly, five years fell away, and she was reliving the moment when she’d seen him for the very first time.
* * *
Five years ago, in a downtown Seattle venue...
Mia Sullivan was having the best day of her life. She’d sold her first seven-figure property, and had a great Friday night dinner with her family at her parents’ house, where her mother, father, and four brothers had surprised her with a huge arrangement of flowers and champagne to toast her achievement. After heading home to change into something less professional and more slinky, she was out continuing the celebration at a well-known Seattle club with some of her colleagues who had also closed good deals that week.
She’d been too amped up at dinner with her family to take more than a few sips of the champagne they’d popped on her behalf and now her mojito had never tasted better. Bursting with energy, Mia was ready and raring for the band to start playing so that she could hit the dance floor. She felt especially sexy tonight in her shimmering silver dress with thin spaghetti straps and a deep plunge in the back. Mia wasn’t particularly tall, but with the hem of her dress barely skimming her thighs and her five-inch silver heels, she felt like she could go toe to toe with any of the supermodels-in-training in the audience.
The cute guy she was flirting with had just gone to get her another drink when the house music and the lights went down, and dozens of girls in the crowd started squealing. Mia didn’t follow the music scene very closely, but evidently, this show tonight was the hottest ticket in town. Mia was more into Navy SEAL types with their muscles and strength, rather than rockers with their tattoos and leather. Still, the way the other women in the room were acting had her more than a little curious about the singer.
How great could Ford Vincent possibly be?
Just then, a deep male voice cut through the noise of the crowd and the squeals grew louder—then, miraculously, fell away entirely as his voice resonated down into all of their souls.
Mia forgot all about the guy she’d been flirting with as she moved through the crowd to get closer to the stage. She had made it nearly to the front when the spotlight lit.
Oh my God, the singer was gorgeous. But not in a typically rock star way. Yes, he had on leather pants and his dark hair was long enough to brush the tops of his shoulders, but he was beautifully built, with a broad chest, muscular arms and thighs, and a surprising ruggedness, as if he regularly spent time lifting something heavier than an electric guitar.
But a few seconds later, Mia realized it didn’t matter what he looked like...because she was utterly lost in the music, her eyes closing as she let it move her body.
When an elbow poked her in the side, Mia opened her eyes to see who was knocking into her. The girl next to her said, “He’s singing straight to you!”
A moment later, Mia turned toward the stage and found herself looking right into the singer’s heated gaze. She’d never been afraid of her own innate sensuality, but...oh...the way just one look from this man instantly melted her insides sent a rare, and very surprising, red flag of caution up inside her chest.
She’d always been the one in control of her relationships, was used to being the one who was wanted and needed more than she’d ever wanted or needed anyone. Relationships, and sex, had all been just for fun. In twenty-three years, her heart had never, ever been at risk—and she’d been okay with that. She figured she had plenty of time to find the one.
Snared in the heat and intensity of Ford’s gaze, Mia couldn’t do anything but stand in the audience of crazed fans and stare back at him. It wasn’t until the crowd lost its mind at the end of the song and the bassist said something to Ford that pulled his attention away, that she was dragged out of what had been as close to a hypnotic state as she’d ever been in.
Her body felt strange, her mouth dry, her hands and feet tingling...and her heart was pounding way too hard. Trying to regain her bearings, she turned away from the stage and scanned the crowd for her friends. She needed another drink to wet her throat and then, even though it wasn’t all that late, maybe she’d head back home.
But instead of finding any of her colleagues in the crowd that seemed to have quadrupled during the amazing first song, all she could see were dozens gorgeous girls who would clearly do anything to score a night in the singer’s bed.
“You’re one hell of an audience, aren’t you?”
Ford’s question, spoken in that low voice that ran shivers of need through Mia’s entire body, had the crowd shouting and screaming back that they loved him, that he was their hero, that he could have them any way he wanted them.
“I was already going to make it good for you,” he said in a voice laced with sexual undertones, “but now you’ve got me wanting to make it really good.”
She swore she could feel his gaze burning a hole through her as he spoke, and something told her his words weren’t just meant for the audience...but as a challenge for her because he’d seen that she was about to leave.
Mia had never been afraid of anything in her life. Plus, she couldn’t stop asking herself, if one look—if just the sound of his voice—could affect her so deeply, what would one touch do? One kiss?
She shivered at the delicious thought of those hands that worked over his electric guitar with such reverence doing the same over her naked skin. She was here to celebrate, after all, and what could one hot night with a rocker hurt?
When she finally turned to face the stage, Ford raised his eyebrow as if in question. She let her lips lift into an answering smile. A smile that said, “If you want a night with me, rock star, you’re going to have to earn it.”
And that night, when he finally got her into his bed, did he ever...
Chapter Three
Beautiful.
Looking at her standing there surprised—and then, a moment later, utterly furious—Mia Sullivan was still the most beautiful woman Ford had ever seen.
She’d also been approximately ten feet away the first time he’d ever set eyes on her in the middle of the crowded dance floor, wearing a little silver dress, the tips of her blond hair just sweeping over the swells of her breasts. That night in Seattle, the way she’d looked as she closed her eyes to move to the song he’d written—so sensual that he’d almost forgotten the lyrics—had made it impossible to look away. And when she’d opened her eyes and looked at him, he’d felt the impact of it like a bass drum reverberating all the way into his soul.
That night, he’d desperately wanted to know how soft her skin would feel beneath his calloused fingertips, how sweet her mouth would taste against his, and how good it w
ould be to hold her. Five years later, he could still remember how he could never get enough of touching her, caressing every one of her sweet curves and sinful hollows over and over until both of them were driven nearly mad with desire.
That night in the club, her tiny little dress had showed off her incredible legs, but somehow, in the pale-yellow wrap dress she had on now, her legs looked even sexier. Her hair was a little longer now, but her eyes were just as bright a blue and her full red mouth was slightly damp, as if she’d licked her lips just before walking through the doorway.
But it wasn’t just her beauty that stunned him...it was the music that came into the room with her. She’d inspired his greatest songs five years ago—for one week straight he’d either been making love to her or notating the endless riffs and lyrics that were streaming into his head. The longer they’d been apart, the less freely the music had come.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Damn, he thought as her eyes sparked with heat and fury, she was spectacular. “You’re even prettier than I remember.”
He thought he saw pleasure at his honest compliment flash in her eyes before rage returned.
“And you’re an even bigger jackass than I remember.” Her voice was steady, but not at all cool, as she told him, “Now that you’ve had your fun, I want you to get the hell out of this house so I can lock it up and get on with my day.”
Ford wanted to drag her into his arms. He’d never forgotten, not for one single second of the past five years, how perfectly they’d fit together. But for now, he had no doubt whatsoever that touching Mia—or worse, grabbing her—was completely forbidden.
Seeing just how angry she was, Ford knew he needed to tread carefully. It wouldn’t be enough just to say he was sorry for being an immature jerk five years ago and for not realizing it sooner, no matter how true that was. Mia clearly wouldn’t believe he meant a word of it. Not yet, anyway.
