About the Author

MELISSA JAMES is a mother of three, living in a beach suburb in New South Wales, Australia. A former nurse, waitress, shop assistant, perfume and chocolate demonstrator, among other things, she believes in taking on new jobs for the fun experience. She’ll try at least anything once to see what it feels like – a fact that scares her family on regular occasions. She fell into writing by accident, when her husband brought home an article stating how much a famous romance author earned, and she thought, I can do that! She can be found most mornings walking and swimming at her local beach with her husband, or every afternoon running around to her kids’ sporting hobbies, while dreaming of flying, scuba diving, belaying down a cave or over a cliff – anywhere her characters are at the time!

Celebrity Wedding of the Year
Melissa James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Mills & Boon have been crafting happy endings for over one hundred years now and I am so glad to be part of that tradition. In a world where that doesn’t happen as often as it ought to, I love to read stories of hope, that have a positive outcome, that show the best of humankind. I also love to create stories of love and commitment and tender romance. I am proud to be an author for Mills & Boon, and give people stories they can read over and over again, to come back to as an old friend when life can become overwhelming.

In Celebrity Wedding of the Year, I have taken the traditional marriage of convenience story and given it a fun twist. I hope it becomes a friend on your bookshelf, one you can turn to for a guaranteed smile.

Happy reading,

Melissa

PROLOGUE

1977

It seems rock wild child Billy Browning is at it again—with the wife of the founder of Solutions for Poverty. Nice one, Billy …

1982

How brief “forever” can be in the music industry. End Game’s guitarist Billy Browning has left his wife and two-year-old daughter Mia for a blond starlet fifteen years his junior …

1996

Billy Browning has checked himself into rehab for the seventh time—but he has had full custody of his daughter Mia since his ex-wife died last year. Child psychologists worry about the child’s exposure to his wild lifestyle. Where is Mia while her father dries out again?

2000

The most successful lead singer of End Game has called it quits. After four years C.J. Hunter has left the band for reasons unknown and gone into hiding. Guitarist Billy Browning has called for auditions for a new singer, but seems to be busier doing the rounds of international parties with his press secretary Michelle Glaser, who is half his age. His third marriage ended a month ago, which seems to be Browning’s maximum mourning period.

2001

Since C.J. Hunter left End Game he’s gone from strength to strength. The former rock god won a Grammy for “Shades of Gray”, the number one song he wrote for End Game. He refused his invitation to the Grammys, concentrating on his studies at Sydney University. He’s in his second year of medical school, and has ambitions to enter the research field.

The world of rock music is poorer for his leaving it.

2007

It seems Billy Browning never changes. Despite his vigorous denials, it seems he’s in a relationship with Nicole Neilson, the estranged wife of his longtime friend crooner Martin Neilson. So much for loyalty, Billy!

A source close to Browning said today, “I don’t know how much longer Mia can put up with her father’s lack of morals. She’s such a nice girl.”

CHAPTER ONE

The Present Day

THE entire End Game family, including every lead singer since the band’s inception in 1975, turned up in a “Who’s Who” of rock to attend Billy Browning’s wedding to Nicole Neilson. Browning married Nicole only four days after her return from Vegas, where she obtained a quickie divorce from crooner Martin Neilson. The private ceremony was surrounded by tight security. The couple are said to be very happy.

Browning and Neilson are said to be cruising in the Caribbean for their honeymoon. Browning’s daughter Mia was unavailable for comment, but her publicist said to expect a special announcement from Mia soon.

The former lead singer of End Game, C.J. Hunter, approached for comment, said he’d never seen Billy so happy.

Martin Neilson apparently sent a telegram wishing them all the best.

A Month Later

“So that’s it?” From the plush chair of the large, well-appointed office, Billy Browning frowned ferociously into his specialist’s face. “I pay you an indecent amount of money to keep me healthy—”

“You’re almost sixty, Billy,” Dr. Bascombe said bluntly. “I haven’t found the fountain of youth, and with your past …” He shrugged. “It was bound to catch up with you, even if you have been clean and healthy for the past five years.”

“Hepatitis B,” Billy whispered in horrified wonder. Shaking his head made his short silver hair shimmer in the glaring halogen lights of the private sanatorium. “There’s no cure. It’s not fair … I’ve tried so hard to change my life …”

His fourth wife, Nicole, squeezed his shoulder with sympathy. “You have changed your life, Billy.”

