The Closer You Get (20 page)

Tim leaned back, an exaggerated grin on his face that dwarfed
the nub of the cigar. “All I’ll say right now is everything’s going to work out
fine for both of you. I’ve got it all laid out. I’ll wait for Brett to
explain.”

Baffled by the comment, she barely managed a smile. She’d
assumed Tim was there to go into detail about Brett’s next tour and recording
schedule. She suspected he could very well try to convince her to cut the
track.

Brett walked onto the patio balancing three drinks in his
hands. He set the first in front of Tim. “One Scotch and water, light on the
water just the way you like it.” Then he handed her a red can of soda. “And the
hard stuff for you.” After he sat down with his bottled beer, he turned his full
attention on his manager. “What are you doing here, Tim?” he asked, revealing he
was as clueless about the reasons for the visit as she was.

Tim took a long drink and shook his head, comically jiggling
his jowls, reminding Cammie of a bulldog she once owned. “Good stuff.” He set
his drink down on the glass-topped table and hitched his pants. “I’m not going
to beat around the bush. I’m here because I wanted to confirm that we’re all set
for Cammie to record with you.”

Exactly as she’d predicted. “Wait a minute. I still haven’t
agreed to this.”

“Just hear me out, Cammie,” Tim said. “We want to recut ‘When
You Know It’s Real’ just like you did it on the tour. We’re going to hold off
releasing the single until we have you on the track.”

Cammie hesitated. “I don’t know, Tim. I’m not sure I’m ready
for this.”

“You’re not even going to consider doing it?” Brett asked.

What they were offering was a life-altering experience. She
wanted to say
Sure, why not?
But she didn’t like to
be pressured. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. I still have some reservations,
though.”

Tim rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers
together. “This is a good opportunity to hone your skills, Cammie. Many a singer
would jump at this chance.”

“But I’ve never considered myself a singer in that sense.”

“The moment you sang onstage with Brett Taylor, you acquired
that label. It’s not a derogatory designation. Hell, it’s a damn honor.”

Brett held up his hands to silence Tim. “Can I say something
here?”

Tim sat back and sighed roughly. “Go ahead.”

He turned to Cammie. “All I’m asking is that you sing with me
on one track. Hell, it’s a lot easier going into a studio where you don’t have
to worry about performing in front of thousands of people. You just have to
contend with a few producers...and me.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“Just give it a shot. If it doesn’t work out, no sweat.”

Not knowing where they were going in their personal lives only
added to her concerns. “Can I have a few days to think about it? After all,
you’re not going to the studio until next week.”

“All right,” Tim said. “But I need an answer by the end of this
week. Now there’s something else I need to cover here.” His expression turned
somber. “I don’t have to tell you that I was none too pleased about this living
arrangement.”

Cammie looked toward Brett, who didn’t return her gaze. “This
is the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Well, I’m not pleased,” he continued. “But I’ve faced the fact
that you’re adults, you choose your path even if it affects your career.”

“Glad you see it that way,” Brett said.

“What about affecting his career?” Cammie asked, not willing to
go on until Tim clarified his position.

“Brett has a reputation with the ladies, but that’s only part
of it. Country-music folk are like one big family. Marriage is the acceptable
norm, not shacking up. Now, no one exactly knows you and Brett are living
together, but I’m trying to keep it out of the news.”

Clearly he hadn’t seen the tabloid. “And if it leaks out?” she
asked.

Brett put his hand on her arm. “It’s okay, Cammie, I—”

“No, let him finish. I want to know what could happen.”

“Hard to say.” Tim flicked his ashes away with fingers as
stubby as his cigar. “Might be nothing, could be some repercussions. Decreased
ticket sales, CD sales.”

“But not likely,” Brett added. “People are more liberal in
their views these days. After all, I sing about drinking and infidelity and
divorce, not to mention sex. It all goes on behind the scenes.”

