The Closer You Get (17 page)

“Since he decided you needed a break.”

On one hand, she was glad to have Bud back. On the other, she
worried what might happen if he got wind of her extracurricular activities with
the star of the show. “Just promise me one thing, Brett.”

“Name it.”

“Don’t let on to Bud about what happened with us. He’ll go
ballistic.”

* * *

“W
HAT
’
S
THIS
I
HEAR
about you and Brett?”

Cammie had barely boarded the bus before Bud launched in with a
question she didn’t care to answer. But if she didn’t say something, he’d only
continue to hound her.

After tossing her bag onto the sofa, she returned to the cab,
gave him a quick hug and sat in the seat beside him. “It’s nice to see you, too,
Bud. How’s the baby?”

He presented a proud-daddy grin. “She wasn’t quite cooked to
done, but she was done enough. She’s getting fatter by the day.”

“You make her sound like a Thanksgiving turkey. You should have
stayed home the entire month as planned.”

“My mother-in-law came in and I’d had about all the woman talk
I could stand,” he said. “Besides, I figured I might be needed more here.”

It had become all too clear why he’d come back early—to police
her. “I’m getting by fine, Bud. I could have managed until you got back.”

He rubbed his scruffy chin. “Maybe so, but you still haven’t
answered my question about you and Brett.”

She shrugged. “I agreed to sing backup to fill in for Pat, at
Pat’s request.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about the singing. Rusty says the two of you
really heat up the stage together. I’m wondering if it’s just the stage you’ve
been heating up together.”

Cammie hoped her flushed face didn’t give her away. “We’re
friends, Bud. That’s it.” That much was true, for now.

“If you say so.” Cammie thought she might be able to escape
until he added, “How come you haven’t called home?”

She tried unsuccessfully to tamp down the guilt. “I called
Granddad in Vegas. He told me the business is doing well and they have two
contracts for college charters during football season.”

“They’re worried you might not come back home.”

No surprise there. “They don’t have to worry about that. This
is only a temporary situation. Once the tour’s finished, I’ll be heading back to
Memphis and the business.” Funny, that notion didn’t seem all that appealing.
Necessary, but not that much fun.

Bud stared out the windshield for a time before he nailed her
with a serious stare. “Are you sure nothing’s going on with you and Brett aside
from the singing?”

“I’m sure.” She couldn’t have said that a few days ago. “Now
can we get on the road?”

“Might be nice if we waited for Brett to get here.”

Cammie glanced back at the closed stateroom door where she
thought he might be. “I assumed he was already here.”

“Not yet.”

As if they’d willed his appearance, Brett scaled the stairs and
stepped inside, looking freshly showered, clean shaven and extremely sexy, even
in black T-shirt and jeans. “One of the tractor trailers blew a tire,” he said.
“So it’s going to be at least another hour.”

Bud shut down the bus and shifted toward Brett. “Have you been
happy with Cammie’s services?”

If Brett was at all rattled by the question, he didn’t show it.
But he did lay a palm on her shoulder. “Cammie’s been great, and you weren’t
kidding when you said she could sing.”

From the disapproving look on his face, Bud was clearly
bothered by the gesture that seemed fairly intimate. “I’m just glad to know you
appreciate her. She deserves that, and your respect.”

“You can count on it.” Brett finally dropped his hand and
hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going back inside to meet with Tim in the
restaurant.”

“Just be sure you’re back when we’re ready to roll,” Bud called
after Brett as he left the bus, raising a hand in acknowledgment.

Cammie climbed out of the seat before she had to tolerate more
questions. “I’m going to do some laundry while we wait.”

“I’m not done talkin’ yet, Camille.”

Bud’s use of her given name meant this wasn’t going to be good.
“What else do you want to know? I brushed my teeth twice a day and ate right,
although I did miss my curfew a couple of times. But hey, at twenty-seven, I
figure it’s acceptable to stray now and then.”

“How far have you strayed?”

Too far to take it back. “Don’t worry, Bud. Your little
Cammie’s a big girl and she can take care of herself.”