A semi-conservatively dressed Billy glared at his doctor. “So why did this happen? Didn’t I follow your every meticulous instruction to the letter?”

“Dad, it’s awful, but it’s not the doctor’s fault.” Mia Browning turned to the doctor. “What can we do to help?”

The doctor smiled at Mia with relief. Billy’s temper tantrums were almost as famous as his revolving door love-life, and far more frightening. “We have drugs to stabilize the progress of the disease, and with a good diet and gentle exercise regime, it hopefully won’t get worse for a few years.”

“There’s also a lot of herbal tonics that’ll help, darling,” Nicole said softly, and Billy smiled at her, albeit after a struggle.

“There are herbal tonics that will help.” Her husband gently corrected her grammar with the pedantic nature which few of his fans knew. Nicole, who’d loved him for twenty-five years and knew he used his corrections to cover his fear, let it go with a smile.

“More than anything else you need absolute rest for three to six months, Billy,” the doctor inserted.

All three of the Brownings stared at him; it was no wonder, given the paparazzi contingent camped outside. Since her father had married Nicole four weeks ago their life had become a circus again.

“Absolute rest, Billy,” Dr. Bascombe repeated, looking stern. “You don’t want to know what will happen if you push yourself, or allow life—and the press—to stress you.”

Billy and Nicole sighed together. Even though yesterday’s news was supposed to be old, Billy’s past still haunted them all. Nicole had left Martin five months ago, and flown to Vegas for a divorce last month. The paparazzi still ran regular updates on why Billy would “steal” his friend’s wife, and then marry her within days of her divorce being made legal. There’d even been a TV viewer poll with outrageous reasons for the “wife swap”.

Mia sighed and bit her lip. From experience, she knew she had five minutes to come up with something before Nicole started crying and Dad began exploding. Entertaining was Dad’s forte, not forward planning. The only plans he’d ever made that had worked had been flashes of spur-of-the-moment brilliance that always shocked Mia when they came.

She frowned. “Dad, you have to rest. You can’t handle this situation about Uncle Martin. If I finish the book faster, he can come out earlier—”

“No.” Billy said it firmly. “In this industry, timing, reputation and public perception are everything. Martin’s been there for me through women and rehab, and he helped bring you up. He didn’t blame me when Nicole came to me, blowing his cover. We have to wait until the book’s release.”

Uncle Martin had asked for six months before he went public with his love for his longtime secret partner, Dane Wilson, and openly announced that he was gay to his adoring female fan base. Mia, who was co-writing his autobiography, knew he was doing the right thing. In giving Uncle Martin these six months for people to wonder why Nicole had left him for Dad, the groundwork had been set.

“We have to come up with something else,” Nicole said quietly. “I wouldn’t hurt Martin for the world.”

Mia smiled at her new stepmother. Nicole was small, plump and smiling, comfortable in her wrinkles and greying hair. At fifty-three, she was the oldest of Mia’s stepmothers—and the nicest.

It had rocked her world to discover she hadn’t really known her father until he’d got together with Nicole. It had been only then she’d discovered the reason for Dad’s decades of stupid behavior and successively younger women—and for the clean-up of his life five years before. It had all been for the sake of the one woman he couldn’t have, and couldn’t live without.

He’d changed his world for Nicole.

Mia, though thrilled for her dad’s happiness, felt rudderless. It wasn’t just Dad and Nicole who needed a break, but until Dad was better she needed a plan.

Laughing green eyes flashed into her mind … a crooked, lazy smile and a voice like a rough angel.

Don’t be stupid. That’s not what counts here!

The crucial thing was that he was the C.J. Hunter. Every magazine in the country—and his very active fan base—still wanted to know about his life since he’d vanished from their world at the height of his fame. Since he’d won a second Grammy a few weeks ago, media interest had spiked.

Yes, yes—C.J. was perfect for this—if only he was up for it.

She bit her lip. They’d never truly been friends—but he was still close to Dad. Bribe, blackmail or call in the world’s biggest favor. If she could only get him to do it, she could give her dad what he needed right now—and it would even help kick-start her own new career.

Billy smiled and whispered in Nicole’s ear. “She only gets that look when she thinks of him. I’ve been hoping since the wedding.”

Nicole nodded, smiling at the girl she’d considered her daughter long before she’d gone to Billy. “I wonder if she even knows how she feels,” she whispered back. “She wouldn’t look at him at our wedding, but he couldn’t stop looking at her …”

Billy nodded, a smile curving his mouth despite his health shock. “She’s so much like Sarah.” And she’d learned her mother’s lessons too deeply.

