Hot Property

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.

“Most of my mail goes the standard route. But even though I’m unlisted, it’s not too hard to find out where someone in the public eye lives. This guy’s been sending me stuff all season.”

“At your home?” she asked.

He nodded. “You brought up a letter the other day,” he admitted. “But that wasn’t the worst of it.” He twisted his head from side to side, obviously aggravated.

She propped her hands on her hips. “I think you need to elaborate.”

He groaned. “Besides the standard letters, I’ve gotten a bobblehead doll with a knife in its shoulder. And then today’s package was something else.”

“A knife in its shoulder?” she asked, her voice rising. “And it was a bobblehead doll of you? ”

“Calm down.” He stepped toward her, placing a hand on her arm.

Not likely, she thought, a chill sweeping through her body. “What was in today’s package?” she asked.

“Forget it. It’s just some crazy fan. Fanatical. Get it? It comes with the territory of playing in the majors and getting the big bucks.”

She raised an eyebrow at him in question. Did he really think he could gloss over this? “Oh, no. You aren’t getting away with avoiding my question. What was in the package?”

He lowered his hand from her arm and met her gaze. “Dog shit with a note saying You Stink. At least I think it was from a dog,” he muttered, not wanting to contemplate that thought too deeply.

She winced, both nauseated and horrified at the same time. “You have got to be kidding me! That is the most disgusting, scary thing I’ve ever heard. This guy is nuts!”

“It’s a fan, remember? Just let it go.”

“I remember Uncle Spencer telling me about the time a tennis player was stabbed during a championship match. You can’t brush this off. Did you report it to the police?”

He rolled his eyes. “Now, that would be over-reacting.”

She scowled at him. “Then did you mention it to someone at the Hot Zone? Did you tell Yank about the bobblehead? Of course not,” she answered for him.

“Since you already know the answer, why should I bother answering the question?” he said, laughing at her.

She wasn’t fooled at his attempt to change the subject. “First thing tomorrow I’m going to have all your mail forwarded to the Hot Zone. We’ll make sure you get your bills and things that are safe as soon as possible.”

He inclined his head. “Not a problem.”

She blinked, startled by his easy agreement. “Oh.”

“I’m not a glutton for punishment. I should have done that from the beginning. It’s more of a mental drain than any kind of real threat. But thank you. Good idea.”

“You’re welcome.” She exhaled hard.

“So how about we just go to dinner?” he asked.

“Sounds like a plan.” Dinner wasn’t the only thing on her agenda.

Now there was more than just his family eating away at him. He also had this nutty fan whose so-called gifts were just sick, and getting worse. Amy didn’t want them to get dangerous. At this point, she was more sure than ever that she had to get Roper out of town.

With or without his consent.

CONSIDERING BEN HAD DEIGNED to show up, dinner had been surprisingly pleasant, Roper thought. There had been no talk of the televised pilot his mother kept turning down or Roper’s career skid. Instead Harrison Smith had led the discussion, getting to know Roper, Amy and Ben, and essentially ignoring the diva at the table. By the end of the meal, Cassandra was sulking, proving to Roper that the man had his mother wrapped around his finger. She claimed not to want the attention, but she didn’t want to be ignored, either.

Roper silently applauded the man’s ability to get under his mother’s skin. No man had done that during Roper’s lifetime.

Harrison was busy with the waiter, placing his dessert order. “The lady and I will both have creme brulee,” he said, placing his hand over Cassandra’s.

Cassandra slid her hand from his. “I’d prefer the tropical sorbet. I have to watch my waistline,” she said, becoming animated for the first time all evening.

Harrison snorted. “She’ll have creme brulee.” He placed his hand behind her chair and leaned closer. “Are you really going to avoid your favorite dessert just to spite me?”

Cassandra sniffed but didn’t reply.

“Remember when we couldn’t afford more than one dessert and we shared it once a week back in film school?” the other man asked.

“You two knew each other in film school?” What rock was he living under? Roper wondered. And what else was his mother hiding?