The Closer You Get (12 page)

Cammie.

Seeing her dressed like that left him initially stunned, then
completely captivated. When she noticed him, she smiled and gave a teasing
little shake of her head that made his heart race. Then she moved toward him in
a slow, sultry gait. Now his heart seemed to stop.

“Hi,” she said as soon as she reached him.

“Hi” was all he could manage, his eyes riveted on her softly
painted face.

“I was just about to join you but I got distracted by all the
excitement at the craps table.”

“I’m done with gambling.” He wasn’t done with her, though. Not
even close. “I was close to losing my ass.”

“Really?” She leaned around him to inspect his backside. “Looks
like all your anatomy is still in place.”

Man, she smelled good, looked great, made him want to climb all
over her. “I wasn’t in the mood to hang around any longer.”

“What
are
you in the mood for?”

Give him five minutes and he could tell her in explicit terms.
For that matter, he could show her. “I don’t know. How about you?”

“I’m here to gamble,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I thought
you might show me how to play the slots.”

He wanted to show her a lot of things, none involving a
one-armed bandit. “What’s it going to be? Pennies, quarters or dollar
machine?”

“Dollars would be fine. But I need to find an ATM first.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Brett headed to the nearest cashier
cage, thankful for the opportunity to escape so he could pull it together. After
he signed for cash on his account, he sought out Cammie again. He found her
seated nearby on a stool in front of a dollar slot machine, legs crossed, her
dress riding up her legs, giving him a bird’s-eye view of her thighs.

He fed a hundred-dollar bill into the slot and tried to clear
the uncomfortable hitch from his throat. “There you go.”

She sent him a wide-eyed stare. “That’s too much money, and
it’s your money.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’m ready to go for
broke.”

She picked up an amber-colored drink and sipped at the straw.
“Tonight, Brett, I’m going for it all.”

She slowly ran a fingertip over the rim of the glass, then
proceeded to remove the straw and drew it through her pursed lips like she was
enjoying a piece of licorice―or something else. Brett felt like a live wire had
been attached to his spine and a charge sent the length of it. He moved behind
her, close enough for the back of her head to touch the center of his belly.

“There are two ways to do this,” he said, trying to ignore the
pressure building below his belt. “You can push the button that says Spin—” he
pointed to the lighted square “—or you can do it the old-fashioned way.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “How do you prefer to do
it?”

For a moment he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to speak. He
leaned closer to the chair, his body tensing with every word, every action,
Cammie threw at him. If she did or said anything else the least bit suggestive,
he might have to resort to self-mutilation to get his mind off what he wanted to
do to her. “I prefer the way it’s been done since the beginning.”

Brett reached around her and pushed the credit button three
times, then clasped her hand and placed it on the silver lever. Instead of
releasing his grasp, he let his fingers glide up her arm to her slender
shoulder. “Go ahead. Pull away.”

She smiled up at him and dragged the arm down. Bells chimed.
Three single bar symbols appeared in the window. “Did I win?” she asked.

“Fifteen bucks. Looks like you got lucky the first time.”

She smoothed her hand over the dress, then switched her crossed
legs, drawing the hem up another inch. “This is going to be easier than I
thought.”

With a pounding heart, he repeated the same motion of
positioning her hand on the lever, only this time he curled his fingertips
around the inside of her arm, grazing the side of her breast as he made his way
up.

Cammie let out a little gasp of air as the cherries rolled into
view. “You got your money back,” he said.

“I enjoy getting a return on my investment. By the way, do you
like my dress?”

Hell, yes, he liked it. And what was in it. And he’d really
like to see it lying in a heap on the bedroom floor. “It’s real pretty,
ma’am.”

She reloaded the machine and grabbed the arm on her own. But
instead of pulling it, she fondled the ball on the end with red-painted nails,
then encircled the silver lever and slowly stroked it all the way down the
shaft.

Cammie made the same move once more while Brett looked on,
perspiration forming on his upper lip. He could actually feel her doing it to
him even though her hands were in full view.

He clenched his teeth in an effort to regain some control. He’d
always had control. A lot of control. Now he was in danger of totally losing it
to this woman. Again.

His hands inadvertently squeezed her shoulders with every
seductive stroke. When she finally pulled the arm into position, he bent down
and buried his face into the nape of her neck. “Are you through playing now?” he
whispered.

“With this?” Cammie asked, running her hand slowly along the
side of the machine. “We still have some money left.”