For all his mistakes, he’d always known whom he loved. He didn’t think he’d ever met a girl who knew her own desires and needs less than Mia did—and maybe that was his fault as well. He had to make it right. If Mia didn’t take action on her happiness soon, for once he’d take over and stage-manage his daughter’s life. He wasn’t above using his illness to help if he had to. He knew C.J. wouldn’t be hard to convince.

“We need a distraction,” Mia announced. “Something has to happen that makes the paparazzi chase after someone else.”

Billy lifted a brow. “Sorry, love. I don’t think Paris or Angelina would announce something outrageous for an old rocker like me.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “No, Dad, not the usual suspects. We want someone who’d cause a media flurry if they did something … out of the ordinary.”

“Of whom were you thinking—and what would they do?” Nicole asked.

Slowly Mia looked up, seeing two hopeful faces grinning at her—and she smiled back, feeling a rush of long-unfamiliar excitement. “I think it’s best if the two of you know nothing. Plausible deniability and all that … But, suffice it to say, when everybody’s good girl does the unexpected, hopefully the tabloid readers of the world will want to know about it.”

He was completely wasted.

You wish, Hunter.

So he wasn’t the kind of wasted he’d indulged in during his rocking days, but after thirty-six hours of Emergency Room roster, C.J. felt a little bit dizzy and totally inarticulate, as if he’d been drinking vodka straight for hours. He wouldn’t risk driving his car home. It was in the hospital car park. He’d pick it up tomorrow or the next day, depending on when he woke up.

With a grin, he grabbed a cab outside the hospital and headed homeward. Ten whole days of freedom in a row before he began his surgery rotation: his last as a resident. Six more months and he’d be fully qualified, ready to start on the research track.

All the way home he thought of nothing but sleep, glorious sleep. Hitting the sack with a vengeance. A big, beautiful, empty bed—just him, splatted across the pillow-top mattress and catching lots of Zs.

The cab pulled up in front of his old house in a quiet Sydney street, and with a lazy smile he overpaid the guy who was smart enough to know when a guy wasn’t up for a chat on the cricket or footy. He turned to the house. Sleep, glorious sleep …

Or not.

You’ve got to be kidding me!

Today of all days she showed up? Talk about turning a guy’s hidden dreams into nightmares.

Though it had been more than seven years since he’d walked away from the world of rock music, her memory haunted him. Mia’s silky pale skin and masses of glossy black hair, the dark brown eyes that looked on the world with an amused tranquility he ached to know, and her luscious, indescribable mouth jerked him awake in a sweat at night even now.

He’d loved her quaint sayings, her quick laughter, her reliable good sense, quiet irony and ruthless honesty: a refreshing reality check in the world of me-first rockers. He loved her curvaceous figure in a world of women who believed half-starved scrawniness meant beauty. Even the way her cute little John Lennon glasses perched on her nose had always turned him on …

But what hadn’t done it for him was the way she’d always looked at him—like he was one species removed from a cockroach. Even four weeks ago, at Billy and Nicole’s wedding, tearing his gaze from her had been an effort—but after the cool “hello to an old friend” hug, whenever she’d caught him staring her return glances had held amused disdain.

So why was she camped on his doorstep? And why right now, when his brain was so fuddled with exhaustion he couldn’t find his defenses if they screamed in his ear?

And why was it still Mia that turned him upside-down and inside-out when he got a dozen offers a day even now, if a female patient or relative recognized C.J. Hunter of End Game as the exhausted doctor holding the patient notes? Other women made it clear they found him attractive, whether they knew his name or not.

And still it was Mia …

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked toward her. She was sitting on the top step of his half-renovated old house in Sydney’s inner west: as good a hiding place as any, and light-years from his life of fame. “Well, this is a turn-up for the books. Mia Browning’s actually sitting on my doorstep.”

Mia uncrossed her legs from their odd, intricate weaving that always fascinated him, reminding him of a contortionist, and stood. Damn, how did that little half-smile of hers—like she had a delicious secret she wouldn’t share—still make him think of all the things he shouldn’t?

“Hi, C.J. Hope I’m not intruding?”

His mother would be horrified if he uttered one of the ungracious sentences that sprang to his lips. So he did the polite thing—or as polite as a man could be when firing on half a cylinder. “I was about to make coffee.” Before bed. Lots of bed.

