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