Brett nibbled her earlobe. “That’s the point. You’re ahead. You
should always quit while you’re ahead.” That particular advice seemed sound
where they were concerned. Too late.

“If you say so,” she said. “But I’m ready to take my
chances.”

He let out an exasperated breath and straightened. “Then, by
all means, continue.”

Cammie slid off the stool, quickly finished her drink down to
the jingle of ice cubes and turned to face him. She closed in on Brett until
their legs touched, then inched her fingers up the front of his shirt.

He grabbed her hand as soon as she made it to the top. “If
you’re not serious about this, Cammie, then you better leave now. Once we get
started, I’m not going to want to stop.”

She stood on the tips of her toes until her lips were barely an
inch from his. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”

Then she pulled his head down and kissed him without regard to
the crowded casino.

The clanging and ringing, whoops of cheer and shouts of
frustration, vanished. All Brett could hear was the blood rushing into his ears,
felt it rushing elsewhere. He had his hands on Cammie’s bare back and she was
doing things to his mouth that would cause a saint to sin. He didn’t care if he
made a total fool of himself in front of hundreds of people, all he could think
about was this damn hot woman in his arms. He was in suspended animation...until
he heard someone scream his name from somewhere down the aisle.

Jolted back into awareness, Brett clutched Cammie’s wrist and
tugged her toward the direction of the elevators and safety from the masses.

“Your money!” she shouted.

“Let someone else have it,” he said as he practically pulled
her along with him. “Maybe they’ll get lucky, too.”

* * *

O
NCE
WE
GET
STARTED
, I’m not going to want to
stop.

The words echoed in Cammie’s brain as Brett led her past rows
of slots and tables at almost a sprint. When they finally arrived at the bank of
elevators leading to the exclusive club level, Brett pounded the up button and
gritted, “Come on,” while he glared at the doors as if he could force them open
by sheer will. The car arrived a few seconds later and Brett lowered his head
while several people filed out. Hand in hand, they rushed inside, only to be
joined by an older, well-dressed couple who fortunately didn’t appear to
recognize him.

They rode in silence as the elevator crept to their
destination, pausing two floors below theirs to deposit the husband and wife. As
soon as they were alone again, Brett pulled her back into his arms and kissed
her thoroughly. Cammie wound up with her back against one marbled wall with
Brett pressed against her. And when he cupped her bottom and brought her even
closer, she wondered if they would even make it to the room before clothes
started coming off.

Then the bell chimed, heralding their arrival on the top floor.
This time Cammie took the lead, and his hand, and led him to her room’s private
entrance. She rummaged through her purse for the card key, pulling it out only
to drop it on the floor, exactly as she had that first night he’d kissed her.
Her hands trembled as she tried to retrieve it. Before she knew it, Brett
grabbed it up and slid it into the slot.

The light flashed, the latch tripped and her heart seemed to
momentarily stop. After they entered the room, she didn’t have time to think
before Brett backed her to the bed and took her down in his arms onto the
mattress. She prepared to begin the journey of a lifetime, then all the kisses
and mutual groping suddenly halted, followed by Brett’s rough sigh.

He tipped his forehead against hers and muttered, “Damn.”

If he was having second thoughts, she’d have to kill him.
“What’s wrong?”

“Condoms.” He raised his gaze to hers. “Do you have any?”

Oh, sure. She snapped her fingers and faked a grin. “Darn, I
forgot to pack them with my zebra-print panties.”

He sent her a seductive half smile. “You have zebra
panties?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, and I don’t have any condoms, either.
I thought guys always carried one in their wallet.”

He rolled off her and streaked a hand over his jaw. “I haven’t
done that since high school. They don’t hold up well. I learned that the hard
way.”

Definitely a story there, one she’d ask about later. “You could
go to the gift shop and hope you don’t get mobbed.”

“Or I could go next door and get one from my shaving kit. It’s
either face Pat or rabid fans. Normally I might choose the fans, but my room is
a hell of a lot closer.”

“True.”

Brett kissed her cheek, came to his feet and pointed at her.
“Don’t go anywhere.”

He had to be kidding. “Where would I go?”

“Back downstairs to flirt with that guy at the craps
table.”

“He told me I reminded him of his granddaughter.”

He grinned. “That’s good to know. I’d hate to think you’d throw
me over for someone twice my age.”

“I will if you don’t hurry up.”

