Celebrity Wedding of the Year. Melissa James

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