He bent down on one knee in front of her. “There’s no curse to a show that brought us together, and I’m going to prove that to you before this season is over.”
She visibly relaxed, her expression softening. “Promise?”
He brushed a wild lock of sleek brown hair off her brow. “Promise.”
“You’re making a lot of promises. I hope you intend to pay up.”
“Well now,” he said, his hand sliding up her leg. “Since Kiki just left, we are alone.”
Her brows dipped. “Kiki left? This early? That’s odd.”
He kissed her, not about to put her on edge about Kiki when it wasn’t necessary. He would have the answer to the problem very soon. “It’s all fine, Meg. And did I mention...”
A slow devilish grin slid onto her incredibly sexy mouth. “What do you have in mind?”
He set Samantha down on the floor and scooped Meagan up into his arms, Tarzan-style. “I have a story to tell you.”
He carried her to the bathroom, stripped them both naked and pulled her with him under the hot water of the shower. They both sighed with relief, and their bodies melded together, tension melting into attraction, into desire.
Sam leaned against the wall, molding her close, kissing her, taking his time to savor her. She was soft in his arms, her breasts full and tempting, her nipples hard peaks against his chest. And he wanted inside her, wanted to lose himself in her, wanted to claim this woman as his own, and wished it were that easy. But he didn’t want to lose her, he didn’t want to pressure her. And he darn sure didn’t want the sex to be her escape rather than an extension of what he felt for her, what he hoped she felt for him.
“I was thinking about a story I want you to tell me,” he said, caressing the wet hair from her face. “Are you ever going to tell me your story? All of it, Meg. I know there’s something you haven’t told me. Something that got you here where you are today.”
Her fingers trailed over his jaw, his lips, a moment before her mouth brushed his. “Yes. Yes I am.”
“Yes?”
Her fingers stroked his chest, his ribs, between their bodies. “Yes.” She smiled against his mouth, wrapped her hand around the thickness of his erection. “I’m most definitely going to let you in.”
Desire pumped through his body, but he forced himself to slow down his lust, and his need to just lose himself in Meagan. He reached down, and covered her hand with his. “That’s not what I mean.”
“I know what you mean, Sam. And the answer is still yes. Yes, I’m going to tell you my story. Yes, I want you in my life. And yes, I still really want you inside me right now.” She stroked his cock, and he let her this time.
He’d held weapons while being fired at, and he didn’t so much as tremble. But then, he’d never wanted a woman the way he wanted Meagan, never felt what he felt now, with her, always with her.
He sheathed himself, his gaze sweeping her breasts, water droplets clinging to her tight rosy nipples. “You’re spectacular.”
Her hands slid down his shoulders. “Remember that the next time we disagree.”
“Have I told you how much I love your ass?” he asked, palming one cheek, and angling her hip as he settled his shaft between her thighs.
One of her hands slid to his backside. “Have I told you how much I like yours?”
He entered her and she gasped. “Sam,” she moaned.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” His forehead settled against hers, his hand skimmed her breast, fingers teasing her nipple.
“About last night.” Her hand pressed to his cheek.
He moved his hips, fitting himself deeper inside her. “What about it?”
She panted and then breathlessly replied, “I’m pretty sure when we huddled together and kissed in the shower, everyone figured out we’re together.”
Together. He liked that word. He liked her using it as a given. “Yeah,” he agreed, his cock swelling inside her, need building within him. “I’m pretty sure they did.”
“I don’t regret it. I don’t care that they know.” He pulled back to look at her, and she quickly added, “I know we have to be discreet. I need to be discreet, and I’m sure you want to be discreet. But...but, Sam, in that shower, in the worst of situations, when I was completely out of control, you made me feel...safe. You made me feel safe, Sam.”
Sam swallowed her confession in a hungry kiss, knowing the trust that it had cost her, how difficult trust was for her to give. And as for the regret she’d mentioned, he was feeling absolutely none, and he intended to demonstrate that fact in a number of creative ways.
