Unfortunately, Mia could feel his warmth again now in the small stairwell, and her skin automatically heated up as if he’d touched her. A bolt of pure, instinctive need shot through her at the thought of his hands on her skin again. Just like the first time she’d seen him on stage, he was in dark pants and a T-shirt that was worn enough for her to see that he was even more muscular, as if he’d grown into his body. With a half-dozen new tattoos snaking up his arms and even along the base of his neck and broad shoulders, it made her mouth water just to look at his incredible masculine beauty.
No matter how much she hated him, the truth was that no one had ever made her feel so good, so alive...or, she harshly reminded herself, so devastated.
Until Ford, Mia had been the heartbreaker. Not because she relished hurting men, but simply because she had never returned any of her boyfriends’ feelings with the same intensity. But after Ford had broken her heart, as much as she hated the thought of being the forlorn woman, it was nearly what she’d become after he left. She’d almost given up everything for him, had almost lost her own identity in the name of love.
Frankly, she still wasn’t sure whom she’d hated more: him for being a bastard, or herself for being so weak. And so stupid.
Although, she reminded herself as they headed back through to the main part of the house, she really shouldn’t be too hard on herself for the past. After all, she’d been only twenty-three the first time she saw Ford on stage in that club downtown, young and full of dreams. The fact was, any woman would have been hard-pressed not to feel special when his eyes had locked with hers in the crowd and he’d sung directly to her. It was only natural that someone as young and idealistic as she had been would have believed the fantasy that she’d be Yoko to his Lennon, that she could be the only woman who mattered when he could have had anyone...and that it would be okay to let her own passions and dreams dissolve into his just because she loved him.
Well, Mia thought as she stopped in the kitchen and slowly turned to face him, she was a hell of a lot smarter this time around. No matter how great a guy was, she would never again lose sight of her own dreams, her own identity, or her career. And she definitely wasn’t going to fall for Ford’s charm, or his good looks, or her memories of how good making love with him had been, or—
Damn it, enough already. He was a client. And she was here to sell him a house. Nothing more.
Reaching into her leather bag with a steady hand, she pulled out a color flyer and handed it to him. “Okay, Rutherford, here are the details on the house.”
He gripped her hand along with the flyer. “You know how I feel about people calling me that.”
He didn’t hide the emotion in his eyes, and she got lost in the dark brown depths for a moment too long. “You’re right,” she replied as she yanked her hand out of his. “Anyone who’s read Rolling Stone knows you don’t like your given name.”
It was a perfect reminder that she’d never been any more important to him than any other groupie he’d slept with, since the reason he hated his full name was just one of the many things he hadn’t cared enough about her to explain.
She’d spat the Rolling Stone comment out in an offhand, albeit bitter, way, but was surprised when he seemed to be warring with himself. Was he finally going to confide in her? Five years too late, but still...
His too-beautiful mouth tightened down right before he said, “That name doesn’t fit me. It never has and it never will.”
She waited for him to say something more, to explain why Rutherford didn’t fit but Ford did, until she realized she was being a fool again.
Nothing. He’d shared precisely the same nothing he’d given her before.
Disappointment came before she could pretend it hadn’t. How many times did she have to learn this lesson?
Ford took everything...and then gave just enough to keep her hooked.
Still, she shouldn’t have been so petty as to use his formal first name when she knew he hated it, even if she didn’t know why. It wasn’t just mean of her, it was sinking to his level. And if there was one thing she absolutely needed to do, it was rise above.
Not fall any deeper.
Mia forced her pride far enough to the side to be able to say, “I apologize. That was unprofessional.”
He looked momentarily surprised by her apology, before moving toward her. “Mia—”
She cut him off as she took a step away from him. “This home has six bedrooms, five and a half baths, an Olympic length pool, a custom-built wine cellar that was featured in Wine Spectator magazine, and, of course, you’ve already found the tower.”
“Alana told me it was where she would go when she wanted to be alone to think.”
“You know Alana?” Her mind immediately swam with visions of just how intimately he likely knew the owner of the house they were standing in.
“She’s my business manager’s sister,” he said, and then clearly reading her mind, added, “And she’s never been anything but a friend.”
Pushing aside the relief, she snapped, “I don’t need a list of everyone you slept with before or after me.” Realizing too late that she was doing a terrible job of remaining cool and unruffled, she said, “Look, Ford, I think you’ll agree that the best way to do this is to keep things strictly professional.”
“No, Mia,” he said in as steady a voice as she’d used on him, “I can’t agree with that.”