2
SEEING SAM AGAIN SO SOON after...well, he’d seen her up close and personal wasn’t something Meagan welcomed. Not even after she’d had access to a hotel bed for a few hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking about his body pressed to hers.
Now dressed in her conservative black skirt and blouse, feeling a mess, as she stepped off the elevator and directly into the studio’s executive offices, she was pretty darn sure she wasn’t going to escape Sam’s presence. Because instantly, as if she had some cosmic radar for the man, a flutter of anticipatory butterflies overtook her stomach. The kind a lover felt for a lover.
Meagan didn’t want to react like this to Sam. Life had taught her not to date men like Sam, certainly not to invite them into her bed. She stuck with the easy-going types, who’d actually listen to what pleased a woman, rather than assuming they knew and getting it wrong. Men who cared about what a woman wanted, which right now, for her, was to keep her job. Scratch that. This wasn’t about a job. It was about a dream, about the career as a dancer never realized. About how she could use that passion in a positive way and help others who loved dance. Exactly like a very special teacher had done for her once when she was a young girl working hard to become a top-class ballerina.
With an intake of breath, she reminded herself she was here to pitch shooting the show from the hotel she and the cast and crew had moved into. As far as ideas went, it was a good one. Meagan approached the secretary, June, who smiled her usual friendly welcome from behind an oversize mahogany desk.
“Morning, Meagan. Or maybe not. I hear you had a rough night.”
“What doesn’t kill you makes interesting television,” Meagan replied lightly, shoving a lock of brown hair behind her ear.
June chuckled at her quip. “I’ll let Sabrina know you’re here.”
A masculine voice rumbled behind Meagan, thick with a sensual taunt. “Good morning, ice princess. How are you feeling today?”
Meagan tensed, hating when he called her that, and he did it often. Hating it even more since Sam’s presence most likely meant the studio intended to shut down the show. He’d be called in to plan damage control in case of any trouble that might occur when the contestants heard they were headed home.
Feeling nauseous at the thought, she told herself to hold it together, to give him the sass he expected from her. She turned to face him, but found herself captured by his amused, piercing blue eyes that not only sent a sizzle down her spine, but to other more intimate places. And that made the “sass” come a wee bit easier.
“I’m feeling downright chilly, why thank you,” she replied, pivoting on her heels and making a beeline for the lobby chairs. She was all too eager to escape Sam’s assessing stare. He would see that she wasn’t feeling chilly at all—she was feeling hot enough to fan herself. And stare he did, indeed. Settling into one of the black leather chairs lining the wall, Meagan didn’t have to look up to know Sam was watching her. She felt his gaze, hot and heavy, following her movements.
Crossing her legs, she snagged a magazine, and tried to live up to the “ice princess” label, rather than the “wanton vixen,” that he made her want to be. Despite her effort to resist, her gaze lifted at his approach, tracking the strut that she could tell came natural to him. Meagan’s mouth went dry at the sexy way his jeans molded those really nice, strong legs, and at the memory of another pair of jeans, wet and plastered to lithe muscle.
“You’re easily agitated this morning,” he commented, claiming the chair directly across from her. “I usually have to work harder to get you this riled up.”
“I’ll just have to sleep less more often,” she replied. “Then you’ll have your princess raring to go.”
He grinned, his eyes twinkling again. “I’m not even going to take advantage of that poorly worded rebuttal because you are tired, and I’m afraid you might hurt me in front of Sabrina.”
Her cheeks heated as the double meaning of his statement sank in, but before she could reply, the door to her boss’s office opened. Sabrina stepped into view, her long blond hair neatly pinned at the back of her neck, her white suit impeccable. “Come in, you two. So sorry I’m running late. Would either of you like coffee?”
“No coffee for me,” Sam answered, as he pushed to his feet.
“I’d love some coffee,” she said, mostly to contradict Sam, desperate to feel like she still had some semblance of control. It was silly, ridiculous, immature, and proof that she, in fact, had absolutely no control when it came to this man.
Sam arched an eyebrow at her, a knowing look in his too-blue eyes that said he knew exactly what she was thinking. She grimaced. “I haven’t slept. Who doesn’t want coffee when they haven’t slept?” She lifted her chin, and headed toward the office.
Once inside, Sabrina motioned to a small conference table, and Meagan found herself seated between her boss and Sam. A cup of coffee quickly appeared in front of her.
Sabrina flattened her hands on the table. “Well. Where do we begin? We knew this show would be a bit of a crazy ride, but just how crazy were we thinking? The good news is, a crazy ride will usually translate to high ratings. Several of the big gossip websites not only reported last night’s occurrence, they’re feeding the rumor of the show’s curse. Twitter and Facebook are buzzing. So we’ll go with this and feed the curse, so to speak. The plan is that over the next two weeks, we’re going to show reruns of the auditions. Which gives you that two weeks as a reprieve to get settled in a new house. We’ll also run a series of promotional commercials playing up the curse. You’ll be responsible for the promotional footage, Meagan. We want to give the viewers glimpses of contestants talking about what happened last night, laced with some spooky ‘what if’ kind of paranormal flavor. Then play up the curse during the first two episodes. We’ll talk from there based on ratings. Everyone will be paid as if on-air for these two weeks off.”