After Brett rushed out of the room, and the spontaneity had
been ruined, Cammie tried to will away the misgivings. Of course he would be
prepared enough to keep condoms readily on hand. Spontaneous sex was probably as
much a part of his life as his songs. But why should she care? This was just
purely physical attraction, or so she kept telling herself.

Still, she didn’t have any intention of stopping what they’d
started. As soon as he came back, she was going to lose herself in the
experience and deal with the fallout later....

“Cammie!”

The sound of Brett’s distressed voice sent her upright and to
the adjoining door. She opened it to find Brett seated on the edge of the sofa
next to an ashen and barely conscious Pat.

Brett looked up at her, alarm in his eyes. “Call 9-1-1.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

W
HEN
SHE
AWOKE
the next morning in
the ICU waiting room, Cammie’s back ached from spending hours on the
less-than-comfortable sofa. Her heart ached knowing that Pat was in a hospital
bed, suffering from a yet-to-be determined ailment. She’d taken a thirty-minute
break to return to the hotel and changed into T-shirt and jeans. After that,
she’d fallen asleep against Brett’s shoulder between periodic reports from the
staff at hour intervals, while the guys had camped out on the remaining chairs.
They’d all been very quiet, clearly scared to death, though they would never
admit it.

But at the moment, she was the only one in the small room since
the boys had left to find some breakfast. Brett returned a few minutes later
with much-needed coffee. “Thought you could use this,” he said as he handed her
one paper cup. “No cream or sugar and probably strong enough to set your hair on
fire.”

She could use all the strength she could get. “That works.
Thanks.”

He took his place beside her and patted her leg. “How are you
holding up?”

“I’m okay. How are you doing?”

He leaned forward and draped his arms on his thighs, clutching
the coffee cup between his parted knees. “I’ll be fine as soon as I know Pat’s
going to be okay.”

She rubbed his back in a soothing gesture. “Pat’s a strong guy.
He’ll be fine.”

He straightened and sighed. “I hope you’re right. He’s been
like a father to me. A better dad than mine ever
was.”

She sensed his turmoil as keenly as
if it were her own. “He’s a remarkable man.”

“Yeah, he is.” Brett sat silent for
a moment before he set the untouched coffee on the table before them. “After
Jana left me and took Lacey with her, I went pretty wild. Too much booze and
too many women, anything to keep me from wallowing in self-pity. He told me,
and I quote, ‘Get your act together, son, or you’re gonna burn out before
your star even starts to rise.’”

Cammie immediately thought of Mark,
only his wildness resulted more from self-indulgence than self-pity. “So he
whipped you into shape, did he?”

He smiled, but only slightly. “He
probably saved my life. Now I
just wish someone would tell us what’s
wrong with him so I know what we’re up against.”

“I’m sure they will as soon as they know,” she said with as
much confidence as she could muster. “And let’s hope they know something soon.
One more night on this sofa and I’ll request to be Pat’s roommate.”

Catching her off guard, Brett smiled and pulled her close to
his side before giving her a soft, innocent kiss. The growing connection between
them was uncanny, the intimacy undeniable, as if they’d known each other for
years, not weeks. As if they’d become more than only employee and employer.
Maybe she was just imagining things. Or maybe it was simply the circumstance.
Then he gave her a meaningful look before he kissed her again, a little less
innocently this time, but not quite long enough to be deemed completely
inappropriate. Or so she thought until Brett pointed to the windowed door and
released a resounding groan.

Cammie discovered a trio of gaping band members with faces
pressed against the glass, noses looking piglike, eyes wide and lips molded into
distorted grins.

“Do you think they saw us?” Cammie said through a false smile
and in her best ventriloquist imitation.

“I’d bet on it,” Brett answered as he walked to the door. When
he opened it, the gawking group entered in their usual melodramatic fashion.

Bull fell back against one wall and clutched his chest. “Call a
doctor! I think I’ve come down with the love bug.”

“Me, too,” Rusty said, choking and gasping for air. “I need
some mouth-to-mouth, so someone call me a nurse.”

Brett scowled as he returned to the sofa. “Cut it out, guys.
We’re too tired for this, and Pat’s situation isn’t a damn joke.”

“Lighten up, Brett,” Bull said. “Besides, the two of you looked
like Pat was the last thing on your minds a minute ago.”

“Didn’t look too tired, either,” Rusty added.

