by Kristi Gold
Cruz stuck out his hand for a shake. “Thanks for the opportunity, man.”
Brett stared at his hand a moment before accepting the gesture. “No problem.” He sounded as if it was.
“I was just asking Cammie to have a drink with me,” Cruz said. “You need to tell her all work and no play can burn you out.”
Brett sent Cammie a harsh look before turning back to Cruz. “She doesn’t drink. And even if she did, I wouldn’t be too pleased if she spent her free time hanging out in a bar after a show.”
How dare he try to dictate what she did in her spare time. “Don’t listen to him,” she said. “I have a drink on occasion, and I’d enjoy having one with you.” Apparently she’d stooped to typical high-school antics—flirt with a new guy to make the other guy jealous.
Cruz looked victorious. Brett—not so much. He looked like he could blow a gasket. And she honestly didn’t care. “Meet me in the lobby in an hour.”
“Sounds good,” Cruz said as he backed up a step. “See you later, Taylor. I’ll take good care of her.”
Brett didn’t even wait until Cruz was out of sight before he launched into a tirade. “What was that all about, Cammie?”
“That was about me having a drink with a nice guy, and FYI, I’m well within my rights to do so.”
Cammie tried to get past Brett, but he caught her hand before she was successful in her departure. “Nice guy? How the hell do you know that when you just met him?”
She could no longer contain her anger. “It’s really none of your business what I do, Brett.”
“I’m making it my business.”
She wrenched her hand away. “You don’t own me, Brett. Directing my social life isn’t in the contract. I’m not your property.”
“No, but you are still my employee, and I have to look after the band’s reputation. If it gets out that you’re ready and willing, every bastard in the industry will be hunting you down.”
That was rich coming from him. “Having a drink with someone in the industry does not mean I’m ready and willing.”
“He’s a stranger, dammit.”
“So were you when I met you. Now if we’re done, I need to go.”
He released his hold on her hand. “Not until we’re through talking about this.”
She rubbed her temples, her head beginning to pound from the stress of one too many confrontations in one night. “We have nothing to say to each other. Everything you’ve done since Vegas speaks volumes.”
Cammie did an about-face, walked down the hallway and out into the misty night. She scanned the back lot and didn’t locate the car hired to transport them to and from the venue. Great. Hopefully the guys would be along soon with a cell phone to find out what the hold-up might be. In the meantime, she could seek shelter back in the tunnel, or she could wait in the rain. Going back inside seemed favorable, although either scenario promised a chilly atmosphere.
When she turned around, she discovered Brett leaning back against the cinder-block wall adjacent to the opening, hat in hand. Droplets of water had formed on his skin, and the halogen light above made his blue eyes seem almost unearthly. He looked like a beautiful dark angel, and she wanted nothing more than to run to him. But that would be just plain stupid.
Brett pushed off the wall and walked to her, his expression softening with each step. “You don’t have to go out with that guy to prove a point. I know I don’t have any claim on your time, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
The man was concerned about her feelings, yet he had dealt her the harshest blow anyone could endure. “Hurt? You don’t want me to get hurt? I can’t believe you said that after what you did to me.”
“I’m sorry, Cammie.”
He sounded sincere, but an apology wasn’t enough. “And I’m supposed to accept that as an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got.”
“It’s not good enough. You act like it’s my fault Pat left.”
“I said I’m sorry, Cammie. What more do you want me to say?”
She wanted him to beg for forgiveness, to tell her he cared about her, that she hadn’t only imagined the strong emotional connection between them. “All I want to know is why, Brett. Why do you keeping shutting me out? Don’t you realize you’re punishing me?”
His gaze drifted away. “It’s no good, Cammie. When it comes down to it, I’m no better than Mark Jensen in a lot of ways. A singing career and serious relationships don’t mix.”
He just didn’t quite get it, and she wondered if he ever would. “First of all, you aren’t anything like Mark. Second, for some reason you’re just not willing to own up to the fact that you are capable of more than you realize. Anything can work if you want it badly enough and you set your mind to it, including a relationship. All you have to have is the same desire you have for your singing.”
“I’ve learned from experience that commitment to anything but the job doesn’t work in this business. At least it hasn’t for me.”
Cammie considered not saying anything else, but she always tended to hang on until all possibilities were exhausted, especially when she strongly believed in something. And she did believe in Brett, more than he believed in himself. “I don’t understand why you’re so determined to drive everyone who cares for you away.”
He continued to stare at the ground. “You’re right, you don’t understand.”
“I want to.”
“I can’t talk about it, Cammie. Maybe one day, but not now.” He finally raised his gaze to hers. “Don’t set yourself up again for another guy to cut you down.”