With that, she headed to the back of the bus before she gave
herself away. Yet Bud could probably see through her lies like she was made of
cellophane. Could probably see the way she felt about Brett in her eyes alone.
If he knew how much she cared about him, he’d escort her off the bus and ask
more questions later.

Lucky, lucky Brett. How convenient that he’d made a hasty exit
before he’d had to undergo the third degree.

* * *

“W
HAT
’
S
GOING
ON
with you
and Cammie?”

Ignoring Tim for the time being, Brett signaled the waitress to
refill his coffee, although he’d like a shot of eighty-proof whiskey. “Nothing’s
going on, Tim. She’s filling in for Pat.”

“That’s not what your band says.”

Damn the band. “Exactly what does the band say?”

Tim adjusted the purple tie that looked like a noose around his
flabby neck. “I hear you’ve gotten pretty cozy with her onstage. I’m not saying
that’s a bad thing at all. In fact, it’s a good thing, having a lady with talent
like that backing you up. But...”

There was always a
but
with Tim.
“You’re worried she’s going to ruin my rep with the ladies.”

“No. I’m worried what’s going to happen after the tour’s over.
Chemistry onstage is one thing, a serious relationship offstage is another.”

Brett smiled at the waitress as she poured the coffee.
“Thanks.”

She grinned like a kid when she backed away. “Yes, sir, Mr.
Taylor.”

Tim pointed at the woman’s back. “That’s what I mean. We need
to keep that adoration going. No need to mess it up with you going off and
getting married again.”

Married? Where the hell did that come from? “I promise you I’m
not getting married in the foreseeable future, if ever. And as far as Cammie’s
concerned, once we’re done with the tour, that’s the end of it. She’s going home
and so am I. We’ll probably never see each other again.” That reality hit him
with a force he didn’t expect, right in the heart.

Tim leaned forward and dumped half a canister of sugar in his
coffee. “I’ve been meaning to talk you about that very thing. How do you feel
about Cammie going into the studio and backing you up on a couple of
tracks?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he said. “She’ll never agree
to it.”

“She might if you asked her nicely. I see a future for that
little gal, and I’d be glad to manage her. She could even open for you and then
we’d have men coming to see her and women coming to see you. Best of both
worlds.”

Brett didn’t like the thought of men lusting after Cammie, nor
did he like to think of her thrust into a life that she admittedly didn’t want.
“You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Tim. First, she has no intention of
breaking into the music scene. Second, she’s too good for it.” Just like she was
too good for him.

Tim sat back and rimmed the cup with a bulky thumb. “You should
ask her just to be sure.”

He could ask, but he already knew the answer—no. “I need to go
before Bud takes off without me.”

“One more thing,” Tim said. “Don’t forget the studio’s sending
a crew to Seattle to shoot the rest of the video for the next single.”

Just what he needed, something else to do. “Fine. Any idea what
they have in mind?”

“They mentioned
they don’t want
good ol’ Texas boy and they don’t want the
band. They want sexy with
you and a woman. They’re holding casting calls for prospective actresses to play
opposite you.” Tim released a gruff, seedy laugh. “I’d pay to have that
job.”

Great. He’d be expected get personal with a perfect stranger.
Not that he hadn’t done it before, and not only in front of a camera. “Let me
know the details so I have some time to prepare. And tell them to pick someone
who’s older than twenty and isn’t texting her damn boyfriend all the time like
the last one.”

“I don’t know what you’re bitching about. A lot of men would
give their right eye to make out with a sweet young thing.”

“It’s not as easy as you think,” he said. “It’s kind of hard to
generate chemistry with someone you met two minutes before you step on set.”

“I’ll do what I can, but it’s not up to me. You’ll just have to
live with what they give you.”

Something suddenly occurred to Brett. A great idea. “I want
Cammie in the video.” That would guarantee some hefty chemistry.

Tim shook his head. “They’re pretty strict about who they use,
Brett.”

“Make it happen, and I’ll try to talk her into cutting the
track with me.” And the devil could be living in a deep freeze before he
convinced her to take on either project. He’d have to pull out all the stops to
persuade her.