“I know that, Brett,” Tim said, a touch of scorn in his smile,
his tone condescending. “Now, if you two were married, that would make a
difference. But it would also create a whole new set of problems. Brett’s
biggest fan base is made up of women who fantasize that they could be the one
for him. If he gets hitched, that fantasy is over.”

Cammie inched forward and aimed her glare on Tim. “And I know
that many women find a man who loves someone enough to marry her and have kids
with her very sexy. Just look at the country legends who’ve been married for
years. Men with names like George and Allan and Brad.” She snapped her fingers
and pointed at the current burr in her backside. “I believe one of them is named
Tim. I still see them playing to packed houses.”

Tim frowned. “You two aren’t planning to elope, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” Brett said, the first words he’d spoken in a
while, and he’d said them a little too forcefully for Cammie’s liking.

She’d deal with Brett later. Right now she required further
clarification. “So you’re saying we’re supposed to pretend that we don’t know
each other. Is that right?”

“I’m saying it would be best if we keep your little romance
under wraps, at least until we release the new album. No handholding onstage, no
overt displays of affection.”

She let go a cynical laugh. “Obviously you haven’t seen the
local tabloid yet. It seems they caught us pretending to be a couple, complete
with a photo.”

Tim shot an acid look at Brett. “Why didn’t you tell me about
this?”

“I’ve handled it,” Brett said. “I called my publicist a while
ago. She’s going to demand they print a retraction next week.”

On the verge of losing complete control, Cammie sprung out of
her chair. “I suppose I can live with that. This arrangement is only temporary,
anyway, kind of like a summer vacation.” She picked up Tim’s drink and resisted
the urge to dump the contents in his virtually nonexistent lap. “Let me freshen
this up for you.”

She should have known the past few weeks were too euphoric for
something like this not to eventually come about. She remembered Mark’s
complaints of how he had an image to uphold, that he was expected to dress a
certain way, behave a certain way. She assumed that losing some of yourself was
all a part of the trade-off to become a success in this business. Obviously
Brett’s image would be tainted if he had a woman in his life, especially one
that performed with him.

She hadn’t heard the door slide open again, but from the corner
of her eye she caught Brett standing in the entry to the kitchen, an empty beer
bottle in his hand.

“You don’t have to do this, Cammie.”

“Do what?” she said, dumping a shot of Scotch into Tim’s glass,
then filling it with water and ice.

“Run away. Tim’s just trying to tell you how it is. I don’t
like it, either.”

“But you agree with it. Otherwise, you would have never asked
for the retraction.”

Brett moved forward and angled his hip against the counter.
“No, I don’t. But things will be different after the new CD’s out in a few
months. We can reassess the situation then.”

“So now I’m a situation?”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Cammie. I’m doing the best
I can under the circumstances.”

She handed him Tim’s drink. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Closing yourself off to the possibilities of finding something
real with someone, only now you’re using your career as an excuse.”

He looked as if he might throw something, like Tim’s drink.
“I’ve worked long and hard to get where I am, Ca
mmie, and sometimes this career dictates your personal life.”

“Only if you let it, Brett. But maybe it’s time I go before you
start to resent me.”

He set Tim’s drink on the counter and framed her face with his
palms. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It scares the hell out of me to think what I’d do
without the singing. But it scares me more to think about what I’d do without
you right now.”

Right now
. That was the key. “I’m
terrified that I’m going to be collateral damage if this whole thing blows up in
our faces.”

He kissed her softly. “Just be patient with me, baby. I’ll
figure it all out.”

She hoped he did, before it was too late.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

L
ATER
THAT
EVENING
, after the dishes had been put away and Tim
had taken Brett outside for a private conversation, Cammie went to bed alone.
Brett joined her but he didn’t stay long. He’d left her with a quick kiss and
the excuse he wanted to go downstairs and work for a while.