Bed and Mia. Not good in the same sentence.

He led the way into the house and straight to the still-ugly-from-the-70s kitchen. But for once he didn’t think of the renovation work to come. A massive caffeine hit was his only hope of sanity. Maybe when he had it he’d wake up and realize she was nothing but a mirage.

Mia put down the duffel bag she’d brought inside and said, “So, how’ve you been since the wedding, C.J?”

Just hearing her voice, soft and pretty, with that tiny slur on her “s”s, gave his fingers that old itch—the one he’d never been able to scratch. Not to mention that she was so close to him her breath touched his skin—

Don’t look at her.

He filled the kettle, set out mugs and cleaned the plunger from two- or three-day-old grounds, fervently hoping the milk hadn’t gone off. He’d slept at the hospital the past two nights. “I’m fine, thanks. And you?”

“I’m fine—but Dad isn’t.”

At that C.J. swung around, spilling the coffee from the scoop. “Billy? What’s the matter with him?”

Mia took the scoop from his hand, brushing his fingers as she did. “Sit. You’ve had a long shift, by the looks of you. Have you had breakfast?”

Grateful, cross-eyed, and too damned turned on for his level of exhaustion, he sat at the dining table. “Sort of.”

“Don’t tell me—a donut grabbed out of last night’s box at five a.m.?”

“Pizza—and four a.m.,” he corrected, rubbing his hand over his two-day growth of stubble. Wondering what she thought of him. Wondering why he cared after all this time.

But he knew why. Just like four weeks ago, he couldn’t stop looking at her. Her thick fall of straight black hair, her curvy body, the way she tossed a quick smile over her shoulder, still did things to him he couldn’t say out loud. Not to mention that she still had the sweetest butt he’d ever laid eyes on. Why couldn’t she have put on twenty kilos and be all dimpled with cellulite?

“How old was the pizza?”

Her glasses slipped down her nose as she worked around the kitchen—the same glasses that always made him ache to kiss that slightly stubby little nose … and the rest of her … “Huh … what?” He rubbed his forehead. Right. Pizza. Age of pizza. “I’m not sure.”

He reared back when she crouched in front of him, her face filling his line of vision with its little crinkle between her brows that sent a shaft of unwanted tenderness through him. So serious, so practical, and somehow so adorable—and he was the same sucker for her he’d been a decade ago.

“The doctor needs someone to look after him.” She touched his hand, and the whole dizzy-and-inarticulate thing got worse—he was an incoherent wreck. “Coffee will be ready in twenty—along with a decent breakfast. Go shower, shave, and change into something ready for sleep. You know you want to,” she added with a glimmering smile over her shoulder as she stood again and turned back to the kettle.

She really shouldn’t smile like that at a guy with little to no control over his body’s responses. “Thanks.” The word was like a growl. Man, he hoped she thought it was tiredness. Because if she gave him that ol’ cockroach look …

She took his hands and lifted him from the chair. “You’re really exhausted. Go sleep, C.J. Shower and eat when you wake up. We’ll talk later. I’ll still be here.”

“That’s supposed to help me sleep?” he muttered. He lifted a hand when he saw her mouth fall open in obvious surprise. Mia’s open lips acted on him like Mia and bed in one sentence, and he was way too tired for this. “Scratch that. I’m going.”

At the door, memory—and curiosity—returned. “I won’t sleep until I know. How’s Billy—and why are you here? A call would have sent me to visit him.”

She knew that. How many times had she called him in the past, only to see him running? And not only to see Billy, if only she knew it. Any chance to just look at her, to have her smile at him because he’d put himself out for Billy again, gave him a combination of soaring higher than on any medical substance he knew and weeks of frustration, because it never went further than a single smile. He’d lived on her last hug for weeks.

What a sucker.

She turned back from the coffeepot, and gave him the serious look he still adored after all this time. “Dad’s got Hep B.”

C.J. closed his eyes for a second. It didn’t need deciphering—not with Billy’s age and years of body abuse factored in. “He never took the vaccines I recommended?”

She shook her head. “He thought cleaning up his act was good enough. Dad and needles never got on.” Her smile was rueful, accepting.

“What’s he on?” He named the newest wonder-drug for treatment of the disease.