“I guess it could work,” Tim said. “She’s a good-lookin’ woman
and real sexy.”

Didn’t he know it. He’d have no trouble making a video with
Cammie and pretending he wanted to make love to her. Only he wouldn’t be
pretending.

Brett pushed back from the table and stood. “I’m going to do my
best to get her to agree, but just so you know, she could shoot me down.”

“Or she might surprise you and say yes.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“N
O
WAY
.”

“Come on, Cammie. It’s not a big deal.”

Being immortalized in a video was a huge deal. “Oh, look. You
can see the Golden Gate Bridge from here.”

“Sweetheart, pointing out the sights isn’t going to keep me
from trying to talk you into this.”

She turned from the hotel window so Brett could see exactly how
little she welcomed this ridiculous suggestion. “I don’t know the first thing
about making a video, much less acting in one.”

He brought out his best sexy look, the one that would make her
crawl over hot coals to get to him. “You just follow the director’s instructions
and take it from there.”

He made it sound so simple. Too simple. “I’ll let you know when
we get to Seattle.”

His smile faded out of sight. “I need your answer by tomorrow.
If you won’t do it, they’ll be forced to find some tall, leggy blonde to rub up
against me all day.”

He’d stooped to an all-time low with that argument, and she did
have to admit thinking about Brett wrapped up with some nubile actress could
easily sway her to his side. If she let it. “Good. I hope you have a marvelous
time with the blonde and the mutual rubbing.”

“I don’t want anyone but you,” he said. “Besides, it’s for
‘When You Know It’s Real,’ and no one knows that song better than you do aside
from me.”

The song they’d sung together every night. Their special song.
“Would I be expected to sing?”

“No. They’ll play the studio track during the shoot, so the
audio won’t be an issue. We just have to act like we want each other.”

That wouldn’t take a whole lot of effort. And that in itself
seemed dicey. The friend thing had been going so well, she didn’t want to mess
it up. For the past two days, they’d done nothing more than share meals and talk
and rehearse on the bus. No touching. No hanky-panky. No sneaking off into the
stateroom to hide from Bud and make good use of Brett’s big bed. Not that she
hadn’t imagined doing that very thing.

“Will you just think about it?” he asked.

“Fine. I’ll think about it.” And then she’d give him another
emphatic “no.” Right now she was curious about the box Brett had been sorting
through when he summoned her to his room.

She brushed past him, claimed a seat at the table and took
inventory of the items strewn over the glass top—a folded piece of paper and
several guitar picks. “What is all this?”

He pulled back a chair, turned it around and straddled it
backward. “It’s some stuff Pat sent me.” He held up the yellowed paper. “This is
the first song we wrote together on the bus. I didn’t know he’d kept it. Never
realized Pat was so damn sentimental about things.”

“What about the guitar picks?”

Brett picked up a black plastic triangle and studied it. “Pat
stole them from the bands we opened for, and eventually performers who’ve opened
for us. He liked the challenge of taking them without getting caught.”

Very weird. “Wouldn’t they have just given him one if he
asked?”

“It’s all a part of the game. All done in fun with no harm
intended. It’s what makes everyone a part of the family.”

A somewhat dysfunctional family. Cammie gestured toward the
cardboard container. “Can I look?” she asked tentatively, not wanting to
intrude.

“Sure.” After he shoved the box in her direction, she removed a
medallion dangling from a silver chain.

Brett slowly pulled the pendant from Cammie’s grasp. “Pat liked
the idea of a saint watching over us while we traveled. He swore it kept him
safe for the twenty-odd years he owned it. He told me on the phone the other day
that he wanted me to have all of it for luck.”

“You spoke to him?”

He dropped the medallion back into the box. “Yeah. I called him
after this came. I thanked him and I apologized for being an ass the day he
left.”

She was go glad he’d put away his pride. “Good. I’m sure he
appreciated it, especially the apology.”

