by Kristi Gold
“I do. Most of the time.” She ventured a glance and a weak smile. He was already dressed in a navy blue neatly pressed shirt and blue jeans, his trademark black hat resting brim-up between them. “I’m a little touchy when it comes to music. Sorry I jumped down your throat.”
“You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.” He pointed to the binder. “Are those songs?”
“Yeah. My decrepit book of dreams.”
Brett smiled so gently it took her aback. “When I have a chance, will you let me look at those?”
“Take my word for it, you aren’t missing anything.”
“Why don’t you let me decide?”
She studied the front of the binder to avoid his scrutiny. Then he touched her.
It was no more significant than a lift of her chin so she would again meet his eyes. But when he dropped his fingertips, the area tingled with the memory of that simple gesture.
“I don’t know why, but for some reason you don’t understand your talent,” Brett said. “Now, it’s not my place to say what you should or shouldn’t do, but I’d continue to work real hard on that last song. It’s got hit written all over it.”
Cammie looked at him with doubt, just a bit afraid of her sudden awareness of him, every little nuance, including his aftershave. “You don’t have to humor me, Brett.”
He grinned, exposing perfect white teeth. “That’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, Cammie. And now that we’ve been properly introduced, I’ll go to work.” He pushed off the bed, put on the hat and adjusted it low on his brow. “You’ll still be here when I get back?”
An odd question. “Of course. Nothing better to do.”
“I don’t know. A girl as pretty as you just might run off with one of my fellow performers. Mark Jensen’s bus is parked on the other side of the band’s.”
Cammie’s heart grew stone cold at the mention of his name. Bud had warned her this would happen, but she needed more time to prepare, to gather some courage. If she was lucky, they’d leave before Mark realized she was there.
“Really?” Her voice sounded hoarse and tentative.
Brett frowned. “You okay, Cammie?”
“I’m fine.”
He walked toward the door and paused to face her again. “Are you sure? You look a little rattled. But I guess Mark Jensen’s been known to have that effect on the ladies.”
Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. If he only knew what she really thought of Mark Jensen. “You’re going to be late, Mr. Taylor. If you don’t leave, there might be some rumors started about us.”
“I can think of worse things than that.” He smiled and tipped his hat.
So could Cammie—turning the rumors into reality.
A sudden image of Brett kissing her played out in her mind. How foolish to imagine something so absurd. He wouldn’t be interested in a woman who drove buses and had reached a total stalemate in her life. And she wouldn’t be interested in a singer who had women falling all over him every day of the week.
She’d already had enough bad experiences with one talent too many. It would take a lot more than a little innuendo from a certified living legend to lead her to believe Brett Taylor would be any different.
* * *
“DON’T LOOK NOW, but here comes trouble.”
In response to Pat’s comment, Brett glanced toward the edge of the white tent set up behind the outdoor stage. Yeah, trouble was heading their way in the form of Mark Jensen, an up-and-coming singer with a huge ego to match his big mouth. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt revealing a roadmap of tattoos snaking up both arms, a camouflage baseball cap and a cocky expression as he arrived at the semicircle of chairs where the band had gathered after the concert.
“Great show, Taylor.” Jensen surprisingly offered his hand.
Brett reluctantly accepted the handshake, but he damn sure wasn’t going to stand. “Thanks. Didn’t see yours.” Intentional on his part.
“It turned out pretty good,” he said. “Oh, and I also wanted to say I’m sorry I knocked you off the top spot with my number one.”
So much for courtesy. “Well, after hanging in there for seven weeks, it was bound to happen.”
“We could go celebrate with a cold one in my new bus.”
Brett figured from the look of the jerk’s glassy eyes, he’d already had a few too many cold ones. “No, thanks. We’re going to be heading out shortly.”
Jenson pulled up a canvas chair and sat without an invitation. “You don’t know what you’re missing. My rig’s custom, right down to the surround sound. It’s pretty sweet.”
“Brett’s got that setup, too,” Rusty chimed in. “But I bet he has one thing you don’t have.”
Mark looked skeptical. “I doubt that.”
“Do you have a good-lookin’ female bus driver?” Bull asked.
Jensen frowned. “No way that’s the truth.”
Rusty grinned. “Yeah, way. And she can sing, too.”
The whole conversation gave Brett an uneasy feeling. “Drop it, guys.”
“Brett’s right,” Pat joined in. “Cammie’s a professional and she should be treated like one.”
That seemed to get Jensen’s complete attention. “Cammie?”
“Short for Camille,” Bull said.
Jensen rubbed his scruffy chin. “She sounds damn interesting. Might have to check her out in case you’re pullin’ my leg.”
Brett had an urge to knock the smirk off the bastard’s face. “Leave her alone, Jensen.”
