by Kristi Gold
When he didn’t answer, she scooted forward on her belly to the end of the bed and grabbed a towel from the floor. She sat up and covered herself as best she could, giving him only a peek of the rest of the bounty, but enough to shoot his blood pressure straight into orbit.
“I can be ready in about thirty minutes,” she said. “You can go on with the boys. I’ll find you.”
He didn’t really want to leave. He only wanted one thing at that moment, but he knew better than to stay any longer. Four men waited in the other room. Four men with big-time imaginations and bigger mouths. “We’ll be in the casino. Just ask the host to point you to our private table.”
Before he could prepare, she left the bed, secured the towel and walked toward him. He clenched his fists at his sides and waited for her next move.
“I’m going to lock the door,” she said, bursting his fantasy bubble. “As soon as you leave.”
He reached behind him and fumbled for the knob. “Yeah. Good idea.”
Brett stepped back into the suite with a dazed shake of his head. He turned to find Pat stretched out on the couch, Jeremy sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, Rusty slouched in a wing-backed chair and Bull drinking a beer on a stool by the in-room bar.
“Is she up yet?” Jeremy asked.
Rusty chuckled. “Don’t know about Cammie, but Brett sure is.”
Pat lifted his head and scowled. “I’m telling you, son, you need to have that looked into. You keep raising your flag every time you see her, we’ll have to start saluting.”
“You’re imagining things, old man,” Brett muttered.
“Nope, I’m not,” Pat said. “You have a bad case of Cammie-itis, and there’s only one cure.”
Damn if Pat hadn’t diagnosed him right. He wondered if anyone ever died from a perpetual erection. “I kind of walked in on her, that’s all.”
“Define ‘walked in on her,’” Rusty said.
He damn sure didn’t like the way they were enjoying his predicament. “She was kind of...” Brett began, growing warm at the thought. “She was...well...”
“Just say it, Taylor,” Pat said. “She was nekkid.”
Rusty and Bull rubbed their faces simultaneously while Jeremy’s cheeks turned as red as a hothouse tomato. Pat dropped his head back onto the sofa and groaned.
Bull downed his beer and set the mug down hard on the counter. “I can’t believe you came out of there so soon. You’re a better man than any of us.”
“Guess not or he’d still be in there,” Pat added, encouraging more laughter from the group.
Bull slid off the stood and patted his belly. “If you’re done ogling Cammie, let’s go do what we came here to do.”
Brett picked up a baseball cap and settled it on his head, thinking that was the best advice he’d heard all day. Yeah, just forget about it. If that was even possible. Probably not. “You with us, Pat?” he asked when he noticed his friend hadn’t moved.
Pat stretched his arms above his head. “You boys go on ahead. I’m still feeling a little puny. I’ll rest up now and join you after the show tomorrow night.”
He looked at his long-time partner with concern. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
Pat frowned. “Nope. The day I see a doctor is the day I’ll be ready to wear a suit and lie down in a satin-lined box with my toes turned up. Don’t worry about me. I’m gettin’ too old for this crap, anyway.”
Before he could follow the guys out the door, Pat called him back. “I need a few minutes before you head out, son.”
Brett pulled up the chair where Rusty had been seated, more than a little worried over Pat’s serious demeanor. “What’s on your mind?”
“Tim called,” he said. “They want to know about the two slots on the album still needing to be filled. Are you workin’ on anything?”
Not since he’d met Cammie. “I’ve got a couple of ideas rolling around in my brain. There’s plenty of road time ahead to write.”
“That’s what I told Tim. He’s worried something’s distracting you and I figure he’s right.”
Brett shot Pat a dirty look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t get your dander up, Brett. He didn’t say it was a woman.”
“Nothing’s distracting me.” Hell, he sounded too defensive.
Pat forked a hand through his silver hair. “Brett, a word of advice. You’ve been alone a long time now—”
“I’ve got plenty of friends.”
“Shut up, son, and let me finish. You’ve got very few friends outside the industry, and we’re basically your family, which ain’t saying much. I don’t mean to lecture, but I’ve lived my life regretting I’ve never settled down long enough to have a family. Now it’s too late for me, but for God’s sake, don’t wait until it’s too late for you. Find a good woman and be a father to your kid.”
Brett rubbed his jaw when it began to twitch. He hated it when Pat got sentimental on him. He was used to the macho bullshit, but he didn’t like discussing emotions except within the context of his songs.
“Can’t settle down unless you find someone to settle down with,” Brett said.
“You think maybe you’ve found a prospect?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb, Taylor. Cammie’s a great gal.”
Nothing he didn’t already know. “It’s just a physical thing going on between us.”
Pat slapped at the bill of Brett’s cap. “I kind of like her, Brett. So do the guys, especially Bud. She’s a truly nice girl. So before you take your johnson out of your jeans, be prepared to answer to us if you break her heart. We won’t stand for it.”
Brett came to his feet and shoved the chair away. “It’s none of your damn business what I do, but I’ll tell you right now I don’t plan on anything of the sort. And if I wanted to nail the entire female population of Las Vegas, none of you could stop me unless you chained me to this chair.”
