Читать книгу Love So Tender: Taking Care of Business / Play It Again, Elvis / Good Luck Charm - Jo Leigh, Joanne Rock - Страница 12

WITH HER ARMS FULL OF COSTUMES and her heart clicking like mad, Gracie manufactured the best smile possible under the scrutiny of her boss. “Hi, Cordelia. Did you need something?”

Cordelia wore a bemused expression. “Just checking on you two.”

Gracie walked over an air conditioner floor vent and realized with a frosty jolt that she wasn’t wearing underwear. A hot flush began to make its way up her neck. “We were just having a fitting.”

“Ah.” Cordelia pursed her mouth. “And did everything…fit?”

“Not exactly,” Gracie murmured.

“But you’re getting there?” Cordelia prompted.

Gracie’s skin tingled in embarrassment.

Cordelia sighed. “Gracie, you know I don’t like to butt in to your life, but I don’t like standing by and watching you get hurt, either. Don’t fall for this guy.”

Gracie’s heart jerked sideways. Cordelia cared more about her happiness than anyone in the world. “Do you know something about him that I should know?”

A frustrated look came over her boss’s face. “Only that Steve Mulcahy isn’t the type who’s going to stick around.”

Gracie pressed her lips together. Hadn’t Steve just reiterated that he didn’t like staying in one place for long? Had he been warning her? Don’t fall for me—I’ll leave.

Cordelia’s expression softened. “Gracie, you told me you were going to hold out for a guy who would be there for the long haul. Do you still feel that way?”

A lump formed in Gracie’s throat and she nodded.

“Then stay away from Steve Mulcahy. Trust me—he will break your heart.”

Moisture gathered in Gracie’s eyes. Cordelia was right. She’d made a pact with herself to wait for love and a ring before she gave herself and her heart to another man. Yet she’d met Steve Mulcahy only yesterday and here she stood with her bare privates being subjected to an arctic blast. Shame rolled over her. “I understand what you’re saying,” she said carefully. “And I appreciate your concern, Cordelia. But you have nothing to worry about—Steve and I aren’t involved.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Cordelia said, although she didn’t look completely convinced. Then she straightened, all business. “What time is our first wedding?”

Relieved at the subject change, Gracie inhaled deeply. “Four-thirty. Between answering the phones, I should have time to do these alterations by then.”

Cordelia nodded. “And what will Mr. Mulcahy be doing?”

“I thought I’d take a few pictures of the chapel,” he said, walking up behind Gracie. He was fully dressed and looked completely collected, the strap of his camera over his shoulder. But the memory of him without his shirt made her pulse skyrocket.

“Your shift doesn’t start until four,” Cordelia said to him. “You don’t have to be here until the weddings begin if you’d like to leave and come back.”

Guilt prodded Gracie because she knew the veiled antagonism Cordelia directed toward Steve was because of Cordelia’s concern for her.

But he seemed to brush aside his new boss’s slight. “I also brought a toolbox and thought I’d take a look at the Caddy, if that’s all right, Ms. Conroy.”

Cordelia hesitated, then nodded briefly. “If you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on H.D.—he needs to be outdoors more.” On cue, the fat dog waddled into view, his tongue hanging almost to the floor.

Gracie smothered a smile at Steve’s wry frown. “Okay,” he said finally, then excused himself and walked out into the hall. He snapped his fingers at H.D. The hound turned as quickly as his thick body would allow and followed him, his collar jingling.

Cordelia went back to work and Gracie, after scouring the dressing room for her thong and coming up empty, was forced to look for Steve. She found him outside in front of the chapel with the camera to his eye. H.D. sat nearby, panting but with rapt attention focused on Steve.

She watched quietly as Steve shot the front of the chapel, then the road, even the parking lot across from them. To her untrained eye, he didn’t seem to be taking time to frame interesting shots, yet the photos he’d taken after the ceremonies had shown a keen sense of composition. And the midday sun didn’t strike her as the best light for taking photos, but for all she knew he could be using a lens filter.

It was a scorching hot day, rendered just short of miserable by the breeze. The wind ruffled Steve’s dark, shiny hair and the sun silhouetted his broad shoulders and lean build. He moved more like an athlete than a photographer—his long muscular limbs sure and steady, with no movement wasted. How could a man who controlled his body with such unconscious resolve be a transient? Then she chided herself—there she went ignoring the obvious and projecting her needs onto the situation. Next, she’d be trying to convince herself that Karen wasn’t his lover.

He slid the camera strap over his shoulder just as H.D. caught sight of her and barked hoarsely.

“Hi,” she ventured casually, walking closer.

Steve raised the camera and pointed it at her. The whir of the shutter closing sounded several times.

She bristled self-consciously. “What are the pictures for?”

He shrugged. “Just practice.”

“From what I saw of the photos you took yesterday, you don’t need the practice.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re happy with my work.” One side of his mouth slid back. “At least some of my work. I don’t know that I’ll ever get the hang of the lip-synching.”

