What’s her name?”
“Jennifer.” He hadn’t even thought to call her, thanks to his
bus driver. “I was having a drink with Cammie. We were just talking.” And that
admission could damn sure cost him.
Pat swung his bare legs over the edge of the sofa, sat up and
stared at him. “Are you sure that’s all you wanted from Cammie, just some
friendly conversation?”
Brett grabbed a pillow and flung it in the direction of his
mentor. “Shut up, Pat.”
“Struck a nerve, did I?”
“Hell, no.”
“Hell, yes, I did. I hope you don’t expect us to vacate the bus
every now and then so you can have your way with her.”
Pat’s suggestion came to life in Brett’s mind, materializing
into one heck of a fantasy that had to do with Cammie sprawled out on her berth,
naked. Cammie driving the bus with his hands all over her. Cammie in the shower
with him... “She’s an employee and that means hands off.”
“Good, ’cause I won’t be party to you using that little
gal.”
He had no intention of doing that to Cammie. “Fine. Now that we
have that settled, I’m going to turn in.”
Brett retired to the bathroom, stripped off his jeans and
shirt, brushed his teeth and spent a good twenty minutes washing his face in an
effort to wash away the persistent fantasies. It didn’t work. Not in the least.
He returned to the room and crawled under the covers before Pat could discover
just exactly what Camille Carson was doing to him.
* * *
U NABLE TO SLEEP PAST DAWN ,
Cammie was ready and waiting in the bus by the time the band members headed into
the parking lot at seven-thirty. She watched out the windshield as Rusty and
Bull said goodbye to their girls, then quickly stepped onto the other bus with
Jeremy, who looked hung-over and miserable.
Unfortunately, the vehicles weren’t well concealed. Dennis
attempted to run a group of fans crowded around the entrance of Brett’s bus, but
without much success. Cammie climbed out of the cab, bulldozed through the mob
of young, delirious females and did a routine check of the tires. Before she
could reenter the bus, one fresh-faced teenager grabbed her by the arm, halting
her progress. “Do you drive his bus?”
She immediately regretted she hadn’t hurried. “Yes.”
“You mean you get to see him every day?”
Nothing like good old hero worship. “Every day, and he puts his
pants on just like everyone else.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she
wanted the parking lot to open up and swallow her whole. She’d sounded as if
she’d seen him take his pants off.
The remembrance of Brett changing clothes the day before
invaded her thoughts. The recollection caused her face to heat, from forehead to
chin. Yet the probable blush went unnoticed as the crowd’s attention now turned
from her to the star in question as he approached.
The overwrought masses converged, thrusting pens in Brett’s
face and impeding his progress as he stopped to hand out a few autographs. His
jaw was blanketed by a shading of whiskers, his hair shower-damp, and he wore a
faded black T-shirt and equally faded jeans, proving to Cammie that no one cared
about his disheveled state. She definitely noticed his sex appeal, and so did
the other twenty or so young women stumbling over themselves, trying to touch
him. And he smiled as if he didn’t mind the attention in the least.
Then reality suddenly dawned. She had actually let the
notorious womanizer—the object of desire to all these females—kiss her. And
worse, she’d welcomed it. Unlike Mark’s forceful ways, Brett’s kiss had been
gentle, the impressions remarkable. So remarkable she’d had trouble
sleeping.
Cammie shoved the thoughts out of her mind. Regardless of how
he’d made her feel, she wasn’t one of his playthings and never would be.
Brett attempted to move toward the bus, inadvertently carrying
several fans with him despite two beefy crew members’ efforts to hold them back.
By the time he worked his way to the
“Jennifer.” He hadn’t even thought to call her, thanks to his
bus driver. “I was having a drink with Cammie. We were just talking.” And that
admission could damn sure cost him.
Pat swung his bare legs over the edge of the sofa, sat up and
stared at him. “Are you sure that’s all you wanted from Cammie, just some
friendly conversation?”
Brett grabbed a pillow and flung it in the direction of his
mentor. “Shut up, Pat.”
“Struck a nerve, did I?”
“Hell, no.”
“Hell, yes, I did. I hope you don’t expect us to vacate the bus
every now and then so you can have your way with her.”
Pat’s suggestion came to life in Brett’s mind, materializing
into one heck of a fantasy that had to do with Cammie sprawled out on her berth,
naked. Cammie driving the bus with his hands all over her. Cammie in the shower
with him... “She’s an employee and that means hands off.”
“Good, ’cause I won’t be party to you using that little
gal.”
He had no intention of doing that to Cammie. “Fine. Now that we
have that settled, I’m going to turn in.”
Brett retired to the bathroom, stripped off his jeans and
shirt, brushed his teeth and spent a good twenty minutes washing his face in an
effort to wash away the persistent fantasies. It didn’t work. Not in the least.
He returned to the room and crawled under the covers before Pat could discover
just exactly what Camille Carson was doing to him.
* * *
U NABLE TO SLEEP PAST DAWN ,
Cammie was ready and waiting in the bus by the time the band members headed into
the parking lot at seven-thirty. She watched out the windshield as Rusty and
Bull said goodbye to their girls, then quickly stepped onto the other bus with
Jeremy, who looked hung-over and miserable.
Unfortunately, the vehicles weren’t well concealed. Dennis
attempted to run a group of fans crowded around the entrance of Brett’s bus, but
without much success. Cammie climbed out of the cab, bulldozed through the mob
of young, delirious females and did a routine check of the tires. Before she
could reenter the bus, one fresh-faced teenager grabbed her by the arm, halting
her progress. “Do you drive his bus?”
She immediately regretted she hadn’t hurried. “Yes.”
“You mean you get to see him every day?”
Nothing like good old hero worship. “Every day, and he puts his
pants on just like everyone else.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she
wanted the parking lot to open up and swallow her whole. She’d sounded as if
she’d seen him take his pants off.
The remembrance of Brett changing clothes the day before
invaded her thoughts. The recollection caused her face to heat, from forehead to
chin. Yet the probable blush went unnoticed as the crowd’s attention now turned
from her to the star in question as he approached.
The overwrought masses converged, thrusting pens in Brett’s
face and impeding his progress as he stopped to hand out a few autographs. His
jaw was blanketed by a shading of whiskers, his hair shower-damp, and he wore a
faded black T-shirt and equally faded jeans, proving to Cammie that no one cared
about his disheveled state. She definitely noticed his sex appeal, and so did
the other twenty or so young women stumbling over themselves, trying to touch
him. And he smiled as if he didn’t mind the attention in the least.
Then reality suddenly dawned. She had actually let the
notorious womanizer—the object of desire to all these females—kiss her. And
worse, she’d welcomed it. Unlike Mark’s forceful ways, Brett’s kiss had been
gentle, the impressions remarkable. So remarkable she’d had trouble
sleeping.
Cammie shoved the thoughts out of her mind. Regardless of how
he’d made her feel, she wasn’t one of his playthings and never would be.
Brett attempted to move toward the bus, inadvertently carrying
several fans with him despite two beefy crew members’ efforts to hold them back.
By the time he worked his way to the
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