The Closer You Get (19 page)

He walked away, leaving her with a desire that transcended
anything she’d felt before in her life.

Cammie turned on the faucet and dabbed some water on her face,
then made her way to the berth where she found Brett stretched out on his back,
a forearm covering his eyes. And bunched on the floor next to the small bed—his
shirt, jeans and shorts.

The thought of him naked underneath the covers was almost her
undoing. But she remained motionless, hovering over him, waiting until he
acknowledged her presence.

When he didn’t, she sighed. “I’m here.”

“So am I. It’s your move.”

He seemed so sure she’d crawl all over him at that moment, and
although she truly wanted to, she decided to make him wait and wonder.

She walked into the stateroom, closed the door behind her and
leaned against it for support. If she had any sense, she’d make him suffer
another day. Okay, maybe another hour. At least a few more minutes...

* * *

W
ELL
,
HELL
.

Brett rolled onto his side and tried to get comfortable, but he
couldn’t find a satisfactory position that didn’t add to his misery. He
should’ve left well alone following the conversation. He shouldn’t have kissed
her. He had no one to blame but himself. He could have carried her into his bed
right then, before she had a chance to change her mind. But he’d been determined
to allow her to take the next step. Apparently she wasn’t going to give him the
satisfaction. Literally.

Brett’s entire body tensed when he heard the door reopen. He
didn’t dare look up...or hope too much. He remained still as stone until he
heard the overhead light click off, sending the compartment into darkness. But
when she tugged the sheet away and the narrow mattress bent, he could barely
stay still.

As she squeezed in beside him, it didn’t take him long to
figure out she wasn’t wearing a stitch. And even though the bed was barely
adequate for a man his size, it took no time at all for them to find a
comfortable position—her leg draped over his bare thigh, her head resting on his
chest and her fingertips coming dangerously close to the end of his tattoo.

Somehow, someway, he had a moment of clarity. “We need to go
into the room in case Bud decides to check on us during a fuel stop.”

She planted a kiss on his neck. “The divider’s closed.”

“He can still open it from the other side.”

When she planted another kiss low on his belly, he wasn’t sure
he’d be able to move except to maybe pole vault off the bed. “It’s kind of a
thrill knowing we could get caught,” she said.

For her maybe. “He’ll kill me and spare you. Plus the
condoms—”

“Are on the floor beside us.”

Damn, she’d thought of everything—up to this point. “Are you
sure you don’t want to go to my bed? Seriously, Bud’s going to be really pissed
if he finds us here. I can handle him, but I’m worried about you.”

She raked her nails down his thigh, coming awfully close to
Joe. “I’m not going anywhere for the time being. That is, if you still want
me.”

“Oh, yeah. Me and Joe need you real bad right now.”

She laid her hand on his chest and pressed her fingertips
against his pounding heart. “But will you ever need me with this?”

I already do
...

The thought exploded inside his brain with the force of a
grenade. He didn’t know exactly when it had happened, but he’d fallen lock,
stock and barrel in love with her. He wanted to tell her, but the words wouldn’t
come. “I’m learning, Cammie. Just give me a little more time.”

“That’s all I need to know.”

She took the lead then, rolling on the condom with unexpected
ease, although he could tell her hands were shaking. But she wasn’t so nervous
that she showed the least bit of hesitation when she moved on top of him and
guided him inside her. He didn’t know how he’d gone so long without this,
without her.

She rocked back and forth to an erotic beat in sync with the
motion of the bus. He touched her without mercy, brought her closer and closer
to a climax. He heard the catch of breath in her throat and the soft moan as she
swayed above him, letting him know she was almost there. With one more stroke,
she softly cried out, and that led to his downfall. He shook with the force of
his own climax and after it finally subsided, he experienced the emotions that
before could only be found in his songs.

Just the way she said his name meant more to him than a
thousand triumphs on stage. The way she accepted him, flaws and all, meant more
than a hundred top-ten hits. He held her tighter, but he couldn’t seem to get
close enough even though they were as close as two people could be.

Cammie shifted as if she were going to move away. “Don’t,” he
said, almost too harshly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly, as if she understood
his frustration.

Brett turned to his side, taking her with him. “Stay with
me.”

“What about Bud?”

“I don’t give a damn about Bud.”