Although she couldn’t be certain it was just an excuse, Cammie
suspected there was much more to it than his work. She’d let him go without any
argument, believing it best to leave him alone with his thoughts. But at half
past two and he still hadn’t made an appearance, she began to worry and decided
go downstairs to check on him.

Normally she’d be able to hear the strains of music coming from
the basement-level room by the time she reached the kitchen. Instead, she
noticed the usual household sounds: the steady hum of the air conditioner, a
drip from the faucet, the creak of the floor underneath her feet, but nothing
else that would indicate Brett was still working.

Cammie descended the stairs, stopping short before she came
into his view. Brett sat on the beige carpeted floor, his back propped against
one paneled wall, eyes closed, long legs stretched out before him, a nicked,
well-worn guitar resting in his lap. At first she thought he’d fallen asleep,
then he slowly shifted and ran a hand over his face.

“You look tired,” she said as she padded into the room.

His eyes met hers and she knew immediately something was
troubling him.

“Just a little writer’s block,” he said. “What are you doing
up?”

Cammie sat down on the high-backed stool next to him, resisting
the impulse to hold him even though he looked like he could use a hug. “I
couldn’t sleep a wink. My feet were cold and I didn’t have any hairy legs to
slide them under. Not to mention that king-size bed gets a little lonely.”

She followed up with a smile, but Brett didn’t return the
gesture. Instead, he stared off into space as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I had lunch today at the Sunset Grill,” he said from out of
the blue. “Met an old friend, someone who was in my original band.” She was
surprised by the sudden disclosure but let him continue without any response.
“His name’s Jerry Neill. Do you know him?”

“No. Should I?”

“He plays for Mark Jensen’s band.”

It seemed fate was on a cruel mission to cram her past down her
throat. “What did he want?”

“Actually, I called him. Since Bob Walker’s decided not to stay
with the band, I need to find another replacement for Pat. Jerry’s one of the
best bass players in the business. Got a pretty decent voice, too. He left me
early on for a better offer but we’ve always been pretty good friends. Anyway, I
heard he’s not happy with Jensen so I asked him to join us.”

That would go over like a lead balloon with Mark. “Did he
accept?”

Brett stretched and rolled his shoulders. “He’s thinking about
it. The biggest problem is going to be Jensen. Jerry’s still got a couple of
months left on his contract.”

“I can understand his concern. Mark will probably make it
pretty tough on him because of me. Unless he doesn’t really know about us.”

Brett set the guitar aside. “He knows, all right. Jerry told me
Mark’s been asking a lot of questions about you to anyone who might know
anything. Some people thrive on making trouble, especially people you’ve pissed
off at one time or another.”

“Surely you haven’t made anyone mad,” she said dramatically,
finally extracting a smile from Brett.

“I’ve done my share.”

Cammie slid off the stool and joined Brett on the floor,
hugging her knees to her chest. He curled his arm around her shoulders, yet
still seemed pensive. “You know, Camille, you’re sitting next to a conglomerate.
Sometimes I don’t know where the company ends and I begin. I’m just property to
most people.”

“Not to me.” She reached up to smooth away a strand of hair
from his forehead. So many questions invaded her mind. How did he feel about
her, where were they going, if anywhere? But she didn’t have the courage to ask
him point-blank.

Cammie settled on a question that might lead to the more
serious topic of the state of their relationship. Or he could exile her back
upstairs. “Out of curiosity, what attracted you to me?”

“The great way you filled out your jeans.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Hey, I’m just being honest.” He hesitated for a moment, then
shrugged. “Before you, I hadn’t met anyone who didn’t look at me like I was a
god. They want the larger-than-life star. Or at least my body. You were
different.”

Cammie rested her head on his shoulder. “I want your body, so
why am I so different?”

“At first you didn’t want any part of me. I think that was my
attraction to you from the beginning. You didn’t come on to me or act like I was
something special. You weren’t impressed with all the glory. You see something
else in me. God only knows what that something is.”

