The Closer You Get (10 page)

“Well?”

“Only once so far,” he said. “They asked if I was involved with
anyone, and I told them no but I didn’t elaborate. They took that to mean I’m
looking for the perfect woman.”

Cammie rolled her eyes. “You and every other man in the
universe. First and foremost, perfect in bed.”

“Maybe s
o, but no one wants a
relationship without good sex. At least I don’t.” He nailed her with an
intense, seductive gaze. “You never know where you might find that
perfection.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, Cammie came to her feet and pointed
behind her. “I better get ready to go before Dennis takes off without us.”

“Truce?”

“Sure.” Cammie leaned to take his hand, but he didn’t let go.
Instead, he gave her arm a tug, just enough to throw her off balance. She landed
squarely in the middle of his chest.

He looked at her a long moment before he said, “Maybe you
better leave now.”

Oddly, she had no real desire to move. “You’re probably
right.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Tell me what you want, Cammie.”

“I want...”
Not to want you.

Before she could voice her true feelings, he wrapped his hand
around her neck and drew her mouth to his.

He brushed his lips against hers in a series of teasing kisses
most likely meant to dissolve her defenses until she could no longer reason.
Either that or he was giving her ample time to get away before she was too far
gone. But she was already too far gone.

Brett finally kissed her in earnest, reminding her of last
night when this mistake had first been made. Countless objections ran through
her mind, yet she couldn’t form them into words or drown out the excitement his
kiss generated, even when he rolled her onto her back and fitted himself against
her. She couldn’t breathe for many reasons—his body conforming to hers, the
heady smell of soap on his skin, the scratch of roughened stubble against the
smooth flesh of her face.

Don’t do this
invaded her brain.
She pushed aside the cautionary words, even when she felt her shirt being tugged
out of the waistband of her jeans and the cool wisps of air on her chest as he
released each button.

When Cammie clasped his wrist during a passing moment of
sanity, Brett stopped, laid his hands on either side of her face and looked into
her eyes. “Since last night—hell, before last night—I’ve been thinking about us
doing this. Do you think about it, Cammie?”

The way he said her name made her shiver. “No.” A giant
lie.

Brett smiled again, his blue eyes relaying a mystical power she
couldn’t seem to resist. He clearly didn’t believe her. “Yes, I’ve thought about
it,” she finally admitted. “But I—”

He halted her protests with another hot kiss designed to
destroy her defenses. She didn’t try to stop him when he reached under her and
pulled her blouse completely away. Didn’t even attempt to escape when he moved
against her so intimately that only one thing would bring them closer.

In one quick move, he unfastened the clasp of her bra and
worked it off. They sighed in unison against each other’s mouth at the first
sensation of bare flesh. The last bit of Cammie’s rational side seemed to melt
away with the soft impressions of his hand on her breast, the erratic drum of
her heart, his mouth pressed against hers. For some reason, Brett Taylor had his
sights set on her. It both flattered and frightened her.

When he left her mouth and began to descend down her body with
soft, warm kisses, Cammie vaguely realized they were quickly reaching that
point-of-no-return moment. But she was so lost in the feel of his mouth closing
over her breast, she barely noticed Brett had released the button on her jeans,
then slid her zipper slowly, slowly down....

“Anybody home?”

CHAPTER SIX

P
AT
’
S
VOICE
EFFECTIVELY
hurled Cammie back into reality. She shoved Brett away and catapulted
off the bed with the speed of an Olympian sprinter, grabbing clothes as she
went. She put on her bra and redid her jeans as quickly as her trembling fingers
would allow while chanting, “Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no...” The normally simple task
of buttoning her shirt seemed astronomical at the moment.

Brett was still lying on the bed, facedown, hands above his
head as if in surrender, his body shaking. Cammie suddenly realized he was
laughing.

“Damn! Pat’s got bad timing.” He rolled off the bed, took a
pair of jeans from a nearby chair and, with a groan and some difficulty, slipped
them on. He grabbed a T-shirt, stopped beside her on the way to the door and
softly touched her cheek. “I’ll tell him you’re in the bathroom. I’ll go outside
with him, then you can sneak out.” He ran his thumb over her upper lip. “When it
comes to explaining the whisker burn, you’re on your own.”

Then he left her with a soft kiss and a sexy smile.

After Cammie heard the exterior door close, she went into the
bathroom to splash cool water over her now-flushed face.

I’ve been thinking about us doing this. Do
you think about it, Cammie?

She lowered her head and closed her eyes. Yes, she’d thought
about him. For long moments, and often. She’d thought about kissing him more
than she cared to admit, even before it had ever happened. Only this time it was
much more than a simple kiss. She wanted him with a desperation that made no
sense whatsoever. She wanted his hands all over her, his mouth all over her. And
he wanted it, too. She’d felt it in his body, saw it in his blue, blue eyes.

But he was her employer and even worse―a singer. He would only
hurt her, just like Mark had.

She didn’t need a man like Brett Taylor, but she did need the
job. She promised herself to end the game. Soon.

