Hot Property Read online

  Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author

  CARLY PHILLIPS

  “Fast-paced and fabulously fun, Carly Phillips entertains with witty dialogue and delightful characters.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Rachel Gibson

  “Popular Phillips’ first attempt at romantic suspense should be eagerly received by her loyal readership, and the denouement hints at a future romance for Hunter, as well.”

  —Booklist on

  “Who doesn’t love a reunion of long-lost loves? Add a diabolical villain as Carly Phillips does and you have everything you need for a beach read.”

  —Columbus Dispatch on Cross My Heart

  “Contemporary pizzazz with a good old-fashioned happily ever after.”

  —Michelle Buonfiglio, Romance: B(u)y the Book, WNBC.com/romance

  “Cross My Heart engages readers with a light and perky story that will absorb you from start to finish…. You’ll be smiling while you read the book, and grinning when you finish.”

  —Lezlie Patterson, MCT News Service

  “Phillips has penned a charming, fast-paced contemporary romp.”

  —Booklist on Hot Item

  “A great summer read that should not be missed.”

  —BookReporter.com on Hot Item

  “A sassy treat full of titillating twists sure to ring your (wedding) bell.”

  —Playgirl on The Bachelor

  “A titillating read…on a scale of one to five: a high five for fun, ease of reading and sex—actually I would’ve given it a six for sex if I could have.”

  —Kelly Ripa on The Bachelor

  Also by

  carly phillips

  Ty and Hunter’s stories

  Cross My Heart

  Sealed with a Kiss

  The Hot Zone series

  Hot Item

  Hot Number

  Hot Stuff

  Hot Property

  The Simply series

  Simply Sinful

  Simply Scandalous

  Simply Sensual

  Simply Sexy

  The Chandler Brothers series

  The Bachelor

  The Playboy

  The Heartbreaker

  Also…

  Body Heat

  Brazen

  Seduce Me

  carly phillips

  Hot PROPERTY

  Dear Reader,

  I love writing, but no series has given me more joy than the Hot Zone, maybe because of the many personal connections for me in these books. Uncle Yank is based on my grandpa Jack, may he rest in peace, and macular degeneration runs in my family. Giving Uncle Yank a love of life despite his limitations has truly been a labor of love. From your many wonderful letters, I sense you have the same warm, fuzzy feeling for the Jordan sisters and the Hot Zone characters as I do. Thank you so much for letting me know!

  Thank you, too, for being diligent, intelligent, smart readers. You picked up on inconsistencies in this series that are—frankly—embarrassing for me. As I explained to those of you who wrote me about the errors, I wasn’t trying to see if you were paying attention (although you definitely were!). All I can say is that I’m human. I have tried to address the inconsistencies in this story and have clarified that both Annabelle and Micki have daughters.

  Hot Property is the last in the Hot Zone series of books. John Roper (Micki’s best friend and high-maintenance client) and Amy Stone (Riley’s cousin from Florida) are about to meet—and when they do, sparks fly!

  So enjoy the heat and the fun, and the next time you write to me, I hope it’s because you miss these characters as much as I will!

  Best wishes always and happy reading!

  Carly

  www.carlyphillips.com

  e-mail: [email protected]

  I write best when I’m on vacation. Maybe it’s the

  sand, the surf or maybe it’s the company.

  This book is dedicated to The Smith Family—

  Gary, Tracey, Matthew and Robbie, the greatest

  (and funniest) family friends ever. Thanks for

  giving a Table for Four new meaning.

  As always, to Phil, Jackie, Jen, Buddy and Bailey—

  for making me crazy and keeping me sane…

  all at the same time.

  To the editor who knows me best and always makes

  me better, Brenda Chin; and to Janelle Denison, for

  all you do, they’re all for you!

  And to the Plotmonkeys: Janelle, Julie Leto and

  Leslie Kelly—www.plotmonkeys.com—for having a

  brain when mine is fried. Love you guys!

  Hot PROPERTY

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  AMY STONE WAS SURROUNDED by testosterone. Not everyday, average testosterone but the heavy-duty testosterone that could only belong to athletes. 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, her sisters and their friends appeared unfazed by so many hot men in one place. As publicists for the Hot Zone, a PR firm specializing in 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.

  But that was about to change. Starting in January, Amy would be working at the Hot Zone, too, 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. After spending the holidays with her family, Amy would be 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 swimming with bathing suits and Long Island iced teas to the nonalcoholic variety. 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 Brandon, Mississippi, estate of Senator Harlan Nash, the man who’d raised Riley as his own son.

  She prayed her mother and aunt would behave for a change. As she’d instructed them this morning, no nude bathing in the fountain, no playing tag in the yard. Her relatives lived to enjoy life. And they did—a little too much sometimes, which often got them into trouble, making them all the object of public ridicule. It had often been a point of contention between her parents when her father was alive. When Amy had made the decision to move back home and had taken the job as director, aka 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 senato
r’s guests who had parasols to shade themselves from the heated rays. The humidity was really getting to her. Her skin was sticky beneath her dress as 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 easygoing 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, hot 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 know?”

  “I’m a guest of both, actually.”

  “Which would make you a client of the Hot Zone PR and Athletes Only?” she said, referring to 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 easygoing personality. The attraction went without saying. The man was definitely irresistible.

  “John Roper, New York Renegades center fielder at your service.” He tipped his head toward 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 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 othe
r 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.

  CHAPTER ONE

  One month later

  SPORTS AGENT YANK MORGAN sat 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.