“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice muffled. “The cameras and tripods are already in the chapels and they’re top of the line.” She looked back with a grin. “If I can take decent pictures with them, then they’re almost foolproof.”
“So you don’t need a great photographer.”
“Well, the video camera is a little more tricky,” she offered over her right shoulder, drawing attention to the tattoo of a four-leaf clover there. He’d never been fond of tattoos, but against Gracie’s smooth skin, it seemed more like…jewelry. Nice. And a bit eerie, considering he carried a four-leaf-clover key chain.
“Of course, the most important thing is the suit.”
He nodded, and it was a few seconds before her words sank in. “Pardon me?”
“The suit,” she said, turning and holding in front of her a large white jumpsuit with a wide pointed collar and jeweled studs down the rather low-cut front. She sighed. “It’s going to be a little big for you—Roach has been filling in since our last guy left—but it’ll do until I can take it in.”
Steve stared at the jumpsuit, realization dawning with horror. “Me…wear that getup?” He laughed. “No way.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He backed up, shaking his head. “I mean I’m not wearing that.”
“But the customers want the Vegas Elvis package, and this is the suit.”
He waved his hands. “Oh, no. I’m not dressing up.”
She frowned harder. “Cordelia said you understood that this was part of the job. In fact—” she stepped over the dog and extended the vile suit toward him “—it is the job. You’re our Elvis.”
CHAPTER TWO
GRACIE SERGEANT watched emotions play over Steve Mulcahy’s handsome face: shock gave way to denial, and denial gave way to controlled annoyance. His cobalt-blue eyes went from icy to molten in a blink as he straightened.
“I’m not an Elvis impersonator.”
Gracie inspected his lean physique again—broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs…the man was perfect—er, for the job. Top that with his blue-black hair, piercing eyes and—she swallowed—sensuous mouth, and she had a feeling she was experiencing a little of what women must have felt when standing next to the real Elvis. The man was knee-weakening gorgeous.
It was a good thing she’d recently sworn off sex…not that Steve Mulcahy, confirmed bachelor, would be interested, but still. She’d had enough of fly-by-night affairs with transients who lost their mind and promised the moon (and their heart) in the crazy Vegas environment. The next time she fell in love, she wanted forever and a ring. When she’d said as much to Cordelia, who had never married, her boss had looked sad and declared that Gracie had listened to “Can’t Help Falling in Love” one too many times.
Ignoring the sexy vibes rolling off the man in front of her, Gracie tried to appeal to his ego. “You’re the closest thing we’ve had to Elvis in the ten years I’ve been working here. We’ve had a Korean Elvis, a dwarf Elvis, two black Elvises, several obese versions, one bone-rack, one guy who was eighty-nine years old—even a female Elvis for a while.”
He was still shaking his head. “I came to take pictures—and that’s all.”
Worried that she’d lose their best prospect in ages, Gracie decided to turn on the charm—and lie. She gave him a coy smile. “All you have to do is wear the suit, and if you’re afraid someone will recognize you, we have sunglasses and a wig.”
He opened his mouth, then stopped and seemed to mull her words.
“It’s really easy,” she added quickly. “You greet the customers, walk the bride down the aisle and give her away, then run the video camera for the rest of the ceremony. The pictures come afterward.”
He squinted, apparently considering it. “I’d walk the bride down the aisle? Every bride?”
Gracie tried not to frown—obviously her womanly charms weren’t as persuasive as the idea of mixing with every female who came through the door. “Sure—it’s part of the wedding package.”
He covered his mouth with his hand, then nodded curtly. “Okay.”
She grinned, her disappointment about his motivation vanishing in the wake of his agreeing to be their Elvis. If he were good, word would spread quickly. She stepped closer to him, holding the extra large suit against his shoulders. The movement displaced the air between them, sending the male scent of him into her nostrils, igniting little firestorms all over her celibate body. Shocked at her reaction, she lifted her gaze to his—a mistake, she realized instantly, because a woman could fall headlong into those deep baby blues with their long, black lashes. But when his eyes became hooded, she saw a flash of danger there—danger to her resolution to hold out for commitment.
