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About the Author

LISA RENEE JONES spends her days writing the dreams playing in her head. Before becoming a writer, Lisa lived the life of a corporate executive, often taking the red-eye flight out of town and flying home for the excitement of a Little League baseball game. Visit Lisa at www.lisareneejones.com.

Strictly Seduction
Watch Me
Follow My Lead
Winning Moves
Lisa Renee Jones

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Watch Me

1

SCREAMS FILLED THE AIR, jolting Meagan Tippan, the producer of the new dance reality show America’s Stepping Up, from a dead sleep to a startled, heart-pounding sitting position. That was about two seconds before the sprinkler system in the restored Victorian beachfront mansion kicked into gear. Meagan arched her back against the icy fingers of wetness that seeped through her thin T-shirt.

The very real possibility of a fire pierced the momentary shock of Meagan’s abrupt awakening. Quickly, she shoved away her soaked blankets and darted across the room. There were twelve hopeful dancers in the house who’d come here to chase a dream, not to live a nightmare, and she had to get them, and her crew, to safety.

Flinging open her door, Meagan found Ginger Scott, one of the two choreographers for the show and “House Mom,” in the hallway, rushing the six female dancers in the competition down the stairs.

“Is anyone hurt?” Meagan shouted loudly, because the water seemed to be muffling everything but the panicked voices echoing around her.

“Just scared,” Ginger said, shoving a wet mop of blond hair from her face, as Meagan did the same to her light brown hair. “And I don’t see a fire. DJ says he doesn’t see one downstairs, either.” DJ being her twin brother and male counterpart in the house.

“I called 9-1-1,” DJ shouted, rushing up to meet them. “Could be electrical though. Big trouble for a house this old.”

Right, Meagan thought grimly. Wouldn’t that be peachy? After ten weeks spent casting across the country, with one mishap after another—enough to prompt whispers of a “curse” that she’d hoped to put to rest—only to discover they’d also managed to move into a place with electrical problems, and have it catch on fire their first night there.

“Is everyone okay?” came the voice of another male dancer at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you need help?”

“No! Stay where you are,” Meagan yelled, taking in water as she spoke. “We don’t need help up here, and there is no fire.” That they knew about, but she didn’t say that. She didn’t want to freak anyone out any more than they already were.

“Get everyone on the lawn where we can get a head-count,” Meagan said, shooing Ginger and DJ down the stairs. The sooner they had this situation under control, the better. Control? After thirty-two years, and her own dance career destroyed by a knee injury, she should know control was a facade. Just when you thought you had it, it slipped away.

Eventually, Meagan finally had all her hot-bodied, dripping-wet dancers on the front lawn, looking as if they were posing for a kinky spread in an X-rated magazine. She could only imagine editing this segment. Their stationary cameras had no doubt caught everything and the studio execs would want this mishap included in behind-the-scenes footage. After all, they’d insisted on broadcasting every other disaster—from falling sets and broken-down buses, to a crazed fan who’d set the hotel lobby on fire.

A thought hit Meagan like a huge brick. Oh, God. It was a very bad thought.

Meagan whirled around to face the house, as if it were possessed, glaring at the monster that was about to ruin everything, even her own career. The chance to pitch the idea for this show had come after years of working as the producer for a top news show in Dallas, Texas. Leaving that job on the long shot that this could survive the ratings war had been a big risk. She knew the chips would be stacked against her. Tonight that stack had gotten bigger. Not only were the cameras getting wet, but the house, where they’d intended to spend the next twelve weeks, was being destroyed by the water. And she had enough experience with fickle network executives to know that her show, her darn dream-fulfilling show, was turning into a nightmare that might well be called “cancelled.”

And although the top dancer among her contestants was set to win a new car, a studio contract and cash, while the other dancers would earn major industry exposure that could change their lives, she wondered if it would all end tonight.

Meagan tried to comfort herself by recalling the high-powered panel of judges she’d secured for the live shows—a well-known choreographer, a highly respected casting agent and even a highly acclaimed pop star. Surely, the studio wouldn’t want to pay out their contracts and see no real return.

Who was she kidding? Studio executives always leaned toward taking their financial hits and cutting losses. Meagan had to do something to save the house, if she expected to save the show.

Meagan leapt to action, darting toward the house, ignoring shouts of her name. Clearly, there was no fire, only water—lots and lots of destructive water. She burst through the door, and headed straight to the basement through the kitchen. Though she had no real idea how to turn off the sprinklers, flipping the circuit breaker seemed logical, and she remembered seeing it by the washer and dryer.

Sure enough, the breaker was where she thought it was, but any relief she felt at finding it was doused when she realized it was ridiculously high off the ground. Oh yeah, it was high, well above her reach, or any normal human’s, for that matter. Resigned to the climb ahead of her, she splashed her way closer.

She couldn’t help but ask herself if the night could possibly get any worse, as she heaved herself on top of the washer.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she yelled over her shoulder, “I said go to the lawn!” She jerked the metal panel, but it wouldn’t open. “I need everyone outside and safe.” There was the sound of more splashing and she grimaced. “I said—”

“Come down from there before you get hurt,” came an order from behind her.

Meagan froze at the deeply resonating voice of Samuel Kellar, the sexy, blond-haired, blue-eyed, irritating, arrogant, six-foot-two—if she had to bet her life on it—head of studio security, who she knew all too well and wished she didn’t.

