The Closer You Get (9 page)

He tipped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I’d never
think that, Cammie. And after what happened with you and Mark earlier, I
probably shouldn’t have done it.”

She probably shouldn’t have put herself in this predicament.
“Look, you didn’t force yourself on me, and I didn’t have to participate. But I
do work for you and that’s reason enough not to let this go any further.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right.”

She fumbled with the key for a few moments before she steadied
her hand long enough to finally figure out the correct way to insert the card.
When she gained entry, she turned to see Brett was still standing there, looking
as if he had something more to say. If she had any sense whatsoever, she would
run into the shelter of her room before she did something else they might
regret—like invite him inside.

Then he smiled, but only slightly. “Night, Cammie.”

“Night.”

Cammie rushed inside, closed the door and leaned back against
it while she gave herself a major scolding.

In a matter of hours, she’d confronted her ex-boyfriend and
kissed her boss. She could probably rest assured she wouldn’t have to encounter
Mark in the near future. On the other hand, she wouldn’t be able to avoid Brett
at all in the upcoming weeks. Sad thing was, avoiding him was the last thing she
wanted to do.

* * *

B
RETT
LINGERED
FOR
a few more moments outside the closed door, considering the
possibilities if he knocked and she invited him to come in. He highly doubted it
would happen, and that was probably wise. But he didn’t always heed wisdom.

A man wearing a white undershirt and pink plaid Bermuda shorts
passed by carrying an ice bucket. Without even so much as a glance in his
direction, Brett continued to hang around, steeped in indecision, until the
clink of ice cubes from the nearby machine drew him from his musings.

He eventually paid attention to the warning bells going off in
his head, picked up his bag and started slowly down the hall. First rule of the
road: don’t get involved with an employee of the opposite sex. It only spells
trouble. Second rule. His rule. Don’t get seriously involved with any woman. It
only invited heartache.

Caution didn’t stop him from thinking about Cammie as he strode
to his room. He recalled how she’d felt in his arms, the way she’d said his
name—in a kind of breathy voice. He felt a twinge in his gut when he thought
about dancing with her. He felt another twinge a lot lower when he remembered
kissing her.

Hell, no, she wasn’t a groupie. Didn’t look like a groupie and
didn’t kiss like one, either. Camille Carson kissed like a woman―a woman who
knew what she was doing. She wasn’t some young thing seeking a quick screw with
a star. She could actually hold a conversation without batting her eyelashes or
wetting her lips. Problem was, he still wanted to know her better. A lot better.
Every sweet inch of her, and that sent his imagination straight
into overdrive.

After Brett unlocked the door and stepped inside the room,
another image of Cammie flashed in his mind—when she’d taken off her jacket
while they were dancing. To that point, he’d only seen her in formless shirts.
Then, in a matter of moments, he’d seen firsthand what she’d done well to keep
hidden. He rubbed a palm over his face as if he could make the images disappear.
All he needed was a good night’s sleep to take care of it. That, and the Bermuda
shorts guy’s bucket of ice down the front of his jeans.

He sucked in a deep breath, then walked quietly into the room,
hoping like hell his roommate was already asleep. No such luck.

He found Pat stretched out on the sofa wearing a white T-shirt,
baggy blue boxers and a suspicious expression. “Where’ve you been, son?”

Brett fell back onto the adjacent bed. “Like it’s any of your
business, which it isn’t, I was in the bar having a beer.”

“You didn’t hook up with that gal you always call when we’re up
this way? What’s her name?”

“Jennifer.” He hadn’t even thought to call her, thanks to his
bus driver. “I was having a drink with Cammie. We were just talking.” And that
admission could damn sure cost him.

Pat swung his bare legs over the edge of the sofa, sat up and
stared at him. “Are you sure that’s all you wanted from Cammie, just some
friendly conversation?”

Brett grabbed a pillow and flung it in the direction of his
mentor. “Shut up, Pat.”

“Struck a nerve, did I?”

“Hell, no.”

“Hell, yes, I did. I hope you don’t expect us to vacate the bus
every now and then so you can have your way with her.”

