are we?” she asked.
“My place,” Sam said. “Or it will be someday. Right now, it’s just my little piece of land. My trees, my rocks, my view. I stay out here sometimes when I’m in town.”
“Where do you sleep?” Sarah said, glancing around.
“I pitch a tent. It’s a perfect spot.”
She nodded, looking back out at the valley. “The world seems so much bigger from this vantage point. It makes me feel very small…and insignificant.” She laughed softly. “I have to admit, I was a little frightened coming out here with you. I was wondering if I’d made a mistake. But now I see I haven’t.”
He looked over at her, the urge to kiss her overwhelming. After slipping his arm around her waist, he slowly urged her closer. The beams from their flashlights wavered in the trees. He couldn’t see her reaction, but she didn’t try to pull away.
“I think I understand why you brought me here,” she murmured.
Sam let his flashlight fall to the ground, then reached out and touched her face, spreading his fingers across her cheeks. His mind went back to the dream he’d had that last night in his cabin, to the woman who’d seduced him in his sleep.
“I have my reasons,” Sam whispered.
At first, he fought the impulse to kiss Sarah. But then his curiosity got the better of him. Could Sarah Cantrell be that woman for him? He pulled her into a kiss, his mouth finding hers in the dark. A tiny sigh of surprise slipped from her lips and she dropped her flashlight next to his.
The instant she did, she opened herself to the kiss, her tongue teasing at his, inviting him to take more. She tasted sweet, and like a man parched with thirst, he was desperate to drink his fill. When he finally drew back, he could almost see the profile of her face in the moonlight.
“That wasn’t the reason I expected,” Sarah whispered. “But I guess it will do.”
He nuzzled her neck. “What?”
“Why you brought me here,” she said, tilting her head.
Sam brushed another kiss across her lips, satisfied that the first step in his seduction had gone well. “I brought you here for dinner. I just skipped ahead to dessert.”
She bent down and picked up her flashlight, then shined it in his eyes. “And what about the main course? Are you going to cook for me?”
He turned the flashlight on her face. “Nope. I thought you could cook for me,” Sam said.
He waited for her to protest but she just shook her head. “I sense this is a test. If I don’t do well, then you’re not going to take me to meet Sam Morgan.”
Maybe now was the time to come clean, Sam thought. He’d kissed her, she’d enjoyed it and she’d be more amenable to his apology. But then, once she had a few glasses of wine, she’d be much more understanding. “If I have to haul your pretty little ass up the mountain to meet Sam Morgan, I want to know you can carry some of the load.”
“I can haul my own ass, thank you very much. So are you going to take me?”
“I haven’t decided yet. But maybe it would be a good idea for you to walk a few miles in Sam Morgan’s boots.”
“As long as those boots have a fashionable heel and don’t make my calves look fat, I’ll give it a try.”
Sam chuckled softly then took her hand and walked her back to the campsite. As they built a fire, he considered kissing her again…then tugging her sweater over her head…then sliding her skirt up over her hips. He stopped at an idle contemplation of her underwear. Bikini or thong?
“You won’t regret this,” Sarah said. “Not that you’ve decided to take me. But if you do, you won’t regret it.”
Sam smiled. Hell, how could he possibly regret keeping Sarah Cantrell within arm’s reach for a few days longer? Though he knew it was mostly about desire, there was something inside him that wanted to show her his view of the world.
Maybe then, she’d understand why he’d lied to protect his privacy. And why he’d always choose the solitude of his life on the mountain over fame and fortune.
2
SARAH POKED at the embers of their campfire with a stick, staring into the glowing coals. They’d finished dinner an hour ago and were sipping another glass of wine after a dessert of Snickers candy bars.
She glanced over her shoulder at Charlie. He sat on the rough log bench, his back braced against the edge of the picnic table, his long legs stretched out in front of him. She turned back to the fire. Why hadn’t he tried to kiss her again?
“That was a great meal,” he said as she sat down next to him. He picked up the tin cup that held his wine and raised it to her. “My compliments to the chef. I didn’t think you’d know your way around a campfire.”
“Girl Scout camp, every summer from the age of seven to fifteen. I know how to build a fire and paddle a canoe and sing ‘Kumbayah.’ Did you expect me to run screaming from the woods at the prospect of cooking over a campfire?”
“I’m not sure what I expected from you,” he said, his voice soft and low, his gaze drifting down to her mouth. His arm rested on the table behind her and he began to play with her hair. “I think you might be full of all sorts of surprises.”
All this flirting was fun, Sarah mused, and the kissing was even better. But he still hadn’t answered her question. “I need you to take me to Sam Morgan,” she said, her tone direct. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
A moment later, she realized how her words sounded. Yes, she was willing to live without showers and cell phones, she was willing to trudge up a muddy mountainside with a pack strapped to her back and to cook over a campfire. But if he thought she might be willing to trade sexual favors, then he was sadly mis—
Oh, hell. Who was she trying to fool? Right now, she’d jump at the flimsiest excuse to get naked with Charlie Wilbury. Every time she looked at him, she caught herself imagining what it would be like to discover the body beneath the flannel and denim, to see what a man with all that smoldering sex appeal was like in bed.
“Why is it so important to you?” he asked, his gaze shifting to her mouth.
“It just is. I really want to produce this series. And I usually get what I want.”
A long silence grew between them. Maybe she hadn’t played this right, Sarah thought. But she didn’t want him to string her along. If he wasn’t going to take her to Sam, then she’d have to find another way.
“What is it you do back in the big city?” Charlie asked, picking up her hand and toying with her fingers.
“I don’t live in a big city. In fact, I live in a small town. Belfort, South Carolina. It’s not far from the coast between Charleston and Savannah.”
“Answer my question,” he said.
“I’m an independent