“Brett—”

“Stay with me,” he repeated. “Don’t leave me.”
Don’t ever leave me.

“I promise I won’t.”

* * *

“Y
OU
SON
OF
A
BITCH
.”

Brett came awake with a start and glanced over his shoulder to
see Bud standing by the berth surveying the scene, a murderous look on his
face.

Cammie faced the wall and he was molded to her backside like a
spoon. Fortunately, she was covered. Unfortunately, he wasn’t, since the covers
were bunched at his feet, giving Bud a bird’s-eye view of his bare ass.

“You
sorry
son of a bitch,” Bud
repeated when Brett took his time pulling the blanket to his waist before he
shifted onto his back.

Cammie came awake and rolled over, surprise replacing her
sleepy expression when she noticed Bud. She sat up, tugged the sheet to her chin
and sent him an acid look. “Do you mind, Bud?”

“Hell, yeah, I mind. Your grandfather would kill me if he knew
I let this happen, Camille Carson.”

“It’s not her fault,” Brett said quickly. “It’s mine.”

Cammie turned her frown on him. “You don’t have to explain
anything to him, Brett.”

Brett rubbed his eyes and stared at Bud. “I don’t suppose you’d
buy it if I told you nothing happened.”

Bud’s gaze roved to the floor where a silver packet had been
carelessly discarded alongside Brett’s clothes. “No, I wouldn’t buy that.”

“Harold Eugene Parker, stop treating me like I’m a child.”

Bud’s face turned a bright crimson in response to Cammie’s
comment. “Dammit, Cam, I told you never to call me that!”

“Harold Eugene?” Brett couldn’t stifle his laugh if his life
depended on it, and it might.

“Shut up, Taylor,” Bud said. “You’ve already stepped in a
knee-deep pile of manure
, so don’t push your
luck
.”

Cammie rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have something better to do,
Bud, like fuel up? I assume that’s why we’ve stopped.”

“I’m not moving, because the stud here has some explaining to
do.”

Brett lunged off the bed, taking the blanket with him, bumped
his head and swore loudly. “First of all,” he said with a finger pointed in
Bud’s chest, “we’re both over twenty-one and free to do as we please. Second,
nobody forced anybody into bed. And third, this isn’t the first time.”

Bud glared at Cammie. “Do you know what you did when you let
this player have his way with you?”

Cammie slid farther down onto the pillow and dared to smile.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not that skinny little teenager with braces
and a training bra you used to tell what to do.”

“You wore braces?” Brett asked.

“For two years.”

“Yeah? So did I.”

“For crying out loud,” Bud muttered. “Who gives a flying flip
who wore braces? I’m sure her teeth are the farthest thing from your mind right
now, Taylor.”

“Not necessarily.” Brett dropped down on the edge of the bed
and gave Cammie a brief kiss. “She has great teeth.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she replied. “So do you.”

Bud let go a string of curses that would have any mother going
for a bar of soap. “Stop with all the sweet talk, dammit.”

“Okay, Bud, here’s the deal.” Brett took Cammie’s hand. “This
isn’t an over-the-road romance.”

“No, it’s not,” Cammie chimed in. “As a matter of fact, I’m
going to Nashville with Brett.”

Brett didn’t bother to hide his shock. “You are?”

She looked up at him and grinned. “I can’t stand the thought of
you all alone in that big empty house and no one to talk to but your housekeeper
and your horses. Not to mention, I can’t wait to use your pool.”

“I forgot to tell you the deck overlooks the lake. It’s a great
place to write and talk, or we don’t have to talk at all. We’ll do whatever you
say.”

“I say it sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“Don’t I have anything to say about this?” Bud growled.

“No,” they answered in perfect unison.

Brett pointed toward the front of the bus. “So if you don’t
mind, Cammie and I would like to get some sleep.”

After Bud shook his head and walked away, Brett lifted Cammie
into his arms, sheet and all, and deposited her on the bed in his stateroom.
Then he secured the door before he came back to the bed. “There’s something to
be said for locks.”

When she unraveled herself from the covers and stretched her
arms out to him, he didn’t hesitate to jump right in with her. Yeah, he was
definitely ready to go all in.

He rolled her onto her back and hovered above her. “So I guess
this means your answer is yes.”

“Yes, I’m saying yes.” She frowned. “That is if Bud chooses to
deliver us there.”