Worse, her nearness seemed to have affected him as well. Beneath her fingers, his chest rose and fell more rapidly, then his mouth parted slightly. She had the surreal sensation that he might kiss her and felt her lips part, her breath whisk over her tongue. He wet his lips and she unwittingly mimicked him. “Can’t Help Falling in Love” played over the central stereo—her weakness.
“Some things…are meant to be…”
Her throat tightened with the desire to swallow, but she was afraid to move a muscle, afraid she would rise on her toes and press her mouth to his just to knock him as off balance as she felt. But when she felt his warm lips against hers, she realized that in her mind, she might have restrained herself, but in reality, she had gone for the gold.
And while Steve Mulcahy might have been as surprised as she for a split second, he seemed to warm up to the idea of kissing her rather quickly. He opened his mouth and slanted his lips over hers, flicking his tongue over her teeth. He tasted like mint and coffee, and smelled like grass and sandalwood. While Gracie’s breasts and shoulders tingled, a small part of her panicked, driven to keep the kiss going so she wouldn’t have to face him when it ended. She’d never done anything like this in her life.
H.D.’s forceful bark broke their kiss like a sledgehammer against glass. She started and swung her gaze down, then realized that H.D. wasn’t barking at them, but rather at the black-robed woman who stood in the doorway looking, well…shocked.
Under her boss’s gaze, mortification bled through Gracie. Stepping back, she murmured, “Cordelia…hi. This is, um…um—”
“Steve Mulcahy, the new photographer,” he supplied.
Beneath the pouf of fire engine-red hair, Cordelia’s expression changed, and she studied Steve intently. Gracie was surprised to see something akin to disapproval in the woman’s kohl-lined eyes before Cordelia schooled her well-preserved features into a smile. “Ah, yes. Welcome to TCB, Steve.”
He nodded politely, but looked uncomfortable. If he knew that pink lipstick smeared his mouth, he would probably feel even worse, Gracie decided. He gestured to the air between them. “Gracie was just…showing me the ropes.”
Cordelia lifted one drawn-on eyebrow. “Gracie keeps this place running—I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to her.”
Gracie blinked. She’d never felt unappreciated, but Cordelia had never gushed about her to a relative stranger. Then in a flash of comprehension, she realized that her protective boss might have thought Steve was taking liberties with her—little did Cordelia know that Gracie was the one guilty of setting a record for sexually harassing a new hire.
“I can see that,” Steve said smoothly.
Cordelia nodded toward the white jumpsuit and pushed her cheek out with her tongue. “I see she wasted no time in showing you the wardrobe.”
His mouth twitched downward. “Yes, I’m surprised you didn’t mention that aspect of the job when we…talked.”
Cordelia’s expression turned innocent. “I didn’t?”
“Er, no.”
“Oh, well, you two seem to have worked out the details.”
“We have,” Gracie said quickly, her mouth still warm from the imprint of his. “And the costumes will have to do for now, but I’ll make the necessary alte
rations.” She was babbling, like a teenager caught necking in the living room.
Cordelia hesitated, then nodded. “Is Lincoln performing the ceremonies this evening?”
“Yes. He should be here soon.”
Cordelia glanced at Steve, and Gracie once again detected a wariness in her boss. “I’m going to take a smoke break. Gracie, will you let me know if you hear the drive-through bell?”
Despite her own recent transgression, Gracie straightened. “I thought you quit smoking.”
“I did,” her boss said. “And now I’m starting again.” Cordelia leveled her no-nonsense gaze on Steve. “When you’re finished here, Mr. Mulcahy, please see me so that we can discuss…your duties.”
“I will.”
But Cordelia was already gone, her black robe billowing behind her as she strode down the hall. H.D. trotted after her, loping as fast as his low-hanging belly would allow.
Gracie turned to Steve slowly, her skin zinging with embarrassment. “I’m…sorry about…the kiss. I don’t know what came over me.”
