Hot Property (Hot Zone 4)

“Darling, I couldn’t do that. Just do me a favor and join us for dinner tonight. I’ll be forever grateful.”

“Ask Sabrina and Kevin.”

“I did, but they have one of Kevin’s business dinners. I need you, darling.”

“No—”

“And bring that delightful young woman, Amy, with you.”

“Delightful young woman?” Just what had happened at lunch, anyway? She hadn’t said.

“Well, yes. We got to know each other earlier and she’s a joy. I’d love for her to join us at dinner.”

He’d love to see Amy, too, but not at a family dinner with a Hollywood director. “Mom, I’ve had a rough day and it’s not over yet. I’m not in the mood for a long dinner.”

“Good! We’ll make it short. Better for me.”

He glanced heavenward. She wasn’t listening. If he didn’t show up, he’d never hear the end of it. Maybe having dinner out would be better than eating alone in his apartment, thinking about his recent package in the mail or the doctor’s report. Besides, he knew when he’d been beat.

At least there was a silver lining. His day had sucked. He deserved a break. And he needed to see Amy.

“Where and when?” he asked.

She mentioned Kelly’s, a small, casual restaurant he’d been to a couple of times. “Oh, listen, that’s my call-waiting,” his mother said. “Your brother’s on the other line. I’ll see you tonight at seven.”

Roper nodded, hung up, then called Amy.

After spending the day with his family already, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d said no to dinner. But surprisingly, she agreed to join them. She even said she’d meet him at his apartment because he’d just be getting back from the physical therapist—where, after today’s news, he realized he’d have to put in one hundred and fifty percent. He needed to focus on his career, not his family. And not on the beautiful woman who’d agreed to be his salvation at dinner tonight.

CHAPTER NINE

AMY WAITED IN THE KITCHEN for Roper to finish dressing. She hadn’t planned on seeing him again today, but he’d sounded so down, she couldn’t resist coming along to dinner tonight to make sure he was okay. And considering his mood when he’d answered the door, she was glad she’d agreed. She’d watched his mother in action this morning and again

at lunch and realized how wearing the woman was on those around her. Cassandra Lee expected the world to fall at her feet. No doubt she’d become used to it in the heyday of her career. And then afterward Roper had ensured she always had everything she needed, Amy thought.

But who made sure Roper had everything he needed? she wondered.

The sound of footsteps drew her attention, and she glanced up to see Roper join her wearing a pair of black jeans and a light blue Burberry shirt. Amy wasn’t into designer clothes. But the Jordan sisters were trying to change that, and thanks to them, Amy recognized the classic plaid. She had to admit, she liked that she could hold her own with Roper, a man who was always immaculately groomed, no matter what his mood.

“You look good,” Amy said, the words out before she could stop them. A heated blush rushed to her cheeks.

His gaze bore into hers. “Thank you. You’re looking pretty hot yourself.”

She blushed deeper.

“We have a few minutes before we have to leave. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Perrier?” A smile tugged at his lips. “You see? I heard you when you said you didn’t want to drink around me.”

“Those weren’t my exact words,” she muttered. She’d only said no to a drink last time. But he’d read her mind. Which probably meant he understood her reasons. He was hard to resist when she was sober. Give her a drink and she’d succumb to his charm in an instant. “No, thank you. I’ll wait until we get to the restaurant.”

“Okay, then. Let me just straighten up and we’ll head on over. With a little luck, Mom and Harrison Smith will be early, too, and we can get this meal over with,” he said, sounding even more preoccupied than usual.

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re worried about more than spending the evening with your mother?”

He shrugged, eyeing her as if deciding whether or not to talk. “I’m just sick of hearing from disgruntled fans. They’re entitled to their feelings, but it would be easier if I didn’t have to deal with it at home, too.”

She narrowed her gaze. “So why do you? Doesn’t your mail go to the stadium or directly to us at the Hot Zone?” She was pretty sure the stadium mail was automatically forwarded to the Hot Zone, protecting him from unwanted correspondence.

It was just another service the Hot Zone offered to their clients. Long ago, Micki had made sure that someone screened all clients’ fan mail before being passed on to those athletes who wanted to see it. The rest was answered by someone at the PR firm with a signed photo or as directed by each client.