“He’ll take us there, all right. Bud ain’t no angel and I don’t
think he wants me spilling stories I know about him to his little Cammie. And I
sure as hell know he doesn’t want the rest of the band to find out his real
name.”

“That’s blackmail, Brett.”

“Sometimes that’s the way you have to roll to get what you want
around here.” And damn, he wanted her.

“You’re not going to blackmail me, are you?”

“No, but I am going to keep you in this bed all day.”

“Works for me.” She landed her sweet little hands on his butt.
“Speaking of rolling, let’s make some noise and give Harold Eugene something to
stew over.”

“Just what do you have in mind?” he asked, although he already
knew the answer when she slid her hand between them and homed in on her
target—good ol’ Joe. And as usual, Joe immediately rose to the occasion.

Brett drew in a sharp breath and grinned. “Nashville, here we
come.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
HE
A
PRIL
SUN
BEAT
DOWN
on Cammie’s shoulders and back,
sending her into a euphoric state second only to the bliss she’d experienced
over the past three weeks. She didn’t care to move from her comfortable position
in the redwood chaise, although she would eventually have to go inside in order
to avoid sunburn. She wouldn’t risk being in pain when Brett touched her—and
boy, had he touched her quite a bit.

She thought about all those evenings they’d spent at home,
dining on meals Brett’s housekeeper had prepared in advance, then making love in
several rooms and in several incredible ways. In Brett’s presence, she’d
become completely uninhibited. So uninhibited that
she’d decided to work on her tan
on the upper level deck just outside
the bedroom, topless, something she’d never done before. That seemed to be the
direction her life had taken—a course of self-discovery with a man she’d never
allowed herself to hope for, let alone love.

She also loved his house—a modern, multilevel wooden structure
overlooking the lake. The size alone indicated its owner had a lot of money, but
not an ounce of pretension when it came to the interior. The decor inside was
simple and masculine—dark earth-tone sofas set out about two living areas, a
media room, a sound studio and a high-tech kitchen normally only seen in
designer magazines. Yet she’d been bothered that two of the bedrooms had barely
been furnished, prompting a few ideas of how she would add her own touch. Maybe
paint the room at the end of the hall a nice sage-green and talk him into buying
something bigger than the twin bed he’d put in there...and she was getting way
ahead of herself.

They still had far to go, but in some ways they’d already come
a long way. They’d even ventured into Nashville proper last weekend, dined in a
four-star restaurant and explored Music Row out in the open, like a normal
couple. A normal couple who had to pause now and then for Brett to sign a few
autographs for fans who clearly had recognized those haunting blue eyes beneath
the brim of his cap. He’d also taken her on the studio tour where they’d tested
out the equipment by singing together. However, she still hadn’t agreed to
participate on the CD, but she was coming mighty close.

Cammie couldn’t recall when she’d been happier, but the elation
frightened her. She didn’t know how long it would last, especially after what
she’d discovered that morning at the market. She had no idea if Brett knew about
it, and if he did, exactly how he’d reacted to it. She would find out as soon as
he returned from the meeting with his producer, the fourth this week. In the
meantime, she intended to enjoy the calm before the probable storm.

After she stretched her arms over her head, Cammie dangled one
hand over the side of the chaise—only to have a wet tongue streak across her
knuckles. She opened her eyes to Brett’s drooling black retriever staring at her
expectantly. “I see you’ve been taking lessons from your master, Merle.”

“Yeah, and his master says that’s the best view he’s seen all
day. I just hope I’m the only one getting a show.”

Cammie looked up to find Brett standing at the sliding door,
sunshades covering his eyes and a surprisingly serious expression on his
face.

She sat up on the edge of the chaise, her arms crossed over her
bare breasts. “You don’t have to worry. I haven’t seen a soul all day except for
Merle. I sure missed you, though.”

He strode to the chaise, leaned over and gave her a brief,
almost perfunctory kiss before he claimed the adjacent chair. “What have you
been up to? Aside from sunbathing naked.”

His tone was borderline irritable and she wondered if the
meeting hadn’t gone well. However, she knew something that might take his mind
off his troubles. She took a chance and lowered her arms and braced her palms on
the edge of the chaise. “I’m only half-naked. I still have on my bottoms.”