Before the words left her mouth, she realized how lame they sounded. To save him from having to respond, she hung the white jumpsuit on a rack and removed a tissue from a nearby container. She stepped forward and reached up to wipe his mouth. He stood still, but his eyes narrowed cautiously as she dabbed at the shimmering pink gloss.
Gracie focused on removing traces of their kiss, still reeling over her behavior. “But don’t worry—this kind of thing doesn’t bother Cordelia.”
He looked amused. “So you do this kind of thing often?”
Her face flamed. “No. What I meant is that Cordelia wasn’t upset about…what we were doing.” She cleared her throat. “About what I did. Which, by the way, won’t happen again. It was just…curiosity.” She was babbling again.
One dark eyebrow rose. “I wasn’t complaining.”
Ignoring the barb of pleasure in her chest, she pushed ahead. “Cordelia hasn’t been herself for the past several days.” And whatever her boss had, apparently it was catching, Gracie decided, since she herself had just kissed a virtual stranger. “She’s usually very easygoing. I don’t know what…has her on edge.”
His eyes darkened. “It’s probably nothing serious.”
Gracie nodded thoughtfully and averted her gaze, tearing her mind away from their off-the-cuff kiss and toward more important matters. She knew that business had fallen sharply over the past few months and suspected that Cordelia—and the chapel—were in serious financial trouble. Panic gripped Gracie’s chest—Cordelia, Lincoln, Roach and H.D. were all the family she had. Yet lately, in the wee hours of the morning, lying on the sleeper-sofa in her cramped apartment, she had felt unsettled. For the past ten years, the wedding chapel had been a refuge from the unbearable family situation she had left behind in Oklahoma, and Cordelia had been the mother she’d never had.
But suddenly everything seemed to be in flux.
“Hey,” Steve said gently, breaking into her thoughts. “Don’t look so worried—whatever is bothering your boss will probably work itself out soon.”
She looked up and was struck anew by his dark, sexy looks. That restless place in her seemed to call out to him, and it made her uneasy. It was a good thing that Steve Mulcahy had already expressed his vehement opposition to marriage, else she might be tempted to see just where a full-body kiss would lead them. But another glance at his high cheekbones, flaring nose, square jaw and overall rugged good looks made her sigh inwardly. Someone as delectably masculine as Steve Mulcahy would definitely already be involved with a woman…or two.
His cell phone beeped. He glanced at the display, then back up, slightly flushed. “Um, where can I take this in private?”
Gracie gave him a tight smile—just as she suspected. It was the reminder she needed. “Take it here. I have work to do.” She tossed the tissue into a trash can, then vamoosed. As she walked out, she heard him say, “Hi, Karen. What’s up?”
Gracie puffed out her cheeks as she walked down the hallway, then slid into her spot behind the counter. Waves of shame washed over her—what must he think of her, kissing him like that? She closed her eyes and groaned, burying her face in her hands. Why didn’t life come with a rewind button?
She lifted her head and gave herself a mental shake. One thing was certain: Although her mind said, “Hold out for a stable guy and a long-term commitment,” her body obviously wasn’t on the same page. Still…Steve had to accept some of the blame. How could a man go around looking that good and not expect to be kissed on impulse?
Gracie practiced a few deep breathing exercises—she had to get past her gaffe if they were going to work together. But she was antsy…as if a switch inside her had been flipped to “on.”
She straightened the postcards and other souvenirs in the spinner racks, then dusted the counter and the shelves, trying to tamp down the sudden surge of adrenaline. Steve Mulcahy had affected her like no man had in…ever. Working at close quarters was going to be difficult in her sex-deprived state, but would be a good test of her endurance because this was exactly the kind of situation she was trying to avoid: a dead-end relationship. At least he was more forthcoming than most men—he had let her know right away that marriage wasn’t in his cards.
So who was Karen?