Pat’s suggestion came to life in Brett’s mind, materializing
into one heck of a fantasy that had to do with Cammie sprawled out on her berth,
naked. Cammie driving the bus with his hands all over her. Cammie in the shower
with him... “She’s an employee and that means hands off.”

“Good, ’cause I won’t be party to you using that little
gal.”

He had no intention of doing that to Cammie. “Fine. Now that we
have that settled, I’m going to turn in.”

Brett retired to the bathroom, stripped off his jeans and
shirt, brushed his teeth and spent a good twenty minutes washing his face in an
effort to wash away the persistent fantasies. It didn’t work. Not in the least.
He returned to the room and crawled under the covers before Pat could discover
just exactly what Camille Carson was doing to him.

* * *

U
NABLE
TO
SLEEP
PAST
DAWN
,
Cammie was ready and waiting in the bus by the time the band members headed into
the parking lot at seven-thirty. She watched out the windshield as Rusty and
Bull said goodbye to their girls, then quickly stepped onto the other bus with
Jeremy, who looked hung-over and miserable.

Unfortunately, the vehicles weren’t well concealed. Dennis
attempted to run a group of fans crowded around the entrance of Brett’s bus, but
without much success. Cammie climbed out of the cab, bulldozed through the mob
of young, delirious females and did a routine check of the tires. Before she
could reenter the bus, one fresh-faced teenager grabbed her by the arm, halting
her progress. “Do you drive
his
bus?”

She immediately regretted she hadn’t hurried. “Yes.”

“You mean you get to see him every day?”

Nothing like good old hero worship. “Every day, and he puts his
pants on just like everyone else.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she
wanted the parking lot to open up and swallow her whole. She’d sounded as if
she’d seen him take his pants off.

The remembrance of Brett changing clothes the day before
invaded her thoughts. The recollection caused her face to heat, from forehead to
chin. Yet the probable blush went unnoticed as the crowd’s attention now turned
from her to the star in question as he approached.

The overwrought masses converged, thrusting pens in Brett’s
face and impeding his progress as he stopped to hand out a few autographs. His
jaw was blanketed by a shading of whiskers, his hair shower-damp, and he wore a
faded black T-shirt and equally faded jeans, proving to Cammie that no one cared
about his disheveled state. She definitely noticed his sex appeal, and so did
the other twenty or so young women stumbling over themselves, trying to touch
him. And he smiled as if he didn’t mind the attention in the least.

Then reality suddenly dawned. She had actually let the
notorious womanizer—the object of desire to all these females—kiss her. And
worse, she’d welcomed it. Unlike Mark’s forceful ways, Brett’s kiss had been
gentle, the impressions remarkable. So remarkable she’d had trouble
sleeping.

Cammie shoved the thoughts out of her mind. Regardless of how
he’d made her feel, she wasn’t one of his playthings and never would be.

Brett attempted to move toward the bus, inadvertently carrying
several fans with him despite two beefy crew members’ efforts to hold them back.
By the time he worked his way to the door, several other tourists had arrived on
scene to investigate the commotion.

Instead of retiring to the safety of the bus, Brett walked to
Cammie where she stood near the door, put his arm around her and brushed a kiss
over her lips. “Ready to roll, sweetheart?”

Cammie could only stare at him, flabbergasted. Brett then took
her hand and led her—more like dragged her—to the entrance. He scaled the steps
ahead of her while the crowd chanted his name.

Still dazed, Cammie squeezed past him and dropped into the
seat. “Thanks a lot, Brett.”

“I was just trying to discourage them so we could make a quick
getaway.”

Cammie’s irritation bubbled to the surface, both from lack of
sleep and wisdom. Truth was, she’d gone right along with the ruse. “I don’t like
being used as a decoy to divert a bunch of groveling prepubescent girls.”

“They’re harmless.”

She started the bus and shifted to face him. “How can you be so
blasé about this? Some of those girls couldn’t have been more than sixteen, if
that. Someone less scrupulous might have taken advantage of their
admiration.”