Pat smiled. “Now, that’s an idea.”
Brett headed to the door, choosing to ignore the last comment. “Go to hell.”
Pat, as always grabbing for the last word, said, “You know what they say about the best-laid plans...or is that the best plans to get laid?” He turned up the volume on the television and laughed heartily.
Brett rushed out of the room in order to regain some composure. Hell, yes, Cammie was a nice girl. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. And hell, yeah, everyone believed he was a user. A few weeks ago they would’ve been right. Until Camille Carson had come into his life, his needs took priority over a woman’s feelings. But he did care about how Cammie felt. And because of that, he probably should stay out of her life.
He should just make it his goal to leave her alone. Accomplishing that was still a major dilemma.
* * *
THE LITTLE BLACK DRESS had called to Cammie like an old-fashioned ice cream soda. She should have turned away. She definitely should not have gone inside the store. If she’d been thinking straight, she would have exited on the casino floor instead of taking the elevator to the lower level where shops and boutiques lined the corridors. Instead, she’d bought the dress, and right now she seriously questioned her decisions. Both of them. The dress and the well-orchestrated seduction.
By the time she was close to being ready, guilt began to nag her over her intent. But Brett Taylor coursed through her blood like a shot of top-grade whiskey. She was high on him, and like her impulsive purchase, she had
to have him. The only way to get him out of her system was to let him into her bed. Or so she thought.
This move was irrational, inadvisable and probably the craziest thing she’d ever done. But maybe it was time to go a little crazy. She was normally a sane, strong person. She could usually handle anything.
What she and Brett felt for each other had mostly to do with sexual chemistry, a strictly physical attraction. And what was wrong with that? She was a grown woman who, for most of her life, had always walked a straight line, avoided anything too daring or controversial. What could possibly be the harm in indulging her fantasies?
Because it was only a partial truth. Not only was she drawn to his sensuality, she longed to get under his skin and find the man beneath. She wanted to know what made him so sad. What made him so determined to be alone. What drove him every night when he gave his all for thousands of people, yet he didn’t seem inclined to give himself to one woman. And if she could do that, she deserved an award.
With a large shade of doubt, despite the mental pep talk, Cammie applied the rest of her makeup, inserted her faux diamond studs and dabbed on her favorite perfume. She took a last look in the mirror and hoped she hadn’t overdone it.
The halter-style dress had a triangular shape cut at the bodice, revealing a glimpse of cleavage. The hem ended a good four inches above her knee and the fabric adhered to every curve of her body. Of course, she was forced to buy black heels, bringing her total charges to an amount exceeding any balance she’d ever had on her credit card. At least she got paid next week. She smiled to herself. Indirectly, Brett had paid for this dress.
Clasping her small black bag to her chest, she inhaled a cleansing draft of air before leaving to search for the object of her desire...before she changed her mind.
* * *
“HELL, NOT AGAIN!” Brett had been cursing his luck for the past hour. He’d only won two hands and was about to give up when Rusty talked him into just one more. Now he watched the last of his chips sliding into the clutches of the dealer.
“You ain’t concentrating, man,” Rusty said.
Brett swung off the stool. “I give up for now.”
Rusty shot him an evil look. “Hell, Taylor, you’ve got more money than the government. Why don’t you just spend a little?”
Brett threw him a fifty. “You play for me. At least you’re still on top.”
Rusty smiled and shook his head. “And you wish you were on top right now, but not of your game. Just remember, if you walk out on the floor you’re liable to get mobbed if someone recognizes you.”
The reason why he’d intentionally skipped shaving and wore clothes fit for a farmhand. “I’ll take my chances,” he said, then walked away headed for who-knew-where.
Brett ambled to the bar for a beer, less than enthusiastic to be drinking it alone. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need for one now. Of course, he was lying to himself. He knew exactly why he needed a drink, why he hadn’t been concentrating at the table. He was having a lot of trouble focusing on anything but Cammie’s image now burned like a brand into his brain.
Since she wasn’t apparently going to show, he should find someone to get his mind off her. But he didn’t want anyone but his all-fire sexy, hardheaded, great-kissing bus driver.
As he visually scanned the casino, Brett spotted a woman leaning over a table, seemingly interested in the screaming patrons engaged in the crap shoot. Woman was the operative word. She wasn’t skinny and shapeless like a lot of women these days. Her long legs flowed out of a tight black backless dress that hugged every bend of her body, especially the rounded curves of her hips. The satin skin on her back looked real touchable. She could be any man’s fantasy, but she wasn’t Cammie.
He started to look away, but then she kicked up one high-heeled foot and laughed over the antics of a man who couldn’t be a day younger than eighty, flirting with her like a teenager. She was probably a gold digger, someone looking for a rich catch. But damn, she did have great legs. She could also be married or a hooker or, in Vegas, she could even be a he. More important, she wasn’t the woman he wanted. Then she turned toward him, and he realized she was exactly who he wanted.
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.”
