Celebrity Wedding of the Year

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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