Love So Tender: Taking Care of BusinessPlay It Again, ElvisGood Luck Charm Read online

  PRAISE FOR THESE AUTHORS

  Stephanie Bond

  “Stephanie Bond’s Two Sexy! will ‘Blaze’ a hot trail right through you!”

  —TheBestReviews.com

  “Stephanie Bond never fails to entertain and deserves to be an auto-buy.”

  —Romance Reviews Today on “Diamond Mine” in Behind the Red Doors

  Jo Leigh

  “Jo Leigh knows how to blend heartwarming romance and witty dialogue into sheer joy.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Jo Leigh delivers lots of laughs.”

  —Romantic Times

  Joanne Rock

  “For frolicking, sexy fun, Joanne Rock always delivers!”

  —Julie Elizabeth Leto

  “Sensual stories, sexy heroes and sassy heroines—fabulous Joanne Rock delivers keeper-shelf reads!”

  —RITA® Award winner Catherine Mann

  Dear Reader,

  The editors at Harlequin and Silhouette are thrilled to be able to bring you a brand-new featured author program for 2005! Signature Select aims to single out outstanding stories, contemporary themes and oft-requested classics by some of your favorite series authors and present them to you in a variety of formats bound by truly striking covers.

  We want to provide several different types of reading experiences in the new Signature Select program. The Spotlight books offer a single “big read” by a talented series author, the Collections present three novellas on a selected theme in one volume, the Sagas contain sprawling, sometimes multi-generational family tales (often related to a favorite family first introduced in series) and the Miniseries feature requested previously published books, with two or, occasionally, three complete stories in one volume. The Signature Select program offers one book in each of these categories per month, and fans of limited continuity series will also find these continuing stories under the Signature Select umbrella.

  In addition, these volumes bring you bonus features…different in every single book! You may learn more about the author in an extended interview, more about the setting or inspiration for the book, more about subjects related to the theme and, often, a bonus short read will be included. Authors and editors have been outdoing themselves in originating creative material for our bonus features—we’re sure you’ll be surprised and pleased with the results!

  The Signature Select program strives to bring you a variety of reading experiences by authors you’ve come to love, as well as by rising stars you’ll be glad you’ve discovered. Watch for new stories from Janelle Denison, Donna Kauffman, Leslie Kelly, Marie Ferrarella, Suzanne Forster, Stephanie Bond, Christine Rimmer and scores more of the brightest talents in romance fiction!

  The excitement continues!

  Warm wishes for happy reading,

  Marsha Zinberg

  Executive Editor

  The Signature Select Program

  Love So Tender

  Stephanie Bond

  Jo Leigh

  Joanne Rock

  CONTENTS

  TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS

  Stephanie Bond

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  PLAY IT AGAIN, ELVIS

  Jo Leigh

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  GOOD LUCK CHARM

  Joanne Rock

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS

  Stephanie Bond

  CHAPTER ONE

  FBI SPECIAL AGENT Steve Berringer sat in a loaner SUV studying the Taking Care of Business wedding chapel, a fireball of apprehension in his stomach. He’d walked into some of the most seedy bars, basements, betting parlors and brothels in Las Vegas with his weapon drawn and expecting the worst, but none of those places had put a sweat on the back of his neck like this innocent-looking little white building across the parking lot with pink and yellow flowers on either side of its covered entrance.

  Maybe it was the August heat, he reasoned, glancing up through the windshield at the afternoon sun from behind his polarized shades. But a cool breeze was blowing today, making the cute little trees in front of the chapel sway in the most depressingly precious way. Plus he had the air conditioner on full blast.

  Steve rubbed his hand over his painful midsection. In thirty-four years, this was the closest he’d ever come to the whole marriage process. He’d never even seen a wedding. He had ducked countless requests to be a groomsman, had RSVP’d with regrets to every invitation he’d received, had sidestepped requests from girlfriends to attend weddings as an escort. To a commitment-phobic guy like him, a wedding chapel was the ultimate nightmare. Churches, after all, could be used for other things: religious services, christenings, funerals. But a wedding chapel—man, that was hard core.

  The phone on his belt rang and he checked it. Karen, his partner. He flipped up the receiver with a grunt. “What’s up?”

  “Just calling to give you a pep talk.”

  He frowned. “That’s not necessary.”

  “I saw you pop an antacid before you left—are you sure you’re up to this undercover assignment? I mean, I know how you get when someone mentions the ‘M’ word.”

