by Kristi Gold
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 Jensen. 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.”
“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 so, 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
PAT’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.
* * *
FOUR 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, no
t 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.
* * *
CAMMIE 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 contro
lled 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?”