* * *
AT THE STOVE, SAM FILLED plates with omelets he’d made and toast, before joining Meagan at the small white kitchen table, where she was listening to a message on her cell phone.
She’d dressed in black jeans and a red T-shirt with a V neckline that displayed ample creamy white skin in a tantalizing way. But then, he had a good imagination where Meagan was concerned, and it wouldn’t take much to encourage him to drag her back to the bedroom, if he thought she’d let him.
Meagan sighed and set her phone on the table. “Kiki left me a message that she’s meeting me at the studio. Something is just strange about her taking off this morning when we had the tornado last night.” She waved away her worry. “I don’t have the energy to think about what it might be.” Her gaze lit on her plate. “Wow. No one told me you’re a chef. I’m starving and this looks so incredibly good. Honestly, Sam. I can’t believe you can cook. You don’t strike me as the domestic type.”
“I still have a lot of surprises for you,” he assured her, looking forward to showing her just how many. “You’ll find us soldiers are a resourceful bunch.”
She took a bite of her eggs and swallowed. “So good, Sam. At least one of us can cook. Don’t be expecting anything but microwave from me.”
“So you’ve told me,” he said. “But I’m not interested in you for your cooking, I assure you.” He poured sugar in his coffee.
She set her fork down as if the subject turned her stomach. “I fired my agent and hired a new one who says next season I can pick my own crew. Michael Beckwith, that’s his name, said that I could have gotten that to start with if I’d been with him. He seems to think he can negotiate for next season now, not later, based on the ratings. That’s good news, right?”
“Yes,” Sam agreed. “It’s very good news.”
But it also meant Sam needed to step up what he was doing about Kiki. If in future she wasn’t going to running the show—Meagan’s new agent seemed to be all but guaranteeing that—would Kiki go so far as to ruin it and make herself look good by having jumped from a sinking ship?
22
IN A WHIRLWIND OF RATINGS, chaos and two more live shows, one of which was going on at that very moment, Sam had become a quiet, strong, passionate force in Meagan’s life.
She stood backstage, watching yet another megasuperstar perform and awaiting the bottom three results. The cupcake footage had turned out to be a really fun episode that they’d used to contrast with the tornado footage. That had been last night’s broadcast. And boy, had it been a show, with massive ratings that had already stirred talks of renewal for another season. Her agent was sure that would happen and he’d insisted they hold off on further contract talks because ratings were the king of cash, not to mention leverage.
Soon, Derek took center stage to read out the names of the bottom three dancers. Meagan held her breath, waiting for the results.
“Tabitha,” Derek called for the first time since the debut show, and the audience wailed, some with boos and some with celebration. Tabitha was, by far, a fan favorite. She seemed equally loved and hated.
“Next up,” Derek said. “Kevin.” Kevin, tall and brunette, rushed forward—a quiet guy not overly well known because he didn’t draw much attention to himself.
“And finally,” Derek said, “Carrie.”
Meagan’s heart stammered instantly. Carrie, like Sam, had surpri
sed her, finding a way into her life that was as powerful as Sam’s presence, though different. Carrie was the kid sister Meagan had never had. They cut to commercials on the tense moment of the last name, and Shayla’s voice came through Meagan’s headset, “I really, really hope she doesn’t go.”
“Me, too,” Meagan whispered. “Me, too.”
Sam stepped into view across the stage, out of audience viewing range. It was the perfect place; exactly where she needed him to be. She sometimes worried she was becoming too dependent on him, that she was forgetting how to be alone, how to be strong without him. Then there were times like this, when just knowing he was in this with her made her stronger, not the opposite.
Someone grabbed Meagan’s arm and asked her a question and she had to turn away, and when she refocused on the stage she noticed Sam had gone. He’d been concerned about Carrie, too. She’d seen it on his face.
When they were live again, it was time for the reveal. Derek called out the first safe contestant. “Tabitha.” The crowd went crazy.
