Hot Zone Series 1. Hot Stuff 2. Hot Number 3. Hot Item 4. Hot Property  Excerpt Prologue ... my Stone was surrounded by testosterone. Not every day, average testosterone but heavy duty testosterone that could belong to athletes only. She couldn't stop staring at the quarterbacks, the baseball stars and other large, muscular guests attending her cousin Riley's wedding reception. The bride, Sophie Jordan, and her sisters and their friends appeared unfazed by so many hot men in one place. As publicists in the Hot Zone, a firm specializing in PR for athletes, they were probably used to the sight. As a single woman more accustomed to living and working as a social director at a Fort Lauderdale retirement community owned by her relatives, Amy was out of her element. That was about to change. After the first of the year, Amy would be working at the Hot Zone and she'd have to learn how to handle herself around these big shot athletes without melting at their feet. She'd already made a few trips to the city and had begun settling into the apartment Micki Jordan Fuller had leased to her. Amy planned to spend the holidays with her family before leaving her easy life behind. She'd turned twenty five on Halloween ... there was some irony there she was sure and she'd woken up, looked at her life and realized a change was long overdue. She belonged in a crowd of young people, not refereeing irreverent retirees who preferred skinny dipping to bathing suits and fruity alcoholic drinks to plain old iced tea. But she was worried about the trouble her mother and her friends could get into left on their own. Which reminded her ... She scanned the area looking for her family. The acreage was huge, the view beautiful. Amy couldn't find her mother or her Aunt Darla but she consoled herself with the notion that if she couldn't see or hear them, they couldn't be causing a ruckus. That had to be a good sign. Especially since the reception was being held at the estate of Senator Harlan Nash, the man who'd raised Riley as his own son. She prayed her mother and aunt would behave for the day. As she'd instructed them this morning, no nude bathing in the fountain or playing tag in the yard. Her relatives lived to enjoy life. Too much sometimes, which often got them into trouble and made them all the object of public discussion and ridicule, often a point of contention between her parents when her father was alive. When Amy had made the decision to move back home and taken the job as director and babysitter, she'd known her father, who'd died when she was twelve, would approve. The sun beat down on her head and she envied the Senator's guests who had parasols to shade themselves from the heated rays. The humidity was really getting to her, her skin sticky beneath her dress and she strode to the bar. "Can I get you a drink?" a deep male voice asked. Amy turned, shading her eyes against the glare of the sun and stared into the most gorgeous face she'd ever seen on a man. His eyes were a deep shade of green, his features more chiseled than rugged, and when he smiled dimples embraced his white teeth and oh so sexy smile. "I was just about to order a cola," she said. "I think I can manage that for you." His easy going smile grew wider. "Do not go anywhere." Amy wouldn't dream of it. It was one thing to be surrounded by testosterone, another to have one of these men turn his attention her way. Heat suffused her and her pulse rate kicked up so she found it hard to breathe. Amy wasn't a Nun and she'd been with her share of men but she'd never dated a guy as rugged and ... well, studly as this man. He eased his way between the people at the bar and quickly returned with her drink in one hand, one for himself in the other. "Here you go." She accepted the glass. "Thank you." "My pleasure." He nodded and tipped his glass, clinking it against hers. "So, pretty lady, are you a guest of the bride or the groom?" She tried not to preen under the compliment but he'd gotten under her skin already. "I'm a guest of the groom. Riley is my cousin," she explained before taking a cool, welcome sip of her soda. "Are you related to the Senator?" he asked. "No, actually, Spencer Atkins is my uncle." Riley had a complicated family situation but Amy figured this man, probably an athlete, knew of renowned sports agent, Spencer Atkins, who was Riley's biological father. "What about you? Which side of the family do you represent?" "I'm a guest of both, actually." "Which would make you a client of the Hot Zone PR and Athlete's Only?" she said of her uncle's sports agency. "Not only beautiful but perceptive as well." She was certain she blushed. "What sport do you play?" "You don't know who I am?" His eyes widened. "I'm wounded," he said in an affected tone with a little boy's hurt in his expression. But immediate laughter let her know he was just teasing. Amy smiled, enjoying his sense of humor and easy going personality. The attraction went without saying. The man was definitely hot. "John Roper, New York Renegades center fielder at your service." He tipped his head towards her, then extended his hand. "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 thoughts and 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 ... umm ... complicated." "Tell me about it. It's a wedding. Seating is always complicated. Take me. I'm just hoping I'm not with 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 awhile 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. Now she didn't have to survive 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 towards the sound. A beautiful woman teetered on high heels across the lawn, making a beeline his way. Her long dress kept catching beneath her shoes and although she held up the hem with both hands, the walk 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 waif-like sort of way, elegant despite the awkward trek across the lawn, and 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 onto her - at least that's how she'd read his words and his body language - he'd had another woman waiting for him at another end of the party. How naive could she be, thinking a hot baseball player was 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, as Amy took pride in her sense of self worth. "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, 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 onto 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 God's country with you and this is how you repay me? By trying to hook up with a local bimbo?" Before Amy could touch the insult and before anyone could blink, Carrie grabbed his drink from his hand and deliberately poured it down his shirt. "Come on, Carrie. This is 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. Since losing her first ever job as a county social worker thanks to her mother's antics, Amy made it a point to avoid public displays. 