The Closer You Get by Kristi Gold

forcing her to look at him. “I’d never
think that, Cammie. And after what happened with you and Mark earlier, I
probably shouldn’t have done it.”
    She probably shouldn’t have put herself in this predicament.
“Look, you didn’t force yourself on me, and I didn’t have to participate. But I
do work for you and that’s reason enough not to let this go any further.”
    “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right.”
    She fumbled with the key for a few moments before she steadied
her hand long enough to finally figure out the correct way to insert the card.
When she gained entry, she turned to see Brett was still standing there, looking
as if he had something more to say. If she had any sense whatsoever, she would
run into the shelter of her room before she did something else they might
regret—like invite him inside.
    Then he smiled, but only slightly. “Night, Cammie.”
    “Night.”
    Cammie rushed inside, closed the door and leaned back against
it while she gave herself a major scolding.
    In a matter of hours, she’d confronted her ex-boyfriend and
kissed her boss. She could probably rest assured she wouldn’t have to encounter
Mark in the near future. On the other hand, she wouldn’t be able to avoid Brett
at all in the upcoming weeks. Sad thing was, avoiding him was the last thing she
wanted to do.
    * * *
    B RETT LINGERED FOR a few more moments outside the closed door, considering the
possibilities if he knocked and she invited him to come in. He highly doubted it
would happen, and that was probably wise. But he didn’t always heed wisdom.
    A man wearing a white undershirt and pink plaid Bermuda shorts
passed by carrying an ice bucket. Without even so much as a glance in his
direction, Brett continued to hang around, steeped in indecision, until the
clink of ice cubes from the nearby machine drew him from his musings.
    He eventually paid attention to the warning bells going off in
his head, picked up his bag and started slowly down the hall. First rule of the
road: don’t get involved with an employee of the opposite sex. It only spells
trouble. Second rule. His rule. Don’t get seriously involved with any woman. It
only invited heartache.
    Caution didn’t stop him from thinking about Cammie as he strode
to his room. He recalled how she’d felt in his arms, the way she’d said his
name—in a kind of breathy voice. He felt a twinge in his gut when he thought
about dancing with her. He felt another twinge a lot lower when he remembered
kissing her.
    Hell, no, she wasn’t a groupie. Didn’t look like a groupie and
didn’t kiss like one, either. Camille Carson kissed like a woman―a woman who
knew what she was doing. She wasn’t some young thing seeking a quick screw with
a star. She could actually hold a conversation without batting her eyelashes or
wetting her lips. Problem was, he still wanted to know her better. A lot better.
Every sweet inch of her, and that sent his imagination straight into overdrive.
    After Brett unlocked the door and stepped inside the room,
another image of Cammie flashed in his mind—when she’d taken off her jacket
while they were dancing. To that point, he’d only seen her in formless shirts.
Then, in a matter of moments, he’d seen firsthand what she’d done well to keep
hidden. He rubbed a palm over his face as if he could make the images disappear.
All he needed was a good night’s sleep to take care of it. That, and the Bermuda
shorts guy’s bucket of ice down the front of his jeans.
    He sucked in a deep breath, then walked quietly into the room,
hoping like hell his roommate was already asleep. No such luck.
    He found Pat stretched out on the sofa wearing a white T-shirt,
baggy blue boxers and a suspicious expression. “Where’ve you been, son?”
    Brett fell back onto the adjacent bed. “Like it’s any of your
business, which it isn’t, I was in the bar having a beer.”
    “You didn’t hook up with that gal you always call when we’re up
this way?