Samuel, or Sam as everyone called him, had directly coordinated much of the show’s security over the past few months, especially the open casting calls. She’d had innumerable occasions to know with certainty that few people could rattle her nerves the way Sam could. When Sam said jump, people jumped. He didn’t ask anyone to do anything, he ordered them. And since that trait irritated her to no end, how was it that the man made her want to both yell at him and strip him naked at the same time—she didn’t know.

But shouting wasn’t her style, nor was sleeping with a man like Sam. She preferred subtle and submissive, to his demanding and arrogant. Unfortunately, Sam wasn’t the least bit dissuaded by her sharp-tongued retorts meant to be off-putting. In fact, he infuriatingly seemed to enjoy sparring with her.

And just when Meagan thought Sam’s presence ensured that the night really, truly, couldn’t get any worse, it did. With frustration, she yanked at the panel door with an unsuccessful jerk that hiked her butt up in the air. Meagan froze, mortified, in the embarrassing position. Sam, her sexy pain-in-the-backside, now had a view of her backside. Because Meagan was pretty sure her skimpy, wet, hot-pink boxers weren’t leaving much to the imagination.

SAM KELLAR MIGHT BE former Special Forces, a man of restraint and discipline who considered himself a gentleman, but he was still a man when it came down to it. And the man in him was standing at attention for Meagan’s impossibly sexy, heart-shaped butt, despite the cold shower he was enduring. It said a lot about how much he wanted this “taboo” woman. Taboo because they not only worked together, but she chilled him with her ice-princess routine every time the sparks between them got too hot.

“Get down, Meagan,” he ordered, having no doubt he would get an argument—prickly arguments were part of her ice-princess routine.

She yanked ineffectively at the panel door. “Not until I turn off the water.”

“I’ll do that,” he promised. “Come down before you—”

She slipped before the words were out and then tried to right herself. He didn’t wait to see if she was going to succeed or fail. Sam wrapped his arms around her long, slender legs to make sure she didn’t fall.

“Sam!” she objected, pressing her hands to the ceiling, shifting unsteadily to stare down at him. Their eyes locked. Awareness flashed hot and fast between them, a silent understanding that she was half naked and in his arms, and that this wasn’t the first time either one of them had thought about such a moment.

“Let go of me,” she said, a hint of panic in her voice, the same panic he heard every time their combustible attraction flared to life.

“And let you break your pretty little neck?” he asked. “Not a chance.” Not giving her time to object, he slid his hands to her waist and forcefully lifted her down from the washer. Not an easy task from his lower position, and she ended up plastered against him as intimately as those shorts hugged her backside. And oh yeah, the man in him was alert and present all right. He’d wanted this woman too long not to react to having her lush body pressed to his.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. Her hips were melded to his, her hands pressed against his chest—hands he’d often dreamed of having on his chest and all kinds of other places. Sexual awareness had caught them like the water they couldn’t escape.

Her nervous energy escalated, just as her temper did, meaning their same routine as always. “Sam, damn it! The house is being destroyed. My career is being destroyed.” She squirmed out of his arms, and reluctantly he let her go. “I have to stop the water.” She turned back to the washer.

That, he wasn’t letting her do. Sam shackled her arm and pulled her around to face him, and she was close, so close he could kiss her, and damn if he didn’t want to in a bad way. He would have, too, if not for the fact that she was right—the water needed to be turned off.

“Stubborn woman,” he mumbled. “I’ll do it. That’s why I came down here in the first place. That and I saw you rush into the house, and knew you were up to no good.”

Sirens sounded in the distance, and unintentionally, his gaze brushed her very visible, red, puckered nipples beneath the transparent shirt. He didn’t like the idea of the entire fire department getting the same view.

“Sam!” she objected, folding her arms over her chest.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, as if he would ever wipe away the image of those perfect breasts. “Sorry,” he said, meaning it. He didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable—no, uncomfortable was the last thing he wanted to make Meagan feel. “That wasn’t on purpose. It just…happened.” He slid out of the rain jacket he’d put on before coming inside and handed it to her. “Put this on,” he told her, “before a gaggle of firemen make the same mistake.” The idea of that gnawed away at his gut in an unfamiliar, uncomfortable way.

Sam turned away from her, lifting himself on top of the washer and hitting the button to the panel door that Meagan had missed.

She made a surprised sound. “I loosened the door for you.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t reply. He so enjoyed how easily he ruffled her feathers, even when he wasn’t trying. He cut the breaker to the sprinklers. The water was off. The sound of firemen’s voices and loud, heavy footsteps echoed from the floor above.

He eased to the floor, ankle deep in water. Meagan was thankfully well covered in his way-too-big jacket, but there was something intensely erotic about her in something of his that he couldn’t dismiss.

She slicked her hair back, drawing it away from her face, a face incredibly appealing without makeup, au naturel. And then they stood there.

Water clung to her thick, dark lashes, framing grass-green eyes that swept over his wet studio T-shirt and returned to his face.

More of that sexual tension zipped between them.

“We need you folks out of here,” came a male voice from the stairs, effectively jolting them from the hot little spell spinning around them.

“We’re coming,” Sam yelled, and then to Meagan, “Better late than never, but had this been a real fire, people could have been hurt. I’ll be talking to them about how this happened. In the meantime, one of my guys is already arranging a hotel for everyone.” He motioned for her to head upstairs.

