Rock Star's Email Order Bride Read online

  "No, I'm not!" The words escaped before Jason could stop them. Fuck, he sounded like a whiny five-year-old instead of a rock god.

  "Jason. You're my brother, and I know you. You've always had a thing for her."

  A thing. She made it sound like something small and squeaky that hid under the bed at the first sign of danger. He didn't have a thing for her. It was full-blown love and had been since primary school. Since the first day Jo invited her to sit with them at choir practice. He'd lost his soul in the depths of her dark eyes that day. She'd never fucking noticed, though. Even when Chaya hit it big, she hadn't treated him like a rock god. He was just Jason, who forgot the words and drank too much and was never on time to rehearsals. Who ignored a rock god? Who fucking dared?

  "I'm not going. No fucking way." If he had to watch Angel walk down the aisle to marry another man, he'd cry. He'd be on the front of every damn newspaper in the world with the headline JAY FELIX IS A PUSSY, because the woman he'd always loved threw him away for a muscle-bound psycho.

  "You have to, Jay. Even if it breaks your heart to do it, she wants you there. What will the reporters say if you don't show up?"

  "There won't be any. She doesn't give interviews and doesn't let any of them into her life." Jason tried to make it sound certain, but he wasn't. People took photos at weddings and all it took was one leaked to the press. Weddings were easy to crash – he'd even done it once or twice.

  "You know there will be. A Chaya wedding means all of us. Grow a pair, put on a tie, and be there to support her. God knows how much she's done for you over the years."

  Jason tried not to think about it. Every mess he'd gotten into, she'd seen it. Or most of them, at least. Those accusing eyes as she shook her head, disappointed again. Every time he got drunk, or the rare occasions he'd tried something stronger – fuck, trust a med student to know exactly what every illegal drug did to his body, plus describe what happened when people overdosed. She'd treated enough cases when she did her emergency department rotations. She had a rock god terrified to take drugs because nothing ruined his high like a fear of certain death. And the loss of his recording contract – she'd threatened that, too, if he couldn't pass a drug test.

  "I'm busy. I can't go because I already have plans."

  Jo snorted. "Bullshit. You don't have any plans for the rest of this week, let alone the rest of the year. You'll have to find a better excuse than that."

  He stared at the invitation. The wedding was a whole year away at some beach resort in the south west. Wasn't that where her body had been dumped? When she'd been kidnapped and nearly died. No wonder the invitation resembled a funeral notice. Dark like her stage name: Angel Black.

  Another name caught his eye. Well, not really a name. It was the absence of a name beside his.

  She requested the company of Jason Felix and partner. Now that was a low blow, when she knew damn well she was the only life partner he'd ever dreamed about. Oh, sure there'd been other girls he'd considered, but only briefly. He shoved Audra out of his mind. Angel. Always, it came back to her.

  "So I'll tell her you'll be there?" Jo ventured. "C'mon, Jason. It's time to grow up and face facts. She's just not that into you. You'd both be better off with other people."

  No. Not before hell froze over and pigs flew and he put a gun to his head. Except he didn't want to die. Maybe she did. Maybe she'd taken the whole gothic costume to heart and now she wanted to die young. The ultimate tragedy.

  Maybe it was time to face facts. If she married that psycho, he'd kill her for sure. But Jason didn't intend to settle for sloppy seconds if she survived. No, that ship had sailed. If Angel wanted to make her own bad decision, fuck her. Or not. He could get any girl he wanted and he'd prove it, too. By the time he turned up at her wedding, he'd be deliriously happy with his own partner, who he'd introduce to the ball-breaking bride on her wedding day.

  "Sure. I'll be there. With a partner, too."

  Silence. Jo sucked in a breath. "Jason, if you bring some fangirl to the wedding who blows you under the table, like you did at Sheila's wedding, she won't laugh it off. She's got family coming over from the Middle East for the wedding. If you embarrass her like that...shit, Jason, you're asking to get killed."

