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 would 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.

So instead of making the mistake of trying, and failing, to woo her back into his arms with soft words, Ford planned to take a very different approach. Namely, by playing off the intense sparks of attraction that were clearly just as strong between them now as they’d been years before.

“I thought,” he said while leaning against the stone wall as if he were perfectly at ease, “that showing me this house is your day.”

“For your information,” she said as she advanced toward him, her gorgeous chest rising and falling beneath the soft fabric of her pretty dress, her eyes flashing, her skin flushed with emotion, “if I’d had even the slightest inkling that you were going to be my anonymous client, I would have said no so fast your lawyer’s head would still be spinning.”

“Really?” Ford made sure the one word out of his mouth was right in the gray area between a question and a taunt, even though he’d set himself up as her anonymous client to make absolutely sure they would come face to face again. “You wouldn’t have wanted the chance to see me again after all these years?”

At that, one of her eyebrows rose. “I get that you’re a raging egomaniac, but even you can’t possibly be serious.” She laughed then, but it was a bitter sound. “Why on earth would you think I would ever want to see you again?”

Because you never stopped loving me, the way I now know I never stopped loving you, was the answer he hoped like hell was still in her heart, even if it was buried way down deep. But since he knew he had years of anger to make up for first, he said, “From this distance, you could do a lot of damage to me with the heel of your shoe.” As her expression told him she was actually considering it, he added, “And just think of the other ways you could mess me up if you got even closer.”

“Tempting,” she muttered as she looked down at her spike heels. “So incredibly tempting. But I couldn’t stand to have all your weeping fans on my conscience if I ruined your pretty face.”

As if she realized she was rising to the bait by reacting to him, she suddenly took a deep, steadying breath that had her flushed skin cooling and her fists unclenching. Another man might have thought this was a step in the right direction, but Ford knew otherwise. Mia Sullivan was meant to be fire and sparks.

Cool meant that he was losing her.

He’d lost her once. No matter what he had to do, he wouldn’t lose her again.

Now she was the one leaning lightly against the doorframe, crossing her gorgeous legs at the ankles, her mouth curving up slightly at the corners in a mocking smile. “Are you really in the market for a home in Seattle? Or were you just feeling a little bored on the road and ready to have a laugh today at my expense?”

Yes, he couldn’t deny that having his lawyer call her about seeing houses in Seattle had been pure, unavoidable impulse. But before Mia had arrived this morning, he’d spent some time wandering around the property before heading up to the tower, where he had been pleased to find an unlocked door. He should have been more surprised that the thought of living in Seattle full time was a good one. Especially since in all his adult life, he’d never spent long enough anywhere to have grass of his own to cut or a kitchen to keep clean, just a tour bus that he swapped out every year for the newest, flashiest model. But there was something strangely enticing about those grounding chores.

The idea of giving up everything for Mia had seemed to come at him from out of the blue on his tour bus. But being near her again confirmed that it had always been there, humming away inside of him for five long years in the same way that some melodies toyed with him for weeks, months, even years, before the day when they finally became a real song.

“I do want a house in Seattle,” he confirmed, just barely keeping the words because of you from falling out of his mouth. It was too much, too soon, but he had to tell her, “And I needed to see you again.”

“Congratulations,” she said in that same icy tone. “You got what you wanted. You saw me. For the very last time.”

Though she was still only a few feet away, as she turned from him, Ford felt like she was almost as good as gone. Which meant he had nothing to lose by saying, “I never thought I’d see you like this.” When she didn’t turn back, he upped the ante with, “So frightened of seeing me again that you’re walking away less than five minutes in.”

The ice that she’d encased herself in cracked more and more with each word out of his mouth until he watched it shatter and fall completely away from the force of her renewed fury. She spun to face him.

“I’m not frightened of anything.” She tossed her head, her long, dirty-blond hair flowing down over her shoulders and breasts. “Certainly not of you.”

This time he was the one raising an eyebrow. Still forcefully shoving down the urge to move across the round room to drag her against him, he shrugged. “Could have fooled me.”

Even as her fists clenched tighter, she moved closer to him. Her scent—a sweet hint of flowers wrapped in sinfully hot spice—wound through him. Lord, he’d loved her passion. The problem was that he’d been too young, too idiotic, to know how to appreciate it...or to know the true worth of one woman’s love versus ruling the world from a stage.

“Fear isn’t why I don’t want to take you on as a client. It’s because you’re fickle and self-centered, and I don’t have time for people like you who say they want a home in Seattle, but are really just wasting my time because you’re bored with all your money and playthings and staff scraping and bowing at your every command.”

“Seattle has always been my favorite city,” he told her in an easy voice. He shrugged again. “But I understand if you don’t think you can take me on as a client because you’re not over me.”

“Not over you?” Her glare was sharp enough that he could almost feel it slicing through his clothes to pierce his skin. “If you’re done with this really fun trip down memory lane, we’ve got three houses to see today.” She gestured toward the room with a flick of her hand. “This is the tower. It’s unique and one of my favorite things about this house. The stones were imported from a thirteenth-century castle in the north of England.”

Each word was clipped and scrupulously professional, but he still had to work like hell not to smile—at least not until she’d turned her back on him to head for the stairs.

Ford Vincent had been on stage in front of millions of people, had crushed music industry sales records with his last release, and had some of the most famous people in the world on speed dial...but he hadn’t felt this alive in years.