Meagan’s head was swimming with a mixture of relief and panic. They weren’t cancelled. That was good and she’d been in television long enough to understand about working the ratings. “I’m concerned about fitting the dancing in with the curse footage.”
Sabrina smiled. “You get two hours for your first episode. Deliver the ratings, and that’s just the beginning. We keep the same standard format we’ve planned all along. One night of reality television. One night of competition and results, with the three judges choosing who goes home. The final show will still be open to votes from viewers. And those superstar performers you wanted us to deliver for the live episodes? That will be your reward if the curse promotionals deliver the viewer interest we believe they will. We’ll keep investing in you, and the show, as long as the ratings justify it.”
Meagan could hardly believe it. In the midst of a dark disaster, everything was looking really quite spectacular. “That’s amazing, Sabrina. I’m speechless,” she said. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” she said. “Exactly why I support this venture so completely. But everyone isn’t as onboard here at the studio as I am. There are liability issues with the situations we’ve encountered. That means, we have to take some precautions to protect everyone. You and Sam will work together to locate a new house for the filming, and get the contestants safely settled. And then as a final precaution, we’ll have on-site, around-the-clock security.”
A sudden rush of anxiety came over Meagan, and her heart galloped. Her gaze met Sam’s. “What exactly does that mean? Around-the-clock security?”
“It means,” Sabrina said, “that this show has big potential, but as things have progressed, it has also proven to have huge potential liability associated with it. The studio prefers to protect the up side and limit the down side of the show. Sam was nearby when he got the emergency call to go to your aid. Next time, we might not be that lucky. In other words, we’ve asked Sam to handle the show’s security with a personal touch, rather than a distant supervisory one, as he has up to this point.”
The corner
s of his mouth twitched slightly. “I’m your new roommate. I’m moving into the house with you.”
Meagan’s silent gasp delivered a smile to Sam’s face.
“Am I that bad?”
“There is nothing bad about any of this,” Sabrina told them, getting to her feet. “You two are going to make great ratings magic together.”
3
MEETING OVER, SAM FOLLOWED Meagan into the elevator, and the instant the doors shut, she turned to him. “You’re the head of studio security. Surely you have better things to do than babysit me and my dancers.”
He arched a brow. “That eager to get rid of me, are you?”
“The only thing great we do together is fight.”
“I guess it’s time we discover what else we do great together,” he said, leaning back to study her. “This wasn’t my decision, nor was it negotiable. If I hadn’t stepped up to the plate and assured the studio I’d contain liability while you focused on ratings, there wouldn’t be a show at all. And no matter how big a jerk you think I am, I wasn’t going to see you fail, along with everyone else associated with the show, when I could prevent it.”
She deflated instantly, her hand pressing to her stomach. “I knew they were going to cancel us.”
“But they didn’t,” he said. “You have a lifeline. We have a lifeline. Which means—” The elevator door opened, and several people were waiting to enter. “Let’s talk about this outside.”
She inhaled and nodded, and they exited the elevator. The minute Sam was in the lobby, one of his staff rushed into his path.
“Just the man I was looking for,” Josh Strong said. A twenty-eight-year-old former navy SEAL who’d gone civilian to care for a sick mother, Josh never missed a beat. Sam was damn lucky to have hired the man. “I’ve compiled that list of properties you wanted, as potentials for the dance show.”
Sam intended to involve Meagan in the conversation, but he was too late. She was already gone, on the move, speeding away from him so fast that she was leaving a trail of smoke.
“Hold on to those for a few minutes,” Sam said. “I’ll catch up with you.” He headed for Meagan with fire in his step. Avoiding him wasn’t an option if they were going to make this work, and he was done with the tiptoeing around what was between them anyway.
Sam caught up with Meagan in the parking lot, just in time to press his hand to the door of her Acura, and keep her from opening it. The wind shifted, light brown strands of vanilla-and-honey-scented hair brushing his cheek, his groin tightened uncomfortably.
“We need to talk, Meagan,” he insisted.
“Sam,” she ground out, tilting her chin up, bringing that kissable mouth inches from his. “Don’t hold my door like I’m your captive. And yes, we need to talk, but not now. I have to get back to the hotel and edit film and check on my dancers. And just so we’re straight—you don’t get to decide when we talk or do anything. You ask, and we discuss and decide together. Got it?”
Oh yeah, he got it all right. “It” being a rush of pure male need. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
“That doesn’t sound like a question,” she rebutted.
“And if it had been a question, would you have said yes?”
She hesitated, her lashes lowering and then lifting, defiance glinting in her eyes, as she replied, “No.”
He didn’t miss the hesitation, or the fact that she hadn’t complained about his nearness—so close he could lean in and touch her as he had the night before. And he wanted to. Oh yeah, he wanted to in a bad way.
“What if I said I’m bringing the real-estate listings for the housing options?”
“That’s bribery,” she said. “You could email me the listings.”