When Mark grinned, pushed out of the chair and headed toward the parking lot, Brett came to his feet, intent on following him.
“Sit back down, Brett,” Pat said. “If you don’t, then you’re headin’ for a fight. You bruise your knuckles, you can’t play. You break your nose, you ain’t gonna be as pretty.”
He never looked for a fight, but sometimes they found him, anyway. “I don’t trust that guy, and I’m going to make sure he doesn’t mess with Cammie.”
Bull laughed. “Cammie can take care of herself, Brett. And she’ll be real pissed off if you charge in there to defend her honor.”
“I doubt she’ll even open the door to him,” Rusty said. “In fact, when I went to ask her if she wanted to join us, she was sound asleep.”
Brett realized they had a point. Cammie was probably still sleeping, and she could put Jensen in his place with just a look if she wasn’t. Besides, he didn’t want to suffer her wrath if he made a misstep in the macho department. For those reasons, he reclaimed the chair. He’d give it five minutes, and then he’d go check on her, even if it made her mad.
CHAPTER FOUR
CAMMIE WOKE UP mad as a hornet, thanks to some heavy-duty knocking that nearly startled her out of the bunk. She made her way to the cab in a fog and opened the door, expecting to find Brett waiting to gain entry. She couldn’t be more wrong. The man appearing at the bottom of the steps would send some women into the kind of hysterics reserved for the naive starstruck. But she knew what resided behind the disarming smile and dark green eyes. Those attributes only served as a shell for the arrogant singer who had an affinity for booze and—as he’d termed it—broads.
“Hey, darlin’.”
At the sound of the familiar and unwelcome endearment, Cammie’s frame went as rigid as the gearshift. “What are you doing here, Mark?”
He scaled one step and tried on his patent grin. “Come on, Cammie. That’s no way to greet you
r boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend.” Heavy emphasis on ex.
Without the slightest hesitation, he scaled the second step and entered the bus. “Just thought we’d have a little visit for old times’ sake.”
She had no desire to repeat a past she’d vowed to forget. “I have nothing to say to you, so please leave.”
Blatantly ignoring Cammie’s request, Mark brushed past her, walked into the living area and sat on the sofa, as if he had a right to be there.
He sized up the area a few moments before turning his gaze back to her. “Not too bad, but it’s not as good as my rig.”
Arrogant jackass. “Then I suggest you return to your rig and let me get this rig ready to roll.”
Mark removed his cap, set it aside on the sofa and forked a hand through his gold-blond hair. “No need to rush, darlin.’ Your boss is havin’ a little party in the hospitality tent with his band. That gives us plenty of time to talk, or whatever else we might want to do.”
Cammie wanted to scream from frustration. “Again, I don’t care to talk to you, and ‘whatever’ is definitely out of the question.”
The smile disappeared and his expression turned stone cold. “Still a little prissy, aren’t you? Always just a little bit too good for me.”
Obviously his insecurities still existed, masked by his overinflated ego. “No, Mark, I’m a lot too good for you. So why don’t you run along and grab a groupie.”
He reached up, caught her arm and dragged her down beside him. She smelled the overpowering scent of whiskey as he placed his lips to her ear. “Why don’t we take up where we left off?”
Cammie shifted all the way to the end of the couch, putting some much-needed distance between them. “Not on your life.”
He turned and faked a pout. “Now, you don’t mean that.”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
“Don’t you think you at least owe me an explanation as to why you ran out on me without even giving me a reason?”
She tapped her chin and pretended to think. “Let’s see. I believe her name was Sandy, or maybe it was Sheila. Of course, we can’t forget Bethany and that tall, skinny blonde whose name escapes me. I believe that’s enough reasons, don’t you?”
He streamed a fingertip down her arm. “Well, sweetheart, since you weren’t putting out, I had to find someone who would.”
And she had no regrets that she hadn’t let the relationship go that far. “I wasn’t about to sleep with you after learning I’d have to take a number.”
“Those girls didn’t mean anything to me, Cam,” he said.
She wanted to laugh. “You’re a creative person, Mark. Surely you can come up with a more original line. Better still, let’s just pretend we never happened. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”
She glanced toward the hall and decided that going into the bathroom would be the best move. Even if he didn’t immediately depart, he’d probably grow impatient and finally take the hint, or get tossed out by one of the guys. At least that’s what she hoped would happen.
But as she stood, he again grabbed her hand and pulled her back down, this time into his arms. “I’m not done with you yet, Camille.”
Cammie felt trapped and anxious. He’d never been violent, at least not with her, but when he drank excessively, he tended to become easily agitated. Only one of the many reasons she’d broken off their relationship. “You’re hurting me, Mark.” Her voice sounded tentative, shaky, and she hated that.
“I won’t hurt you, baby. I’ll make you feel real good.”
