Читать книгу Celebrity Wedding of the Year - Melissa James - Страница 7

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.”