She tried to push the man and his love life from her mind as she looked for the file for the upcoming ceremony. But she was suddenly distracted by the hundreds of photos collaged onto the bulletin boards all around the counter. Hugging the file to her chest, she surveyed the couples’ beaming faces as they clutched each other, poised to begin their lives together. All shapes and sizes, beautiful and not, all races, all ages—proof that over and over again in the big, wide world, people managed to find each other and fall in love.
Gracie angled her head, studying their eyes, their body language. How did love work, and if it worked for so many people so often, why didn’t it work for her? She sank her teeth into her lower lip, then shook off her self-indulgent mood—she had a wedding to prepare for and she owed it to the couple to make sure it was as perfect as could be.
But when she walked back to the counter where she stood most of the day, Gracie suddenly noticed the black, worn spot in the red carpet. She stopped abruptly in her rhinestone flipflops and her stomach hitched. She remembered vividly that new carpet had been installed the first week she had started working at TCB. And since that time, she had literally stood in one spot until the rug beneath her feet was threadbare.
The analogy wasn’t lost on her, and the timing was perfect. If she was going to get on with her life—do something with the degree in public relations she’d managed to finish, meet a nice, stable guy and settle down—she was going to have to…move her feet.
The phone rang and Gracie snapped back into business mode.
“Taking Care of Business Wedding Chapel, where Elvis lives in your heart. How can I help you?” She answered the man’s nervous questions by rote as she referred to the appointment book. “Yes, we have some openings this evening. When would you like to schedule a ceremony?”
“The earlier the better,” the man said, his baritone voice bursting with love and enthusiasm.
Gracie’s heart swelled and with great restraint she fought a crazy impulse to ask questions of her own, such as how he’d met the woman he’d fallen in love with, how long it had taken before he’d known she was the one and what had been the turning point? What exactly had made him sure she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?
How ironic that she’d witnessed thousands of weddings, yet still was clueless about lasting love.
“How about seven-thirty, sir?”
“Great. But this has to be really special. My fiancée is a huge Elvis fan. Does your Elvis look like the real thing?”
Steve’s chiseled features and blue, blue eyes came to mind with startling clarity. “As a matter of fact, he does. Does your fiancée have a favorite Elvis song?”
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�‘Love Me Tender’ gets her every time.”
“Then we’ll include it in the package.”
“Does your Elvis sing, or lipsynch?”
Neither, she thought, but didn’t say so. “Our Elvis is having a bout with laryngitis at the moment, sir. But if he’s not feeling well enough to sing, we’ll play a beautiful digitally mastered recording in stereo. You’ll feel like you’re at an Elvis concert.” She winced at her own words, but they needed the business.
The man made a doubtful noise. “I don’t know…the Elvis over at the Fools Rush In chapel sings.”
At a noise, she glanced up to see Lincoln Nebraska, their florist and spare minister, walk through the door carrying two bouquets of mixed white flowers. She smiled a greeting, then resumed her sales pitch to the customer on the phone. “I promise you, sir, that you won’t find another wedding Elvis in Vegas as good as ours. I’ll even throw in a complimentary bouquet for your bride and a boutonniere for you.”
Lincoln frowned, but she ignored him.
“Okay,” the man finally said.
“Great.” She took down his name and contact information. “We’ll see you and your lovely bride at seven-thirty.” She hung up the phone and grinned at Lincoln, who was bald and tanned and wearing funky horn-rimmed glasses. “Hi, there.”
“Who is he?” Lincoln said without preamble.
“Who?” Gracie asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“You know who—the hunk of burning love who was talking on the cell phone when I walked past the closet.”
“Oh. Him.”
Lincoln smirked. “Yes—him. Tell me he’s our new Elvis.”
She hesitated. “Yes. But he thinks he’s the photographer.”
Lincoln scoffed. “H.D. could run the camera equipment if someone lifted him high enough.”
“I know,” she said. “But Cordelia hired the guy and didn’t tell him the full story.”
“Ah, the old bait and switch. Well, she probably took one look at him and knew he’d be perfect.” He sighed. “At least what I could see of him from the back looked perfect.”
Love So Tender: Taking Care of BusinessPlay It Again, ElvisGood Luck Charm Page 2