Читать книгу Love So Tender: Taking Care of Business / Play It Again, Elvis / Good Luck Charm - Jo Leigh, Joanne Rock - Страница 11

GRACIE RESISTED the urge to park her green Volkswagen Rabbit next to Steve Mulcahy’s dark SUV and instead wheeled into a space a few feet away in the pay parking lot across from TCB and cut the engine. She hated being late, but that’s what she got for staying up until 2:00 a.m. listening to “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” on continuous play on her phonograph and trying to pinpoint what exactly about Steve Mulcahy made her want to marinate in the music of old 45s?

It wasn’t his impersonation skills, although she had to admit that he’d performed much better than she’d expected. What he lacked in lip-synching skills, he made up for in easygoing charm—the customers loved him, and he appeared eager to interact with them, asking questions and feigning interest, all in a southern bass that he seemed to have pulled out of thin air. Without prompting, he’d stayed “in character” until the clients left and he’d changed back into his regular clothes. Then it was as if a mask had been lowered back into place. He’d been cordial, had even walked Gracie to her car, but she could sense his distance—had he been afraid she was going to kiss him again?

The bad thing was that his fears would have been well founded—their too-short kiss had dominated her thoughts for most of the day, reinforced each time the couples had kissed when pronounced husband and wife. There had been a few seconds last night standing next to her car when she’d thought he was remembering the kiss, too. But his cell phone had rung and he had said an abrupt good-night.

“Karen” had impeccable timing.

Gracie swung out of her car and jogged across the street. A rental car sat in the chapel drive-through, which meant Cordelia was busy at this early hour. A pang of guilt struck Gracie—Cordelia worked such long hours. It wasn’t fair for her to arrive late, no matter what the excuse. Worse, she’d asked Steve to come in early today so she could pin the costumes for alterations—except she hadn’t expected him to arrive this early.

Chastising herself, she opened the front door, enjoying the few minutes of humming quiet before the stereo and door chimes were activated. The scent of coffee called to her. Looking forward to a jolt of caffeine, she walked down the hall toward the kitchen, fighting a yawn. But at the sound of the photocopier running, she frowned. If Cordelia was working the drive-through, who was in the office?

When the office window came into view, she saw Steve standing with his back to the door, watching as the light of the photocopier flashed. He wore jeans and a baggy shirt, like yesterday. He craned his neck to look out the window where she knew he could see the drive-through. Frowning at his suspicious body language, she remained out of sight and watched incredulously as he removed her appointment book, turned the page and returned it facedown on the copier. Smothering a gasp, she flattened against the wall, her heart pounding. Why would he be interested in her appointment book? Was he some kind of saboteur from a competitor?

She stood, frozen. One part of her wanted to charge into the office and demand to know what he was doing, but another part of her railed against the idea that Steve could be involved in something illicit. True, she’d only just met him, but she’d gotten the feeling that he was an honest man.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek—she knew too many women who turned a blind eye to the obvious because they projected their own wants and desires onto a situation, and she wasn’t going to be one of them. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door to the office, making as much noise as possible. “Good morning.”

Steve jerked around, his eyes wide. “Good morning.”

“What are you doing?” she asked cheerfully, nodding toward the edge of her appointment book that stuck out from under the lid of the photocopier.

A flash of guilt darkened his eyes, but he recovered quickly. “I thought I might be better able to prepare if I knew in advance what packages are booked…at least until I get the hang of things.”

His story seemed plausible enough—maybe she had imagined his guilty reaction.

He gave her a little smile. “Cordelia said it would be okay to photocopy your appointment book—I hope you don’t mind.”

God, the man was so handsome—which only confused her further. Earlier she didn’t want to think badly of him, but was she now looking for a reason to distrust him? If Cordelia had given him permission, then who was she to argue? “Sure, that’s fine.” But she studied him intently, and Lincoln’s words from the previous day about why someone like Steve would be working at TCB came back to her.

He shifted uncomfortably. “I made some coffee,” he said, jerking his head toward the kitchen.

“Thanks,” she said, shaking her critical thoughts. Steve Mulcahy didn’t deserve to be interrogated by her, not when her own life wasn’t exactly on the fast track to success.

She went into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, spooked by her strong reactions to the man. Sure he was gorgeous, but there was something else…something about him made her feel as if her life were very small. Maybe because, for him, TCB was probably only a pit stop yet she had spent most of her adulthood within these walls. She frowned as she filled H.D.’s food bowl with kibble.

“Here you go,” Steve said from the doorway, extending her appointment book.

Gracie straightened and took the book. Their hands brushed, and she had a fleeting thought that he held on longer than necessary. Her next thought was that she was reading too much into every little movement and she needed to keep the focus on business. “Thank you, Steve. Are you ready for the costume fitting?”

That uncomfortable look came over his face again. “I suppose.”

She sipped from her cup, then winced when the liquid hit the back of her throat. “Oh, my.”

“Did I make it too strong? Sorry.”

“No, it’s…fine,” she squeaked. “Just what I need, actually.”

“Late night?”

