It Must Be Your Love: The Sullivans (2 page)

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, the way every inch of her silky hair, soft skin, and luscious curves was pure sensuality—that Ford nearly reached for the computer screen. Only the belated realization that Natasha was carefully watching him 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 on stage 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 in the video, Natasha paused it. “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 screen that 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 mother who cared about him might have if he’d been lucky enough to have either of those 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 went 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 rented a couple of 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 one, that the road was his home, and that it was just the way he’d always wanted his life to be.

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 who would he go there with?

He couldn’t see himself back where he’d grown up in Boston—or in New York City, Los Angeles, or London, where he did the bulk of his non-touring 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.

Only, 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 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.