“He’s on all the best cocktails. That’s not the problem. He needs months of total rest—and since his wedding to Nicole …”

Again, he didn’t need things spelled out. He knew all about groupies and media frenzies, which was why he’d left the life after four years.

Not that he regretted his time with the band. He still counted the guys among his closest friends, and his songs and royalties still gave him, his parents and his sister’s family the luxuries in life whenever they wanted them. Not bad for a kid from the second-poorest suburb of Sydney. Auditioning for End Game had changed his life.

“Martin won’t come out yet?” he asked, not really needing her head-shake. “So what can I do?” She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t need something from him. It couldn’t be for his medical skills. Billy had the best.

“I was hoping you’d ask.” The glow in her eyes was relief and hope—and a touch of admiration. She needed him at last … and it acted like a trip switch on him. Yes, Mia, I’ll do whatever you want if you keep looking at me like that!

“Just spill,” he said gruffly, hating the power she still held over him, when she couldn’t care less. “I’ve worked thirty-six hours straight, I’m half-asleep, and this is a serious situation. What do you want?”

“I know it’s serious,” she snapped. “He’s my father!”

His brows rose. Placid Mia hadn’t given him that amused, sort of indulgent look, as if she was removed from the human race and all its over-the-top emotions. She’d snapped back. What was going on here? Despite there being no cure for Hep B, it wasn’t as if Billy would die any time in the next decade, given the quality of treatment these days.

“So …?” he prodded deliberately. “Come on, Mia. We both know you’re not here out of love for me. What do you want?”

To his surprise she blushed, and fiddled with the teaspoon in her hand. The way she worried her lower lip with her teeth made him want to find ways to stop her worrying so much all the time—but everything about Mia got to him. Always had, probably always would. He’d come to terms with it years ago, when she’d made it more than clear that she’d always be off-limits to him.

“Just say it, Mia,” he repeated, more gently this time. “You know I’d do anything to help Billy.”

She drew in a deep breath and smiled that hopeful smile at him again, like he’d become her personal savior.

Bad mistake to unleash that on a tired, aroused man—or maybe it was calculated? Damn, damn, damn. Now he almost wanted the cockroach look back. Anything to stop this crazy tangle of thoughts in his head.

Showers-bed-Mia. Wet and smiling at him …

Then her words soaked into his fogged skull and shock ran right through his body, like someone had used crash cart paddles on him. “What did you say?” He hung onto the door lintel for support.

He’d fallen asleep. That was what it was. He was dreaming of her again.

Then the words came back to him, like a tennis ball rebounding in his face over the net.

“I want you to elope with me.”

CHAPTER TWO

ALL her life Mia had loved peace and silence, but when you were waiting for a man to answer a proposal of marriage it got downright unnerving. C.J. was staring at her as if she was an interesting disease he’d like to cure—if only he could work out what kind.

“Well?” she said—or squeaked—when she couldn’t stand it any more.

He gave her a slow smile. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?” Hadn’t she said enough?

“The rest,” he said patiently. “You never call me unless Billy needs something. You never could stand the sight of me. Even the other week at the wedding you wouldn’t look at me or talk to me. There must be a reason why you picked me to elope with.”

Couldn’t stand the sight of him?

The sight of C.J. Hunter couldn’t revolt any woman. Even in ancient black track pants, a crumpled polo shirt and runners that had seen better days, he was too easy to watch. Lithe and quietly athletic, with a runner’s build instead of a weight-lifter’s, his once shaggy, reddish-brown rocker’s hair was short and dark … and those eyes, deep and green, and his lazy, just crooked smile—

No. The sight of him wasn’t anything she could complain about. She’d always appreciated his looks—what girl couldn’t?—but that was as far as she’d allowed it to go, with her mother’s grim example in front of her all her life.

Okay, so she’d been a bit disapproving of all rock stars. And she’d assumed he’d end up like her dad … but then, she hadn’t known Dad well enough to see that his love for Nicole had governed his behavior for years. She hadn’t known about C.J.’s ambitions for the rest of his life.

The universe was obviously teaching her the stupidity of assuming anything.

“It wasn’t personal.” Her gaze fell from the compelling honesty in his. “I was sixteen when we met. I judged you by the other party animals around me, and not for yourself. I’m sorry if I was rude.”

“You were never openly rude, Mia. Bad manners were beneath you. You just didn’t want to know me. You always kept me at a distance.” He shrugged. “I always want to sing ‘She’s So High Above Me’ when you’re around.”