Carrie and Kevin joined hands, and Meagan could see Carrie’s hand shaking. In that instant, Meagan knew that although this was her vision, her show, but she just wasn’t sure she had it in her to get to know the contestants and see their hearts broken. She wasn’t sure she could be this close to it all next season. Next season. If there even was a next season.
“And the other dancer who is safe tonight is...Carrie. Kevin you will be going home.” Meagan’s breath rushed past her lips, guilt twisting inside her at the relief she felt that Carrie would continue on for another week.
Poor Kevin. What did she say to him? How did she make this better? Sure, he’d been picked out of hundreds of thousands of wannabes, but the result was the same—he was still chasing a dream, and still going home. Meagan watched as Carrie, Ginger and DJ surrounded Kevin, to comfort him.
Tabitha signed audience autographs, ignoring Kevin. Meagan realized then that she didn’t want Tabitha to win. She was definitely way too close to this to be objective, and she was frustrated at herself for allowing that to happen.
Hours after the broadcast had ended, Meagan was just finishing some paperwork backstage, when her cell rang. She smiled at Sam’s number, knowing he, too, was probably finishing security matters for the evening.
“Hey.”
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “Listen I’m going to be a while. We’ve had a few complications here tonight—nothing to worry about. At least, not related to security. But I thought you might want to know that Carrie is still at the rehearsal studio.”
“What? What’s she doing there?”
“Dancing in the dark and crying.”
Meagan sucked in a breath. “Oh,” she expelled. “I’m going to her now.”
As Meagan arrived at the dim rehearsal studio, the sound of music touched her ears. She found Carrie in the middle of the hardwood floor, in front of the shadowy mirrors, dancing her heart out. Meagan set her purse down and opened her bag, where she kept her old ballet shoes as a reminder of how easily dreams could be lost. She stared down at the worn black shoes, her throat tight as she slipped off her street shoes, and slipped on the dance shoes.
“Want some company?” Meagan asked, flipping on the light.
“Meagan,” Carrie rasped, her throat thick with tears and exertion. “I just needed—”
“To rehearse and feel like you have some control of your destiny,” she said. “I know. I get it.” Meagan went to the sound system and switched the music. “Why don’t I teach you a routine that once got me into Juilliard.”
“You got into Juilliard? I thought you went to a Texas college?”
“After Juilliard,” she said, confessing the small part of her life she spoke of so infrequently that sometimes, sometimes, she almost convinced herself it had never happened. “How about I teach you my audition piece?”
“Yes,” Carrie said excitedly. “Yes, please.”
And so they danced, and danced, and danced some more. And Meagan’s leg hurt, and hurt some more, but she didn’t stop, until they were both ready to collapse. Until Carrie broke down in tears, and Meagan with her, and they hugged.
“I don’t want to go home, Meagan. I don’t want to go home.”
“I know, sweetie,” she said. “But this show is one opportunity, just one. There are so many more. Look at Rena. She joined a Broadway show. You don’t have to win to have doors open. Focus on one week at a time.”
“I’m trying. I’m trying so hard. To focus, to do well. I want to do well.”
“You are. You will.”
The sound of a male voice clearing his throat echoed at the door, and Josh appeared in the entryway. “I’d like to offer to take Carrie to get something to eat on the way back to the house.” The light in Carrie’s eyes was almost instant. Josh was at least seven years older than Carrie, but Sam thought a lot of Josh, and that held weight with Meagan.
And Meagan was in pain, and afraid she wouldn’t hide it well if she didn’t get some distance from Carrie fairly quickly.
“I’d like that,” Carrie said, before casting Meagan a hopeful, cautious look. “Unless that breaks any of my contractual rules?”
“You’re safe with Josh,” Meagan said, casting him a warning look. “Right, Josh?”
“Without question,” Josh assured her. Carrie hugged Meagan and gathered her things.
“Turn the light out behind you,” Meagan called as she switched off the music. The lights went out, and she dropped to the floor, against the mirror, pulling her knee to her chest and squeezing her eyes shut.
