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pick even before graduating from college, and with Booth Gordon as his agent he’d been catapulted into the glare of cameras and spotlights as the ink was drying on his six-figure contract. If it hadn’t been for his strict upbringing, he knew he would’ve succumbed to the temptations faced by a young man becoming a multimillionaire at the tender age of twenty-one.
    Phillip thanked the doorman as he opened the door when he led Seneca into the hotel with views of New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty. He’d grown used to the stares and whispers when hotel personnel and guests recognized him. The lack of privacy came with the territory. It was only when he closed the door to his suite that he was afforded complete privacy.
    He stopped at the concierge, checking whether he had mail or packages. There were none. “Would you like to freshen up in my suite first?” he asked Seneca.
    Seneca noticed people had stopped to stare at her and Phillip. She knew they’d recognized him from television commercialsand print ads. Several flashbulbs went off at the same time, and she pressed her face to his shoulder.
    “I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk in the lobby,” she said.
    Putting his arm around Seneca’s waist, Phillip pulled her closer to his length. “If you want we can talk in the club lounge.” Reaching in the breast pocket of his jacket with his free hand, he removed the card key.
    “I wouldn’t mind hanging out in your suite.” Seneca had changed her mind. Having people take pictures of her with Phillip had become unnerving. She’d just met the man, and didn’t want her photo splashed across the pages of a supermarket tabloid.
    “You have to learn to ignore the gawking and picture taking,” Phillip said as he escorted her into the elevator. He punched the button for the twelfth floor.
    She glanced up at his distinctive profile. “How long did it take you to get used to it?”
    “Scouts were taking pictures of me in high school. It escalated in college, and by the time I was drafted into the NBA it was something I’d learned to deal with.”
    “Do you give autographs?”
    He smiled. “Most times I do—especially if they’re kids. You can’t rely on the public for your fame and fortune, then snub them when they ask you to scrawl your name on a piece of paper.”
    “Will you give me your autograph?” Seneca asked, giving him a sensual smile.
    Phillip winked at her. “How many do you want?”
    She returned his wink. “I’ll let you know.”
    He moved closer, their chests rising and falling in unison. “Why can’t you give me a straight answer without having to think about it first?”
    Seneca was saved from answering his query when the elevators doors opened. She followed Phillip down the carpeted hallway to his suite. Inserting the card key in the slot, he waited for the green light and pushed open the door. “Please come in and make yourself comfortable.”
    She entered the suite as if pulled by an invisible wire, her mouth gaping in awe. Phillip hadn’t drawn the drapes, and the lights of the city, New York Harbor, Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island were clearly visible. She noticed the telescope directed at the windows.
    “These views are spectacular!” Seneca gasped.
    Phillip slipped out of his jacket, leaving it on a chair in the Art Deco–decorated living room. “That’s the reason why I live here.”
    Turning away from the window, Seneca gave him an incredulous look. “You live here?”
    “Yes. Why do you look so shocked?”
    “I thought you would’ve bought a house either in the suburbs or across the river in New Jersey.”
    Emptying his pockets of his cell phone, loose change, credit-card case and money clip, he left them on the coffee table. Picking up a remote, Phillip turned on the Bang & Olufsen audio system, soft jazz filling the room. “I would if I’d had a family. I’m single, so living in a hotel is the next-best thing. I have every convenience that I’d