* * *

F
OUR
MORE
STOPS
ON
THE
TOUR
, four days of
pretending nothing had changed, four virtually sleepless nights. Brett was damn
near on the verge of insanity. He sat on the sofa, aimlessly strumming the
guitar—when he wasn’t focused on Cammie conversing with her current copilot,
Pat. She laughed and tossed her hair over one shoulder, then rubbed her hands
back and forth over the steering wheel. A fairly innocent gesture, but it seemed
downright erotic.

What had gotten into him? He’d had no business doing what he’d
done to her in Fort Worth. What he still wanted to do to her again, and then
some. He needed to focus on work and the upcoming schedule. Concentrate on his
songs, not sex. After they left Albuquerque that night, they were heading to
Vegas for two days of recreation and two sold-out concerts. Then on to
California and more stretches of desert road. A good time for some serious
songwriting, not seriously seducing the woman occupying the driver’s seat.

He got up and paced, full of unbridled energy. Sexual energy.
He could almost guarantee tonight’s show would be damn good.

As soon as they pulled into the New Mexico State Fairgrounds,
Brett immediately retired to the shower. He still had a couple of hours before
the performance, but he needed to put some distance between him and Cammie, even
if he couldn’t quite forget the details of their last encounter.

The shower helped, but the process of shaving—not so much. He
kept going back to that day in his bed. He kept remembering how good Cammie had
felt, how she’d responded to him. Five more minutes—and one less band member—and
they would’ve been engaged in some fairly fine lovemaking.

The serious lack of concentration caused him to nick his chin
right at the cleft. After dabbing the cut, he took the razor and swished it
around in the water, washing away the residual shaving cream, but not the
recollections.

He braced both palms on the sink’s edge, angled his body away
from the granite vanity and lowered his head. He had no idea how he was going to
deal with his Cammie predicament. Easy. He’d go out of his way to avoid her as
much as possible.

“Brett, are you decent?”

So much for avoiding her. And decent? That was damn debatable
considering his down-south reaction to the raspy sound of her voice. “Yeah.”

When he heard the stateroom door open, Brett tried to brace
for her arrival. Then he
looked up to
catch Cammie’s reflection in the mirror. And damn if she wasn’t checking out his
ass. Not that he minded, since he’d been guilty of checking hers out, too. Quite
a few times.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “The guys are ready to
rehearse.”

The small mirror was beginning to fog from the vapors of
rasping breath. Brett wasn’t sure which one of them sounded more winded. He had
yet to turn around, probably best considering the fit of his jeans. And if she
didn’t leave soon, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t take her down on the slate
floor and have his way with her, as long as she was willing.

After he faced her, he realized the bathroom wasn’t big enough
for the both of them. Not in his current state. “Tell them I’ll be out in a
minute.”

“Look, Brett, about the other day—”

“Not now, Cammie.”

She released a frustrated sigh. “Fine, but we can’t keep
pretending we don’t know each other. We have to work through this if we’re going
to survive the next few weeks. That means we need to talk about what happened
like adults.”

Talking was the last thing on his mind at the moment. “If you
mean we need to discuss our make-out session, no way are we getting into that.
I’m not going to risk losing my dignity in front of several thousand
people.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh. I didn’t realize it was bothering you
that much.”

He had to make her understand how close he was coming to losing
control. “Bothering me? I’m so jacked up I can barely think. I figure that
leaves me with three options, and none involves talking.”

She folded her arms. “Please continue.”

That’s exactly what he planned to do. “I can take a cold
shower, which probably won’t work. I can take you into the shower with me and
give you the wettest ride of your life. Or you can leave now before I forget why
we shouldn’t take up where we left off.”

When she failed to move, he reached around her and grabbed the
shirt hanging on the hook near the door, putting them in closer proximity. So
close their thighs brushed. Man, this was sheer torture.

After mustering every ounce of willpower, Brett left the
bathroom to finish dressing while Cammie rushed out, looking more than a little
rattled. She could join the club.

A few minutes later, Brett strode into the living area, high on
adrenaline and serious lust. “Hey, guys, how’s everyone feeling?”

“Damn, boy, are you drunk?” Pat asked. “I haven’t heard that
much enthusiasm in years.”

Brett frowned. “I haven’t had a drop to drink. I’ve just got a
lot of energy, so let’s go expend some of it.”

As they began to file out of the bus, Brett caught Cammie
staring at him, a smile curling the corners of her mouth. Damn, she had a great
mouth. Great everything, for that matter.

He sure as hell hoped performing would rid himself of the
frustration. Otherwise, it was going to be a long, hard rest of the night.

* * *

C
AMMIE
MANEUVERED
THE
BUS
through the
desert terrain along the interstate, fighting fatigue and heavy-duty guilt.
She’d tried to grab a quick nap while the band performed, but her mind had been
too cluttered with images of Brett and what he’d said to her before the concert.
Fortunately, he’d immediately retired to his stateroom after the performance.
Now she was alone with her thoughts—and Brett only a few steps away, hopefully
asleep.