“You could say that,” she mumbled as she began walking. Fantasizing about you.

He grinned. “Which casino?”

She frowned. “None. I don’t gamble.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have anything against gambling—I’m just not a very lucky person.”

“I find that hard to believe. Especially since you have a four-leaf clover tattooed on your shoulder.”

He’d noticed. She glanced down at the tiny image revealed by the thin strap of her yellow tank top. “That’s precisely why I got the tattoo—I hoped it would change my luck.”

“Did it?”

She shook her head wistfully. “Not yet.”

He laughed. “But you’re optimistic.”

“Of course.” She met his gaze and something electric passed between them. Her smile melted as the light in his eyes changed…to desire? A shiver skated over her shoulders as her body reacted to the thought. Her breasts hardened, her nipples beaded and the restlessness that had been plaguing her body seemed to coalesce in her midsection. Afraid that her lust was evident, she cast about for a safe topic. Recalling Lincoln’s speculation that Steve was a gambler down on his luck, she asked, “What about you? Do you play the tables?”

“A little blackjack, a little craps.”

The casual reply of a person with a problem? She couldn’t tell. “Have you always been a photographer?”

“Um, no.”

When he didn’t expand, she pressed. “What then?”

Another laugh and shrug. “A little of everything, really. I guess you could say I’m a drifter.”

Mostly physical work, she surmised from his athletic build, although his fingernails were clean and well kept. He had nice hands with long, tanned fingers.

She swallowed hard. “Where did you drift from?”

“Oh, all over,” he said vaguely. “I was an army brat.”

“Where is your family now?”

“Here and there. Yours?”

“Um, same,” she lied, realizing he had turned the tables. Neither one of them wanted to divulge details of their lives. Fair enough. Keep it light and breezy, she told herself as she walked into the closet, trying not to remember it was there she had kissed him. She moved back to the clothing rack and removed the costumes, then handed them to him. “Why don’t you take these into the dressing room and come out when you’re ready?”

Steve drank in Gracie’s luminous face and fought the overwhelming urge to take her into the dressing room. He had hoped that when he saw her this morning that his attraction to her would have diminished, but it hadn’t. If anything, he was even hotter for her today in her little yellow tank top and swingy black skirt and black-and-white polka dot shoes. A black headband in her short spiky hair made her look even more kittenish and the violet dangling glass earrings perfectly mirrored her incredible eyes. He had a vision of those eyes slitted in passion, her creamy-skinned body beneath his.

“Steve?”

He blinked. “Hmm? Oh…right.” He took the armful of colorful clothes and walked into the dressing room, telling himself he had to get a grip. This assignment was the result of Mitch Lundy eluding the FBI for years—he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by an inconvenient hard-on for this woman.

On the other hand, he had to stay on her good side. She was already suspicious of his motivation for being there.

He hung the costumes on hooks, growing more glum as he studied each one in turn—a gold lamé suit, a black vinyl suit, a loud Hawaiian shirt and white shiny pants, the perennial white jumpsuit and a black-and-white striped jail inmate outfit. He began to undress, frowning at the waist holster and revolver—what should he do with it? Knowing he was violating several policies about weapon handling while on duty, he tucked it under the jeans he’d discarded on a chair and, deciding to get the worst over with first, stepped into the gold suit that looked five sizes too big. His reflection made him wince.

“How’s it going in there?” Gracie called.

Maybe it would at least dampen his libido, Steve thought as he opened the door and stepped out.

Gracie grinned. “Not bad.”

He frowned. “Will this take long?”

“Not at all,” she sang, holding up a pincushion. “Just let me mark a few adjustments.” She pointed to a sewing machine in the corner. “It shouldn’t take me too long to make the alterations. Hold up your arms, please.”

Feeling guilty that she would no sooner get the alterations made than he would be gone, he said, “If this position has as much turnover as you say, I suppose you do this a lot.”

She made a thoughtful noise while she reached inside the jacket and gave him what resembled a thorough pat down, running her hands over his chest and stomach. “It depends. We have some of the suits in different sizes, so sometimes we get lucky.” Then she looked up suspiciously. “Are you already planning to leave?”

“No,” he said quickly, then decided he could be realistic without blowing his cover. “Well…eventually, I suppose.”

She nodded. “Right…that’s what drifters do, I suppose—they drift.”

The timbre of disappointment in her voice made his gut clench. “It’s nothing personal. This just isn’t the kind of job I see myself doing forever.”

“Too bad,” she murmured. “Everyone really likes you.”

“Everyone?” The word spilled from his tongue before he could swallow it.

She glanced up sharply and wet her lips. “The customers, I mean. You’re very good with them, getting them to talk about themselves.”

Little did she know, he was simply quizzing everyone to make sure that Mitch Lundy wasn’t sneaking in under his nose, disguised as Larry from Peoria. In fact, Gracie would freak out if she knew that her Elvis carried a .38 revolver on his waist, a .25 automatic in his boot and that his cell phone was equipped with a stun gun.

“But, if you’re determined to leave,” she said merrily, “I’ll use Velcro.”