Brett’s gaze drifted back to the box. “I remember the first day
I met him. Pat was between bands and decided to audition. After he finished, he
looked me over and said, ‘Damn, you’re nothing but a pup. Here’s another one
I’ll have to raise.’ He was so freakin’ confident I was going to hire him. And I
did. Been a fool not to.”

“I agree,” she said. “Pat’s one in a million.”

“He’s one of a kind.” Brett’s shoulders slumped slightly, as if
the energy seeped out with the memories. “He’d been around a long time so he was
the best thing that could’ve happened to my career. He guided me on many an
issue. He never let me know that’s what he was doing, but I finally figured it
out. He never took credit for all the success, either. He had a lot of offers
from other bands over the years, but for some reason he stuck it out with me.
Guess he saw something no one else did.”

Cammie saw it, too—the wounded man behind the superstar. The
man who had so much going for him, yet still seemed unsure at times. “I’m going
to miss him and I barely knew him, so I know it’s going to be tough on you for a
while.”

“Yeah, it is.” He got up and poured the last bit of coffee from
the pot. After he sat down, he began to speak again. “Last night, during one
number, something wasn’t quite right with the bass playing. I thought Pat
must’ve had something to drink before we went on. I was going to give him one of
my ‘what in the hell is wrong with you’ looks, but he wasn’t there. That’s when
it hit me that he’s never coming back.”

Cammie hated the pain in his voice and expression, yet she was
truly happy he’d finally opened up to her. “You’ll see him again, Brett,
somewhere down the line. It’s not like he’s completely out of your life.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same thing as having him around all the
time.” He stood, carried the cup to the counter, then turned to face her. “What
are your plans for the rest of the day?”

She took a quick check of her watch. “We have four hours to
kill before rehearsal, and I’m starving. Do you want me to call room
service?”

“I want to go out somewhere and take a walk.”

Cammie assumed he meant alone. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

“No way. You’re going with me.”

“For a walk?”

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone might recognize you?”

He picked up his cap and set it low on his brow. “I’ll take my
chances.”

Spending quality time with Brett, away from the hotel and
chaos, was worth a few chances. “All right. But we have to get an umbrella. And
I get to say where we eat because it’s my turn. I personally want to go—”

He suspended her tirade by putting a fingertip to her lips. “If
you don’t shut up it’ll be time for the show before we get where we’re
going.”

She pulled his hand away. “I want to go to Fisherman’s Wharf
and eat seafood.”

He frowned. “You know I don’t like seafood.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t like fish and there’s a lot
more to choose from. Try eating some crab.”

“Most guys spend most of their life avoiding crabs.”

Men could be so crude, even the incredibly cute ones. “Very
funny. You should really try to expand your horizons.”

He seemed to consider that for a few minutes. “I’ll make a deal
with you. I’ll try the crabs, if you’ll agree to the video thing.”

Leave it to him to bargain with her. She wasn’t all that keen
on putting herself out there for the world to see. She had absolutely no idea
what to expect. But if Brett was willing to take a chance, then so should she.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”

He picked her up and swung her around before setting her back
on her feet. “You won’t regret it. In fact, you just might enjoy it.”

* * *

S
HE
’
D
BEEN
POKED
, pulled, positioned and powdered. She’d
changed clothes more times than she could count—an outfit for the scene on the
boat crossing Puget Sound, one for the pier, another for the stroll downtown.
She’d been praised for her bone structure, and insulted because she walked like
a guy. And now she stood barefoot on a pebbled beach in a place known as
Deception’s Pass, wearing a gauzy white top covering—of all things—a little red
bikini. Worse, the once-sunny skies had opened up, releasing a deluge not ten
minutes after they’d climbed down some rickety steps to get to this remote part
of the park.

She was freezing to death and wouldn’t be surprised if her
teeth left her mouth to go skittering across the water like skimming stones.
“What is the hold-up?”

Brett—who wore a white tailored shirt and rolled-up
jeans—didn’t look at all uncomfortable. “They’re just trying to get it right. It
always happens at remote locations. But at least this is the last shot.”

“Good, because I’ll be dead from exposure after this one.”