She knew long before he was kneeling in front of her that Sam was there. Felt that prickling, tingling wonderful sensation, that only he could create.
“How bad?” he asked.
She bit her lip and forced her eyes open, and that was her mistake, looking into his eyes, knowing he saw everything—her pain, her defeat, her loss of a dream. Suddenly, she felt completely vulnerable. This man knew her in ways no one else did. This man could hurt her with the same deep cut that the loss of her dancing had.
He massaged her leg, like he’d done his own any number of times, and it helped the pain but somehow made her feel all the more exposed.
“How bad, sweetheart?” he prodded.
“I deal with it.” It had been what he’d said to her, when she’d asked about his leg. “And don’t call me that. You call me that all the time. My name is Meagan, Sam. Meagan. I need to go back to my place.” She tried to get up and moaned.
“Meagan, sit.” It was an order.
“No. Damn it, Sam. I’m fine. And you don’t get to tell me what to do.”
His broad, damnably perfect chest of his rose and fell as long, tense moments passed. “I don’t deal with it. I said that because it’s what guys say. Otherwise, it makes me feel weak, and it reminds me that my life changed without my permission. But it brought me here to you. And you made this place a place I want to be. I hope that maybe, just maybe, I can do that for you.”
She dropped her head back, fighting tears. “I need to leave, Sam. I need to be alone.”
“If you think for one minute that I’m going to let you walk out of here alone—not that I even think you can—you’re wrong. When we’re back at the house, if you want me to go, I will. But not until I know you’re okay.”
She forced herself to stand, forced herself past the throbbing pain that grew with each passing second. “I’m fine. It comes and then it’s gone.”
Sam’s phone beeped, and he eyed the number, then cursed. “I have to run to the office for a few minutes. Wait for me, Meagan. If this wasn’t important I wouldn’t even think about leaving you. Don’t be stubborn and try to take off. Okay?” His phone stopped ringing.
“It’s not like I’m doing any marathons,” she bit out between her teeth, and he cursed, knowing she wasn’t listening.
His phone started ringing again. “I have to go. Please.” He slid his hand to her neck. “Wait for me.” He kiss
ed her and then took off at a fast trot to the door.
She didn’t wait. She gathered her things as quickly as she could and headed for her car, and to the E.R. where she knew she had to go for that cortisone shot.
Over the course of the next three hours, Sam called her over and over, and she refused to answer. She was exhausted and it was midnight when she left the E.R. and the painkillers had kicked in.
And she knew Sam was going to know the instant she arrived. She knew he was going to be upset, that he was going to demand answers, demand to know why she didn’t wait for him. Fine, then. She was going to see him. She was going to walk right into the security house and right into his bed. She was going to take charge of what happened, she was going to make sure there was no talking. Sam had too much control, and she was taking it back.
* * *
SAM PACED, CURSING THE TIMING of Sabrina’s phone call. Though the call was important to Meagan in ways he was hoping to share with her very soon, it had allowed her to escape him. And he was kicking himself for not being honest with Meagan about his leg in the first place. Maybe, if he had, she’d have felt more willing to tell him about her own.
“You’re wearing out the carpet,” Josh said from the couch. “Seriously, man. You haven’t slept in like two days. Go rest and I’ll call you the minute she shows up at her place.”
Sam forced himself to stop moving and scrubbed his jaw. He needed a shave, he needed sleep. Josh was right. He couldn’t even think straight.
“I’ll call you,” Josh said, “the absolute instant she appears. We know she’s okay. She answered her phone when Carrie called her.”
Right. She’d answered Carrie, but not Sam, and made some excuse about visiting a friend. “Okay. Call me.” He turned away. He had to face facts. Meagan had shoved him away again. Everything male inside him wanted to throw her over his shoulder, carry her off someplace, and hold her captive until she came to her senses, until she understood how much she meant to him. Until he could erase her pain.