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

“Be my guest,” she said, then withdrew a thick ring of keys from her robe pocket. She removed two keys on a separate ring, tossed them to him, then reentered the chapel.

Steve strode toward the old car, burning with curiosity. As he rolled back the cloth tarp, his pulse spiked in appreciation of the four-door Cadillac, rust spots and all. The paint was faded, revealing lots of body filler along the side panels, but the chrome was intact and the white hardtop and interior were in amazingly good condition. All four tires were flat and probably ruined, but it should have whitewalls anyway. He lifted the hood and stared down at the corroded engine, registering in one glance that two hoses were disconnected and the carburetor lid was missing.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

Steve looked up to see Gracie walking toward him, his pulse spiking again but for a different reason. Did she know that in the sunlight her white eyelet dress was transparent? She wore a lacy strapless bra and high-cut bikini panties. The silhouette of her opposing curves—breasts, waist and hips—stamped into his brain in the same place, he suspected, that songs embedded themselves to emerge as torture at the most inconvenient times.

His sex hardened, straining at his zipper, preventing him from straightening to greet her. “Yeah,” he murmured. “She’s something.” The fact that they were talking about two different things didn’t matter.

Gracie ran her hand along the top of the car. “It’s a 1955 model, just like the one Elvis bought for his mother. The real one is on display at Graceland.”

He smiled. “Have you been to Graceland?”

She shook her head. “I…haven’t seen much of the country.”

“Did you grow up here?”

“Um…no. Do you know something about cars?”

He filed away the fact that she had sidestepped his question, but let it pass. “A little.”

Her eyes went round. “Do you think you could get it running again?”

“I don’t know—I can give it a try.”

She grinned. “That would be wonderful—it would be a boon to our business if we could offer couples a ride in a pink Caddy.”

“Has anyone tried to fix it?”

She shook her head. “Just between us, Cordelia hasn’t had the money.”

He frowned. “Is business bad?”

“Well, the wedding chapel business isn’t what it used to be—the competition is fierce, and taxes are astronomical. I think Cordelia would like to retire, but she doesn’t want to put the rest of us out of a job.” Then she wet her lips. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t be telling you Cordelia’s business. I came out to get you—we need to prepare for the four o’clock wedding.”

“Right,” he said, lowering the hood and replacing the tarp. “The suit.”

“Yes, the suit. And I have a favor to ask,” she said, turning back toward the chapel.

When he lifted his head, he saw that she was wearing a thong, and all rational thought fled. “Anything,” he murmured, hurrying to catch up with her.

“How do you feel about…singing?”

He blinked. “Singing?”

“It’s just like karaoke,” she said hurriedly. “The music will play, and the words will scroll across a screen.”

“I don’t sing,” he said, shaking his head, his feet feeling heavier with every step. “I’ll wear the suit, but I don’t sing.”

She bit into her pink lower lip. “I have to be honest with you, Steve. We really need the business, and we need a good Elvis to keep our customers happy.”

“But I don’t sing,” he insisted.

She pshawed. “Everybody sings.”

“Not me.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts—an unfair and distracting maneuver, in his opinion. “Cordelia just told me that you said you’d do whatever we needed for you to do.”

A sick feeling settled into his stomach. “I did say that, yes.”

Her smile was brilliant, pushing her cheeks up, highlighting the little brown mole. “Good.” She turned back toward the chapel, practically skipping. “We have just enough time for a practice run. Do you know the words to ‘All Shook Up’?”

Steve closed his eyes and smothered a groan—what had he gotten himself into?

GRACIE GLANCED at Lincoln, then back to the closed dressing room door. “We’re waiting,” she called pleasantly, although she was tapping her foot.

“Maybe I should go in and give him a hand,” Lincoln offered with a grin.

Gracie gave him a withering look, then rapped on the door of the dressing room. “Come on out, Steve.”

There was no response for several seconds, then, “I’d rather not.”

Gracie rolled her eyes. “Steve, stop messing around—we’re running out of time here.”

Shuffling noises sounded, then the door swung open slowly. Gracie gasped.

“Oh…my…gawd,” Lincoln murmured.

Excerpt for the surly look on his face and the bagginess of the oversize bejeweled white jumpsuit, Gracie would swear she was looking at the King of rock ’n’ roll himself. From the lofty wig and long sideburns to the large gold-tone sunglasses with dark lenses, he looked every inch the beloved performer. Her heartbeat actually accelerated. “You look…wow.”

His mouth tightened. “I look like an idiot.”

“You look like a cash cow,” Lincoln declared, then clapped his hands. “Chop, chop—you’ve got twenty minutes to learn to moo.”

Gracie could feel Steve’s panic, and her heart went out to him. To keep him from losing his nerve completely, she put her hand on his arm. “Relax. It’s like being in a play.”

“More like a musical,” Lincoln said over his shoulder, walking ahead.

“It’ll be fun,” she said quickly. “Everyone will love you.” At his surprised glance, she swallowed hard. “The customers, I mean. The customers will love you.” She smiled. “And I appreciate you being such a good sport.”

She guided him toward the chapel, chattering to distract him. “You’ll greet the customers in the lobby, then we’ll reconvene in the chapel.”

They walked into the smaller chapel and with a practiced eye, she glanced around to make sure the chairs, flowers and equipment were in the proper place. Gracie pointed to the tripod in the back. “You’ll position the video camera and make sure it’s on. At the front, Lincoln will start the ceremony and when the wedding march begins, you’ll walk the bride down the aisle and give her away.”

“Um, this is all new to me,” Steve said.

“I know, but we’ll get through it.”

“No. I mean I’ve never seen a wedding before.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Never?”

“Just on TV, and I try to avoid that whenever possible.”

She pursed her lips—the guy was a bona fide wedding-phobe. Suddenly, the opening strains of the wedding march sounded over the speakers. Gracie jerked her head around to see Lincoln working the audio controls and wearing a mischievous grin.

“Show him,” he said, moving his arm in a rolling motion. “Walk down the aisle together.”

Gracie narrowed her eyes at him, but conceded the wisdom in a practice run. Suddenly nervous for no good reason, she smiled up at Steve. “Okay—pretend I’m the bride.”

One of his dark eyebrows shot up, inadvertently making him look even more like the King. She walked to the back of the chapel and stared down the white cloth runner spread over the red carpet leading to the white arch at the front. It really was rather ominous what a simple trip down the aisle represented in Western culture—a journey to a new place. With her heart thumping, she tucked her hand into the crook of Steve’s elbow.

“Walk slowly and let the bride set the pace,” she murmured, then began walking, pausing with the completion of each step. His stride was longer and he stumbled a bit to stay abreast. She, meanwhile, was ultraconscious of the muscles in his arm beneath her fingers, and the occasional brushing of their hips until they found a rhythm.