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 crème brûlée,” 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 crème brûlée.” 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?

“Mom, you’re holding out on us,” Ben said. “Did you and the director here have a thing going on back then?” he asked, chuckling.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to share personal information at the table,” Roper said to his sibling.

The waiter conspicuously cleared his throat. “Would anyone else like to order something?”

“I’ll have a decaf cappuccino,” Amy replied quickly, probably to kill the oncoming argument between the brothers.

“Espresso,” Roper added.

“Regular coffee,” Ben said.

“And two crème brûlées?” the waiter asked, double-checking with Harrison and Cassandra as he collected the small menus.

To Roper’s surprise, his mother nodded. “That’s fine,” she said with an obviously forced sigh.

She’d caved in to the director. It didn’t matter that the subject was something as insignificant as dessert. Cassandra had given in. Now that he’d witnessed her relationship with Harrison Smith firsthand, Roper knew why his mother was running scared.

The man didn’t cater to Cassandra’s prima donna whims and he didn’t put up with her nonsense. He also knew her a lot better and perhaps more intimately than anybody had guessed. Just because Ben had asked his tacky question at the wrong time didn’t mean he was wrong. Something deeper than an argument over a role was going on between these two.

With the waiter gone, Ben leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So you two have a history?”

“Your mother didn’t tell you?” Harrison asked.

Cassandra visibly squirmed in her seat.

Ben shook his head. “No, Mom’s been holding out.”

Roper opted to add his thoughts. “Frankly, I thought you wanted her for the role in your pilot because of her past body of work,” Roper said.

“That’s one reason. Your mother is talented. But we also go way back to our days as struggling artists. Remember, Cassie?”

Roper nearly choked on his water.

“Cassandra,” she corrected him, her haughty tone returning.

“Cassie!” Ben laughed loudly. “That’s really something else.” He grinned, enjoying his mother’s discomfort.

Roper wasn’t. He was confused by the interaction and worried about his mother’s ability to handle Harrison. On the other hand, Harrison dealt with his mother extremely well. Roper was beginning to like and appreciate the man for that reason alone.

He glanced at Amy. She sat beside him and had remained quiet for most of the meal, watching the dynamics around the table much as Roper had. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been intensely aware of her the entire time. She smelled delicious, her perfume a subtle but constant reminder of the always simmering attraction between them.

“It’s not Cassie, Benjamin, and you know it,” Cassandra finally said. “So behave.”

Harrison grinned. “She’s always been Cassie to me.” His cell phone rang, and after checking it, he glanced up. “Would you excuse me for a minute? It’s my daughter and she wouldn’t call if it weren’t important.”

Roper nodded. He’d appreciate a minute or two with his mother without the other man’s imposing presence.

“Well, well,” Ben said, catching his mother’s wandering gaze. “You’ve been keeping secrets.”

“Not really. We knew each other back in the day. So what?”

“So the man remembers what your favorite dessert is. That’s not something a woman takes lightly,” Amy finally spoke, telling Roper his observation was on target.

Cassandra waved her hand in the air. “He has a good memory.”

“Okay, Cassie, whatever you say.” Ben finished off his drink.

Roper would never give Ben credit, but his brother had a point. Nobody had ever called his mother by such an intimate shortening of her name. Never.

His mother flushed deep.

This meal was actually turning out to be fun, as well as enlightening, Roper thought. “Okay, you two obviously had a fling and he’s obviously interested again. That’s not a big deal. He seems like a decent-enough guy. So the real issue is why you’re fighting him so hard.”

“That’s obvious,” Amy said when his mother remained silent. “It’s because he’s so intense. The man has the looks of Sean Connery, the charisma of Jack Nicholson and the persistence of a pit bull. Overwhelming.” She fanned herself with her hand.

Cassandra met Amy’s gaze and an unfathomable understanding flashed between the two women. Something Roper didn’t for the life of him understand. “Females,” he muttered.

“Just cut your mother some slack,” Amy said, placing her hand on his arm. “It’s obvious she needs time to adjust to Harrison’s pursuit.”

“Exactly,” his mother said, folding her arms across her chest. “Cut me some slack, John.” She turned to her other son. “You, too, Benjamin. Stop enjoying this so much. You’re both encouraging Harrison. And that is something I do not need, want or appreciate.”

Roper saw his opportunity and grabbed it. “If I back off, will you consider the role Harrison is offering?” He believed in a good quid pro quo and he’d just offered his mother a very fair exchange.

She opened her mouth to answer just as Harrison returned.

Taking pity on her, Roper didn’t push her to decide now. But he’d definitely be discussing it with her again later.

“I’m sorry about that,” Harrison said, taking his seat once more.

“Is everything okay with your daughter?” Amy asked.

He nodded. “She’s in the middle of an ugly divorce and she needed my opinion on something.”

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra said. “That can’t be easy for her.” Her compassionate tone took Roper off guard.

“It isn’t. She’s an MBA and earns more than her husband, whom she supported while he tried to make a living screenwriting. Now he’s asking for a divorce, alimony, full custody and child support. The man isn’t worthy of my daughter,” he said, fired up on his child’s behalf. He cleared his throat. “But thank you for caring.” Harrison placed his hand over Cassandra’s, sending her into another frenzy of unsettled movement.