When Cammie sought Brett’s eyes, her soul shook with the
realization of how much she loved him, how much she needed him...and how much
she needed to know how he really felt about her. “Now that the chase is over,
what happens next?”

A look of apprehension passed over Brett’s face, his dark brows
furrowed into a frown. She sensed the conversation had gotten a bit too heavy
when he failed to answer.

Lighten up, Camille. Don’t back him into a
corner.

She kissed him softly and playfully rubbed his thigh through
the soft-washed denim of his jeans. “Why don’t we go upstairs and I’ll show you
what comes next.”

He took his arm away. “You go on up. I’ve got to finish this
tonight.” He stood and shuffled through the pages of a notebook. “I’m running
out of time.”

So am I
. She rose to her feet and
held out her hand. “Surely you can spare a few minutes for the sake of a
desperate woman—”

When Brett refused the gesture, she felt as if someone had run
a stake clean through her heart. “You don’t understand, Cammie. It’s not a game.
Tim’s on my ass big-time—he says I’m not concentrating. You and I both know he’s
right. I’ve got to cut two more tracks for the new album and they’ve got to be
fresh. If this project falls short, then someone will come along to claim my
place, someone younger with bigger dreams.”

Tim was obviously the reason for his bad mood. “You’re only
thirty-three. That’s a little young to worry about being replaced.”

“You get old quick in this business. Hundreds of
singers—eighteen-to-twenty-year-olds—are champing at the bit to move me out of
the way. Not to mention those that are my age or older. People like Mark Jensen.
It’s a constant battle to stay on top.”

It was a side of him that she’d seen before, right after Pat
left. The brooding Brett Taylor. His mood had little to do with being driven to
succeed and more to do with fear of failing in every aspect of his
life—professional and private—just like Mark. Only Brett dealt with his fears by
withdrawing into himself instead of relying on the bottle.

She could only offer reassurance. Whether it would make a
measurable difference remained to be seen. “Mark isn’t half as talented as you
are. He doesn’t write any of his material and most of his ticket and record
sales come from a lot of butt-shaking in the direction of screaming women. It
wouldn’t be fair even to compare yourself to him.”

His expression stayed serious, almost cold. “Nothing’s fair
about the music industry, Cammie. It takes a lot of blood, sweat and ass-kissing
to get anywhere in this town. And a hell of a lot of luck. I’ve got some nice
things now, but it took me years to get them. Boats, houses, buses, a production
company. But in one minute—” he snapped his fingers “—gone. Just like that.”

“You worry too much, Brett.”

“Lately I haven’t been worrying enough.” He tossed the tablet
aside and came to his feet. “Did you know Jensen’s a nominee for Male
Vocalist?”

Cammie wasn’t surprised by the information, just surprised he’d
waited until that moment to mention it. “I’ve never paid much attention to
that.”

“Well, he is, so it looks like more than a little butt
shaking’s going on. In fact, he had three top-five songs last year, two went
number one.”

After all the success Brett had enjoyed, he was still plagued
by serious insecurities. “Come on. Mark isn’t even close to being your
competition and he certainly doesn’t measure up to you in the butt
department.”

Brett picked up his guitar and turned his back on Cammie, but
not before shooting a cynical glance in her direction. “At one time you must’ve
liked his ass, at least enough to almost marry the son of a bitch.”

His sudden reversal in attitude astounded her. Just a few
minutes ago he’d listed all the reasons she was special. Now he seemed poised to
go off like a time bomb. Did he really believe Mark Jensen was still a threat to
their relationship? Or was it the fact she’d been involved with Mark long before
they’d met, coupled with the possibility of Mark garnering the accolades that
Brett so obviously coveted?

He strummed a few chords, walked around the room and, when she
didn’t leave, reluctantly faced her again. “I don’t know how to make it more
clear to you, Cammie. I can’t come with you upstairs because what I might need
or you might need takes a backseat to the work.”

She cringed at his harsh words, but she wouldn’t let it go. “So
you’re saying even if you wanted to make love to me right now, you couldn’t
because work is more important?”