Despite her best will, she felt the blush creeping up her cheek, but she gave him a straight look, demanding answers. “What’s that got to do with—with—?” She tried to say “my proposal” and hated herself for chickening out. “With what I just said?”

He shrugged, and how he made it look sexy she’d never know. But with C.J., it was another of life’s annoying mysteries. “Why me?”

Now her heart pounded so hard she could almost feel it hitting her throat. Her negotiation skills would never be more needed than now. “It’s to help Dad. I need someone really famous who’s walked from that life. If you’d been a fame-chaser it might have created a stir, but you with your second Grammy the other week, and me with my—” She skidded to a halt. No one apart from Dad, Nicole, Uncle Martin and Uncle Dane knew her secret yet. Though the first book was done, and due for release in a few months, she knew they’d fall all over it if she added a final chapter as Mia Hunter—if she could get C.J. to go along with this caper. “Um, and both of us being on the reclusive side—”

“Instant sensation. Got it—and good thinking,” he said dryly. “It seems my past comes in handy for something. Is that the only reason?”

“You care about Dad. I know you wouldn’t betray his confidence.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “High praise, coming from you.”

Oh, darn it. She was blushing again! She rushed into speech. “And you’re the only famous man around my age I know who isn’t a slimeball. You’re a decent guy.”

After a startled moment he burst out laughing. “I didn’t know you’d even thought that much about me. But that’s a reason for a nice girl to ask a guy on a date, not to offer marriage.”

She felt her blush grow deeper. “Well, um …” She made a strangled sound, and then said it. “All I’m offering is a fake marriage to make the media chase us around and take the heat from Dad.”

Another moment—two, thirty seconds … It stretched out and out, until the air around her felt like it would snap. “I see,” he said, his voice strange. “I guess I should’ve seen that coming.”

Could any more blood pool in her cheeks? It was spilling down her throat. What had seemed so easy, so straightforward in the doctor’s office now seemed like a road pitted with unseen potholes.

“So what’s the rest?” he asked, no longer sounding exhausted; cynicism had bolted straight past exhaustion and taken first place. “And don’t tell me you don’t have it all mapped out, Mia. You always have a plan.”

“You—you mean you’ll do it?”

Oh, curse her breathlessness! She was supposed to be cool and in control here.

His brow lifted, giving him a look of superiority she didn’t like. “I’m not agreeing to anything until I know what I’m letting myself in for. Have you been to the lawyer’s office yet, to draw up a contract?”

Her reaction must have been obvious, because he shrugged: the picture of a cool, uncaring male leaning against the doorpost. “You’d never put yourself in a situation you couldn’t control. You’d want it all in writing, and for me to sign something that sets boundaries and enforces your ‘hands off’ policy.”

Mia gaped at his perception.

He laughed outright. “Four years as part of End Game, and you thought I wouldn’t know that about you?” He shook his head. “You kept your disdain for lowly musos up on a handy shelf for you to grab and toss at us any time you needed it.”

Her hands curled into fists; she swallowed down the lump of pure anger. Cool and in control. That was the key to winning. “So you’ll sign the contract?”

“No.”

The shock shivered straight from her brain down her spine. Where was the straightforward course she’d set for this plan? She’d thought C.J.—always easygoing, and looking to Dad like a second father—would be happy to follow her lead. Dad would get his rest, C.J.—well, he’d enjoy it … and she could kick-start her new life. This was the perfect way to catapult interest levels in her book.

Well, two out of three wasn’t bad for her—but when it came to C.J., obviously another assumption had bit the dust.

“Why not?” she demanded.

C.J. looked into her eyes. “I’ve never given you reason to doubt my word. If you want me in on this you either trust me or find another sucker.”

The words were uncompromising, but as she looked in those eyes, deep and darkest green, his own personal Amazon, all she could think was that if she wasn’t careful she could get lost in them and never find her way out.

No man will ever control me! Even a man with eyes that cold-burn into my soul.

She squared her shoulders. “I guess I’ll find the other sucker.” Her hand flicked a wave. “Go and sleep, C.J. I’ll leave breakfast for you and get out of your hair.”

“I thought I was the only really famous reclusive guy you knew that was decent?”

She shrugged. “So I pay a B-grader from somewhere and enforce the contract.”

