Carly Phillips - Hot Property

“Amy Stone.” She placed her palm inside his. Searing heat branded her, sizzling up her arm and into her chest, knocking the wind out of her completely.

Wow.

She’d never had such an intense reaction to a man before. She caught a whiff of his sensual cologne, which caused an erotic spike in her body temperature. “It’s nice to meet you, John.”

A cute smile pulled at his lips. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Amy Stone.” His voice dropped a husky octave.

She ran her tongue over her dry lips. “So what table are you seated at?” she asked him.

He’d been holding her gaze with a look hot enough to melt the ice sculptures she’d seen earlier, but suddenly he twisted his body, looking around before turning back to her again. “Listen, the seating is…um…complicated.”

“Tell me about it. It’s a wedding. Seating is always complicated. I’m just hoping I’m not at the same table as my mom and her sister.” Amy had picked up her place card earlier, but she hadn’t seen her relatives since they’d left the ceremony to ask where they were seated. Amy rolled her eyes at her predicament and laughed.

John didn’t join her. “It’s not that kind of complicated.” He mulled something over in his mind for a while before finally speaking. “I just didn’t expect to meet someone like you here,” he said, warmth and something inherently more in his tone.

“Tell me about it.” She hadn’t come here with a date or intending to meet a man, either, but she was definitely glad she had met one. Now she didn’t have to survive those awkward moments during slow songs. If John didn’t ask her to dance, maybe she’d just ask him instead. Though that sounded more like something her mother would do than Amy, this man was worth stepping out of her comfort zone for. A tingle of anticipation rippled through her at the thought of a slow dance, his arms wrapped around her waist…

He bent his head close to hers. She inhaled and his aftershave filled her with deep yearning. He leaned closer. For a whisper? Not a kiss, it was way too soon.

But her heart pounded in anticipation.

“Roper! Roper!” A shrill female voice called out his name.

The chance for her to discover his intentions disappeared as Amy and John jerked back and turned toward the sound. A beautiful woman walked, teetering on high heels, across the lawn, making a bee-line his way. Her long dress kept catching beneath her shoes, and although she held up the hem with both hands, the trip was obviously a difficult one.

“There you are,” she said. “Didn’t I ask you to stay on the patio? I told you I didn’t want to ruin my dress on the lawn.” She whined through heavily glossed lips that turned downward in what was obviously meant to be a pretty pout.

It was pretty, though Amy hated to concede the point. The other woman was model-thin and attractive in a waiflike sort of way, elegant despite her awkward trek across the lawn. And judging from the possessive way she aligned herself against John, she was his date.

His date. Disappointment rushed through her. All the while he’d been initiating conversation and coming on to her-at least that’s how she’d read his words and his body language-he’d had another woman waiting for him.

How naive could she be, thinking a hot baseball player would be interested in a country bumpkin? And that’s what she felt like compared to the chic woman standing next to him. She resented the emotion, hating that she allowed herself to feel inferior.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and I find you racking up another conquest in my absence,” the other woman said.

“I-” He paused. Obviously he couldn’t find an acceptable excuse because there was none.

Amy’s heart beat hard and fast while nausea overwhelmed her. She turned and started for the house, trying to get as far away as she could get from John Roper.

“Amy, wait!” He called after her. “I know this looks bad, but-”

She refused to turn around. It looked like what it was. He’d brought a date to the party, but he’d definitely come on to her.

He caught her arm, forcing her to face him.

His date followed, coming up beside them. “You’re worried about her and not me? You jerk! I flew out to this godforsaken place to be with you and this is how you repay me? By trying to hook up with a local bimbo?”

Before anyone could blink, the woman grabbed his drink from his hand and deliberately poured it down his shirt.

“Come on, Carrie. This is a Hugo Boss shirt!” He pulled at the stained material and glared at his date. “Was that really necessary?”

She forced a smile. “I think it was.”

Amy couldn’t believe this. The crowd around them grew silent and began to edge closer for a better look. Amy cringed. She hated being the center of attention and she resented that this man had done it to her now.

“You two obviously need privacy.” This time she ran from the circus act that was John and his date.

She slowed as she approached the patio, disappointment in John Roper and the way this day had turned out as strong as the sun overhead. She’d really been attracted to him, but she didn’t need a man like that in her life. She would begin her new job as a publicist for the Hot Zone, operating behind the scenes. But she definitely had to grow a thicker skin if she was going to deal with this kind of high-maintenance client on a daily basis.

A commotion broke out on the other side of the patio and Amy glanced over. Apparently the bride had decided to toss the bouquet early. She squinted for a better view and groaned aloud.

Amy’s mother, Rose, and Aunt Darla both jumped for the prize and were now rolling on the lawn, both determined to claim the flowers. Neither wanted the tradition that went along with the bouquet, since they’d sworn off remarriage. And they weren’t interested in the flowers, either. They just wanted the attention due them from catching it.

On one side of the house was John and his date. On the other side wrestled the crazy redheaded sisters who needed someone to separate them and give each a time-out.

This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

But when the New Year arrived and with it, her new life, Amy swore to make it her mission not only to succeed, but to thrive.

One month later

S PORTS AGENT Y ANK M ORGANsat in the backseat of his Lincoln and rubbed a hand over his scruffy beard. Scruffier now since his wife, Lola, had thrown out his razor to prevent him from accidentally slitting his throat. Dang woman had also somehow discovered where he’d hidden his spares. Apparently an almost-blind man had no privacy in his own bathroom.

Normally he’d be angry, but considering his eyesight had gotten worse, he was forced to admit Lola had a point. Macular degeneration was messing with the balance of power in his marriage. Telling a woman she was right about anything, though, especially his woman, would be the equivalent of relinquishing his throne. And that wasn’t happening at home or at work.

“We’re here, Mr. Morgan,” J.D., the ex-football player he’d hired as his driver, said. “Want me to walk you inside?”

Yank shook his head. “No, thanks. It’s bad enough you had to drive me here. I don’t need you as my guide. I got Noodle for that.” His Labradoodle sat beside him and Yank patted her furry head. He’d got the dog when she was a pup, but now she was the size of her standard poodle mother.

“Be careful. I don’t want to end up at the emergency room again because you tripped over something you and the mutt didn’t see.”