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 this new job as a publicist for athletes, operating behind the scenes. Butshe definitely had to grow a thicker skin if she was going to deal with these high maintenance people on a daily basis in New York. 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 as they'd sworn off remarriage. They weren't interested in the flowers, just the attention due them from catching it. On one side of the house was John and his date, on the other side 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. Chapter One... One Month Later ... Sports agent Yank Morgan sat in the back seat 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 making him go blind was messing with the balance of power in his marriage. Telling a woman she was right about anything, 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 got to drive me here. I don't need you as my guide. I got Noodle for that." His Labradoodle sat beside him and Yank pat his 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 have to drive you to the Emergency Room again because you tripped over something you and the mutt didn't see." "She's not a mutt, she's a mix of two pure breeds," Yank said proudly as he opened his car door. "I still say you should have bought a real guide dog and not a pet." J.D. met him and helped him up and over the curb. Yank frowned. "Keep sounding like my wife and you'll have to find yourself a new job." J.D. merely laughed. "You say that every day," he said as he helped Yank out of the car and into the cold winter air. Yank did his best to ignore the indignity of needing help at basic tasks. A man accepted what a man had to accept. "You remind your father we're playing poker tonight," Yank said. Nobody asked how Yank played without being able to see the cards and Yank refused to discuss it. He'd rather lose money every month than give up the things he loved. And J.D.s father, Curly, had been in Yank's poker game for as far back as when he'd become his niece's guardians when they were little girls. J.D. scratched Noodle's fluffy fur and helped Yank pull the dog out of the car. "You think I need to remind dad of something he's been doing every month for most of his life? At least now with Lola around I'm guaranteed he won't be smoking. You and my father. Neither of you listen to your doctors," J.D. muttered. "Wait till you get older before passing judgment. I'll only be about fifteen minutes." Yank pulled his heavy jacket tighter around him and let the dog lead him towards the door of the gym. Part Labrador, part Poodle, completely dense when it came to being in charge, Yank didn't kid himself that Noodle was the guide dog he should have gotten but he enjoyed the pretense. Then there was the fun he had making people think he was a little bit crazy. There were worse ways to spend his life, he thought, laughing. He made his way to the weight room in the back of the gym. The trainers and employees were used to him visiting clients and bringing Noodle along. He headed for where he knew he'd find John Roper, letting years of experience lead the way. The main part of the gym was noisy and crowded but as he approached the private rooms in the back, Yank could tell from the lack of sound that there weren't as many people there. Which Yank figured was the reason his not-so-star baseball player client John Roper chose to workout here and now. Unfortunately, the televisions were on and the sound coming from the speakers told Yank that morning sports talk show host, Frank Buckley was spouting off at the mouth as usual. "Spring training is around the corner and this New York Renegade fan still hasn't gotten over John Roper's disastrous season or his role in the Renegades Game 5 World Series loss. Call in and let me know if your lack of expectations match mine for the highly overpaid hero." The Buck Stops Here, folks." The television station went to commercial at the same time Roper yelled aloud, "Somebody shut that thing off before I rip the speakers off the wall." When nobody moved to change the channel or shut off the TV, Yank added his two cents. "Can't you hear the man? Shut off the noise or we'll sue you for intentional infliction of emotional distress." The weights clanged hard as Roper dropped them to the floor. "Morgan, what are you doing here?" he asked. "Visiting the dumbbells." Yank laughed at his own joke. Roper didn't. "You still upset over Buckley the Bastard's tirade? Grow up and get over it," Yank said. He'd already tried coddling Roper through his rough patch and it hadn't worked. He was moving on to tough love. "Someone dropped off a Roper Bobblehead doll with my doorman. Damn thing had a knife stuck in the shoulder." Yank groaned. The fans wouldn't let Roper forget his nightmare season. He hadn't been able hit or throw and he'd then he'd sprained his shoulder in a failed attempt to stop a game winning homerun by slamming it into the right field wall. This in addition to striking out earlier when the bases were loaded and the Renegades had a chance at the go ahead run. Their team lost, the fans needed a scapegoat, and they'd chosen the highest priced centerfielder in the game to sacrifice. Not that the man wasn't in a slump but losing had been a team effort. Now Buckley insisted on continuing the torture in the off season. Roper had every right to be pissed. He didn't need Buckley riling up the fans against him in his daily tirades. "Are you sure Buckley doesn't have a personal grudge?" Yank asked. Roper rose to his feet, looming large over Yank. "I screwed his ex-girlfriend. She just didn't see fit to mention she was no longer his ex on the night in question." Yank