The Closer You Get Read online

  Brett stood, parted the curtain again and discovered that Cammie and Bud had almost reached the hotel’s entrance. The sun bounced off the reddish highlights in her hair as she tilted her head back and laughed, then discarded her denim jacket. Her clothes were simple—faded jeans that fit maybe a little too well, a plain blue plaid flannel shirt that kept the majority of her body hidden. Like it or not, that fact disappointed him. She wasn’t all that tall and she sure as hell couldn’t weigh more than one-twenty, which made him wonder how much help she’d be with loading and unloading. Maybe Ms. Carson sported some muscle underneath the baggy shirt, and maybe some other surprises, too.

  For some reason, he couldn’t tear his gaze away when Bud grabbed her by the waist, then swung her off her feet like someone would a kid. Brett suddenly imagined running his hands through her hair, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly against his...

  He blew out a tuneless whistle. His head told him, Hold it right there, Taylor. His body said something altogether different when his fantasy took flight. A really detailed fantasy. Slick naked flesh, rumpled sheets, uninhibited sex. Slow, hot sex, not a quick roll between concert stops. All night long. He’d do all the things to her that he normally didn’t have enough time to do, using his mouth and his hands to play her like his favorite Fender. Yeah, slow, hot sex with...his bus driver?

  He had to remember she was an employee, even if she was a damn good-looking one. Anything other than a professional relationship created a dangerous conflict. The road was no place to forge any kind of relationship with a woman, a painful truth he had learned years ago.

  He didn’t believe in love at first sight, even though he’d sung about it. Lust maybe, but not love. In fact, he wasn’t sure he believed in love at all. He did believe in staying ahead of the game, writing good songs, chasing the top spot on the charts. He also believed that everyone eventually left, the way it had always been in his life.

  In spite of what he knew to be best—that his new driver would remain off-limits—the images still refused to disappear.

  Damn his overactive imagination. Damn his recent celibacy. And damn Bud Parker for bringing another complication into his life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE’D PASSED THE FIRST TEST—making it to Austin without incident.

  Cammie maneuvered the bus into the coliseum’s back lot and parked next to one of the two tractor-trailers hauling the equipment. After the band piled out and left for their bus to prepare for the performance, she remained patiently in her seat, watching the road crew unload equipment for the upcoming concert. Pat eventually came on board to socialize with Bud, yet neither man seemed to remember she was there. She felt somewhat awkward and unsure of what to do next.

  A few moments later, Pat stood and summoned her to the door. “Come on backstage and watch tonight, Cammie. You won’t get many opportunities to do that once Bud leaves. He’ll stay and you can be our guest.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Not with the prospect of angering her obviously temperamental boss hanging over her.

  “Go on, Cam,” Bud said. “Brett won’t mind. You’ll get to see what it’s like behind the scenes.”

  She already knew what went on behind the scenes. Perhaps not at this professional level, but her tenure singing backup for a couple of aspiring bands in Nashville during college had exposed her to the life. And most of those experiences hadn’t been all that great. Yet she couldn’t ignore her curious nature. “Fine,” she said as she pulled on her denim jacket. “But I’ll only stay for the first set.”

  After Bud draped an access pass around her neck, Cammie followed Pat to the rear entrance of the venue where a security guard checked the credentials to make sure she wasn’t an intruder. Pat then showed her to a stool near the outskirts of the stage where she assumed her perch to observe.

  The road crew attended last-minute adjustments while the band members milled around looking well-groomed, unlike their earlier disheveled state of torn jeans and wrinkled shirts. After a time, they took their positions, geared up to go...everyone except Brett Taylor.

  Cammie could hear the rumblings of the crowd and smelled the acrid scent of the fog machines as they poured a mist over the stage. The steady voices melded into a cheer when the lights went down. Pat counted off the beat and the group took his lead as the band played an instrumental while the audience clapped in time. But still no star.

  Somewhat concerned, Cammie looked around and glanced to her right to find Brett had stopped nearby to take a drink of water from a bottle set out on a small table. He was clean-shaven, wore a blue chambray shirt and slightly faded jeans that looked as if they’d been tailor-made for his body. A man from the crew approached Brett and handed him a guitar, which he flung over his shoulder. He drew in two deep breaths and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand before resettling the black cowboy hat securely over his dark hair.

  As the song took on a fevered pitch, the crowd grew more delirious. Then from out of nowhere, a voice boomed, announcing his name. And for Cammie, it finally began to sink in.

  I work for Brett Taylor.

  Yet she refused to let that fact leave her silly and starstruck. On that thought, she assumed a casual position as Brett started toward the threshold of the stage. But before he answered the call of his myriad fans, he stopped short and caught her gaze. After taking two more steps, he paused again and frowned, seeming as if he didn’t quite believe what he’d seen.

  Great. Bud had been wrong. Brett wasn’t at all pleased over her presence. While he continued to stare at her, she managed a polite nod and braced herself for the possible repercussions. A verbal slap on the wrist. A “get thee back to the bus.” An invitation to join the unemployment line. Surprisingly, he only smiled—a cynical one at that—and went about his business.