He propped an elbow on the back of the seat. “I’m not Mark
Jensen, Cammie.”

“I know that, but I expect you to be more appalled since you
have a daughter....” Her words floated away the moment she realized she’d said
too much.

His expression turned steely, unforgiving. “How do you know
that?”

She lowered her eyes before bringing her gaze back to his. “I
heard someone talking about it at dinner last night. And I knew about your
divorce the first night I came on board. But you can trust me not to say
anything.”

“You already have.”

How could she answer that? “I’m really, really sorry.”

His narrowed eyes told her he didn’t accept the apology. “Pat
said they’ll need another half hour before we head out.”

With that, Brett headed down the corridor, leaving Cammie
feeling stunned and ashamed. Just because he’d rescued her from the clutches of
a crazed ex-boyfriend, said she had talent and turned out to be one heck of a
kisser, that didn’t give her the right to comment on his personal life. He was
still her boss, which meant she had to attempt to make amends, or find herself
on the next plane back to Memphis.

After waiting a good ten minutes, she slid out of the seat,
convened some courage and knocked on Brett’s stateroom door.

“Yeah,” he called.

“Mind if I come in?”

“Suit yourself.”

For the very first time, she stepped inside the inner sanctum.
The area was surprisingly orderly, well-appointed and very masculine with its
brown-and-black decor. A set of weights sat at the end of the bed on the
beige-carpeted floor, along with a pair of cross-trainers. Several platinum and
gold albums that spanned his amazing career covered the walls. When she
recognized most of the titles, the enormity of his fame made the atmosphere seem
surreal.

The room held numerous other conveniences—another sound system,
another high-tech TV, another bed much bigger than hers where Brett had
stretched out and stripped down to a pair of navy boxers. No shoes, no shirt,
ready to service any willing woman.

He held some sort of entertainment magazine in both hands, the
title Cammie failed to see when she caught sight of his bare torso. In fact, she
lost sight of everything right then but his body. And this time she took a good,
long look, from the curve of his bicep to his tattoo to the dip of his navel.
And below that... Happy trails to her.

Then came the magazine now open in his lap. Unfortunately, she
didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—the visual trek as she followed the path from his
hair-covered thighs down to his bare feet.

The expedition only took a few seconds, but the terrain had
been more fascinating than any scenery she’d encountered so far. By the time her
gaze traveled back to his face, she realized he’d been watching her blatantly
studying him.

He pinned her in place with those deadly blue eyes and a
half-formed smile. “Need something?”

She needed to keep her eyes to herself. “I think we need to
talk.”

“About?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry again. Sometimes things jump
out of my mout
h before I think
. I didn’t mean
to criticize or delve into your private life.”

“Yeah, you did,” he said. “And you’re probably justified in
your criticism. Just know that every decision I’ve made to this point has been
for my daughter’s benefit.”

A decision that caused him a great deal of pain, if the remorse
in his voice was any indication. “I’m sure that’s the case,” she said, knowing
there had to be more to it. But she didn’t intend to push him for more
information.

Brett tossed the magazine aside, bent his knees and scooted up
until he was propped against the black leather headboard anchored to the wall.
“Have a seat.”

Cammie perched at the end of the bed, moving as far away from
him as she could without falling off the edge. She folded her hands in her lap
to curb the impulse to send her fingers up his bare leg. “I get a little testy
when it comes to this atmosphere. It reminds me of Mark.”

He raked both hands through his hair. “Like I’ve said, I’m not
Mark J
ensen. I don’t slap women around or take
advantage of them
. But after what happened between us last night, I
could see why you’d think I might. I just want you to know I didn’t plan for
that to happen.”

“That’s good to know.”

“But I have to admit I sure as hell enjoyed it.” He topped off
the comment with a fully formed grin.

Cammie glossed over the comment by turning her attention to the
discarded magazine. “What were you reading?”

“An interview I did several months ago. Tim signs off on all
articles, but I have this need to see how many times they’ve taken what I’ve
said out of context.”