Hot Property (Hot Zone 4)

“Cassie, Cassie. When are you going to stop fighting the inevitable?” he asked.

He was as handsome now as he’d been back then, while she’d had to endure Botox and Restylane and even a face-lift. She resented it. “I believe I stopped fighting the moment you tricked me into signing that contract.” She fluttered her eyelashes and spoke too sweetly.

He laughed. “If you think you were tricked, sue me.” He grinned but didn’t say one gloating word.

Damn him. At least then she could have snapped right back.

He placed folders on the table by the couch. At least he hadn’t lied about wanting to do business.

“Besides, I’m not talking about you giving in on the role. I’m talking about giving in on us. We’re inevitable.”

Her heart fluttered inside her chest. Perhaps he’d only used business as an excuse to make his way into her room. She feared her heart would be next. “No, we’re not.”

He shook his head in that determined way he had, his jaw clenched. “I’ve waited long enough for you and I’m not about to walk away now.” He reached a strong, tanned hand toward her face.

She turned away before she could give in. She was afraid. Afraid of doing as he suggested and ending up as the wife of the most powerful director in Hollywood. He’d turned from movies to television and hadn’t looked back. He wanted her to do the same. Then where would she be?

At his beck and call.

At his mercy.

She’d have no protective barriers left because he understood her better than any man ever had, and he got her to do things she knew weren’t right for her. Or maybe they were exactly what she needed, but she feared losing control of her life—which she’d lived on her own terms for so long. She just didn’t know anymore.

“Why don’t we look at the head shots?” he suggested, backing off personal subjects.

Grateful, Cassandra turned back around and they settled beside each other on the couch. He opened the folder and revealed the next crop of young, beautiful perfection. They sought fame and fortune in Hollywood. She’d been like them once, wide-eyed and innocent, ready to make it big.

She was too old to consider them her competition. Rationally she understood that, but she couldn’t help but be a touch envious that the hardships of life hadn’t touched their youthful faces yet.

“I was thinking…” Harrison paused to flip through the photographs.

“I’ve had so many e-mails and phone calls asking me when I was going to touch on my favorite least-favorite subject, John Roper.” Buckley’s voice carried through the television, John’s name capturing Cassandra’s attention.

“One minute,” she said to Harrison, and grabbed the remote control to raise the volume.

Buckley adjusted the microphone in front of his face. “It’s been frustrating for me to have no gossip to report on Roper since he unceremoniously disappeared. Or should I say ran away?” the disgruntled man asked.

“His harassment helped drive John underground,” Cassandra said bitterly. At least that was what Yank and Micki told her. That John needed time for himself or else there would be no next season for him. He needed, they’d said, a break from the media, the fans and, yes, even his family. That remark had hurt.

Maybe because she could understand why he’d need to get away. Which didn’t mean she wasn’t going to scold him the next time she got her hands on him for a hug. He’d abandoned her to Harrison’s clutches.

“Well, I finally have a big reveal,” Buckley said proudly. “Right after this message from our sponsors.”

“Are you okay?” Harrison asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He understood how she felt about John abandoning her.

She wished he didn’t. She wished he wouldn’t be so kind or make leaning on him so easy.

Cassandra nodded and bit the inside of her cheek.

After a short break, during which neither Harrison nor Cassandra spoke, Buckley returned. “Many have been looking for our friend, John Roper, the Renegades’ highest-paid coward, and People Magazine finally got the inside scoop.”

Cassandra leaned in closer, her anticipation rising. Just where was her son?

“Inside this week’s issue is a cell-phone photo taken from the Web site of pop diva Hannah Gregory in the restaurant of the exclusive lodge in Greenlawn, New York, owned by Brandon Vaughn.”

A grainy but clear enough to be recognizable shot of John and the singer with her lips against his cheek showed on the television screen. Buckley continued. “John Roper isn’t away rehabilitating his shoulder and getting ready for the season. He’s making time with a hot star on the Renegades’ dime. Wonder what happened to Amy Stone. Our boy Roper really gets around.” Buckley cleared his throat. “The phone lines have just lit up like a Christmas tree,” he said, laughing. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I just report the truth, folks. I’ll take calls next. The Buck Stops Here!”

Cassandra hit the off button on the remote. “Damn the man for being so rude to John,” she said as she rose to her feet. “But thank God he was persistent and found him.”