Cammie turned on the satellite radio and tuned into a country
station that ironically was playing Brett’s latest hit. Nowhere to run, nowhere
to hide to escape him. Over the drone of the engine, she thought she heard a
noise from somewhere behind her and assumed it was only her imagination. Then
she heard footsteps and sensed him moving toward her, another detriment to her
composure.

She didn’t want to face him right now. Didn’t want to
acknowledge he’d uncovered basic needs that she’d camouflaged with indifference
and reserve for a very long time. He was everything she despised and feared in a
man—his reputation as a player, his breath-stealing looks, his ability to make
her lose all control. But that past revulsion, that ever-present fear, seemed to
be fading in Brett’s presence.

She yawned reflexively, her body reacting in protest over the
lack of sleep. That didn’t explain the immediate surge of heat when he stood
behind her.

“Tired?” he asked quietly.

“A little.”

“Want some company?”

Company would be nice, but she wasn’t sure she needed that from
him, even if she did want it. At least he was fully dressed, she realized when
she glanced in the overhead mirror, the only saving grace. “Could you get me a
cup of coffee? There’s some left over in the pot. I’d get it myself but it might
be a while before I find a place to stop.” She questioned the wisdom in
partaking of caffeine when her nerves already seemed sufficiently
stimulated.

“No problem,” he said. “Do you want anything in it?”

“No, thanks. Black’s fine.”

He left for a few moments, then came back with a cup that he
set in the console’s drink holder. Then he kicked back in the seat as far as his
frame and the narrow space would allow. “Where are we?”

“Almost to Gallup.” Cammie afforded him a quick glance and
noticed he looked about as tired as she felt. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

The words sounded strange coming from Brett, giving Cammie an
unexpected twinge of excitement. She personally hadn’t considered them as
anything but two people battling hormones. “What about us?”

“Tell me more about Mark,” he said as if he’d reconsidered the
topic.

“Not really much to tell. He’s a jerk.”

“How long have you known him?”

Cammie reached for the switch that controlled the windshield
mist and wipers, giving it an angry punch, releasing the cleaner and setting the
blades into action against the grime. Thoughts of Mark always conjured up
hostility from deep within.

“I met him six years ago when I was a senior at Belmont,
majoring in music history,” she said. “I was at a nightclub where he was
performing. He’d just released his first song and was still fairly unknown. I
didn’t know the first thing about him, but I thought he was kind of cute.”

She caught Brett’s smile from the corner of her eye as she
continued. “They were having a karaoke contest during the break, something I
indulged in every now and then for the prize money. Mark was signing autographs
when it came my turn to sing. He had the bouncer find out my name, then he sent
a note and invited me to join him onstage. After a lot of persuasion from Mark
and my friends, I agreed. That was the beginning.”

“What about the middle and the end?” he asked.

“I saw him when he wasn’t on the road, mostly between stops.
Six months after we met, he asked me to marry him.”

“You were engaged?” Shock resonated from his tone.

“Not officially. Before I could give him an answer, his manager
worked a deal he couldn’t pass up and he left on his first major tour as an
opener for Gil Markum two days after he proposed.”

“Money takes precedence over personal issues, especially with
managers,” Brett added.

And Cammie had thanked her lucky stars for that fact many times
over. “Actually, his manager was very supportive of our relationship. Mark was
always a little bit wild and that tainted his image at times. I’ve often
wondered if I wasn’t being used as some sort of PR tactic. Like I could actually
tame him.”

Cammie glanced Brett’s way and noticed his eyes looked heavy.
She thought for a moment she might escape the rest of the interrogation, but she
couldn’t be so lucky.

“So that about covers the middle,” he said. “What did Mark
Jensen do to you that caused you to break it off with him?”

Her hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Since we’d
spent so little time together, I decided to surprise him a couple of weeks later
in Little Rock. I drove eight hours, got in late, went to the hotel where he was
staying and found him in bed with some groupie who didn’t look a day over
eighteen, if that.”

“That’s why you were so upset that morning in Fort Worth,” he
said.

“Exactly. Anyway, I told him I wouldn’t marry him if he was the
last man on the planet, and I left. I haven’t seen him since. Not until the
other day.”

“And he never fought to get you back?”

Mark had fought, all right. He’d sent flowers and telegrams and
harassing letters, telling her what a mistake she was making. He even had his
band members call her. Mark Jensen didn’t like to lose, and that included every
aspect of his life.

Cammie blocked the disturbing images and continued. “He made an
effort, but by that time I’d left school knowing he’d keep hounding me if I
stayed. As it turned out, I had to help my grandfather with the company after he
had surgery. I moved permanently back to Memphis and wouldn’t take Mark’s
calls.”

“Don’t get mad when I ask you this, but did you ever consider
forgiving him?”

Cammie took her eyes from the road long enough to shoot him an
acid look. “Forgive him? How could I ever forget, much less forgive him for
falling into bed with someone else two weeks after he asked me to marry him?
Maybe even sooner than that.”