chuckled. "He oughta let it go." "She's his wife now," Roper said. "Shit." "Yeah," Roper agreed. "You do realize that if this was a lesser market, nobody would pay attention to anything Buckley said?" Yank shook his head. "But it isn't a lesser market. It's New York." And that said it all. Athletes were like movie stars here, back and front page news and fodder for gossip. "You used to love the attention," Yank reminded him. Prior to his funk, Roper had been known for being a high maintenance outfielder. ESports TV, Magazine and Radio named Roper among the top metrosexual athletes of the year. Yank didn't get why grown men like Roper spent good money on the best clubs, gyms and hairdressers. What normal man had his back waxed? Yank had no idea and brushed a hand over his messy beard. But Roper's good looking mug had made them both a boatload of money so Yank wasn't about to complain. "I did love the attention," Roper said. "Until my talent went south." Roper leaned forward on the bench, elbows on his knees and stared ahead at nothing in particular. "So what are you really doing here?" Roper asked. "I came to cheer you up. I don't want the media to see you down and I sure as hell don't need you taking a swing at one of them no matter how much they provoke you." "That sounds like a message from Micki." Yank's niece Michelle was Roper's close friend as well as his publicist. She was the resident expert at the Hot Zone for keeping her high maintenance client out of trouble and out of the press. Except today, maybe some fun press was exactly what Roper needed. "I have a present for you. Here's a gift certificate." Yank pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. "Go get yourself a massage and a manicure. "Not in the mood." Yank didn't know what else to do in order to help his dejected client. "Don't your want to look your best for the annual Hot Zone New Year's party?" "I'm not going." Yank smacked him upside the head. "You sure as hell are. You're going to hold yourself up and make like life's grand. Attitude is everything and right now yours sucks." Yank couldn't see well but he figured Roper was scowling at him about now. "I'm sure you're having a rough time after the series, but obviously something more has you bent out of shape because the happy, go lucky guy I know wouldn't be sulking like a pansy." Roper rose and Yank felt the other man's height standing close beside him. "You want to know what's bothering me? Where should I start? I could live with last year's disaster if I thought I was definitely coming back but we both know the shoulder's not recovering the way I'd like from the injury. That means my career may be shorter than we'd anticipated. Not a financial problem given my huge contract, right?" "Unless you pissed it away ..." Yank said, not at all serious. "You know me better than that. But my family's working hard at doing it for me." Yank blinked. "Ever hear just say no?" "You try telling them that." Yank wasn't worried about Roper's future. The younger man had come to him for investment advice and Yank knew he'd diversified wisely. But if his career were shortened due to injury and his family was going through the money like water, Yank could understand the man's distress. "Slow 'em down, then," Yank suggested. "Yeah, I'm trying," Roper muttered. "Do me a favor? Tell Micki I need time to myself and to quit worrying and sending you around to check on me or I'm going to let the Hot Zone go. Who knows? If I can't play this season, I may not need a PR firm at all." Yank frowned. "Micki's not worried about you as a client, you ass. She's worried about you as a friend." "I know that," Roper said, sounding more subdued and apologetic. "I appreciate her concern but there's nothing she can do to help unless she's got a magic cure for the shoulder." Even Yank knew when to give a man space and John Roper needed it more than Yank had realized. "I'll make you a deal," he said to the man he both liked and admired. "What's that?" "Come to the party and I promise nobody will be talking business. You can use some relaxation time. No media invited. What do you say?" Roper remained silent for too long. Obviously the man was tense and strung tight if he couldn't bring himself to say he'd come to a party. "When was the last time you got laid?" Yank asked the first question that came to mind. "None of your damn business." Yank chuckled at the quick answer. "Then it's been too damn long." Yank had seen the symptoms in other good men as well. Men who spent too much time alone and needed a woman in their lives. Not that he'd know from such a thing. No sir, but he knew Roper needed a distraction from focusing on his World Series screw up or the start of spring training in February. Too bad Yank had already hooked up his three nieces with solid men, but just because his girls were taken didn't mean Yank couldn't work his magic with Roper and another woman. But who could he find to put up with a man who liked things orderly and neat, designer, upscale and slightly high maintenance? He went through the women in his office, then smacked himself upside the head for being so dense. He should have thought of the female solution to Roper's problems sooner. Amy Stone. His partner, Spencer Atkins' niece. She was feisty, pretty and single, and only an idiot would have missed the sparks between Amy and Roper at Sophie's wedding a few months earlier. Roper's date had been a bimbo but not an idiot, Yank thought, recalling the drink she'd spilled down Roper's shirt and their immediate exit right after. And since Amy had just moved to the city and taken a position at the Hot Zone, she didn't know many people in town. Yes sir, Amy was his answer. He didn't intend to tell Roper though. Yank loved surprises. "Come to the party," Yank insisted to Roper. "You'll leave me alone if I do?" Yank nodded. "Scout's Honor," he said, raising his hand. Roper shrugged. "Okay then. Why the hell not?" Yank tugged on Noodle's leash and as they walked out the door, Yank whistled, pleased with his handiwork. J.D. met him by the car. "Why are you in such a good mood?" "Because I'm not a boy scout and I never have been," Yank said, laughing and John Roper was about to benefit from Yank being a lying, meddling son of a bitch.