“Yeah. Welcome to the world of country music. It ain’t all it’s
cracked up to be.” He went back to his random strumming.

Cammie couldn’t leave now. Not now. He might turn away, but she
had to take the chance. “What about emotional needs?”

The sound the guitar made was tuneless, hollow. “You get what
you can when you perform.”

“What are you afraid of?”

Brett stopped, dropped his hand from the guitar strings and
raised his eyes to her. “I told you. I’m afraid of being washed-up before I’m
ready.”

Cammie took two hesitant steps toward him. “That’s not what I
mean. I’m talking about feeling something beyond what you get from your music
and performing. Don’t you ever get tired of being alone? Do you ever wonder if
there’s anything else?”

She took another step until they were almost touching. “Or do
you think a commitment to something or someone other than your music won’t mean
as much as singing to strangers, that you can’t have it both ways? How do you
know you can’t have it all?”

“I can’t risk finding out, Cammie.”

Seeing the despair in his eyes, the futility in the hard line
of his mouth, made her want to reach out to him in some way, make him realize
how good they were together. “So where does this leave us?”

He lowered his eyes. “Honestly? I don’t know right now. I like
things the way they are. Don’t make this any harder than it is, and don’t ask
more of me than I can give you right now.”

Cammie reached for his guitar and, surprisingly, he
relinquished it to her even though he looked put out by the gesture. She rested
it against a table, then slipped her arms around his waist. Brett remained very
still, fists clenched at his sides, as she touched her lips to the pulse point
at his throat. “Are you mad at me for asking, or are you mad at yourself because
you care more than you’re willing to admit? Maybe you’re just afraid if you let
yourself care you won’t have any excuse not to let go of the past. After all,
it’s much easier not to take a chance than to risk getting hurt again.”

He said nothing, which made her believe she was on the right
track. At least she could hope. Hope might be all she had left once she was
finished.

She whisked a kiss over the cleft in his chin, then laid her
hand on his cheek. “I should be afraid. I’m risking as much as you are, maybe
more. But I’m not afraid of what I feel for you.”

His expression looked pained, like he was battling his
emotions, his desire, every step of the way. “Don’t, Cammie.”

She ignored his demand and plied his face with soft kisses.
“Don’t you think I know how good it feels to be in front of that crowd?
Performing is a rush, but as great as it is, it can’t compare to what I feel
when you’re inside me. When I lose all control while you have your mouth and
hands all over me.”

She could see his resistance waning, could sense immediate
surrender when his respiration picked up speed. “So don’t be mad at me, or
afraid.”

Cammie slid her hands underneath Brett’s shirt and ran her
fingertips over his chest, waiting and hoping he’d respond. And he did by
tilting her head back and kissing her breathless. Then suddenly he stopped.

“I’m sorry,” Brett said, one hand still wound in her hair. “I
can’t do this right now.”

She’d never felt so humiliated—and defiant—in her life. “All
signs point to the contrary.”

“Let me rephrase that,” he said. “I could make love to you
right now, up against the wall without a thought. But it wouldn’t be fair to
you.”

“The bruises on my backside would be worth it.”

“I’m serious, Cammie.” His expression confirmed that. “I don’t
want to hurt you more than I already have tonight.”

That certainly wasn’t up for debate. “You’ll hurt me more if
you keep pushing me away, and I don’t mean in a physical sense.”

“I’m trying to include you, but sometimes I have to deal with
things on my own.”

She felt he wasn’t trying hard enough, but she was too tired to
revisit the same issues tonight. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone. I’m going back to
bed.”

As Cammie started away, Brett caught her hand, wrapped his arms
around her and hung on for the longest moment before he let her go. “Cammie, I
know this life of mine isn’t easy on you, and it might not get any easier for a
long time. If you want to go, I won’t stop you. If you can live with one day at
a time, I want you to stay. But it’s your decision to make.”