He had the gall to grin. “It’s barely raining now and it’s not
all that cold.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re wearing cotton and denim, not a
piece of tissue paper and two pieces of yarn.”

He raked his gaze down her body and back up again, slowly. “If
it’s any consolation, you look real good. Especially wet.”

The innuendo in his tone didn’t help her current chills. “I
look like a drowned rat in a block of ice. I am not enjoying this.”

“Pretend we’re in the Bahamas.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when you’re surrounded by pine trees
and it smells like Christmas. Not that I’m complaining. This is an absolutely
gorgeous place, if you’re wearing appropriate clothing.”

“Well, since you’re suffering, then I’m going to suffer, too.”
He worked the buttons on the shirt, stripped it away and tossed it on a nearby
boulder.

The unbelievable backdrop had nothing on Brett Taylor’s
beautiful body. Once she got past the impact of his bare chest, Cammie’s
attention turned to a drop of water sliding down his sternum and onto his
board-flat belly before disappearing into his waistband, like the raven’s wing
on his tattoo. She’d give anything to be that drop of water, and suddenly she
wasn’t quite as cold.

“Okay, folks,” the director called from his perch above them.
“This is for the final chorus. Make it sexy and make it look like you mean
it.”

Brett slid his arms around her waist. “You heard the man. Act
like you mean it.”

That would so not be a problem, and suddenly she was very
warm.

“Cue music.”

As the song began to play, so did Brett. He toyed with the
opening on her blouse, then lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. Her hands
automatically landed on his arms to experience the play of his muscles. Then he
slid his palm to the small of her back and nudged her closer. He kissed her
forehead, then her cheek, and placed another at the corner of her mouth.

She looked into his incredible blue eyes that were almost a
match to the Pacific and everything else—everyone else—faded away, as if they
were truly alone on a remote beach with no concerns other than being together.
And as the final refrain began to play, the lyrics—richly sang in Brett’s
remarkably deep voice―began to sink in....

It’s the way you see through
me
...
the way you make me feel
....
That’s when I can’t deny it
...
when I know that it’s real
....

What she felt for him had become very real. All too real. She
couldn’t deny she loved him. Every flaw. Every insecurity. Every beautiful part
of him, inside and out. And she simply didn’t care what that might mean as soon
as he kissed her. A deep, moving kiss that continued long after the recording
had stopped. Much longer than would be deemed appropriate for two people who
were supposed to be playing a part.

The round of rousing applause and whistles interrupted the
kiss, yet Brett didn’t let her go. “This is why I chose you.”

If only he’d meant that in every way possible.

* * *

O
N
THE
DRIVE
BACK
TO
S
EATTLE
, their
conversation had died with the combination of fatigue and a return to reality.
Brett wasn’t one to make too many demands during the shoots, just a trailer
where they’d showered and changed, and some food. But this time he’d ordered a
private car to take them back to the hotel where they would immediately board
the bus, bound for Denver.

Cammie slept soundly against his chest, his arm wrapped around
her shoulder. He felt such a fierce need to protect her, only she didn’t need
his protection, except maybe from him. During that final shoot, when they’d been
wrapped up together, for the first time the lyrics he’d written solely to
produce another number-one hit had meant something. Because she meant something
to him. More than he wanted to admit. He’d begun to believe he could take the
next step in this relationship, until past failures stopped him cold. She’d
eventually grow tired of his moods, the demands on his time, this crazy life
he’d known far too long. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else, but right now
he couldn’t imagine doing without her.

“Do you want me to let you out at the entrance, Mr. Taylor?”
the driver asked.

“No. Let us out at the bus around back.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the driver navigated the car through the parking lot, Cammie
straightened and stretched her arms over her head. “I haven’t packed my stuff
yet,” she said.

He already missed having her so close. “While you were in the
shower, I called the hotel and had one of the staff members do it for you.”

She smiled. “That was nice of you.”

“And you deserve it.” She deserved a lot more than that.

When the car came to a stop, they both slid out and entered the
bus to find Bud waiting in the driver’s seat. He took one look at Cammie and
scowled. “You look like you’re on your last leg.”