The pain, her pain, did him in, and he acted on pure instinct. Sam wrapped his arms around her and slid his hand up her back to her neck. “Meagan,” he whispered, the feel of her in his arms removing any reserve he’d pretended to have. “I’ll let you tie me up. I’ll let you do anything to me. But not if you’re trying to hide from me. Not if you’re using it to hide from what’s real. And that’s us. Us, Meagan. We’re real.”
“I’m not hiding,” she rasped.
“Yes, you are. You are and we both know it. What happened to telling me your story?” He leaned back and looked at her. “Or creating one together?”
“Sam,” she whispered, relaxing into him. “I’ve just dealt with this alone for so long. It’s attached to a lot of pain.”
He slid his hand down her arm. “That I’ll share with you if you let me.”
She shifted slightly, and he felt the tension ripple through her body. Sam rolled her over beneath him, settling between her legs, elbows resting beside her head. “You’re in no shape to be on top or to tie me up tonight. I expect a full dominatrix routine when you’re okay—including leather.” His voice softened. “Sometimes you have to let someone else carry some of the burden.”
She reached up and trailed her fingers along his jaw. “I’m afraid I’ll forget how to be without you.”
“I’ve already forgotten how to be without you.”
Her eyes teared up. “Sam.”
He kissed his name from her lips, a slow sensual kiss that deepened slowly, before becoming something far more passionate, far more wild and emotional. They clung together, tongue against tongue, body against body.
Sam slid inside her, and he felt her fear disappear, felt it fade with every touch, every kiss. He buried himself deep within her, felt the warm wet heat of her body consume him, just as she had him in every possible way. He loved this woman, he loved her with all that he was.
A slow, sweet rhythm formed. Neither of them wanted it to end, but neither could resist the build up of sensation that was leading them into a frenzy of thrusts. Their need beckoned them to get closer and closer, yet they never seemed close enough. To touch each other everywhere, yet they were never touching enough. Until finally, finally they couldn’t take anymore. She held tight to him, tensing with release, her body contracting around his cock, demanding his satisfaction as she had his heart.
When they stilled, sated and relaxed, he pulled her against him, and didn’t speak, finding he was holding his breath, afraid she would withdraw.
Long seconds ticked by and then she said, “I was at Juilliard. The teacher I told you about helped me get in.”
Sam kept silent, afraid he’d ruin her confidence their intimacy had brought her.
“I was one of the few students to get a full scholarship, which I needed since my parents disapproved. One day during practice, I was doing a lift with another dancer, and we fell. He tripped and I tumbled and...well, my knee went in the wrong direction. I tried to recover and return to school, but I just couldn’t compete at that level. So I transferred home, and gave it a whirl at the University of Texas, still dancing, still struggling with the injury. But they had a film school there, and I gravitated in that direction and ended up in news, like I told you.” She laughed, but not with humor. “My parents, at least, found that choice acceptable, if far from perfect.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It still is,” she said. “Every time I tell myself it can’t hurt me anymore, it does.”
“But you never stopped loving dance,” he stated. “That’s true passion, if I’ve ever seen it.”
She leaned up on one elbow. “No. I never stopped loving dance which was why in Texas, it was painful to be around it and not be able to truly live it. I needed to step away from it, but nothing else interested me.”
“Until that recruiter came to your school.”
“It took a while,” she said, “but I needed to get excited about something to keep pushing forward. And truthfully, the connections I made there allowed this show to happen. I thought I was beyond the emotions of my own failed career enough to pursue this without it affecting me, but tonight with Carrie—that tore me up. I don’t know if I can come back to the show next season if I’m this close to it.”
They analyzed her options, where she thought she might go. They talked. And talked. One thing kept bugging Sam, and he had to have an answer. “Why didn’t you tell me about your knee before now?” he asked. “You knew about my leg.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” she said. “You were hurt while fighting to save people’s lives. I was hurt in a pair of ballerina slippers. Who am I to complain? You’re a hero, Sam. You might not still be in the army, but I’m proud that you were, and that your family is.”
If Sam wasn’t already in love with her, it would have happened right then. His heart softened and he wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. They made love then, no hang-ups, no barriers. And Sam had no doubt that when she curled by his side and fell asleep, her walls were still down, and he intended to keep it that way. And no one, most especially Kiki, was going to take her dream from her. He would make sure of it.
* * *
SAM WOKE TO THE BEEP of a text arriving on his cell, The message was from Sabrina. Tapes that he’d gotten from an ex-studio had been given to Kiki’s uncle, the network executive. The content of the tapes, which included everything from bribery to seduction, were impossible to dismiss as misunderstandings. Sam had the thumbs-up to escort Kiki off the property.
He kissed Meagan, who was so dead to the world, she didn’t even move when he got up. He’d wake her with the news that she no longer had to be worried about, at least, one problem. He quickly showered and left her a note saying that he had security detail. And then Sam went to track down Kiki.
Sam knocked on the door of the mother-in-law property, and then knocked again louder. Eventually, Kiki, dressed to the hilt with model-perfect makeup, yanked open the door. Sam should have thought her sexy as hell, but there was nothing about this woman even remotely appealing to him.
Sam stepped forward, crowding her. “We need to talk. Alone.”
She rolled her eyes. “Can’t this wait?”
“No,” he said, leaving the screen door open and following her to the kitchen. On the counter he dropped the file he’d been carrying. “Open it.”
She frowned and seemed increasingly uncomfortable. After a pregnant minute of silence as she scanned the photos and documents, which held a history of her becoming a snitch for the studio.