A sudden wave of vulnerability washed across her features. “I ah…considering the firemen and your guys and…well, thanks for the jacket. And for turning off the water.” And then, when he thought they’d made some progress, she proved him wrong, pursing her lips and adding, “But I was about to turn off the water myself. I had it. I was getting it.”

He couldn’t stop the corners of his lips from twitching, despite the certainty that a smile—and most certainly the laugh threatening to escape—would only set him up for a battle. “Of course you would have,” he agreed, playing the cat-and-mouse game she seemed to want him to play—though, damn if he knew who was the cat and who was the mouse half the time. “But I’m here, Meagan. Why not use me?”

Her lips parted slightly at the words. Then her brows knit together, and her hands went to her hips, giving him a delectable glimpse of skin below her breasts. “You’re impossible,” she announced, glowering, before sloshing toward the stairs.

He stood watching her, thinking that the real “impossible” here, was not him, but that either of them believed they were going to be satisfied with this game much longer. She wanted him. He wanted her. And he was going to do something about it. No matter how many washers he had to climb.

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 Face-book 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 corners 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.

“We’re afraid of what will happen next,” she said. “None of us are going to sleep tonight. I don’t know how we’ll dance under such circumstances.”

The cameraman zoomed in on Derek’s deadpan look before he said, “Then you know what you should do?”

Meagan exchanged a “here it comes” look with Shayla White, the director, who was fast becoming a close friend. Hiring Derek, an ex-pro quarterback and sportscaster, for a dance show had been a risk, especially considering he’d lived up to his reputation for saying whatever came to mind. If Stepping Up was to succeed where other dance shows had failed, it meant they needed originality, and Derek was nothing if not that.

Derek continued, “Get a lucky charm like us athletes do. In my case, I’d get a pair of lucky briefs.”

“Briefs?” Tabitha asked, skeptically. “Eww.”

Derek grinned and held up his hands. “Hey, don’t tell me you haven’t got a pair of lucky underwear.”

It took a second but finally Tabitha, and everyone else on set burst into laughter. “Well, maybe I do,” she said, clearly giving it some serious thought.

Derek assured her, “At least five guys on my NFL team had ‘game day’ lucky boxers. They swore they’d screw up on the field without them. They believed those transformed them into men of steel, and so they did.” He tapped his forehead. “It’s all in your head. It’s what you believe.”

Tabitha smiled slyly. “And if I don’t wear underwear?”

If Derek caught her flirty remarks, and he was a smart guy so surely he had, he didn’t show it, nor did he miss a beat. “Socks. They’re the next best thing.” The entire crew erupted in laughter, and Meagan could just imagine the audience doing the same thing. “But really, Tabitha, whatever works for you. Just make sure that your lucky charm is something you can always have with you. Heck, I knew a guy who had to kiss his wife right before the game or he messed up every play he was in. When she didn’t travel with him, he was worthless.”

“So maybe I should kiss Jensen.” Tabitha beamed.

“Then what happens when one of you gets sent home?”

The air seemed to crackle, the silence thick. It was a brilliant moment that had evolved from a talk of curse, and shown human vulnerability that every viewer could relate to on some level. Tabitha seemed devastated. But it was short-lived. She recovered promptly, showing herself to be a pro at flirtation. “Then maybe you should be my lucky charm.”

Derek grinned and gave her his cheek, tapping it with his finger. She kissed him, and the crew all broke out in grins.

A few questions later, the interview ended. And just when Meagan thought she’d wrap the night’s shooting with a laugh rather than with the curse, Tabitha walked to the edge of the set and went tumbling forward, smack onto her face.

AT 6:45 P.M., THIRTY MINUTES before his dinner with Meagan, Sam completed his check-in at the hotel, sliding a healthy tip, compliments of the studio, into the doorman’s hand to ensure his bag was delivered to his room for him. With way too much eagerness in his step to suit him—considering Sam knew it had nothing to do with duty, and everything to do with seeing Meagan—Sam headed toward the bank of elevators, rather than the restaurant. He knew Meagan wouldn’t be there, and he had no intention of sitting around and waiting for her. Not when he’d bet money on her being intentionally late, and then claiming work as an excuse.

It was a control thing to her—her desire to have it and keep it from him. Fine by him. This was her show, and she was in charge and deserved that respect. But as the person in charge of safety, he’d need to ensure he never ran the risk of jeopardizing his authority and ability to do his job in the face of any threat.

So he and Meagan had some hashing out to do. Tonight. Alone. Still, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t touch her for all kinds of reasons. Work wasn’t the place to play. Smart people knew that bedroom games, and even simple romantic notions, could easily turn emotional and explode, no matter how covertly they began. He didn’t do complicated relationships. He did the uncomplicated, casual type. Namely because he’d seen far too many divorces, and tormented, worried spouses like his mother, when he’d been in the army.

Despite all these brilliant assessments about what he had going on, or rather not going on with Meagan, Sam couldn’t stop thinking about her. That had never happened to him with a woman before. And as he punched in the code for the private floor the studio had rented for the show, there was no mistaking the thrum of anticipation he felt during the twenty-floor ride, at seeing her again. A thrum he recognized could lead him to trouble. Big damn trouble.