  The star entered the stage like a wild man, with an energetic leap and a thousand-kilowatt smile. The place grew manic when realization dawned that the performer they’d paid good money to see had finally arrived on scene. In record time, he whipped the hordes into a greater frenzy with a brassy country song, then kept them on a roll with one hit after another until the atmosphere itself became a living entity.

  During one number, he wiped his face with a towel and tossed it into the crowd. Cammie had seen the same ploy time and again, always amazed and amused that grown women would fight like alley cats for the privilege of owning a piece of sweat-laden cloth. If she had an entrepreneurial spirit, she could sell his used bath towels on the internet for a mint.

  The screams intensified when Brett approached the front of the stage. Bouquets of flowers fell at his feet, sprinkling the floor like a kaleidoscope gone haywire. He did a balancing act while he shook the hands of a few fortunate fans. Cameras flashed at thousands per second, women fanned their faces as if they might swoon. At any given moment, Cammie expected to see bras and panties sailing onto the platform or worse, the front-row cluster of overwrought females pulling him off the stage. Fortunately, neither happened and when it came time for the finale, Cammie was exhausted.

  For the first encore Brett took to the stage alone, picked up his acoustic guitar and began to sing with no accompaniment whatsoever. The first ballad spoke of lost love with a woman, the second described a father saying goodbye to his grown-up little girl. Cammie knew them both well, had even sung along to them on the radio. And in those few quiet moments, with the once-delirious audience lulled into total silence, she began to
understand why he was such a sensation, why the women loved him. In her opinion, this was the true test of a musician’s skill—singing with no other instrumentation, studio mixing equipment or backup vocals. He hit every note with precision, his voice as clear as a summer morning, as reverent as a preacher’s prayer.

  So engrossed in the sweet strains of Brett’s intoxicating music, before Cammie knew it, the band had reentered the stage for the finale. She realized she should leave, but like the crowd, she remained engrossed in the show until the group struck the last chord and took their final bow.

  After she shifted off the stool and started toward the exit, again she caught sight of Brett, only this time he didn’t notice her at all. He focused his attention on a girl with long blond hair wearing tight jeans and black boots and a face full of makeup most likely designed to mask her youth. As far as Cammie was concerned, she barely looked old enough to drive. Nothing more than a teenager playing at being a woman trying to get close to a star. And worse, she might actually succeed.

  Unfortunately, Cammie would have to walk past the pair in order to leave. She strode forward, chin up, eyes focused straight ahead, determined to ignore them both. But her efforts to make a covert departure were thwarted when Brett called her name.

  “Give me a half hour or so,” he said before he draped his arm over the girl’s shoulders and led her away.

  As she left out the heavy metal door, Cammie resigned herself to the fact that she’d have to get used to the delays, the life, the women. At least, this time, she wouldn’t suffer the consequences.

  * * *

  “DOES YOUR MAMA KNOW you’re here, Caroline?”

  “Yes, Brett, she knows.”

  “And she didn’t care that you drove all the way to Austin by yourself?”

  She gave him a good eye-rolling and a smirk. “First of all, I’m not by myself. My boyfriend’s gone to get the car. Second, I only drove about a mile to get here. I’m going to UT now, remember?”

  Actually, Brett didn’t remember that at all. His baby cousin should still be in braces and riding a bike, not attending a concert with a boyfriend. “I think Mom might have mentioned that a few months ago. Sometimes it’s hard to keep up with what’s going on back home.”

  “Maybe you should try to come home more often.”

  He wasn’t in the mood to be run through the guilt wringer, but it looked to be unavoidable. Feeling suddenly tired, he dropped down into the dressing room’s leather chair and pointed at the sofa. “Have a seat.”

  Caroline perched on the edge of the cushion and studied him straight on. “Aunt Linda really missed seeing you this Christmas. We all did.”

  He brought out the usual excuses. “I had that Christmas special on TV and then the tour began. It’s been pretty crazy. I’ve tried to convince Mom to move to Nashville to be closer to me, but she won’t budge.”

  She frowned. “Kerrville’s her home, Brett. She’s not going to leave her friends and the family.”

  How well he knew that. “Hopefully I’ll have a break in a few months and I can come in for a visit.”

  “Your mom would appreciate that.” Caroline remained silent for a few moments, her gaze focused on the coffeemaker on the adjacent counter. “Jana brought Lacey to see Aunt Linda on Christmas Eve.”

  Just hearing the familiar names sent his heart beating a path into his throat. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Do you want to see a picture of her?”

  Before Brett could respond, much less refuse, Caroline had already retrieved a fancy phone from her pocket, hit a few buttons and then handed it to him. He studied the digital picture displayed on the screen, noting that his mom looked much the same, her black-and-silver hair twisted into her usual long braid, her face showing signs of a hard life as a single mother working as a waitress to raise her son. And next to her stood the little girl that had been his at one time. Only she wasn’t exactly little anymore. She’d grown into a pretty preteen, just like her mom had been way back when they’d gone to school together. But with her blue eyes and dark hair, she looked like him. A lot like him.