“You’re doing fine. By the way, our other minister Roach will be performing this evening’s ceremonies.”

He pressed his lips together then asked, “Did Cordelia give you a hard time about…us?”

“Not really. She’s just concerned about me, that’s all.”

“She seems very protective.”

Gracie nodded, then cleared her throat. “Speaking of which, I’m, um, missing an article of clothing and I wondered if you’d seen it.”

“Got it right here,” he said, reaching into his jeans pockets and withdrawing a handful of black lace. His face reddened as he handed it to her. “I wasn’t going to keep them or anything—I just didn’t want someone else to find them.”

“Right,” she said, not sure whether she believed him, but wanting to. She palmed the filmy thong, feeling like a complete idiot. “Thanks.”

She wheeled to go and the movement lifted the hem of her skirt slightly—just enough for a sudden gust to catch hold and send it straight up, baring her behind—and her befront—to the world. Gracie gasped in mortification and fought with her skirt while horns from passing cars honked in appreciation. In the process, she managed to let go of the thong, which promptly sailed airborne. She cried out and Steve, heretofore frozen, yelled, “I’ll get it.”

At last she got her skirt under control, holding the hem in her fist lest it get away from her again. Abject humiliation flooded her in waves as she imagined the spectacle she had presented. Worse, Steve had abandoned his camera and was chasing her underwear, which, being as light as a piece of paper, tumbled and rolled through the air and on the ground, always inches out of reach. H.D. lumbered behind, barking as if they were on the trail of wild game.

“This can’t be happening,” Gracie murmured to herself.

Oh, but it was.

Finally, the thong caught on a fence, allowing Steve to catch up. He plucked it like a flower and turned to hurry back to her, fighting an enormous grin and losing. By the time he reached her, he was struggling not to laugh. Between two fingers, he held out the thong, now dusty and peppered with bits of dry grass.

“Thank you,” she said, snatching the underwear and wishing the ground would open up to swallow her whole.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, then clamped down his jaw. His eyes, however, were dancing with laughter.

Gracie turned on her heel and, maintaining a firm grip on her skirt, marched back into the chapel with as much dignity as she could muster.

When H.D. started to follow Gracie, Steve snapped his fingers and called him back. “I know how you feel, buddy,” he murmured as he stared after her receding figure. The belly laugh he wanted to release was tempered by the rigid erection pressing against his fly at having witnessed what was undoubtedly the most erotic vision he’d ever seen.

If he lived to be one hundred, he would never forget the sight of Gracie Sergeant fighting her wayward skirt, her long, slender legs and curvy rear end perfectly outlined in the sun. And, if he’d had any doubts, the lovely woman was not a natural blonde—another gut-clutching sight. He closed his eyes and groaned. If only he weren’t on assignment. If only Gracie was willing to indulge in a quick fling, with no attachments. But he’d already been warned by Cordelia and by Lincoln that Gracie was looking for something he couldn’t give: commitment, longevity, happily ever after.

A dull pain radiated out from his breastbone. If only—

The ring of his cell phone split the air. He unhooked it from his belt and glanced at the screen—Karen. He pushed the connect button. “Yeah?”

“Just checking in, partner. Any developments?”

“Uh, no.” He rubbed stubbornly at the strange sensation in his chest. At least no developments relating to the case.

“Got those descriptions of everyone who works there?”

“I’m taking photographs. I’ll have them to you in the morning.”

“Great. I can’t wait to see this woman with the amazing eyes.”

He chose to ignore her. “Any more news from the informant?”

“No.” Karen sighed. “She hasn’t returned any of my calls—I’m starting to worry that maybe she’s in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“If someone close to Lundy found out that she’s a snitch, she could be in danger. If she told them what she told us, Lundy could decide not to show.”

“Or show up with firepower,” Steve said, his adrenaline kicking in. A sudden pain in his foot distracted him momentarily—H.D. had once again decided to park his fat butt.

“That’s not Lundy’s M.O.,” Karen said. “He’s more likely just to lie low. The last thing he needs is civilian casualties at a Vegas wedding chapel—if he did something to scare off tourists, the city’s business leaders would form their own posse.”

“You’re probably right,” Steve said, yet he pivoted his head to look all around—up and down the street, in the parking lot across the road—searching for anything suspicious, anything out of the ordinary.

A wry frown worked his mouth. Such as a man and a hound running down the street chasing a woman’s thong?

“Still, I wanted to let you know,” Karen said. “Let’s not panic—our informant might simply be out of reach for a while. For now, we stick to the original plan. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Okay.” He disconnected the call with disturbing what-if scenarios tumbling through his head—all of them involving Gracie getting hurt. He winced. The discomfort around his breastbone was back. With much effort, he dislodged his foot from underneath H.D.’s behind and limped toward the chapel, rubbing his chest.