C.J. shook his head. “You honestly think that’ll work? Give him everything Billy has to match what the paparazzi will offer for a scoop on why ‘squeaky clean Mia Browning’ eloped with him? He’ll still take your money and theirs, and run with both. And if you sue him he gets another fifteen minutes of fame and hopefully a contract. The clock keeps ticking, the media surround Billy and Nicole, and he gets sicker.”

Feeling sucker-punched, she glared at him. “Are you digging holes in my plan for the fun of it?”

He put a hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn. “Your first plan was pretty good, leaving out your control freak nature and the contract.”

She frowned. “So … you are thinking about it?”

“What’s there to think about? You still haven’t told me what the plan is—apart from a fake marriage to fool the squizzes.”

“Squizzes” had been C.J.’s derogatory term for the paparazzi when he’d been part of End Game, after all the endless intrusions into their lives. Nobody knew where he’d gotten the term from, but in the end they’d all ended up using it. The memory made her smile. But as she was about to comment on it she looked at him—really looked—and closed her mouth. By the way he was rubbing his jaw, with whitened fingertips, exhaustion was taking over again.

No wonder he sounded cranky.

She drew in a breath, recalling every word of her perfectly rehearsed plan. “We head to Bali or Fiji for an overnight wedding on the beach—probably Fiji; it’s closer—and allow ‘a source close to the couple’ to leak the news about an impulsive marriage they don’t expect to last beyond a few weeks.”

His answering grin was wry. “I can’t count the amount of ‘close sources’ who know more about my life than I do.”

She laughed. “I know. I wish I knew what jerk gave me that ‘ice cream’ tag—sweet, but freezing cold.”

“You mean it’s not true?”

“About as true as you sleeping with a fourteen-year-old, or Dad’s last three stints in rehab,” she shot back, hurt, even though his tone had been teasing.

After a moment the grin faded, and he nodded. “Fair enough. It seems you’re not the only one who’s made stupid assumptions. Sorry, Mia. Go on.”

So he really thought it of her—sweet and cold? Was that how everyone saw her? Granted, she’d given due respect to her mother’s warnings, but—

What had he said she did? Put the human race at a distance …?

She shook off the self-doubt. There was no time for it. “We stay on some exclusive island until some bright squiz gets a shot of us getting hot and heavy or romantic—”

“So that much touching is allowed?” he murmured, with another grin.

“—and then we take Dad’s jet to another island, or North Queensland. When they find us there, we head somewhere unexpected … your pick,” she went on, as if she hadn’t heard him. If he made another “ice cream” comment, she’d—

“The Northern Territory,” he said promptly. “I haven’t hiked around Kakadu or Litchfield Park for a couple of years.” He nodded. “I’d love to show you around—and May’s perfect. The wet season’s just ended, and the weather’s gorgeous.”

“H-hiking in the Outback?” Mia blinked. That didn’t fit her plans at all …

His brow lifted again. She was starting to dislike that brow. “What? Did you think I’d go for five-star resorts and demand limos and Bollinger on Billy’s credit card?”

“Actually, I was thinking I’d need to buy hiking gear,” she shot back.

He shook his head. “You had the cockroach look on your face. I surprised you. Your plans revolved around my indulging in playing the star again. You thought I’d want to use this as a way to get back into the business.”

Despite her anger, she had to take the hit. Contrary to all appearances, she’d thought maybe he would want an opportunity to be famous again. Her primary focus was and always would be her father’s health, and C.J.’s choosing the fame track once more, wanting ritzy locales for their honeymoon, would make it easier for the paparazzi to find them … To her shame, a tiny part of her admitted the glitz and glam of a celebrity honeymoon wouldn’t hurt sales of her book, either.

She bit her lip. Was this the moment to tell him about the book she was writing and her plans for the final chapter? But how could she write a convincing chapter about her marriage if he knew from the start? Also, he might refuse—as was his right—or throw her out. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. His privacy had become almost the stuff of legend … and she’d hate such exposure if their positions were reversed.

She knew that even if he agreed to this, and she wrote the chapter, she would have to run it by him before it was added to the book. It was only right.

But for now she couldn’t make herself say the words, so she decided to placate him. “If I offended you—”

He cut in. “You must have gone into psychosis when you found out I finished university by correspondence while I was in End Game and made medical school.”

She’d been shocked all right. She’d never even seen him studying—but she’d spent most of her time hiding out herself, studying or writing in her journal. Being a sixteen-year-old finding somewhere to belong in one ritzy hotel after the other hadn’t been easy; finding friends had been harder. They’d envied her too much to see the loneliness in her life. Not one young person she’d met had wanted to know her—they’d wanted to meet C.J. through her, which had made her despise him more.

