“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.”
K
iki 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.”