Hot Item

The Hot Zone. His heart pounded hard in his chest, along with a suffocating feeling he hadn’t experienced… ever.

He stepped off the elevator and into what looked like a flower shop. Vases lined the reception desk filled with bouquets of carnations, roses and other assorted varieties he couldn’t possibly name.

“Are we in the right place?” Mike asked jokingly.

“Damned if I know.” Riley walked to the desk and peered between the floral displays. “Is Sophie Jordan in?”

The woman he’d met last time glanced up at him, then sneezed. “If you have flowers, put them in the corner,” she said, then returned to the work in front of her, ignoring him.

Riley cleared his throat. “I’d like to see Sophie. I’m a client.”

Behind him, Mike snickered. “Client, my ass.”

“That’s what they all say,” the receptionist said, all but echoing Mike. “See these?” She gestured to the flowers surrounding them. “They each belong to someone who claims to be a client or wants to be a client of Ms. Jordan’s.”

Riley’s stomach rolled at the revelation. In his wildest dreams, he’d never have thought Yank’s pronouncement would result in any real attention showered on Sophie. He’d been dead wrong and now not only did he have competition, but that competition hadn’t slept with, then insulted and jilted her all in the same breath.

The receptionist scowled at Riley. “Frankly, Ms. Jordan can do better than all of you. How pathetic to show up here just because her uncle broadcast her photo and single status on national TV.”

Ouch.

Riley leaned across the desk, being careful not to knock over the flowers and upset the secretary even more. “I agree. We met last time I was here. You’d just started here temporarily, if I recall.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You do look sort of familiar.”

“Then here’s a friendly suggestion for you. You’re doing a great job screening people for your boss, but get to know the real clients. I’m Riley Nash, a long-time client of Yank’s and more recently of Sophie’s. So how ’bout you cut one of the good guys some slack and tell Sophie she has a visitor?” he asked, emphasizing his accent, since most women found it charming.

She pursed her lips and scanned what he hoped was a client list. Finally her eyes opened wide and she jumped up from her seat. “Good gosh, I am so sorry! You’re Riley Nash.” She ran around the desk and reached out to grab his hand, pumping it hard.

“That’s what I said.” He couldn’t help but grin. “And this is Michael Putnam, one of Spencer’s clients.” He turned to Mike, only to find his friend gawking at the young brunette.

She wasn’t Riley’s type, but since Sophie, he wasn’t sure he had a type.

“You go on in and I’ll just let Sophie know she has company. And please don’t tell Ms. Jordan I almost didn’t let you through. I’ve already messed up once and I am really hoping for a permanent position here.”

Mike strode up to her and placed an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll put in a good word for you. As a matter of fact, why don’t we talk while Riley goes in to see Sophie?”

Riley said a silent thank-you that Mike would remain behind. Riley didn’t need Mike by his side when he faced Sophie for the first time since he’d messed up.

As Riley walked down the hall, all he could think about were the flowers. He wondered who’d sent them, and noted how much satisfaction he’d take in breaking each and every bloom, stem by stem.

“You’re sick,” Riley muttered to himself. Love-sick? a little voice in his head asked.

Sophie’s light laughter captured his attention. “No dinner, no date, no, thank you,” she said, then hung up the phone as Riley stepped into the doorway and drank in the sight of her.

She was every inch the woman he couldn’t get out of his mind, and more. From the top of her perfectly styled hair to the tailored suit that molded to curves he’d held in his hands, to the tips of her high-heeled pumps, she was his hot item and he’d be damned if another man or his flowers would get anywhere near her ever again.

CHAPTER TEN

SINCE UNCLE YANK’S television interview three days ago, Sophie had been inundated with phone calls from persistent men asking her on dates. She’d been pointed to on the street and inundated with flowers. All because Dateline NBC had picked up on the interview and included it in a special broadcast entitled “Matchmaking Relatives: Are they a meddling nuisance or a prime way to hook up in an uncertain world?” Sophie, herself, had been avoiding calls from the producer to do a follow-up interview. Talk about unwanted publicity. She really couldn’t take much more harassment.

Sophie hung up on her most persistent caller of the day, her sister Micki’s best friend, John Roper. He was looking for a replacement confidante while her sister was away, and he’d turned to Sophie. If she were to date a ballplayer, she had to admit Roper had potential. He was more refined than most, a metrosexual type who enjoyed the finer things in life. Though trouble followed Roper like a magnet, he was definitely fun to be around.

Fun or not, Roper was still a ballplayer with a thick head and a stubborn personality. Oh wait. That was Riley, she thought, laughing at her own joke.

“Hey, babe.”

Speak of the devil. Sophie glanced up, startled at the sound of Riley’s voice. It was as if she’d conjured him. Her attention flitted over him and she hated to admit he was still a feast for the senses. His faded jeans molded to his strong thighs and his unshaven face and light tan looked sexy paired with a pale blue collared tee.

“Well, well, well. What brings you to this side of the world?” Forcing herself to remain behind her desk-the only protection she could find at the moment-she aimed for a casual and unaffected air.

He walked inside as if Florida had never happened and settled himself on the corner of her desk. “I wanted to see how you were handling your fifteen minutes of fame.”

He treated her to a grin that had once melted her defenses, but now she knew better. She’d let them down once before and lived to regret it.

Riley glanced at the flowers surrounding her, a definite frown marring his handsome face. “Your allergies must be bothering you with these things taking up so much air space,” he said, his tone sarcastic.

“Not a bit,” she said, and tried not to smile. If she didn’t know better she’d think he was jealous of her newfound attention. She checked her watch, eager to have him gone before she did something she’d regret. Like throw herself into his arms just one more time. “I’m busy so…”

“Want to get a bite to eat?” he blurted out.

She raised her eyes. A nervous muscle actually twitched in his jaw. She immediately rejected the thought. No way was Riley anxious about seeing her again. Nothing about women rattled Riley.

As for his question, she would not go out with him. Been there done that, she thought, quelling temptation. “Thanks anyway but I have plans.”

“With one of your suitors?” he asked with definite distaste. “You can’t be serious.”

She tried not to laugh, but with his use of the antiquated term, now she was certain. Riley was squirming. And she was female enough to enjoy his discomfort.

“I didn’t realize our relationship dictated I had to explain or answer to you.” She focused on her freshly done nails. “Oh, that’s right. We don’t have a relationship.”

He rose and rounded the desk. Looming over her, he gripped the sides of her chair and leaned close. She inhaled, taking in his fresh scent and trying to ignore the sexual desire galloping through her. Apparently her body didn’t understand what her mind and heart already did.

“I thought when two people slept together, they had something,” he said, his eyes flashing with equal parts desire and determination.

She didn’t know where this change of heart had come from, and emotionally, she couldn’t afford to find out. Around Riley, self-protection would be a smart tactic.

“And I thought when the last words exchanged after sex were ‘I’m going to pack,’ that