Cammie felt a blush flowing over her cheeks while Brett studied
the toe of his boot.

Bull chuckled and slapped Brett on the back. “Okay, we’ll lay
off for now. But you know us, we won’t forget it.”

Oh, joy. Cammie could just imagine what the future would bring
in terms of teasing. Her future with Brett was much more up in the air. Future?
They didn’t have a future aside from a tour that could be indefinitely
suspended, depending on Pat’s condition. That might mean an early return to
Memphis and saying goodbye to Brett and his band of merry men for good, and that
somehow made her sad.

After everyone settled down, Rusty tuned the TV into a game
show while the others dozed and chatted. At 9:00 a.m. a young doctor appeared
and reported they were still running tests and he wasn’t authorized to release
more information. “Three at a time can go in to see him,” he said. “But you can
only stay for five minutes.”

Brett told the others to go ahead as he remained behind with
Cammie. They sat close on the couch, holding hands like teenagers. No words
passed between them while they waited for their opportunity, only oddly
comfortable silence until the group returned, looking lost and distressed.

Brett immediately shot to his feet. “How is he?”

Bull shook his head. “Damn, Brett, he looks like hell. It makes
me sick to see him this way.”

“Yeah, he can barely talk,” Rusty said. “He doesn’t deserve
this.”

Jeremy kept his head lowered as if the sight of Pat had been
too much to bear.

“Let’s go,” Brett said, signaling Cammie to follow.

When they entered the room, Cammie swallowed hard around her
shock. Pat looked so pale and helpless, a definite change from the strapping
senior band member with the terrific sense of humor.

Brett approached the narrow bed and laid a hand on Pat’s arm.
“Hey, man, this is no way to get out of a gig. If you wanted tomorrow off, you
should have told me.”

Pat slowly opened his eyes and attempted a weak smile. “You
know me, never could say no.” When Pat offered his hand, Cammie stepped up and
took it. “How are you holdin’ up, gal?”

She smiled. “I’m okay. Just get better real quick. I’m having a
heck of a time keeping these guys in line.”

“That’s probably what put me here.” His smile faded as he
looked back to Brett. “What are you going to do...about the concert?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brett said. “We’ll manage. Tim’s
arranged for Bob Walker to sit in for you. He’s in Arizona so he can get here
quick.”

“Good picker,” he said. “Can’t sing a lick, though.”

Brett shrugged. “I’ll just go it alone.”

“Can’t do it, Brett. New song needs some harmony.” Pat lifted
Cammie’s hand. “This gal can handle it.”

Cammie’s mouth momentarily dropped open before she snapped it
shut. “No way. I can’t handle that.”

“Sure you can, honey,” Pat said. “You’ll do a fine job.”

Before she could respond, a nurse came in and reprimanded the
pair for overstaying their welcome. When Cammie leaned down to give Pat a kiss
on the cheek, he whispered, “If you won’t do it for me, then do it for
Brett.”

How could she refuse either request? Yet how could she thrust
herself back into a situation that she’d long since left, with good reason?
“Okay. I’ll think about it.” The only promise she was willing to make.

As she left the room, Pat’s suggestion left her stomach in
knots and her mind in turmoil. Surely Brett wouldn’t consider the proposition.
After all, she hadn’t performed in public in years. She did know Brett’s music,
but not well enough to pull off harmony. Singing lyrics with a radio was quite
different from singing in front of a live audience, thousands of people hanging
on every note, expecting nothing short of perfection.

Cammie hadn’t noticed Brett trailing behind her until he
grabbed her arm and guided her into a small alcove, away from the hospital chaos
and prying eyes. “Pat’s right. You should give it a shot.”

She propped her hands on her hips. “You must be insane.”

She started to walk away but he stopped her again. “I’ve heard
you sing, Cammie. You could do it.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.” He sent her a teasing, sexy smile. “You’re dying to
try it and you know it.”

He couldn’t be more wrong. “Am not.”

He pulled her to him and sent soft kisses over her face. “Say
you will, Camille.”

He was taking extreme advantage at the moment. “You’re not
playing fair.”

“I’m not playing. I’m dead serious.”

She pushed him back to arm’s length. “Tell you what. I’ll
rehearse with you this afternoon. If it doesn’t work, then you’re on your
own.”

He picked her up off her feet and spun her around. “You’ll be
great. Hell, we might even have you signed before we leave here. You, me and Pat
will make a great team.”

