Hot Stuff
By
Carly Phillips

Prologue

    Yank Morgan was a bachelor, a gambler, a bookie, a ladies man and completely unprepared for the sight sitting before him. Three little girls in descending height and matching dresses stared at him with wide eyes and expectant expressions. Ages twelve, ten and eight, they were his sister's children. Nieces his assistant Lola bought birthday and holiday gifts for, signing his name to the cards. Kids he saw a few times a year for an hour at a time. That was about to change.
     Damn his sister, her husband, and their traveling lifestyle. Thanks to a chartered plane crash in the Andes the couple was gone, leaving Yank as guardian of their three girls. Frustrated by the notion and emotionally drained by the loss, he balled up the note left by the attorney and tossed it across the room, not even aiming for the garbage can.
    The oldest girl, Annabelle, shot him a scowl, then quickly schooled her features into an unreadable expression. He wondered if she was afraid of him but before he could ask, one of her sisters chimed in.
    “Mama was right about him. Uncle Yank's a pig,” Sophie, the middle one, said.
    “Shh.” Annabelle placed a hand over her lips. “Don't be rude. He's the only relative we got left.” Her eyes, big and wide, showed all the fear inherent in those words. So much so that he was determined to do his best by all three of them.
    The youngest, whose name he thought was Michelle, bent down and picked the paper up off the floor. Before she tossed it into the trash, Yank caught sight of her white panties beneath her short dress.
    “Well I'll be damned. You've got a bow on your butt,” he muttered aloud.
    His niece turned. “You have a foul mouth, Uncle Yack.”
    “That's Yank and you're darned right I do. Any of you got a problem with that?” He asked all three girls.
    Annabelle immediately shook her head. She obviously understood the value of staying on his good side. He liked her intelligence in a bad situation, but worried about how he'd handle her as she got older. It wouldn't do to have a kid smarter than him living in the house, he thought wryly. Maybe the other two weren't as swift.
    “If you can curse, does that mean I get to do what I want too?” The youngest faced him, hands on her hips, a determined tilt to her chin.  more >>