Before she could wrest out of his grasp, he tried to kiss her. She had enough wherewithal to clamp her mouth shut and turn her face away. “I mean it, Mark. Leave now, or you’ll wish you had.”
“I’m not leaving until I get what I came here for,” he said. “What you wouldn’t let me have when we were together.”
Fear prompted her fight-or-flight response when he began to work the buttons of her shirt. She managed to shove his hands away, at least for the time being. “I said no, and I mean no.”
He pushed her back on the couch and hovered over her, looking larger and more menacing than she remembered. “Come on, darlin’. You know you want it as bad as I do.”
Anger kicked in along with a spurt of adrenaline. She would not allow this to happen. He’d have to knock her senseless before she’d let him touch her again.
Cammie bit down hard on Mark’s shoulder the minute he moved on top of her, and when she lifted her knee and hit the intended target, he slapped her face with the back of his hand, sending a pain shooting all the way to the top of her head.
“Get off her!”
Cammie felt the pressure of Mark’s body lift away right before she saw Brett backing Mark up against the refrigerator, one arm pressed against Mark’s throat.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing, you son of a bitch?” Brett hissed.
“I know her, Taylor.” He looked back at Cammie with a provocative grin. “Real well.”
When Brett glanced over his shoulder, looking for confirmation, Cammie had no choice but to tell him the truth. “We knew each other, but that was a long time ago, and he’s not welcome in my life anymore.”
Brett turned back to Mark. “Do you want me to call the police, Cammie?”
Did she? No. She couldn’t afford to invite a scandal into Brett’s life and end the job before it had barely started. “Not this time, as long as he promises to never come near me again.”
“You heard the lady,” Brett said. “The next time you pull a stunt like this, I’ll turn what’s left of you over to the law. Understood?”
When Mark grumbled a halfhearted acknowledgment, Brett released him and shoved him toward the door. “Now get the hell out of here and don’t ever come back again.”
Mark picked up his cap from the floor, slapped it across his thigh and gave Cammie a suggestive wink. “Later, darlin’.”
Once he was gone, Cammie collapsed against the cushions and released a ragged breath. The tears she’d been determined to keep at bay rolled down her cheeks, regardless of her determination to stop them.
Brett sat beside her and surveyed her face. “Did he hurt you?”
With great effort, she swallowed a sob. “It’s nothing.”
“He slapped you. I don’t consider that nothing.”
After swiping at the latent tears, she made an effort to smooth her tousled hair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He softly touched the tender area on her cheek left by Mark’s hand. “I don’t know a hell of a lot about Jensen, but I don’t like what I saw just now. Do you really know him?”
“Yeah, I know him.”
“How well?”
Cammie shot off the couch and walked to the kitchen sink. “Well enough to steer clear of him.”
“And you let him in here?”
“He didn’t give me much choice.” She drew some water into a plastic cup, took a quick drink and dumped the rest into the sink. Then she turned and leaned back against the counter. “I knew him back in Nashville when he was playing the club circuit.”
Brett stood but remained planted in the same spot. He looked as if he wanted to say something but stayed silent.
“Anyway,” Cammie continued, “I haven’t seen him in about four years. I was afraid I might run into him while we were on the road, but I didn’t expect it quite this soon. He’s always been a drinker, and aggressive when he drinks, when i
t comes to fighting. But I’ve never seen him act that way before.”
Brett pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and handed it to her. “He might have more than booze on board.”
She wiped the moisture from beneath her eyes. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “He could be on speed or sleeping pills or painkillers. Whatever he thinks he needs to get by in this atmosphere. It happens.”
“But not with you?”
He sighed. “I used to drink to cope when I first started out, but Pat set me straight before it got too out of hand. I know my limits, and that’s a beer every now and then. No hard stuff, and no more than two.”
She suspected his drinking resulted from his divorce. Not that she dared to seek confirmation. “I’m happy for you, and sad for Mark if that’s what he’s doing. He’s not a bad guy, but he does have a sense of entitlement. He always has.”
Brett took off his hat and tossed it onto the dining table. “Whatever’s going on with him, I’m just real sorry this happened to you.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Brett. It’s mine for opening the door to him.”
He lowered his eyes. “It’s the band’s fault he knows you’re here.”
“How’s that?” she asked, although she had her suspicions.
“The guys were braggin’ about you when Mark stopped by the hospitality tent,” he said. “We didn’t know he knew you and he never even let on. He just smiled and said he’d catch us later.” Brett raised his gaze to hers, his blue eyes full of remorse. “I swear, Cammie, if I’d known about the two of you, I would’ve never let him get near you.”
Unsure how to respond to the revelation without sounding ungrateful, Cammie pushed past Brett and straightened the throw pillows that had found their way to the floor during Mark’s sick attempts at seduction. “Are the guys on their way?”