The elevator dinged, and the doors began to slide open. In the same instant, a scream filled the air. Instinct sent Sam into action, darting out of the elevator to draw up short when he found a studio set almost directly off the elevator in the center of a large lounge area. One of the contestants, Tabitha, was lying flat on her face, her mouth bloody. Meagan was squatting next to her. Hovering above her were the twins, Ginger and DJ, who clearly wanted to help the situation, and didn’t know how. Kiki, the thirtysomething attractive redhead, stood in the background looking amused.

Sam grimaced at her behavior and headed for Meagan. “Does she need an ambulance?”

“Yes!” Tabitha screamed. “Yes, I need an ambulance. My front tooth is missing! My tooth is gone!”

“I called 9-1-1,” one of the crew shouted.

Relief washed over Sam. A tooth he could deal with. No one died from a lost tooth. But any relief he felt vanished when the cast of contestants emerged like a pack of wild animals onto the set, as a rumble of questions and panic erupted. The cameras continued to roll, panning the crowded lounge.

Sam’s gaze found Meagan’s, even as she helped Tabitha to her feet, a silent question in his stare. He didn’t want to screw up footage she needed for the show, but they didn’t need another injury, either. Fortunately, as usual, he read her easily—the look on her face said Please get them under control. The fact that they communicated without words was a testament to the natural connection they shared. That he agreed with her decision, that she confirmed what he knew already—that she wasn’t like the studio executives who put ratings above all else—were just more reasons why he wanted to be alone with her.

“Enough,” he called out to the group, holding up his hands. “My name is Sam Kellar, and I’m the head of—”

“It’s the curse!” Tabitha shouted. “It’s the curse.”

Screams erupted from the dancers. Sam and Meagan shared an exasperated look before, together, they went into damage control.

The studio wanted footage that fed the curse, and now, they were sure getting it, but not because he, or Meagan, were trying to deliver it. He and Meagan were just trying to survive and doing so together. Oh yeah, staying hands-off with Meagan was going to be about as easy as calming this group down. And that, it appeared, was damn near impossible.

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, EMS was gone and Sam and Meagan had agreed that Tabitha should go to the hospital, with one of Sam’s men escorting her to avoid the tabloid photographers.

His man, Josh, had just learned he would be that lucky man. “Josh’s an ex-SEAL,” he explained to Meagan. “If he can’t handle Tabitha, nobody can.”

Meagan snorted. “Neither of you know Tabitha or you might reconsider that statement. I can’t possibly let you take on this job by yourself. Believe me, you’ll want backup.” Before Sam could object, Meagan flagged Kiki over, and Sam didn’t miss the flash of interest across Josh’s face.

Sam leaned close to Josh. “I hear she killed her last lover.”

Josh, who had a way with the women, said, “I can think of worse ways to die.”

Kiki joined them, looking irritated at having been summoned. “I need you to please go with Tabitha to the hospital,” Meagan said and pointed at Josh. “This is Josh Strong, one of Sam’s men. He’ll go along with you for security reasons.”

Kiki looked disgusted. “Why is this my job?”

Sam arched a brow at Kiki’s blatant disrespect toward Meagan. It heightened his worries about Kiki, but Meagan responded with remarkable composure. “Because I need to review property options for the show with Sam, and I can’t risk any exposure, tabloid or otherwise, that might hurt us. In other words, I need you, my next-in-charge, who has pull and power. Josh here will offer muscle if you run into trouble. You deal with Tabitha and her injury.”

“Shouldn’t I be included in the property search?” Kiki asked, sounding a bit like a spoiled brat afraid of getting one less cookie from the jar, and not at all concerned about Tabitha.

“When I know where we stand, you will be,” Meagan assured her. “But right now, I need you to attend to Tabitha. Go, please.”

Kiki frowned and eyed Josh, motioning to her left. “This way.”

“Nothing like having a studio exec’s niece forced on you,” Sam said, imagining that Kiki resented having to work under Meagan.

Meagan turned to him. “How’d you know that?”

“I make it a point to know things,” he said. “And I’d watch my back with her. If a curse exists, it’s probably down to her. The last three shows she’s been on failed.”

“Yeah, I know,” Meagan said. “I’ve heard all kinds of rumors about her that I’ve tried to tune out. I want to give her the benefit of the doubt because I know how gossip grows. And really, it doesn’t matter anyway. She’s a mandatory part of this show, per my contract with the studio.”

Sam wasn’t going to tell Meagan everything he knew about Kiki, but he did want to alert her to keep up her guard. “I understand your position, but there is some truth to what you’ve probably heard. For instance, she did sleep with that producer who ended up fired.”

She laughed. “Well, I won’t be an easy target in that department, at least. She can’t get me into bed to manipulate me. You might want to warn your man, Josh, though.”

“I plan to.”

She nodded. “Good, because I’d hate to see him hurt when he’s just trying to keep us all safe. All I can say is thank God my director is an angel, so I have someone I can truly trust. She was picked for me, too, and she’s marvelous.”

Meagan could trust him, as well, but he knew she wasn’t ready to embrace that concept. Not now. But he intended to change that.

Fifteen minutes later, the contestants had returned to their rooms, and he’d ordered three more security personnel to keep them that way. The crew, who’d been put up in the hotel for ease of filming, headed to the lobby bar to “analyze” the day’s events over drinks and food.