He grabbed the discarded terry robe from the table and tossed
it at her. “Put that on. Otherwise, I won’t be able to concentrate on our
conversation.”

A conversation she didn’t particularly want to have in light of
what she needed to tell him. “Spoilsport,” she muttered as she slipped on the
robe and cinched the tie at her waist.

He took off his sunglasses, set them on the table and pinched
the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “Tell me about your day.”

She’d start with the mundane details before she lowered the
boom. “Well, I got up and took a shower after you left. Then I had some
breakfast in the sunroom with Merle, who eyed my bagel the entire time. Then I
had lunch, a fantastic Greek salad Naomi made me. She’s great, by the way, and
very efficient. I hope you pay her well. Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, I gave
her the night off so I can test your grilling skills.”

“You should’ve asked me first,” he said. “Tim’s coming to
dinner. Now I’ll have to call her and tell her to come back.”

She’d clearly overstepped her bounds. “I can cook dinner,” she
said. “I went to the market after lunch and picked up four rib eyes.” Time to
reveal the dreadful part of her day. The part that could send him over the edge.
“That’s where I discovered this.”

Cammie leaned back, felt around for the magazine, then brought
it out from beneath the chaise. She held her breath as she held it up for his
inspection.

He surprised her by shrugging, not shouting. “Just your
run-of-the-mill gossip rag.”

Cammie pointed at the line in the corner of the front cover.
“Did you read it?” She turned it around and did the honors for him. “‘Another
Country-Music Heartthrob off the Market? Look Inside to See Brett Taylor’s
Latest Conquest.’”

“You just have to ignore it, Cammie,” he said. “This is the
same rag that claimed Naomi’s my longtime mistress and her sons are my
illegitimate sons, all because I picked her up from the cleaners when her car
broke down.”

He didn’t realize that what they’d written this time was true.
But he would.

She opened the pages to the brief blurb listed under the
current social-happenings heading. “It says here, and I quote, ‘Country-music
crooner Brett Taylor, thirty-three, was spotted on the Nashville streets cozying
up with former bus driver and current backup singer, Camille Carson,
twenty-seven. Seems Ms. Carson has more than driving and singing skills if she
can tame this confirmed bad boy.’ And they even have a picture.”

She turned it back around to show him the photo of the two of
them walking out of the bar where they’d had an after-dinner drink. Again, Brett
didn’t seem all that shocked by any of it. He did seem distracted.

“Doesn’t this bother you?” she asked when he didn’t
respond.

“It’s bound to happen,” he finally said. “I’ll let Tim handle
it.”

“As in confirm it?”

He grabbed his sunglasses and stood. “I don’t know, Cammie. I
have more important things to worry about right now.”

Things he clearly had no intent of sharing with her. Unwilling
to let him off the hook, she followed him into the bedroom where she found him
emptying his pockets onto the bureau. That’s when she spotted the stationery
next to his keys. Purple stationery with darker hearts swirling across the top
and handwritten words filling the first of what appeared to be two pages.

Cammie couldn’t contain her curiosity, even if she risked
suffering his wrath. “A letter from a fan?”

He kept his back to her as he shrugged out of his shirt and put
on a T-shirt. “Not even close. It’s from my kid, and she’s definitely not a
fan.”

At least he’d told her that much, and now she knew the source
of his distress. “Do you mind if I ask what it says?”

He sat on the cowhide chair in the corner and slipped off his
boots. “Be my guest, but I’ve gotta warn you. Your opinion of me is probably
going to drop to an all-time low.”

“I doubt that.” She didn’t doubt the content was going to be
disturbing.

After picking up the letter, she perched on the edge of the
mattress and began to read. The first line alone broke her heart. She could only
imagine what it had done to his.

Dear Dad,

Or maybe I should just call you Brett because you haven’t been my
dad for a long time. But I still remember when you were my daddy. I remember
when you used to sing me that crazy song before I went to bed. I remember when
you came to get me after a concert and I’d hide behind your truck. You liked to
scare me but I wasn’t scared because I knew you wouldn’t really hurt me and you
didn’t back then. But you hurt me a lot of times because you never showed up at
my softball games or when I showed my horse. I guess you just had more important
things to do.

