stranger, a tall dark-haired stranger, with sexy blue eyes, a Bondi Beach tan and more bedroom know-how than Casanova. He was older than her, of course. Sex was his profession and his client’s satisfaction was his first priority.
“Do you want to hire this Beau Grainger to take you to the reunion, or not?” Kay demanded impatiently.
Josie dragged her mind out of the flames of her fantasy and back into cold hard reality, which was her class reunion next Saturday night, plus whether she should hire, not some gigolo to make love with her every which way, but a handsome hunk to salve her pride.
Not showing up was not a good option. When Brenda had called her just last week to check final numbers for the caterer—Brenda was this year’s class reunion organizer and Amber’s devoted dog-slave at school—Josie had stupidly boasted she’d be coming with her boyfriend.
The only positive thing about this awful situation was that she hadn’t mentioned Angus’s name. Josie supposed she could get away with showing up with any presentable male, as long as he was prepared to pretend he was her boyfriend. Which this Beau Grainger was obviously willing to do, since he’d been happy enough to pretend to be an older woman’s boy-toy lover.
“Josie?” Kay prompted.
Josie squared her shoulders. “Here. Give me the phone,” she said, and held out her hand.
Kay grinned and handed it to her. “Go for it, girl!”
Josie rolled her eyes. It wasn’t a question of going for anything. It was a question of pride.
2
CALLUM MCCLOUD HAD MIXED FEELINGS every time he flew into Sydney. Coming home was a two-edged sword, his pleasure at seeing his kid brother again always tempered by a niggling concern over what Clay might have been up to since his last visit.
Not that there’d been any nasty surprises on his last few visits. The problem was Callum couldn’t forget what had been waiting for him the first couple of times he’d come home after taking on his present job three years back.
Frankly, he would never have accepted an overseas position if he’d imagined that as soon as his back was turned, his brother would leave university to try an acting career. At the time, Clay had already turned twenty-one and was well into his medical degree, seemingly happy and settled.
Callum had been aware that his younger brother had once harbored a secret ambition to be the next Australian male actor to take Hollywood by storm. But he’d thought the boy had grown out of that pie-in-the-sky dream.
Not so, apparently.
To give him some credit, Clay had stuck to his guns, insisting that being a doctor had been their mother’s ambition, not his, and he shouldn’t be held to a deathbed promise that Callum had made, not him.
“You’re my brother, Cal,” Clay had pointed out. “Not my father. Let me make my own mistakes in life. This is what I want to do, so butt out!”
Although believing Clay was making a major mistake, Callum had finally agreed to support his decision, though not to the extent of working his own butt off and paying for everything while Clay went around going for endless and probably futile auditions. Clay admitted he’d already tried for and been rejected by NIDA, which showed what the most highly regarded acting school in Australia thought of his acting ability.
“You can stay on in my house in Glebe, rent-free,” Callum had grudgingly offered. “The house my hard work bought and renovated, might I add. But you’ll have to find a part-time job to pay for your food and clothes.”
Which Clay had.
Callum had gone back overseas that first time, believing Clay was flipping hamburgers in a local fast-food restaurant, only to come home a few months later to find him working as a male model for a famous swimwear company.
Callum wasn’t a narrow-minded man, just a very male one. The thought of his brother walking up and down the catwalk in skin-tight briefs just didn’t sit well on him.
And he’d said so.
“But the money’s good, bro,” Clay countered. “And I’m not about to turn gay, if that’s what you’re worrying about. Trust me on that.”
Callum did trust him on that. He’d been finding scantily-clad girls in his brother’s bedroom since the boy hit puberty. That wasn’t the point. The point was Clay had promised to stay put at the hamburger job, but as soon as Callum’s back was turned, he was off doing something else, something which he obviously thought he had to keep secret from his brother. Why?
“I’ve read about the modeling world,” Callum had commented at the time. “It’s full of drugs.”
“No more than the university,” Clay shot back. “And I didn’t do drugs there. Stop being so paranoid.”
“I’m not being paranoid. I’m just doing what our mother asked me to do. Looking after you.”
When Clay rolled his eyes at this and once again launched into his you’re-my-brother-not-my-father speech, Callum stopped arguing with him. After all, Clay was technically right. He wasn’t his father, though he’d felt like one ever since their real father had walked out on his family when Clay had been barely two months old. Callum—six, at the time—had suddenly found himself the man of the house, a role which he’d shouldered to the best of his ability. He’d been more father than brother to Clay for all of his life, a role which Clay obviously resented.
But someone had to keep an eye on the boy. Clay was far too good-looking for his own good. And not worldly-wise enough, in Callum’s opinion. Survival in the modeling—and acting—world required a level head on your shoulders. And a degree of maturity Callum had yet to see in his kid brother.
So here he was, still keeping an eye on him. Clay was no longer strutting his stuff as a male model, courtesy of a new agent who’d been getting him some real acting work, both on TV and in the movies. He’d been all good news over the phone the last few months. Not quite so chirpy yesterday, however, when Callum had phoned to let him know his estimated time of arrival.
Callum jerked his luggage trolley to a halt. Was that what had been niggling away at his subconscious during the flight home? Had his big-brother antenna instinctively tuned into some problem Clay had been trying to hide from him?
“You got a problem there, buddy?”
Callum took a second or two to realize that the customs officer was talking to him.
“Nope,” he returned, and pushed his trolley up to the customs desk.
“At least I sure hope not,” he muttered under his breath shortly after as he made his way down the walkway toward the arrivals terminal.
Clay was there, waiting for him, which was a surprise in itself, given it was seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. Early rising was not one of Clay’s virtues. Neither was being on time for unimportant things such as picking up his brother at the airport.
When Clay smiled, waved, and rushed over to him, Callum’s suspicion increased. This was a welcome fit for a pop star, or a big brother who needed sucking up to.
“Great to see you again, bro,”