Derek lingered with Sam and Meagan. “What about you two? Surely you both need a good, stiff drink or two, after that disaster. And here I thought football players were rowdy. Those kids are crazy.”

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you before you took the job,” Meagan reminded him.

Derek scrubbed his jaw. “Yeah, yeah. I thought you were exaggerating.” He gave her a pointed look. “You weren’t.”

“Nope,” she said. “I wasn’t. So have a drink for me as well because I need one but don’t dare indulge. I have work left to do.”

Derek eyed Sam and Sam held up a hand. “I never drink on duty, and the next few weeks are all duty for me.” Sam liked Derek. Derek had spent his NFL days racking up awards—not scandal—which was exactly why he didn’t think Derek would survive beyond season one.

Derek smiled warmly. “All right, then. I’ll make an exception to my one drink rule, and have a few for the two of you.” He waved goodbye, and trailed after the crew.

Sam’s gaze shifted to Meagan to find her frowning. “I so wish this night was over,” she pleaded.

“Not yet.” He watched her frown, noting the dark smudges under her eyes, half moons on pale perfect skin. “You look exhausted, Meagan.”

“Gee thanks, Sam. Just what a girl wants to hear.”

“You still look gorgeous,” he said, meaning it. “Just tired.”

“Compliments delivered after an insult are meaningless and even less effective when followed by ‘just tired.’“

“Saying you look tired isn’t an insult. It’s a concerned observation. I should feed you and review these prospective house locations for you so you can get some rest. My crew will keep an eye on things.”

She opened her mouth, clearly intending to argue and then seemed to change her mind. “You and your crew haven’t had any rest, either. Last night was hell for us all.” She settled her hands to her slim hips and sighed. “I guess we should at least try to eat before someone’s screaming about the curse again.”

For a split second, he’d seen a softer side of Meagan. The one he knew she hid behind. He wanted to know more about that part of her.

They stepped into the elevator, neither spoke. Each of them leaned against a wall so that they faced one another. There was no mistaking the way an awareness filled the space. It may be only dinner, but he wasn’t leaving that “trouble” he was worried about behind—Meagan was trouble. And standing in this car, with the soft female scent of her tickling his nostrils, her green eyes flickering, he wasn’t sure it was trouble he could walk away from.

5

AVOIDING THE HOTEL’S packed restaurant had seemed a smart move at the time, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. While sitting in a dark, secluded corner of the hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant next door, Meagan had never been so aware of Sam, never so certain she was captive to her desire for this damnable, impossible-to-ignore man.

His gaze met hers over the menu.

“I haven’t had good Chinese in forever.” He spoke softly, but everything in his voice, said, I haven’t had you and I want you, instead. Or maybe she was imagining the hidden meaning, maybe some part of her wanted that to be the case. Because as much as she wanted to hate Sam, wanted to believe there was nothing beyond his arrogance, but trouble, there was more there, more to him, more to what she felt for him. It had occurred to her during Tabitha’s crisis. He’d not only respected her on the set tonight, but also willingly, efficiently, helped her deal with that mini-disaster.

Suddenly, she noticed she was staring at him—studying the solid square strength of his jaw, the high cheekbones, the full lips—and not discreetly. His face was as chiseled and perfect as his body.

She cut her gaze to the menu, ignoring his keen stare. “I order from a place near my apartment at least once a week,” she said, cursing herself for revealing even one small personal detail. There was just something so darn intimate about the quiet setting, about what felt more like a date than a business meeting, that she welcomed the waiter’s interruption to take their orders. Why could she not stop thinking about being in the basement the night before—just she and Sam—both of them wet, her nearly naked, and then wearing his coat? But she knew. It wasn’t just the attraction between them that had gotten to her. It was the way he’d been protective, the way he’d helped her. He made her want to hand him just a little control, and that frightened her. She’d dared to do that a few times in her life and each time had led her to the wrong place.

They placed their orders, the silent awareness springing back into place the instant they were alone again.

“I have a confession to make,” he said, leaning in closer, as if they weren’t the only ones in the entire back room of the restaurant. As if he knew what she’d just been thinking, and from everything she’d observed about Sam, he probably did.

“And that would be what?” The question croaked from her dry throat.

“With all the Tabitha chaos, I forgot to grab the property listings from my bag in my hotel room.”

His words conjured naughty, inexcusable images in her mind of what might happen if they ended up in his room. And judging from his darkening expression, Sam was thinking the same thing.

Feeling warm all over and desperate to splash some ice on both herself and the situation, Meagan reached for her only defense, her only hope of resisting Sam—words.

Meagan shifted in her seat. “That defeats the purpose of dinner, don’t you think?”

“I guess that depends on whose perspective we’re using,” he said, his blue gaze holding hers.

Meagan’s heart skipped a beat.

Sam continued, “In fact—”

The sentenced dissolved on his lips as the waiter set their plate of egg rolls in the center of the table. Sam exchanged a few comments with the man, seemingly in no hurry to finish what he’d been saying to her. Meagan, whose heart was darn near exploding with anticipation, waited anxiously for the rest of whatever he might have said. Men didn’t rattle her this way, or rather, no man but Sam rattled her this way, or any way for that matter.