She had no intention of doing that. “Then make me an offer.”
He paused as if weighing her suggestion, but then he emotionally shut down right before her eyes. “I can’t offer you anything, Cammie. Not a damn thing.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
BRETT TOSSED ASIDE the notepad onto the coffee table and gave up on the lyrics that just wouldn’t come. The noise in his head was second only to the sounds assaulting his ears. “Turn down the freakin’ TV, Rusty!”
His friend emerged from the bedroom and scowled at him. “Why don’t you turn down the attitude?”
“You’d have an attitude, too, if you were trying to write a song with some ball game blaring in the background.”
Rusty sat on the sofa and stared at him. “It’s not the songwriting that’s got you so rattled. It’s Cammie.”
He didn’t want or need advice. “Aren’t you and your wife going to dinner?”
“She’s still getting ready, and you can’t brush me off like that. We’ve been in the trenches together for a long time and I can read you like sheet music. You’re so obsessed with your bus driver you can barely function.”
“I’m not obsessed with her,” he said. “I’m pissed at her.”
“These days you’re pissed at everyone. You’re in love with Cammie and for some reason you can’t handle it. A lot of men would give their right arm to have a woman like her.”
Hearing the word love was a shock to his entire system. “Yeah, like that guy named Cruz. She’s going out with him as we speak.”
Rusty swiped a hand over his face. “I figured he was going to make a move on her, but I didn’t think for a minute she’d fall for it.”
He’d been asking himself that same question for the past hour. “Well, she did. I ran into them talking after the show, and right when I was about to tell him to get lost, she
told him to pick her up in the lobby.”
Rusty chuckled. “Oh, man, you are so far out of the loop it’s not even funny. She was trying to make you jealous.”
He had a hard time buying that. “Cammie’s not a game player. She’s a straight shooter.”
“Maybe so, but you’re not giving her a whole lot of choice. If going out with Cruz gets your attention, even if it’s negative attention, then she’ll do whatever it takes to make you notice her.”
Rusty could be onto something, but Brett still had a hard time believing it. “That’s a pretty extreme way to get my attention.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
Damn. “Yeah, it worked. And I have half a mind to stop her before she makes another big mistake.”
Rusty came to his feet. “I think you should because I doubt he told her he’s got a wife and kids back home in Kentucky.”
“That’s great,” he muttered as he stood. “You should’ve told me sooner.”
“Good luck,” Rusty said. “Just remember that if you step in, she’ll be royally pissed.”
Just thinking about the cheating bastard even attempting to touch Cammie made him seethe. “If I don’t, she could get royally hurt.”
* * *
CAMMIE TOOK A SEAT on a gold brocade sofa that was about as comfortable as a cement slab and flipped through some fashion magazine while she waited for Cruz. And if he didn’t show up soon, she’d return to her room and curse being stood up for the second time in her life. But in this case, that might not be a bad thing. She had to agree with Brett—she didn’t know a thing about this guy. However, the hotel bar was a safe place to get to know him, as long as she kept her wits about her and her drink in her possession at all times.
“Hey, Cammie.”
She looked up from the magazine to see Cruz crossing the lobby. He’d changed into another T-shirt with Bad to the Bone emblazoned across the front and a better pair of jeans. Now she felt completely overdressed.
She came to her feet and tossed the magazine aside. “I almost gave up on you.”
“Sorry I’m late. I had to make a couple of phone calls.” He took a step back and whistled. “That’s a great dress.”
“I really should probably go up to the room and change,” she said. “I don’t get out much and I thought—”
“Don’t change,” he said. “I like you just the way you are.”
At least someone did. “Are you ready to go?”
“Sure.”
He took her hand, taking her totally by surprise, and started across the lobby toward the lounge.
“Take your hands off her, Cruz.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Cammie glanced over her shoulder to see Brett boring down on them, a fierce look on his face.
“Stay out of this, Brett,” she said. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“It does now.” He pointed at Cruz. “Did he tell you he’s married?”
She turned her shock on Cruz. “Is that true?”
The man had the nerve to look innocent. “Well, yeah, but she’s not here right now.”
Brett stepped between her and Cruz. “Because she’s home with the kids, you bastard.”
Cruz slid his hands into his back pockets and took a stab at an innocent look. “Hey, you know how it is, Taylor. It gets damn lonely on the road. My wife understands how it is. Now why don’t you just move aside and let Cammie decide what she wants to do.”
“She’s already decided,” Brett said. “She’s leaving with me.”
Cammie inserted herself between them and planted her palms on their chests, holding them arm’s length apart. “Actually, I don’t plan to spend my evening, what’s left of it, with either of you, so both of you need to go away.”