  No, he didn't want some fangirl this time. She'd see through that as the passing fancy it was. "Don't be stupid. If she wants me at her wedding with my partner, then that's what she'll get. Not some fangirl. I'll be bringing my wife."

  "Jason, tell me you haven't done anything stupid."

  He grinned. "Stupid is for rock stars. I'm a hotel manager now, or something like that. All respectable and shit. I should cut my hair and wear a shirt, maybe. But the hotel maids like it when I don't, so only occasionally."

  "Oh, Jason, you didn't marry one of the hotel staff. Not that poor hotel maid. Please – "

  The mention of Audra twisted the knife in his heart even deeper. Fuck her. Fuck them all. "Not a maid. No fucking way. I'm going to find a girl, make her madly in love with me, and we'll get married. All happily ever after and shit. Like a movie. Or the book I was reading last night."

  "What book?"

  A romance book Jason didn't feel like discussing with anyone right now. She'd say he was stupid. He pressed his lips together.

  "Jason, no one marries a stranger and expects to be happy. That sort of thing only happens in fairy tales and romance novels. Not to real people. No one believes in happy endings any more."

  "You'll see. My wife and me, we'll be so fucking happy, we'll stick the wedding couple in the shade. Tell her that, Jo." He ended the call and let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

  A wife. One who wasn't a fangirl. He'd need a foreigner who had no idea who he was. One who didn't know his name, but who believed in fairy tales. Where the fuck was he going to find one of those?

  EIGHT

  "Are you an Australian citizen?"

  This interview question was the kicker, Xan knew. No matter how qualified she was, wording this wrong could cost her a dream job. She couldn't wait to see the resort. Not for the first time, she wished the interviews had been conducted on the island, instead of at one of the hotels in town. "No. I'm on a working holiday visa that expires at the end of the year. I've travelled around Australia, working the peak season at several resorts on the east coast before taking the train across the country to Western Australia, where my journey brought me here to Broome. I was lucky enough to find a position that kept me here during the low season and I want to extend my stay for as long as possible. It's the sort of place you see in pictures and can't believe is real until you see the colours for yourself. Now, I don't want to leave."

  "So you would consider extending your visa in order to stay here?" Max Meier asked, his voice so calm he sounded bored. From the way his whitened knuckles clutched the pen, Xan speculated that the answer to this meant far more to him that he was willing to admit.

  "I would consider it, yes," Xan replied.

  Triumph flashed in his eyes before it vanished. Xan hid her smile. The job was hers. She knew it.

  "Romance Island Resort has an international clientele. I believe you mentioned experience in languages other than English?" Boredom had returned.

  "After managing Broome Backpackers for the last five months, I believe I understand common phrases from more than fifty languages." When Meier's eyes widened in admiration, she delivered her punchline: "Especially 'Bloody hell, there's a frog in my bathroom!' though the swearing varies in intensity depending on the time of day and the state of undress of the guest."

  Meier laughed. "So you're fluent in...?"

  "English, Greek, Latin and French." Not that she expected to use the Greek or Latin her father had taught her, but it sounded good. Best not to mention it was ancient and not modern Greek, too.

  "We get a lot of guests from Asia, so it's important that – "

  "Qīngwā, katak, dādura. My pronunciation isn't perfect, I know, but that's frog in Chinese, Indonesian and Mala
y, and Hindi, I think. It's best that I don't share the swearing." Xan smiled sweetly. "I learn fast."

  The interview wound down with a smattering of small talk and what Xan thought was a heart-felt handshake, at least on Meier's part. Was it her imagination or did he seem particularly desperate to fill this position?

  She strode out of the Mangrove Hotel meeting room feeling more than a little smug. With the interview over, the afternoon spread out before her like a warm towel at the beach.

  Except...all suited up as she was in this heat, a dip in the warm water of Roebuck Bay didn't appeal as much as it should. Better would be an ice-cold beer from the brewery. Xan turned her back on Town Beach and the hotel, where the next nervous-looking candidate had just met Max Meier.

  A cold pint, a late lunch and a relaxing afternoon was what she deserved.