The waiter disappeared and Sam took a bite of his egg roll. Meagan wanted to reach across the table and strangle him for being so casual. Instead, she reached for her soda and took a long sip, forcing herself to think through the haze of arousal Sam had created in her, blaming it on pure exhaustion and no rest. She had to be reading into his words, into the energy swelling between them, or he wouldn’t be so nonchalant. He’d moved on from whatever she’d thought he might say, as if it hadn’t been worth saying in the first place.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, snapping up a second egg roll.

“You plan on leaving me anything to eat?” She scooted the container of hot mustard in front of her, along with a bottle of soy sauce, and mixed them on a plate.

“We can always ask for more, and since I missed lunch, we might have to.”

The prickly exterior she’d erected to protect herself slid away. He’d been there last night with her, then worked all day, and without a complaint or at least one she’d heard. He had to be as tired as she was. She put the sauce between them and set an egg roll on her plate. “You can have the last one. I had lunch, and I plan to do my meal plenty of justice when it arrives.”

He gave her an appreciative murmur and dipped his egg roll into the sauce. “About the properties. One of our best bets is a beachfront house that has everything we need—privacy, size, functionality—at least on paper, that is. Oh, and not only does it have a mother-in-law house, the owner has a second house a half mile up the beach that just became available. You could use that for the crew and general whatever. Both properties would put us slightly over budget, but they might be worth fighting for.”

“Wow,” Meagan said. “It sounds too good to be true.”

“Well, there’s a catch.”

“Of course,” she said. “There’s always a catch.” She motioned with her hand. “Let me have the dirt.”

“The place has been vacant for months, but now that we’re considering it, there’s another interested party.”

“Are you sure the owner or Realtor isn’t trying to manipulate us?”

“I talked with the other party,” he said. “He’s real and he’s eager. He’s even telling the owner the show will destroy the property, referring to the wildness on other reality shows.”

“Surely the owner knows the show will push up his long-term property values?”

“He knows, but he isn’t willing to risk losing the rental income from the other party while waiting for us. He wants a fast answer. As in tomorrow.”

“Sam, that’s insane. We can’t possibly decide that fast.”

The waiter filled their water glasses. “Look. I’m not pressuring you here. I haven’t even seen the place. On the other hand, this property has miles of open beach. You get plenty of room to film, and my team will know if anyone so much as thinks about approaching. And believe me, that’ll be important.” He unrolled his silverware from a napkin. “This damn curse is going to be a problem. We’ve already had several paranormal groups contact us, not to mention the media snooping around, looking for rumors and gossip.”

“‘Damn curse’ is right,” she murmured, sliding her napkin to her lap and picking up her egg roll only to set it back down. “We better be prepared. Once the footage I’m shooting airs, we’re likely to have a three-ring circus on our hands. I hate that the studio is pressing this angle.”

His brows dipped. “I thought you’d be glad for the ratings boost.”

“Not like this,” she said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. At first, I was just relieved to find out we didn’t get cancelled. As the day has gone on, though, I’m not so sure. I worry we’re headed away from the premise of the show and into trouble.”

“Meaning what?”

“My father’s a preacher in a small Texas town—and I’m talking small town like in the movie Footloose.”

“So you’re worried that the show may become offensive?”

“Yes and no. I want to give dance credibility and I think having real talent evolve will give it longevity, while short-term thrills and chills only give a facade of success that ultimately fizzles. The curse falls into that category in my opinion. If we build ratings on the pretense of a curse, what do we follow that with? Will dancing and the personal journeys of the dancers, who we want the audience to passionately love or hate, be enough?” She shook her head. “This curse really is a nightmare I wish I could make go away.”

“I can see that,” he agreed.

“Aside from the staying power issue, I’ve seen how a small group of people can create demons where they don’t exist. It makes people irrational, and irrational can be dangerous.” She took a bite of her egg roll and made a sound of pleasure. “And either this is really good or I’m just really hungry.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I’m too hungry to be objective.”

“I’m leaning toward thinking it’s really good food,” she said. “I’m hoping the rest of the meal is, as well.”

They ate in surprisingly comfortable silence for a while before he leaned back in his chair. “I’d never have figured you for a small-town girl.”

“Yeah, well, I got out of that small town the minute I could.”

“And then you ended up in L.A.”

“Not immediately,” she said. “I went to school and that led to me producing a news program in Waco, Texas. Some random lucky breaks and I ended up in Dallas at a much larger station. A connection there gave me the chance to pitch this show. And now that I’m here, I don’t want to blow it.”

“Then I say we need to look at this property,” he said. “The right location and security might just silence this curse nonsense. We should go check it out early tomorrow.”

“That’s impossible. I have footage to shoot and get edited.”

The waiter appeared with their food, and Sam paused until he left, before adding, “A busy schedule is all the more reason to secure the right location and move on to other things,” Sam said. “And I might be pushing a bit on this but—”

“No matter how amazing the location is, I don’t have time tomorrow.” She shook her head. “Not unless I can be cloned.”

“I have a key,” he said. “We can go after we finish here if you like. Or I can go check it out and let you know if it’s a waste of time, but if it’s good, you have to find time tomorrow—”

“No,” she said quickly. She wouldn’t be able to make the time, but she also knew this couldn’t be left to someone else to decide. It was too critical to the show. “Tonight. We’ll go tonight.”