Cruz leered at Brett before he brought his attention back to Cammie. “Seems to me I’m treading on sacred ground here. I should’ve known Taylor would’ve gotten to you first. I’m guessin’ you didn’t find him to your liking. If you go with me, I’ll show you a real good time.”
Cammie didn’t have time to brace herself before Brett stepped between her and Cruz. “You low-life son of a bitch,” he said in a menacing tone. “She’s more woman than you can handle. Now get the hell out of here before you regret it.”
Cruz narrowed his eyes. “I might be a son of a bitch, Taylor, but at least my daddy liked me enough to stick around.”
While Cammie looked on helplessly, Brett grabbed Cruz by the shirt and shoved him backward, sending him against a marble column. But before he could go after him, a massive security guard appeared from nowhere and wrenched Brett’s arms behind his back, subjecting him to the full force of Cruz’s fist to his jaw. A throng of staff and two more security guards tore through the lobby and ushered Cruz outside as he yelled obscenities directed at everyone involved.
After Cammie came out of her stupor, she turned to see Brett sitting on the sofa, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth, and his jaw showing signs of swelling.
The security guard approached her and pointed at Brett. “Is he with you?”
She almost denied it, but right or wrong, Brett had defended her honor. “So to speak.”
“He says he doesn’t need a doctor, but he needs to put some ice on that lip.”
“I’ll take care of it.” She walked to the sofa and frowned at Brett. “Come on, Marshal. Miss Kitty’s going to take you to your room.”
The cut in the corner of Brett’s mouth prevented more than a partway grin. “Didn’t know you cared.”
She would not give him the satisfaction of returning his smile. “Right now, I don’t. I just can’t stand the thought of you bleeding all over the nice Oriental rug.”
When they reached the elevator, Cammie and Brett rode in silence to the top floor. It brought to mind another hotel in another city, another elevator...another lifetime, it seemed to Cammie. In this instance they stood miles apart, Cammie on one side of the mirrored wall, Brett on the other.
As Brett studied the floor the entire trip, Cammie wondered if he’d been thinking about a few days ago when they couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other. She wanted to reach over and smooth the lock of hair falling across his forehead, touch his cheek above his swollen jaw spattered with evening stubble. But she was still too angry to provide that kind of comfort. At him for believing she needed rescuing. At herself for being gullible once again.
After they reached his room, Cammie grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, filled it with ice from the bucket and handed it to him. “Here. This should keep the swelling down.”
He touched the ice to his jaw and winced. “Thanks.”
She crossed her arms over her middle. “For your information, if I’d known Cruz was married, I would not have agreed to the drink. You have my permission to say I told you so.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Guys like him come a dime a dozen and it’s easy to get pulled in by their lines. Just be more careful next time.”
Did he really believe there would be a next time? Worse, he didn’t seem to care if there was. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Before she could get out the door, he called her back. And like the fool she’d become around him, the fool she’d been tonight, she turned around to find him perched on the arm of the sitting-area sofa. “What?”
“Can you stay awhile?” He apparently read the reservation in her eyes when he added, “I just want to talk.”
She should tell him no, but
he looked so pitiful, she decided to throw him a bone. “Okay, but only for a few minutes.”
Brett crossed the room and opened the minibar’s refrigerator. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” She wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, before she made a second colossal mistake tonight.
Brett returned with a beer, sat on the opposite end of the couch and engaged in ritualistic label-peeling. “I wanted to say I’m sorry about causing a scene.”
“On one hand, I’m glad you told me before I left with him,” she said. “However, the macho posturing wasn’t pleasant. But I’m partially to blame, too. I should have never agreed to the drink.”
“Then why did you?” he asked without looking at her.
Time for the admission she felt she had to make. “I was so angry with you I guess I thought it was a good way to get your attention.” For some reason that made him smile, which made Cammie feel like an immature idiot. “I know. It was a really childish thing to do.”
“Rusty told me that’s what you were doing.”
Wonderful. “You told Rusty?”
“He’s the one who told me Cruz is married.”
Might have been nice if Rusty would have told her. “Well, it’s over and I’ll be much more cautious in the future.”
He set the beer on the coffee table and leveled his gaze on hers. “I swear, Cammie, I never wanted you to feel that what happened between us didn’t mean anything. I was trying not to hurt you, and I did, anyway.”
Yes, he had, but that was one confession she refused to make. “It’s done. No harm, no foul.” No truth in that, either.
He leaned back against the cushions and sighed. “I’ve failed a lot of people in my lifetime, and history keeps repeating itself.”
“Are you referring to your ex-wife?”
“Yeah. She was the first.”
Cammie tucked her leg beneath and prepared to have some answers to her questions, provided he cooperated. “What exactly happened between the two of you?”