She frowned, looking around the homey kitchen. She should have realized she’d need to change her plan the moment she saw this house. What had happened to the opulent apartment overlooking the harbor he’d lived in during his End Game days?

“I sold the apartment,” he said, with uncanny accuracy. “This is close to the university campus and the hospital. My neighbors are mostly elderly, and don’t know what End Game is.” He gave her that deep look again. And when she stared back her pulse pounded and she was all flushed and—and lost in those forest eyes … “I said when I left that I wasn’t looking back.”

And she hadn’t believed him for a moment. When he’d won the first Grammy she’d expected him to ditch university and take up a solo career or song writing, but he’d done neither. He’d penned two more songs—”Issues” and more recently “Defiance” the song that had won his second Grammy—but he hadn’t collected either of his Grammys personally, only sent a pre-recorded message.

Goaded as much by her self-admission as by his words, she snapped, “All right, I apologize again. I was wrong. I’m sorry. Now, can we get on with why I came?”

Instead of backing down, he grinned. “That was cute, Mia. I’ve never seen a woman give an apology with such disdain.” He mock-bowed, with the crooked smile she’d used to think was pretty sexy. “Good job.”

With that, she lost it. “Oh, shove it. Forget everything I said—especially about you being decent. You’re too busy punishing me for the past to take me seriously. I’m not a child anymore, in case you haven’t noticed. Thanks for your time. I’m sure Dad and Nicole will appreciate the cleverness of your sarcasm and your patronizing attitude in their time of need.”

She stalked out of the kitchen, heading for the front door.

As she fumbled to open the lock she felt a touch on her arm. “Mia.”

“What?” she yelled, biting back tears. “This is my father’s life, and all you want is to have fun at my expense.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s about Billy, not you and me. I’ll do it.”

She didn’t hear him. “I’ve barely seen you in years. I was a kid when you joined End Game and just out of my teens when you left. So if I offended you by the way I looked at you sometimes, get over it!”

The grip on her arm grew tighter, just enough to stop her jerking the door open. “Mia, I said I’ll do it.”

“I spent years dodging slimy passes from half the men in Dad’s world from the time I was fifteen, and you think a no-sex contract is an insult?” she panted, trying to get the door to work one-handed.

“What?” Suddenly she’d been swung around and was facing him. His eyes were blazing in front of her face. “What did you just say?”

CHAPTER THREE

C.J. SAW Mia’s hackles fall as fast as they’d risen. She shrugged one shoulder, her gaze on her thumbs, which were flicking in and out of half-curled fists. “You heard me.”

But her words didn’t have the tight edge that grated against his tired nerves—and suddenly she wasn’t a girl looking down at him from a lofty intellectual and emotional height, but small, vulnerable, defenseless … and he was the world’s biggest jerk.

“Not—not the guys in the band?” he demanded, with a protective fury roaring through him. If he’d seen it, just once—

She shrugged again. “Of course not them. They’re like my uncles. You know the ones I mean—the hangers-on.”

He wanted to punch something—preferably someone. How the hell could they? She’d been barely fifteen when Billy had swooped on her at her mother’s funeral! She’d been grieving, for God’s sake. And from that time she’d wandered the world with the band, learning by correspondence, watching Billy’s diet and stopping his drinking and drugs—

Looking back now, he could see how hard the life must have been for a teenager. She’d rarely met friends her own age, or had normal teenage fun. Always curled up in a strange room watching TV, reading, looking after everyone, or scribbling in those journals she loved.

Having joined End Game six months after she’d joined the entourage, C.J. had always taken care to act around her as if she was his sister, no matter that her bouts of teenage sarcasm, her superior taunts and occasional practise sessions of budding womanhood on him had driven him half-crazy at times. Poor kid had had to learn to grow up on someone, and she’d chosen him as either the safest bet or, at twenty, the closest in age.

It seemed other guys in the industry hadn’t shared his scruples. All they’d seen was another pretty girl hanging around. They’d probably treated her as fair game when Billy was off pleasure-seeking, or away the three times he went to rehab after she came to live with him.

It had to have been one hell of a childhood, between a bitter, abandoned mother and a loving but basically self-absorbed and addicted father, dragging her from one place to another, from one new “mother” to another.

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