For several crackling seconds, they stared at one another, and reality washed over Meagan. She’d just committed to going to a secluded beach house with Sam. She immediately picked up her fork, stabbing a water chestnut.

Sam chuckled and Meagan’s eyes lifted to his. “What’s so funny?”

“The absolute horror on your face when it occurred to you we’d be alone somewhere private. I can have one of my staff take you. Or you can bring along one of your staff members, if you want.”

The offer surprised her. Her reaction surprised her even more, though it shouldn’t have. She didn’t want a chaperone. “You were some sort of Special Ops guy, right?”

“For fourteen years.”

And since he was in his early thirties, that meant he’d gone into the army when he was a late teen. She wondered why, she wondered…damn it. “Then I’d say you’re experienced enough to protect me,” she said, shoving aside curiosity, refusing to get to know Sam any more than she felt she already did. She knew too much. She liked too much. She didn’t want to like Sam.

She ate her chestnut and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. He was watching her. She could feel the warmth of those blue eyes as surely as if she were looking into them. Finally, when he didn’t speak, she glanced up at him, his inspection too intense to bear, his unspoken thoughts unnerving. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He chuckled. “I’m not sure what ‘like that’ means, but I was just wondering who’s going to protect me from you?”

6

HE’D BAITED HER, unable to stop himself—expecting the flash in her eyes, and the fierceness of her expression that he found so sexy. And it had worked. For the first time since they’d sat down in the restaurant, she leaned towards him, her full lips close enough that he could imagine kissing them, as she said, “Don’t tick me off and you won’t need protection.”

“You like being ticked off at me and you know it.”

“Why would I like being pissed off at you?”

“At some point I think you thought it kept me at a distance. But seems to me that plan has backfired. I’m here to stay, sweetheart. Now what are you going to do with me?”

“For starters,” she said, without hesitation, “if you call me ‘sweetheart’ again, you’ll be wishing for that protection.”

“I’m willing to take whatever you dish out and then some. In fact, maybe you need to unload on me and get it out of your system.” He lowered his voice, all jest gone, a realization taking form. “Maybe there’s a lot we need to just get out of our systems. Maybe then we can move past…it.” Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t lean back, didn’t immediately reject the idea, didn’t ask what “it” was, because they both knew. “It” was desire, hot and getting hotter by the second.

Sam didn’t know what this woman did to him, but while she worried about him stealing her control, she had all but shredded his. There was something about her. Actually, everything about her worked for him, from how her forehead crinkled when she was thinking, to how passionate she was about her show. Being this interested in a woman wasn’t a comfortable place to be. It wasn’t uncomfortable, either. Just different for him because he couldn’t seem to flip the “off” switch.

Long, sizzling seconds passed and she hadn’t responded to his proposition. He arched a brow at her silence. “No snappy comeback?”

“Maybe it would just complicate things,” she said, clearly talking about sex. “Maybe it would make things worse.”

“My thoughts exactly up until a few minutes ago. But we damn near combust every time we’re together, and it’s only a matter of time before we do. We both like to maintain control, so I say we deal with this on our terms, where we control how it happens.” And, he added silently, I can finally get you alone and try to tear down the walls you’ve built around yourself.

“You don’t know me.” She didn’t sound as if she quite believed those words. “You don’t know what I like.”

“But I want to know. And I’ve known you a while now. I know things you might think I hadn’t paid attention to. Like how you left a small town for a big city and now you’re daring to work for a monster studio who’d eat their own young for ratings. That takes courage. On top of all of that, you’re sitting here with me, alone, knowing exactly where it could lead. So I’d lay my money on you enjoying danger as long as it’s on your terms.” He softened his voice. “After tonight, the cameras and crew will be everywhere.”

“Sam, I—”

“Meagan!”

She inhaled at the same moment he stiffened. Before he could speak, they were surrounded by a group of the crew, who’d deserted the hotel bar for the nearest restaurant. Chaos followed as tables were shoved next to each other, only a few steps away from their tiny corner. One of the cameramen—a hefty thirtysomething guy from Texas, who they all called “Double Dave” for obvious reasons—pulled a chair to their table to talk to Meagan about his “concerns” for the next day’s shots. He then called yet another cameraman over to their table.

Sam listened as Meagan calmed their concerns, and then did enough listening of her own to manage to get her dinner down, while Sam did the same. He was intrigued by her expressions, her mannerisms, her respect for the people who worked for her, and knew it was a sign of just how badly he had it for this woman. She wouldn’t look at him though, and he had to wonder if she was calculating a way to escape his proposition. She was good at running from him despite her obvious interest, and he wondered why.

His meal completed, Sam pushed away from the table. “I’ll check out that property, and let you know how it looks.”

Meagan quickly shoved her chair back. “I’m going, too,” she said. “None of the rest of this matters if we don’t have a house to shoot in.”

“You’re viewing a property tonight?” Double Dave asked.

Sam’s expression seemed to be questioning her, so she gave the same right back to him?

“We are,” she said in reply to Dave, though, focused on Sam, not the cameraman. “We have to take it or lose it by tomorrow.” She glanced at Dave, and the rest of the group, and then announced the exciting prospect of a new house, and that she’d report on it tomorrow.

The next thing Sam knew, he and Meagan were outside. Their eyes collided the same instant the hot, muggy air slammed into them, and their budding sexual tension expanded around them, while the world shrunk to just the two of them.

