Love So Tender: Taking Care of Business / Play It Again, Elvis / Good Luck Charm

“So, Steve—what brings you to TCB?” Lincoln asked casually.

A warning flag went up in Steve’s brain. He set down the glass and gave a little laugh. “I was under the obviously false impression that I was hired to take photographs. I wasn’t aware of the full job description.”

“So quit,” the man said mildly.

FBI agents were taught to exhibit honor and dignity in their personal lives, but when put on the spot undercover, they were expected to be pathological liars. Steve decided the best way to get the man off his back was to enlist him as an ally. “I need this job, man. That’s why I’m trying so hard.” He scoffed and gestured to his costume. “Look at me—why would I do this unless I had to?”

Lincoln pursed his mouth, then made a rueful noise. “Good point.” Then his eyes narrowed. “But if you’re in some kind of trouble, don’t drag Gracie into it. That girl is looking for happily ever after. Capiche?”

Steve nodded. “Don’t worry—I’m not a happily ever after kind of guy.”

“Good,” Lincoln said. “Then we understand each other.”

Steve bristled, but before he could respond, a chime sounded overhead.

Lincoln smiled. “That must be the happy couple. Let’s go have a wedding.”

Steve touched his hand to his roiling stomach. Just the words made him feel queasy…or was it the news that sexy Gracie Sergeant was off-limits?

CHAPTER FIVE

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.”