Mom told me she sent you the papers for you to sign so Randy
can adopt me. I don’t understand how a dad can give up their kid without asking
that kid if that’s what they want. I know Mom’s made it hard for you to see me
and I know I said something bad to you the last time we talked on the phone. I
just wanted to say I’m sorry and that I really want to talk to you one last
time. I want to hear you say why you don’t want me anymore. But if you don’t
want to call me, that’s okay. I still love you, anyway.

Love, your daughter for now,

Lacey

Cammie set the pages aside and took
a swipe at her eyes with her sleeve. She glanced at Brett to see he had his
head lowered, his hands tightly clasped together. She didn’t know what to
say, or if she should say anything at all. But she had to try to get him to
talk, if only to ease some of his burden. “What are you going to do about
this, Brett?”

He streaked both hands down his
face and leaned his head back against the chair. “I don’t know.”

“She mentioned something about
papers. Did you get them?”

“Yeah,” he said without looking at
her. “The day we left Vegas. They were waiting for me when I got on the
bus.”

That certainly explained his
erratic behavior. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not your problem.
It’s mine.”

He still had a lot to learn about
relationships. “When two people are together, that’s part of the deal. You
share your problems and I share mine.”

“Yours aren’t nearly as bad as
mine, so that makes it one-sided.”

Not as far as she was concerned. He
might not want her comfort, but she was going to give it to him, anyway. She
pushed off the bed, crossed the room and climbed into his lap, where she
rested her head against his heart that had to be breaking. She prepared for
a rejection, but he rubbed her arm gently, as if she was the one who needed
soothing.

“She still loves you, Brett,” she
said. “She wants you to be her father again.”

His hand stilled against her arm.
“She has a dad, and he’s a decent guy. He can give her what I never could. A
life where people don’t invade your privacy because they think they have the
right. He can give her his time.”

She lifted her head to look at him,
stunned by the abject pain in his face. “But he’s not you, and he never will
be. Maybe if you call her—”

“I don’t see the point,” he said.
“It’ll only make it harder to let her go.”

“Then you’ve already
decided.”

“She’s better off without
me.”

“I don’t agree, and you’re
definitely not better off without her. You’re hurting like hell and it’s not
going to ever go away.”

“Well, I guess that’s just a burden
I’ll have to bear. She’ll probably thank me for it later.”

Or she could hate him for it—a
thought Cammie chose to keep to herself. He was already suffering
enough.

He nudged her off his lap and
stood. “I need to take a shower. Tim’s supposed to be here around six-thirty
and that’s only two hours away.”

Just like that, he’d raised that
same old emotional wall.
A wall she’d hoped to tear down. Now she
wasn’t certain she ever would. “Fine. I’ll use the guest bath to get ready.”
She’d begun to feel like a guest, anyway.

Brett responded with a simple “Okay,” then disappeared into the
adjoining bathroom and closed the door, in turn shutting her out.

Cammie felt she had to do something to encourage him to respond
to his daughter, and that gave her an idea. It could very well backfire on her,
but she didn’t believe he really wanted to let his daughter go w
ithout a fight
. But if that happened to be the
case, she worried she could be next.

* * *

C
AMMIE
HAD
BARELY
tossed the Caesar salad before the doorbell
sounded. When she heard Tim and Brett engaged in casual greetings, she swept
through the kitchen and out onto the stone patio carrying Brett’s earthenware
dishes.

“Hey, there, Cammie.”

She set the plates down and turned to see Tim standing at the
patio door wearing khaki slacks and a red golf shirt, an unlit cigar stump
dangling from the corner of his mouth. She sincerely hoped it stayed unlit, at
least during dinner.

She crossed the patio and shook his hand. “Can I get you
something, maybe a beer or mixed drink?”
Maybe a pamphlet
on the dangers of smoking cigars?

“Scotch and water sounds good.”

“I’ll get it,” Brett said quickly, leaving Cammie alone with
Tim for the time being.

She gestured at one of the white cushioned chairs she’d taken
great pains to clean the past week. “Have a seat.”

After he complied, she took the chair opposite him and waited
for Brett to return to bring the drink. She plucked at a thread dangling from
the hem of her shorts, then smiled at Tim tentatively as she tried to think of
something to say to break the awkward silence. “How are things going with
Brett’s career?”
Brilliant, Cammie
. Like she hadn’t
witnessed Brett’s booming success firsthand.