  The ever-present ache weighted his chest and brought about a strong surge of remorse. He tore his gaze from the photo and handed the phone back to his cousin. “She’s really grown up.”

  Caroline pocketed the cell and smiled. “She’s a typical twelve-year-old. Jana said the boys are chasing after her in record numbers.”

  That didn’t exactly surprise Brett, nor did it sit too well with him. But several years ago, he’d lost all control over his daughter’s life. “Is Randy good to her?”

  Caroline nodded. “He’s a real good dad. Strict, but not too strict. Lacey seems to care a lot about him, but that hasn’t kept her from asking about you.”

  That caught Brett totally off guard, though it probably shouldn’t. He’d been involved in his child’s life before his ex-wife remarried. Before he’d handed his kid over to another man to raise her in order to protect her from the chaos his life had become.

  When a rap sounded at the door, Brett welcomed the distraction. “Come in,” he called.

  A security guard opened the door and cautiously peered inside, like he wasn’t sure what he might be interrupting. “Mr. Taylor, there’s some guy named Andrew at the back entrance who says he knows the lady.”

  Caroline shot to her feet like someone had lit a fire under her backside. “That’s my boyfriend. You can send him back.”

  The guard gave Brett a questioning look. “That okay with you?”

  “Yeah.” As much as he appreciated seeing his cousin, he was more than ready to get back on the road, away from the reminders of what he’d sacrificed for the sake of his career.

  A few seconds later, a tall, lanky guy with sandy hair and a self-conscious smile entered the dressing room, causing Caroline’s expression to brighten like a neon billboard.

  For the sake of politeness, Brett stood and stuck out his hand for a shake. “Brett Taylor.”

  The kid looked a little shell-shocked and hesitated before accepting the offer. “Andrew Grimes.”

  Caroline linked her arm through his and stared up at the guy like he was the only man in the universe. “Andrew’s in his first year of law school.”

  He was glad his cousin had hooked up with a college man who had normal aspirations, not some worthless no-account with a serious case of wanderlust. “Congratulations.”

  She let go of Andrew long enough to give Brett a hug. “We better get back before they lock me out of my dorm. Be careful, and call Aunt Linda, okay?”

  “Okay.” And he would, as soon as he had some distance. His mom wouldn’t understand how he could be this close and not pay her a visit. She’d never understood his schedule, even though she’d accepted his obsession with realizing his dream, just like she’d finally accepted that her husband was never coming back.

  After the couple left, Brett closed the door behind them and rested his forehead against the facing. At times he hated this life—empty, alone, even with thousands of people worshiping him every night. Even though he had a life many men would kill for. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if the trade-off had been worth it.

  * * *

  CAMMIE MILLED AROUND the bus to explore while Bud dozed on the sofa. After a time, she tiptoed to the refrigerator, grabbed a soda and turned to see three of the band members filing inside.

  “Get up, Bud,” Pat said as he approached the couch. “We need to leave ASAP because B
ull’s got a craving for a double cheeseburger.”

  “Screw you, Pat,” Bud growled.

  Rusty cleared his throat and nodded toward Cammie. “We forgot there’s a lady on board. Guess we’ll have to tone down the language.”

  Cammie leaned back against the kitchen counter and smiled. “I’ve heard a lot worse. In fact, I’m sure I know some of the rankest jokes this side of the Mason-Dixon. Bud can attest to that. He told them to me.”

  “Did not,” Bud said, straightening to put his boots back on. “She told me.”

  Typical Bud, teasing her like the big brother she’d always wished for. “Liar.”

  “You’ve got to be lying, Bud,” Pat said. “I can’t believe anyone with eyes like that would even know a dirty joke.”

  “I resent that,” Cammie said. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t handle a few off-color jokes now and then. You boys have a lot to learn.”

  Bull scratched his head. “I can tell.”

  “Where’s Brett?” Rusty asked.

  “Still inside the coliseum,” Cammie said, not bothering to hide her disdain. “It seems he’s tied up with a female fan at the moment. He informed me he needed half an hour to do whatever.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised, Cammie,” Bud said as she returned to the living area. “You’ll be seeing this every now and then.”

  Her scorn came out in an acid look aimed at Bud. “Oh, really? I hope he practices safe sex. And I hope he can work jail into his schedule because this particular little blonde groupie looked to be a minor.”

  “You don’t have to worry about Brett,” Rusty said. “He’s real careful about things. And she’s got to be of age. That’s the rules.”

  Rules. How nice. Perhaps she could see a list of the rules in case she might be required to screen Brett Taylor’s women. That would be a really frigid day in hell. Four weeks could be a very long time if she had to tolerate this kind of behavior. Of course, she didn’t expect him to live like a monk, but she’d never approved of indiscriminate sex. And like so many people, she had once held performers in very high esteem. But through painful personal experience she’d discovered they were imperfect, just like everyone else. She’d honestly hoped Brett Taylor was somehow different. Wrong again.