  Kathy recognised her the moment she walked through the door, despite the suit, and Xan returned her friendly nod as she seated herself at a tiny table directly below one of the whirring fans.

  Xan didn't need to do more than glance at the menu before Kathy stood at her side, order pad at the ready. "Same as usual?"

  "Of course." Xan scanned the menu. "And the con carne. I haven't had lunch yet."

  "Popular choice today. I'll see if we have any left."

  Kathy returned with Xan's usual pint of ginger beer – alcoholic, of course; none of that kids' stuff. She confirmed that the kitchen could fill her lunch order before bustling up to deal with a group of wide-eyed tourists who stared avidly around as if they'd never seen old pearling memorabilia before. Perhaps they hadn't – after all, if the backpackers was busy, the other hotels in town had to be, too. So many new arrivals...

  Xan had stared at the old black and white photos on the walls, too, on her first time here. The old sign from when the brewery had been a general store still hung over the bar, though the store had stopped trading decades ago, or that's what the tour guides said. She'd been the only one staring at the walls that day – everyone else had been transfixed by some celebrity who'd turned up and decided to treat his adoring fans. Some famous musician or other. She'd caught a glimpse of him. She wasn't sure what had irritated her the most: his arrogance or the sleazy way he'd surveyed his new-found harem. When she'd left that day, his party was well under way. She wondered which of the girls had been with him for more than a free meal. He'd evidently expected repayment for his largesse – God, men like that were everywhere. Luckily, she hadn't seen him again. Broome was better off without him.

  Xan laughed quietly to herself. She'd only lived in the town for a few months and she was already as protective of it as a local. That's what this new job was all about, though – another reason for her to want to stay. She'd get to see even more of the surrounding countryside and ocean if she got the job at Romance Island Resort as she guided VIPs around. Helicopters and yachts and diving every day...she wouldn't want to give it up. Ah, that's what Jerome was for – to tempt her home when her working holiday got too good.

  NINE

  "What are you trying to do, kill me?" Norman's whining voice set her teeth on edge.

  Don't tempt me, Phuong thought, setting down the cooking oil. She glanced at the cutting board, where a suitable blade sat between the chopped meat and vegetables she planned to stir fry for dinner.

  "First all this weird Asian food with rice and now peanut oil? Don't you know I'm allergic to peanuts? If I didn't know better, I'd say you don't want to be my wife. Where are the potatoes? Steak? Real food that normal people have? Didn't your mum teach you to cook properly back home in Bangkok, Fiona?"

  In Singapore, they'd had a cook, just like in the residential college dorm she'd lived in until she'd moved in with Norman a month ago. But she bit her tongue instead of correcting him. She'd grown resigned to letting him anglicise her name to Fiona instead of mangling her real one.

  Phuong arranged her expression in what she hoped was an apologetic smile. "No, sorry."

  His fist slammed into the counter, making her jump. "Then fucking learn! You want to earn your keep and stay here, learn to cook real food!"

  Inwardly seething, Phuong lowered her eyes as she nodded. This was what she got, looking for a husband on a mail-order bride website. The sort who couldn't get a girl any other way. She'd leave him the moment she got her citizenship, she promised herself. In the meantime, she just had to put up with him.

  "So what's for dinner tonight?" he demanded. A nasty glint in his eye warned her that this wasn't over.

  "Pork stir fry with – "

  "No more fucking Asian rabbit food! I want steak or a roast!"

  Phuong moved to the freezer, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the door and peered inside. "We don't have any. I'll have to do some shopping and we can have steak tomorrow."

  "With fucking potatoes. And mushy peas." He scrunched his eyebrows fiercely so they met over his nose. "You'll order the shopping online tonight to be delivered tomorrow when I get home."

  Phuong forced out another smile and a nod.

  "I'll order pizza tonight, but I won't be so lenient next time. When I get off the phone, I expect you in the bedroom. Ready for me."

  With numb fingers, Phuong untied her apron and headed for the dreaded bedroom.

