Hot Property

Dave laughed, but there was nothing remotely funny about the situation. “Nothing I’m going to tell you about, that’s for sure. And Ben?”

“What?” he asked, releasing Dave’s shirt.

“Find yourself a new couch. Mine’s off-limits.”

AMY SAT IN ROPER’S KITCHEN, her stomach cramping as he read, first from the Daily News and then the New York Post. He hadn’t said much since she’d arrived except to warn her that her mother’s adventure at the airport had made the news, thanks to an overzealous fan who’d spotted them. The guy had called the Gossip Zone, another online site. And when one rag got hold of the news, the rest followed.

Roper watched Amy warily, as if waiting for her to explode at any moment. And he was right to worry.

Amy’s fuse was lit, her nerves strung tight. But she had to see the damage for herself. “Give me that.”

She snatched the newspaper from Roper’s hand and glanced at the article, reading aloud. “‘As opening day of baseball season approaches, Renegades star John Roper is busy. Just not in the way his fans would expect.’”

As she spoke, he rose and poured his coffee into the sink, rinsing the mug and saying nothing.

She continued. “‘Yesterday, the center fielder bailed his girlfriend’s mother and aunt out of trouble at JFK International Airport.’” Nausea rose and remained in her throat. “Why can’t my family just act like normal human beings?” Amy asked in frustration.

“Because they are who they are. Besides, that’s why you love them,” Roper said. His kind tone only made things worse. How was she going to fight her feelings for him?

The newspaper articles instantly reminded her of the last time her mother’s antics had made the front page. How she’d lost the job she’d been so proud of, not to mention any potential career in the same field thanks to Rose’s behavior. Amy knew a psychiatrist would have a field day with her inability to put the past where it belonged. But it was her past and she was reacting the only way she knew how.

“Give me the papers,” he said. “They aren’t good for anything except recycling,” he said, the voice of reason. His reaction seemed strange, coming from a man used to reading about himself regularly in a none-too-flattering light.

But Amy wasn’t a celebrity. She hadn’t signed on for a life in front of the cameras. In fact, she’d deliberately chosen a career behind the scenes. Yet when she was with Roper, she couldn’t remain there.

“I need to read the rest.” She folded the newspaper in half and cleared her throat. “‘Amy Stone, niece of sports agent Spencer Atkins, and newly minted publicist at the Hot Zone, has her hands full with relatives who were detained for possible terrorist activity on board an aircraft…’”

“Give me that,” he muttered, grabbing the paper and tossing it into the recycling bin in disgust.

But not before she caught a glimpse of the photograph beneath the article. “There’s no mistaking us,” Amy said. She shook her head and groaned.

“I actually think it’s a good picture,” Roper said. He settled back into his chair as if nothing had occurred.

As if two elderly women with a penchant for trouble weren’t in his guest room getting ready to hit the streets of New York City right this minute. There were probably even people with cameras waiting outside the apartment. Ones that had probably watched her come inside. Not that she’d seen anyone, but obviously, that didn’t mean a thing.

“I never saw anyone with a camera at the airport.” Amy said. Yet there was the picture, taken as they exited the terminal building yesterday.

Her hands grew damp at the thought of dealing with more pictures, innuendos and rumors.

“They could have had a zoom lens or a cell-phone camera. At least we know who called it in. Half the time I’m left guessing about how they found me.” He eyed her with obvious concern.

She didn’t respond. She was too busy worrying about avoiding more photo ops in the future.

“Everyone’s looking for a way to make a buck these days,” Roper finally said.

“Off of my newfound celebrity status.” Since New Year’s Eve, she’d somehow become a person of interest, thanks to her connection to John Roper.

She couldn’t blame him for her mother’s innate ability to attract trouble. Amy had been this route before. But she couldn’t risk the potent combination of Roper and her mother placing her squarely in the limelight again. True, her uncle Spencer had as deep a connection to her mother and aunt as Amy herself, so she wouldn’t be fired. But the idea of being the object of public ridicule after spending so many years avoiding it gave Amy more than a headache. It made her want to throw up.

She realized that Roper was staring at her, trying to figure out what was going on in her mind. “It’s just insane the way the media focuses on me as your girlfriend,” she said, needing to explain her reaction to him in some way he could understand.

“That’s not what bothers you,” Roper said.

She leaned forward in her seat. “And what does?” she asked, since he obviously thought he knew her so well.

“I’m not sure yet. But I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” he said.

“Maybe it’s that you insist on giving everyone the idea that we’re a couple when you know we aren’t.”

He grinned, that sexy, in-control smile that drove her to distraction. “I know no such thing.”

And because of his stubbornness, her mother, her aunt and even the media refused to believe that she and John were just friends. Perhaps because he made it so hard for Amy to believe it herself.

He was doing his best to charm her into his life and keep her there. Last night he’d taken them to dinner at his friend’s restaurant in Little Italy. The one where he’d brought Amy on their first date. She had a hunch he’d chosen the place on purpose, as much for the memories as the good food. He called it their place, which caused a stir with her relatives. Afterward they walked around and he treated them to gelato and cannoli.

Then he insisted on dropping Amy off at her apartment first, so her mother and aunt could see where she lived. Amy had allowed him to take charge because he’d had ideas to keep her mother and aunt busy for the night, tiring them out. As much as she wanted to argue with his commandeering attitude, he took the pressure off of her and she appreciated it.

He was a gentleman. A kind, sexy gentleman. And to use her mother’s old-fashioned word, he was wooing Amy with thoughtfulness, not money. She couldn’t let herself succumb, but it wasn’t easy.

Last night he’d slipped his hand into hers as they walked, so she couldn’t pull back without making a scene. He’d casually placed his palm on her back when they entered the restaurant and once again she’d been powerless to separate them. After a while, the gestures felt too good and she didn’t want him to stop. She lay in bed last night, aroused from his touch, yearning for him to ease the ache in her heart and the one that throbbed insistently inside her body. She missed him.

Just as he obviously intended.

But that was before she’d seen the morning paper. Before the past and present collided. John Roper and her eccentric, publicity-magnet mother were a combination Amy could not handle.

“So what are we doing today?” Roper asked.

She rose from her chair. “We aren’t doing anything. I took the day off to entertain the troops. You are going to the gym or the physical therapist or whatever else is on your schedule.” If he wasn’t with them, he couldn’t get them on tomorrow’s front page.

She could keep her mother and aunt under control for a day or two, make them happy and then send them back to Florida without argument.

“I haven’t skipped a day of therapy in weeks and you know it. I have a four-o’clock appointment today and I’ll be there. Meanwhile, if you have nothing specific on the agenda, I thought maybe we could all do the Statue of Liberty. Then you can take them back here to rest up for dinner while I keep my appointment.”

The telephone rang before she could argue, and Roper picked it up on the first ring. “Hello?” he said, then listened.

“Hi, Mom. I can’t talk right now. I have company,” he said.

Amy watched with interest. He’d taken phone calls from his mother and sister last night, as well, and there was a distinct difference in how he dealt with them now, compared to the panicked acquiescence he’d used when