LITMIR.BIZ

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Meagan’s own good, it didn’t feel that way right now. Meagan believed she would regret this lost chance for a very long time.

       9

      SAM TRAILED MEAGAN INTO the house, more than a little concerned about Kiki. He saw her actions, her using Josh to taunt Meagan, as confirmation that she felt invincible. Sabrina was right, Kiki was dangerous.

      In the kitchen, Sam’s gaze drifted over Meagan’s skirt and the way it hugged her cute, tight backside. He liked that backside, but more so, he liked Meagan. This woman was under his skin and going nowhere but deeper fast. When he’d watched her fight through her worries over Kiki, when he’d seen the determination to succeed reignite in her eyes, he’d been blown away. Meagan was sexy, feisty, and passionate about what she believed in. And that made him passionate about her. He wasn’t going to let anyone, especially Kiki, tear her down.

      “The setup is perfect,” Meagan said, descending a few steps to a sunken living room, and turning to face him. She pointed toward the open kitchen, where Kiki leaned on the island counter, and Josh stood stoically next to her.

      “The way the kitchen overlooks the main area is terrific for panned shots,” Kiki agreed, actually sounding as if she really cared about the show.

      “I love it,” Meagan said, holding out her arms, as if embracing the room. “I can only pray the upstairs is as terrific as the downstairs.”

      That’s when Sam did a silent “Oh, crap.” The buttons of Meagan’s blouse were uneven, obviously hurriedly secured. If that blouse didn’t scream an announcement about what he and Meagan had been doing in his truck when Josh and Kiki arrived, he didn’t think anything would.

      Cautious to appear casual, Sam sauntered toward Meagan. He stood so that his big body blocked the others’ view of the problem he knew would panic Meagan if she discovered it.

      “It’s a unique setup,” he explained, two fingers pointing to the left of the living room, by the kitchen. “These stairs lead to a section of the top floor.” He then indicated the opposite side of the room, where he intended to herd Meagan and quickly. “Stairs on that side lead to a completely separate second level. Since sleeping arrangements are so important, why don’t we have a look up there now?”

      Meagan’s eyes went wide, and she brushed her windblown hair from her face. “I searched everywhere for split quarters when the show was starting, and I couldn’t find anything. I had to convert a downstairs den to a bedroom in the other house.”

      “So I was told by the studio,” he said. “But I can’t take credit. Josh did the legwork.” He gestured toward the stairs. The ones nowhere near Kiki. “Shall we head up?”

      Meagan frowned, studying him a moment. “Okay.” She began climbing the stairs, but the instant they were behind the wall encasing the steps, she turned to him and whispered, “Now it’s my turn to ask. What’s wrong?”

      Sam was shocked that she’d read his discomfort. He was special ops, trained to be unreadable. And he was cautious enough to know better than to risk her freaking out about her blouse if he told her. “Just concerned about the property,” he assured her. “If the bedroom situation won’t work, even if I approve the security profile, the house is worthless, don’t you think?”

      Her brows furrowed, and she looked as if she might question him again. Instead though, she gave a little nod. “Yes. You’re right, of course.” She headed up the stairs.

      For a second Sam just stared after her, wondering what this woman was doing to him, and why he was powerless to stop it. Not that he wanted to, but he wasn’t on sure footing which was unsettling. Fortunately, before leaving the main room he’d discreetly motioned to Josh to keep Kiki occupied, before he’d headed upstairs after Meagan.

      MEAGAN WALKED THROUGH the spacious upstairs bedrooms, her mind on Sam, who’d officially done exactly what men like Sam—strong, dominant types—did to those around them. He had taken control. But even as the thought occurred, as she knew that she was somehow villainizing him, she admitted he didn’t deserve that from her. And that made Meagan want to scream, and not at Sam, but at herself. He wasn’t trying to be controlling, and in fact, he’d surprised her with how sensitive he was to her own need for control of the show. If he had control, it was because she’d given it to him. She was powerfully affected by everything the man did—or didn’t do, for that matter.

      There was a part of her that reveled in being so blown away by Sam, and another that was reeling from him knocking her off guard. She wanted to keep her distance, but again, the logic, while smart, didn’t appeal in the slightest.

      Meagan passed a bathroom and entered the large master suite, which could accommodate three contestants, but would only need to host two. And what a master it was. Huge double windows led onto what appeared to be a balcony. She needed to get Kiki up here and assign her furniture-shopping duty. With cameras rolling, that wasn’t an unimportant task.

      “Meagan?” Sam’s voice and the sound of big feet climbing the stairs echoed nearby.

      “In the master,” she called, and headed into the bathroom. Wow. If she were selfish, she’d find a way to make this her suite and her bathroom. There was a separate shower in a sort of rock enclave that was envy worthy, and a deep sunken tub equally so, as well as a double vanity and a huge closet. The girls would have to draw straws for the room. It would be the only fair way to manage them choosing.

      Footsteps closed in on her, and her stomach fluttered with the awareness of Sam being nearby. Her stomach had actually fluttered. When in the world had that last happened with a man?

      She didn’t turn, afraid she’d give away what she was feeling, but she knew the instant Sam entered the bathroom.

      Meagan gasped at the daring, impossibly damning action of him shutting the door, and right then she was sure she had been wrong. Sam was bad news; Sam was still the chaos she thought he was.

      She reeled at the sight of her hot soldier, all big and tall. “What are you doing? What are you thinking?”

      “I’m thinking your shirt is buttoned crooked, and you need to fix it now, before Kiki notices it.”

      Her jaw dropped, and then her mouth formed a silent “Oh,” before she quickly started to right the buttons. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Did they see? Did Kiki see?”

      “No,” he said. “Why do you think I all but shoved you toward the stairs and then sent them to inspect other parts of the house? But they will be here any minute.”

      She checked her blouse in the mirror. “Thank you, Sam. Thank you so very much.” This time the appreciation came freely and without an ounce of hesitation. Time and Kiki were all that mattered. Task completed, she patted down the wild mess of her dark hair and turned to him, holding out her hands to her sides. “Please tell me I have covered all evidence of our earlier…that nothing else is where it shouldn’t be.”

      “You’re perfect,” he said softly, his eyes hot, his voice warm. He yanked open the bathroom door, eliminating any chance they would be caught in a compromising position. Or so she thought. Before she knew his intentions, Sam pulled her into the enclave of the shower, melding her body to his.

      “I hate that we were interrupted,” he confessed, an instant before his mouth closed down over hers. The assault on her senses was instant—a tangled ball of fear of being caught, and intense, nerve-prickling awareness. His tongue touched hers, suckling and licking, until she moaned and melted into his kiss, his body—correction—his hard masculine body.

      Meagan grappled for willpower, her hands going to his shoulders, as she tried to convince herself to push away from him. He just tasted too good, and felt so wonderful.

      “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, forcing her mouth from his.

      His voice lowered, became husky. “And aren’t you glad we are?”

      “Yes,”

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