The truth was, with their limited timeframe, he wanted to review the properties and narrow the list right away, but he didn’t tell her that. “Guilty as charged,” he agreed and pushed off the car, but he held his position close to her, soaking in the heat of her body, the scent of her hair still teasing his nostrils. “We need to have this talk. Make a truce and set some boundaries, so we can make those great ratings that you want to happen.”
“Fine, then,” she agreed. “Dinner will include a lesson on the difference between a question and an order.”
He laughed. “Fair enough.” He loved the way this woman kept him on his toes.
Her expression softened. “I do appreciate you saving the show, Sam.”
“Two thank yous in a matter of hours,” he said.
“I do believe we’re making progress.”
“Short lived if you forget that I’m in control of my set, Sam, for even one moment. If you want to make changes to procedures, or anything else, you come to me. You talk to me. Then we make changes.”
“Understood,” he said willingly. “With the exception of anything I see as an immediate threat to someone’s safety.”
She inclined her head. “I can live with that.”
They gazed at each other, electricity sparking in the air. Sam leaned in, lowered his head intimately, to softly say, “I expect you’ll be surprised just how much greatness we have between us,” he said, and then he pulled back before he did something crazy and kissed her in public. Surely doing so would get him a great big smack in the face. “I’ll see you at seven.” He turned and sauntered back toward the building, feeling her eyes on him.
“Sam,” she called. “Make that seven-fifteen.”
He laughed and waved in agreement. She was letting him know nothing with her would come easily. She remained a challenge—but then anything worth having was a challenge. And Meagan was one of the most interesting, impossible-to-resist challenges he’d ever encountered.
He headed back to the offices, only to find Sabrina walking toward him, her purse and her keys in hand.
“I’ve debated telling you something,” she said, “and I don’t want it to get out.”
“I’m listening.”
“When the higher-ups green-lit Meagan’s show, they insisted on attaching a few people to it. One of them was Kiki Reynolds. You might want to keep an eye on her.”
“Could she be a real problem?”
“Could be.”
Sam nodded, grateful for the tip, and he and Sabrina parted ways.
It seemed Meagan was going to be fighting a whole lot more than her attraction to him in the next few months and Sam vowed he’d be by her side every step of the way.
4
SAM KELLAR WAS MEAGAN’S nemesis, proven once again by the fact that she was thinking about him rather than the on-camera contestant interviews she was supervising. She pressed her hands into her temples. She still wore her skirt, though she’d managed to trade her heels for flats, she hadn’t made time to change, but she seemed to have plenty of time to think about things she shouldn’t be thinking about. Sam and his too-blue eyes and his hard, tempting body.
She didn’t want to work with him, and she absolutely didn’t want to live with him for the duration of the show. That was too close for comfort. She knew darn good and well that if she had even a moment of weakness, Sam would take over her bed, and her life would follow.
She focused on the lounge area of the show’s private hotel floor, now newly converted into their interview set. The studio wanted drama, so she was working on giving them drama. She was the producer and mastermind of the show, and should have had a say in Sam’s involvement in the show. Still, they weren’t cancelled. Her dream of this program’s success, and these dancers’ dreams of exciting careers, were still alive. That was what counted.
Derek Rogers, the show’s young, hot host, was busy interviewing one of the last female dancers. They were finally about to wrap for the night, which meant Meagan would soon meet Sam for dinner.
Maybe she’d get the male dancers on set for interviews, instead of tomorrow as planned, and just skip dinner. And she really did need to squeeze in some footage of Ginger and DJ talking about the events of the night before. They were, after all, not only choreographing
the contestants’ routines, but helping to supervise the contestants.
“What were you thinking when the fire alarm went off?” Derek asked Tabitha Ready, who at twenty-eight, was the oldest female dancer competing. Many of the other contestants looked up to her. She was a pretty brunette with loads of talent. She was also an absolute drama queen who was so paranoid about, well, everything, that she seemed better suited as a cast member of Scream than of a dance show. And she was making some of the girls act the same way.
In response to the question, Tabitha seemed to sink deeper in the leather chair she occupied, crossing her arms in front of her pink sweat jacket. “I just knew we were all going to die. We keep having these things happen on the set and I... Just thank God, Jensen was there.” Jensen being the male dancer who clearly had a crush on Tabitha. The public was going to eat this up.
Derek, looking every bit the handsome model even in his jeans and Stepping Up T-shirt, cast a discreet glance at Meagan that said he, too, believed, this footage was a ratings grabber.
“Jensen carried you out of the house, I understand,” Derek prodded, urging her to continue on this path of conversation.
“Oh yes!” she said. “It was horrible. We didn’t see fire, but we could smell smoke. We knew any second everything would just blow up.” She lowered her voice. “You know. We have a curse on the set.”
Meagan cringed every time the word curse came up, despite the studio’s explicit instructions to play it up. She’d planned for drama to unfold in the house with the dancers—in fact, that concept had been pitched with the show—so one would think a curse would excite Meagan as much as it did the studio, but it didn’t. A curse was something that would mess with the dancers’ heads and their performances. And ultimately, the dancing had to win the public’s hearts. But “the curse” had been given new life and new breath by the house fire, exciting the executives with the promise of ratings. Sure enough, every single dancer had brought it up in their interview. Tabitha, however, seemed determined to own the curse.