Джоанна Рок – Love So Tender: Taking Care of Business / Play It Again, Elvis / Good Luck Charm (страница 9)

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.