“Whoa,” she said when he placed her back onto the ground. “I’m
doing this for Pat’s benefit, not mine.”

Brett took her palm and planted a kiss on her wrist. “What
about me?”

If he only knew the role he played in every decision in recent
history. “Okay, so maybe a teeny part of me is doing it for you.”

He looked more than satisfied with her answer. “Let’s go tell
the boys.”

Brett took Cammie’s hand and led her through the hallway with a
spring to his step, as if they were kids on their way to a circus—which might
not be so far from the truth.

* * *

“O
NE
MORE
TIME
,” Brett said, tapping his foot in time with the beat.

They’d been going at it for two hours. Cammie felt exhausted
from the work and her throat had begun to feel fatigued from the effort. No
doubt about it—Brett Taylor was a talented, pain-in-the-patoot perfectionist.
His earlier hits she’d had no trouble with, but even he seemed unsure about his
latest endeavor. Unfortunately for her, his next release debuted tomorrow night
and all the details had to be worked out.

Cammie took a quick drink and began to sing when the time came
but Brett stopped again before finishing the first refrain. “Dammit, that’s not
it.”

He walked away muttering a few mild oaths. Cammie was about to
tell him this whole idea wasn’t working when he came back to her.

“Sorry, Cammie. It’s not you, it’s me. Let’s take ten and try
it again.”

Brett left the immediate area, and while he was gone, Cammie
dropped onto the stool, feeling drained of all energy.

“It really isn’t you, Cammie,” Rusty said. “He’s having a hard
time right now with a whole lot of things.”

“I know, Rusty. He’s missing Pat.”

Rusty pulled up a nearby chair. “It’s not just Pat. The last
time he had a woman around during rehearsal, it was Jana.”

“His ex-wife.”

“Yeah. I think your singing with him has brought back a lot of
memories.”

Memories of the woman he loved and perhaps still missed. How
could she have been so foolish as to agree to such a stupid masquerade? She
didn’t have the talent to take on something of this magnitude, or the ability to
make Brett forget every woman he knew before her, especially his ex-wife. “Maybe
this isn’t such a good idea.”

“I’m not saying that,” Rusty said. “Just be patient. You’re
doing a great job. Something’s been missing in the live performances for a while
and I think you may have filled that spot.”

Cammie smiled with gratitude. “Thanks, Rusty. I’ll stay, but
only because of Pat, and because you’re such a sweet-talker.”

Before Brett returned, Cammie formulated a plan of action. If
he was having trouble forgetting, then he needed to be reminded she was the one
who needed his attention now. As soon as he returned, Cammie lifted her
microphone and placed it immediately beside Brett’s.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“If we’re going to do this right, I’m going to stand over here
and inspire you.”

“Inspire me?”

“That’s what I said.”

He frowned. “How?”

“Just wait and see.”

The guys shuffled their feet and stifled their laughter,
prompting Brett to give them a stern look. “We ain’t got a clue,” Bull said from
his position behind the drums, arms raised as if Brett had a gun pointed at his
chest.

Cammie started to bring the lyrics to her self-appointed spot
on stage, but decided against it. Shuffling paper would definitely spoil the
mood she was trying to create.

Brett grabbed up his guitar and began to strum.

“Do you have to play that?” she asked.

“No, but why the hell not?”

“Don’t get testy. I thought we could go over the song first
with only the band’s accompaniment. Once we get it down, you can go back to
playing.”

Looking somewhat perturbed, he set the guitar aside against a
speaker. “Anything else?”

She tried on an angelic smile, hoping to calm this devil in
blue jeans and boots. “I think that about does it.”

Brett turned to Rusty. “Okay, hit it.”

As the introduction played, Cammie took Brett’s hand that
rested at his side. He seemed surprised by the gesture, but didn’t pull away.
Instead, he looked into her eyes.

The love song might have been initially inspired by Brett’s
former wife, but Cammie was with him now. She stood by his side, declaring
lyrical devotion with a voice perfectly in sync with his. At one point after the
second verse, and before the chorus, when the words spoke of making love, his
arm slipped around her waist, pulling her so close they had no need for two
microphones. Their united voices belted out a heartrending message, leaving
Cammie feeling completely exhilarated.

When they neared the final refrain of the ballad, he moved his
face closer to hers. And when the notes died down to a soft echo in the empty
auditorium, they sealed the number with a spontaneous kiss.