Instead of pacifying him, her cheerful acceptance of his eventual absence rankled him further. And her hands all over his body were making him crazy—not to mention rock-hard. He dropped his arms in an effort to hide his raging erection.

“Stand still or I’ll poke you.”

Steve closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He was thinking the same thing, although not quite in the same way. He tried to will away his reaction to her roaming touch, but it proved impossible when she bent over and he got a tantalizing view of her cleavage…and yet another lacy bra—this one black. Worse, he could guess that she wore a matching thong beneath her skirt.

“There,” she said with a final pat to his chest. “Watch the pins when you take it off.”

His relief in regaining control over his erection was short-lived when he had to repeat the process four more times. His cock hadn’t gotten this kind of workout since high school.

By the time she finished pinning the black-and-white striped inmate outfit, he was sweating bullets—and his pride was in the gutter. “Thank God that prisoners don’t have to dress like this anymore.”

She, on the other hand, seemed unaffected as she giggled. “Our Jailhouse Wedding package is popular, although I don’t quite understand why.”

“Maybe they see marriage as a life sentence,” he offered, then laughed at his own joke.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s not funny.” But a smile played on her lips as she started to turn away.

Before he could think through the ramifications, he reached out and closed his hand around her wrist. “Gracie.”

She turned back, seemingly startled by his touch, then inquisitive. “Yes?”

He pulled her close to him, slowly—in case she resisted…he almost hoped she would. But she didn’t resist—only stared up at him with impossibly beautiful eyes, her mouth plump and inviting.

“We were interrupted yesterday,” he said on an exhale as he lowered his mouth to hers. She opened to him, and her arms went around his neck. He sucked in a sharp breath as pins dug into his skin, but shoved aside the quick bite of pain. The floral scent she wore filled his lungs and the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest obliterated all other sensation. Their kiss went from exploratory to promising to preparatory as he slid his hands down her back and pulled her hips against his. Their moans mingled as he experienced a few seconds of blessed relief to connect with her body. Nearly out of his mind with wanting her, he pulled her toward the dressing room…and she went with him, devouring his mouth, her hands pushing at the costume. He grunted as more pins found their way home, but he didn’t care.

The door to the dressing room closed behind them just as his shirt fell to the floor. He broke their kiss long enough to lift her tank top over her head and reveal the lacy bra. His sex jerked in anticipation of what lay beneath. “My God, you’re beautiful.” He pulled her close and lifted her skirt, sliding his hands down to her buttocks, finding them almost bare, spanned by a slip of a lacy thong. He groaned in pure ecstasy, and pushed the wisp of a garment over her hips and down her legs to her ankles. Heaven.

She stepped out of her shoes and the thong, standing before him in the bra and flirty skirt. Her violet eyes sparkled like jewels—she was almost too beautiful, too perfect to touch. Desire pinkened her cheeks. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and the realization made him slow down long enough for rational thought to work its way into his head.

He couldn’t do this.

When she closed in for another kiss, he put out his hands and held her at arm’s length in the tiny space. “Gracie, we have to stop.”

She blinked, then glanced around, as if suddenly realizing where they were. “Oh.” She crossed her hands over her bra. “Oh. Of course we do.”

“Gracie, I’m sorry.” He retrieved her yellow shirt and handed it to her.

She looked a little out of sorts and stumbled back, falling into the chair. From the sudden look of pain on her face, he realized she’d connected with something hard beneath his jeans—his gun.

“Ow!” She sprang back up. “What is that?”

Panic shot through his chest. “Sorry,” he said quickly, moving to stop her from looking. “It’s my cell phone.”

She rubbed her hip. “It didn’t feel like a cell phone.”

“I think I left my camera there,” he improvised, positioning himself between the chair and the door, forcing her to back up.

“Could I get dressed first?” she hissed, putting her arms through the sleeves of her shirt.

He felt like a cad…he was a cad. What was he thinking? If she’d found his gun…had been hurt…“I’m sorry, Gracie.”

“You said that already.”

“I can’t get involved with you,” he said.

“Does this have something to do with Karen, the woman who keeps calling?”

He looked surprised, then defeated. “Yes.”

She nodded. “Well, for the record, I’m sorry, too.” She yanked her shirt down and crossed her arms. “Okay—we both know there’s an attraction here, so why don’t we just agree to be adults about this and keep our hands off each other?”

He set his jaw and nodded.

A noise sounded outside the dressing room. “Gracie? Mr. Mulcahy?”

He winced—Cordelia was looking for them. Gracie closed her eyes briefly, then whispered. “I’ll go out first. Stay here.”

Before he could argue, she slipped her feet into her shoes, scooped up the pinned costumes within reach, opened the door just enough to slide out, and was gone. Steve pulled his hand down his face, thinking if he wasn’t careful, he was going to botch this assignment. And if word got back that he was playing hanky-panky while on duty, his job would be on the line. He fisted his hands in frustration—he’d never let a woman get to him to the point of foolhardiness.

Somehow, some way, until this assignment was over, he was going to have to keep his distance from Gracie. He looked down at the floor and grimaced.

Right after he returned her thong.