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