  Hours later, when Norman's beer-fuelled snoring told her that the ordeal was over for the night, Phuong pressed her thighs together to still the aching between them from Norman's rough lovemaking. There was no love in it, or even desire on her part. He disgusted her, but she didn't dare say so. She got free rent and board, and this was his price.

  She threw the bedclothes off and padded to the apartment's tiny living area. Her laptop still sat on the table from submitting the grocery order, so she flicked it on again and watched the screen glow to life. Like she had almost every evening since moving in with Norman, Phuong logged on to the mail-order bride website where she'd first corresponded with him. He'd been the first to respond to her ad and she'd seized the opportunity to live with a man who promised to take care of her so she'd never need to work a day in her life.

  She hadn't expected to be locked in his apartment, cooking and cleaning, until he returned from work to use her body as if she were a prostitute. If only she'd known that he spent most of his annual vacation time in places like Bangkok, banging prostitutes who didn't require him to be anything more than a paying customer. No wonder he didn't know how to treat a woman. The only excitement she felt in the bedroom was when he was done or if he started snoring, so she could retreat to the shower and scrub the feel of his touch off her skin.

  Men with six-packs who treated women like princesses didn't need to find a bride on the internet. She'd known that, but every day with Norman was more of a struggle. Not for the first time, she considered doing what her school friend's sister had to pay her way through university – Lin had paid for her board and nursing degree by performing cash-in-hand prostitution work for patients and staff in the hospitals where she did her practical placements. No, she couldn't. Letting one man use her body was bad enough. Taking all comers...she'd scrub her skin raw after every one.

  Resolutely, she opened the message page for the dating site where she'd kept every one of Norman's messages of love and devotion. Lies, she knew now, but so were all fairy tales. This was the quickest way to achieve her end: to become an Australian citizen, then get an interest-free government loan for the final year of her degree at a third the price she'd pay as a Singaporean citizen.

  Today, Norman's saccharin-sweet words didn't soothe her the way they used to. Perhaps because she recognised their falseness.

  Idly, she clicked on one of the unread messages from some other man whose profile was a sculpted, headless torso, like something cropped from the cover of a romance novel. Not that she could read those much with Norman around – she kept the extensive library of ebooks on her phone a carefully hidden secret. Norman might explode with rage if he knew other men were better at sex than he was, or that women actually enjoye
d it. He made cavemen look enlightened.

  Mr Six-Pack's message was short:

  "I'm looking for a woman who knows all fairy tales are lies, but who still hopes one might come true."

  Reflexively, Phuong clicked on his profile. Mr Six-Pack was a gym junkie, he admitted, who went by the name of Lucky Jason. He worked on a remote island, but it was lonely and he wanted to share his living accommodation with someone who could brighten the darkness at night. Or so he said. She laughed softly before clapping a hand over her mouth at the thought that she might wake Norman. His snores continued, like he was sawing down a tree with his nose in his sleep, so she breathed a sigh of relief and returned to ogling Jason's abs. Desire flooded her for the first time in months. If only she'd received his message before Norman's, maybe she'd be stroking those muscles in bed right now...

  She hit the reply button. "Which fairy tale did you have in mind, and which character are you? The big bad wolf, the woodcutter or Prince Charming?" Before she could think better of it, she sent the message.

  The response came back almost instantly: "What would you like me to be? I can cut down everyone keeping you from me, carry you off to my castle like Prince Charming, then turn into the big bad wolf and eat you all up until you scream for joy."

  "That only happens in books," she whispered to herself, then typed the words and fired them off.

  Lucky Jason had an answer for that, too: "One day, some romance author will write books about us and a million lonely women will crave the sort of sex you only have to ask for."

  Arrogant much? "No one's that good. What if I'm after Prince Charming, a man who loves me, listens to me and wants to take care of me, and I'm not interested in sex?"

  "Prince Charming is a prick who'll smother you and turn jealous if you look at anyone else. He'll lock you in a tower and never let you out. And he wouldn't know what to do with his own cock, let alone your body. Prince where-do-I-put-my-prick. That's not me, babe."