“Your vehicle or mine?” he asked, willing his body to calm.

She tilted her head, studying him with such scrutiny that it was his turn to say, “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“I just thought you were the ‘I’m driving’ kind of guy.”

“And I thought you were the ‘I’m driving’ kind of woman.”

“I am.”

He waved her forward. “Well, then. Lead the way.”

She didn’t move. Instead, she stared at him intensely, then said, “You drive. My eyes hurt from editing too much film, and I don’t want you backseat driving.”

“So, you’ll backseat drive.”

“Exactly.”

Sam laughed and barely resisted the unnerving urge to grab her hand and pull her along with him—telling himself that he only needed to touch her once, that this thing was sex and sex only. He motioned her forward. “If we walk around to the side of the hotel, we can go straight to the garage and avoid another crew ambush.”

“Don’t you need to get the property listings from your room?”

“I put the address for this one in my GPS earlier. It’s about a forty-minute drive, so we better hit the road. It’s almost seven now.”

Meagan groaned and they fell into step together. “I have a six o’clock shoot in the morning, and I am going to be hating life when it starts.”

“Then it’s good I’m driving,” he said. “You can nap on the way to the property and back, if you want.”

She stopped.

“What?” he asked again.

“Stop being nice to me. I liked you better when you were intentionally trying to agitate me.”

She meant she felt safer, but he didn’t say it, not when she could back out of their private outing before they ever left. “I simply assumed you required more rest than I do.”

Her hands went to her hips. “Why would I need more rest than you? Because …” She paused, eyes lighting with understanding. “Wow. You just proved that you can bait me at will, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “But you can do the same to me. Don’t even think about saying you don’t know it because we both know you do. We both know how to punch each other’s buttons.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I guess we do.”

Damn, he wanted this woman. She didn’t even try and play coy with him. He liked that. He liked it a hell of a lot. “Let’s get out of here before we’re cornered. Or worse, before Tabitha returns.”

“True,” she said, her face lit with a warm smile.

At his vehicle, he held the passenger door of his Ford F150 open for her, and she gave him an awkward look. “You don’t have to do that for me. I can get it.”

He pressed his hand to the side of the truck, the distinctly feminine scent of her reaching him. “I’m a soldier at heart. Opening a door for a lady is as natural to me as busting my chops is apparently for you.”

A rich, laugh left her lips. “I don’t imagine many people ‘bust your chops’ easily, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“They don’t and I’ll take your acknowledgement of that fact as a compliment.”

A subtle but obvious tension lit between them. “Actually, it is a compliment.” She paused. “Sam. I, well, I’ve given you such a hard time that I think I should tell you how much I really appreciate how you handled the problems on set tonight. Rather than doing what I would have expected—charging in and taking over—you respected my role.”

“And unless there’s an imminent threat to someone’s safety, I always will. My hope would be that if an unfortunate situation like that arises, you’ll respect my role, as well.”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“That means no running into buildings that could go up in flames any second. You wait for me.”

She pursed her lips. “Unless someone is in imminent danger and I can help.”

He lowered his voice. “Meagan—”

She held up her hands. “Yes. Okay. I’ll wait. Probably. I’ll try. And I admit running into the house wasn’t one of my more brilliant moves, but I was afraid the show would go up in flames with the house. Like everyone’s dreams. Everyone who’d hoped this show would change their life would have lost their dream, too. I just couldn’t let that happen.”

Tension curled inside Sam. Somehow, every moment he’d ever shared with Meagan, every thought he’d had, every assumption he’d made, merged into this one instant. And there lay the danger of moving forward with his intention to finally sate his hunger for her tonight.

The morning-after might not deliver the complication-free, tension-easing relief they’d both hoped for, because he simply wasn’t certain that one night would be enough. And he knew combining romance with work never ended well.

Several voices sounded nearby, interrupting their moment. “Come on. We have to go before it gets any later.”

She jumped into the truck, and closed the door behind her. As he rushed to the driver’s side, he tried to talk himself back off the ledge, tried to convince himself not to touch Meagan, to reel himself in before it was too late. Too late? Who was he kidding? He wouldn’t find the “off” switch if his life depended on it.

MEAGAN LISTENED to the engine roar to life with a fleeting realization that she didn’t have her phone or her purse. She’d taken off for their dinner, expecting to stay in the hotel, with nothing in hand. Normally, she’d insist on going back for both.

Instead, she found herself fixated on Sam’s powerful forearms, as he maneuvered the truck out of the parking spot. Everything about Sam was strong and powerful. His hands, his face, and his eyes, when they caught her in one of those penetrating stares.

She wanted him with as much passion as she knew he was wrong for her, which was to the point of complete and utter distraction. Worse—to the point that he was now controlling her with anticipation and fantasy.

Still, it was clear to her that avoiding him wasn’t the answer, for all kinds of reasons. Sleeping with him—well, he’d offered her one night, to get “it” out of their systems. She just had to be certain there were no strings. Then, maybe he was right.

Sam sparked something inside her, consumed her without even trying. His voice, his eyes, his powerful presence, all resonated with her.

Honestly, her attraction for Sam wasn’t going away, nor was he. But would making love with him extinguish the flames between them or cause them to burn brighter? Meagan admitted this had been her concern all along.

So why was she still considering it?