door, several other tourists had arrived on
scene to investigate the commotion.
Instead of retiring to the safety of the bus, Brett walked to
Cammie where she stood near the door, put his arm around her and brushed a kiss
over her lips. “Ready to roll, sweetheart?”
Cammie could only stare at him, flabbergasted. Brett then took
her hand and led her—more like dragged her—to the entrance. He scaled the steps
ahead of her while the crowd chanted his name.
Still dazed, Cammie squeezed past him and dropped into the
seat. “Thanks a lot, Brett.”
“I was just trying to discourage them so we could make a quick
getaway.”
Cammie’s irritation bubbled to the surface, both from lack of
sleep and wisdom. Truth was, she’d gone right along with the ruse. “I don’t like
being used as a decoy to divert a bunch of groveling prepubescent girls.”
“They’re harmless.”
She started the bus and shifted to face him. “How can you be so
blasé about this? Some of those girls couldn’t have been more than sixteen, if
that. Someone less scrupulous might have taken advantage of their
admiration.”
He propped an elbow on the back of the seat. “I’m not Mark
Jensen, Cammie.”
“I know that, but I expect you to be more appalled since you
have a daughter....” Her words floated away the moment she realized she’d said
too much.
His expression turned steely, unforgiving. “How do you know
that?”
She lowered her eyes before bringing her gaze back to his. “I
heard someone talking about it at dinner last night. And I knew about your
divorce the first night I came on board. But you can trust me not to say
anything.”
“You already have.”
How could she answer that? “I’m really, really sorry.”
His narrowed eyes told her he didn’t accept the apology. “Pat
said they’ll need another half hour before we head out.”
With that, Brett headed down the corridor, leaving Cammie
feeling stunned and ashamed. Just because he’d rescued her from the clutches of
a crazed ex-boyfriend, said she had talent and turned out to be one heck of a
kisser, that didn’t give her the right to comment on his personal life. He was
still her boss, which meant she had to attempt to make amends, or find herself
on the next plane back to Memphis.
After waiting a good ten minutes, she slid out of the seat,
convened some courage and knocked on Brett’s stateroom door.
“Yeah,” he called.
“Mind if I come in?”
“Suit yourself.”
For the very first time, she stepped inside the inner sanctum.
The area was surprisingly orderly, well-appointed and very masculine with its
brown-and-black decor. A set of weights sat at the end of the bed on the
beige-carpeted floor, along with a pair of cross-trainers. Several platinum and
gold albums that spanned his amazing career covered the walls. When she
recognized most of the titles, the enormity of his fame made the atmosphere seem
surreal.
The room held numerous other conveniences—another sound system,
another high-tech TV, another bed much bigger than hers where Brett had
stretched out and stripped down to a pair of navy boxers. No shoes, no shirt,
ready to service any willing woman.
He held some sort of entertainment magazine in both hands, the
title Cammie failed to see when she caught sight of his bare torso. In fact, she
lost sight of everything right then but his body. And this time she took a good,
long look, from the curve of his bicep to his tattoo to the dip of his navel.
And below that... Happy trails to her.
Then came the magazine now open in his lap. Unfortunately, she
didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—the visual trek as she followed the path from his
hair-covered thighs down to his bare feet.
The expedition only took a few seconds, but the terrain had
been more fascinating than any scenery she’d encountered so far. By the time her
gaze traveled back to his face, she realized he’d been watching her blatantly
studying him.
He pinned her in place with
scene to investigate the commotion.
Instead of retiring to the safety of the bus, Brett walked to
Cammie where she stood near the door, put his arm around her and brushed a kiss
over her lips. “Ready to roll, sweetheart?”
Cammie could only stare at him, flabbergasted. Brett then took
her hand and led her—more like dragged her—to the entrance. He scaled the steps
ahead of her while the crowd chanted his name.
Still dazed, Cammie squeezed past him and dropped into the
seat. “Thanks a lot, Brett.”
“I was just trying to discourage them so we could make a quick
getaway.”
Cammie’s irritation bubbled to the surface, both from lack of
sleep and wisdom. Truth was, she’d gone right along with the ruse. “I don’t like
being used as a decoy to divert a bunch of groveling prepubescent girls.”
“They’re harmless.”
She started the bus and shifted to face him. “How can you be so
blasé about this? Some of those girls couldn’t have been more than sixteen, if
that. Someone less scrupulous might have taken advantage of their
admiration.”
He propped an elbow on the back of the seat. “I’m not Mark
Jensen, Cammie.”
“I know that, but I expect you to be more appalled since you
have a daughter....” Her words floated away the moment she realized she’d said
too much.
His expression turned steely, unforgiving. “How do you know
that?”
She lowered her eyes before bringing her gaze back to his. “I
heard someone talking about it at dinner last night. And I knew about your
divorce the first night I came on board. But you can trust me not to say
anything.”
“You already have.”
How could she answer that? “I’m really, really sorry.”
His narrowed eyes told her he didn’t accept the apology. “Pat
said they’ll need another half hour before we head out.”
With that, Brett headed down the corridor, leaving Cammie
feeling stunned and ashamed. Just because he’d rescued her from the clutches of
a crazed ex-boyfriend, said she had talent and turned out to be one heck of a
kisser, that didn’t give her the right to comment on his personal life. He was
still her boss, which meant she had to attempt to make amends, or find herself
on the next plane back to Memphis.
After waiting a good ten minutes, she slid out of the seat,
convened some courage and knocked on Brett’s stateroom door.
“Yeah,” he called.
“Mind if I come in?”
“Suit yourself.”
For the very first time, she stepped inside the inner sanctum.
The area was surprisingly orderly, well-appointed and very masculine with its
brown-and-black decor. A set of weights sat at the end of the bed on the
beige-carpeted floor, along with a pair of cross-trainers. Several platinum and
gold albums that spanned his amazing career covered the walls. When she
recognized most of the titles, the enormity of his fame made the atmosphere seem
surreal.
The room held numerous other conveniences—another sound system,
another high-tech TV, another bed much bigger than hers where Brett had
stretched out and stripped down to a pair of navy boxers. No shoes, no shirt,
ready to service any willing woman.
He held some sort of entertainment magazine in both hands, the
title Cammie failed to see when she caught sight of his bare torso. In fact, she
lost sight of everything right then but his body. And this time she took a good,
long look, from the curve of his bicep to his tattoo to the dip of his navel.
And below that... Happy trails to her.
Then came the magazine now open in his lap. Unfortunately, she
didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—the visual trek as she followed the path from his
hair-covered thighs down to his bare feet.
The expedition only took a few seconds, but the terrain had
been more fascinating than any scenery she’d encountered so far. By the time her
gaze traveled back to his face, she realized he’d been watching her blatantly
studying him.
He pinned her in place with
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