  He poked his tongue into his cheek. “You know I’d do anything to nab Lundy. This time he’s not getting away.”

  “But our informant said it could be a week before Lundy shows up there with his child-bride-to-be. It’s hard to say how many weddings you’ll have to video, how many vows you’ll have to witness, how many garters you might accidentally catch.”

  “Are you through being funny?”

  She laughed, then sighed. “Actually, I wish I was with you, partner—hanging out at an Elvis wedding parlor sounds like more fun than pulling desk duty.”

  “That’s what you get for being pregnant.” Karen was expecting her first child with her husband Daniel, and the last few weeks were wearing on her. To be honest, Steve was relieved to have her tucked away where it was safe. He expected this undercover operation to end smoothly, with Mitch Lundy being apprehended quietly after he exited the chapel as an unsuspecting married man, but the fewer people—especially pregnant ones—on the scene, the better.

  “I know,” Karen said. “But I’d give anything to watch you squirm being around all those men saying ‘I do.’”

  “Did you need something?” he snapped.

  “Not as badly as you do,” she sang.

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “Bye.”

  Steve closed the phone and clipped it back onto his belt, then dabbed his neck with his handkerchief. God deliver him from smart-alecky females. He’d rather deal with a hard-nosed criminal any day—they were more predictable.

  Heaving a sigh, he turned off the engine and lifted his camera bag from the passenger seat. Who knew that his long-neglected hobby would come in handy on a work assignment? And taking photos of the chapel would be the perfect
foil for making sure Lundy was covered from every angle.

  As he strode toward the chapel, he noticed the abundance of neon on the sign and the building itself—in the daylight, the little white chapel looked out of place on the garish Las Vegas strip, but after sundown, this place would probably outshine its flashy neighbors.

  It was a one-story building, narrow along the street front, but deep. Cordelia Conroy was the owner of the place, early sixties, a former showgirl who once had ties to the mob. She owed the FBI a favor for helping her out of a jam years ago, so she’d agreed to let Steve come in undercover as an employee to keep an eye out for Lundy, on condition that the arrest wouldn’t take place at the chapel and that her employees wouldn’t be in danger. In return, the FBI had demanded confidentiality—none of the regular employees could know Steve’s real identity or why he was there.

  So, dressed in casual clothes, having purposefully missed his regular haircut last week and sporting two days’ worth of beard, he would be Steve Mulcahy, scruffy photographer. If the undercover position were in any other place, he might actually be happy for some downtime, but being surrounded by flowers and music and gushing couples—damn. Not counting the oddballs he’d likely be working with in an Elvis wedding chapel. Steve tucked his sunglasses into his shirt pocket, then inhaled and opened the front door. He was looking forward to cuffing Lundy, but this would definitely go down as his worst assignment ever.

  He stepped inside a foyer of sorts, immediately enveloped by the strains of “Love Me Tender” floating from mounted speakers. Spin-racks of postcards and Elvis Presley memorabilia occupied every available space, leaving a narrow path to a counter surrounded by poster-sized menus of wedding packages and bulletin boards full of photos of happy couples.

  The willowy woman standing behind the counter glanced up, her violet-colored eyes wide, her pink lips open in a welcoming smile. Her hair was platinum-blond and short, sticking up at spiky angles. Her unusual pixie beauty hit him like a punch to the chest, and he suddenly was feeling a little better about the um…the um…

  Oh yeah—the assignment.

  Steve took a step forward, tripped over something solid and went down hard. The hidden gun in his waist holster stabbed into his diaphragm, driving all the air from his lungs.

  The blonde gasped and ran around the counter to where he fell. “H.D., are you okay?”

  Steve rolled over onto his back and panted for air. “My…name…isn’t…H.D.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  She knelt and pulled the wrinkly face of the world’s fattest basset hound close to hers until their noses touched. “Are you okay, H.D.? Are you okay, sweetheart? You were sleeping in a dangerous place—you might have been hurt.” She scratched the dog’s elephantine ears, murmuring mommy-to-dog nonsense, then seemed to remember he was in the room and turned toward him. “Are you okay, mister?”

  Having dragged air back into his collapsed lungs and determining that nothing was broken, Steve sat up, then pushed himself to his feet and retrieved his camera bag, embarrassed as hell. He looked down at the woman crouched on the floor and pointed to the droopy blob of spotted hound that seemed to have melted into the red carpet. “That dog is like an anvil.”

  The woman frowned, then stood and crossed slender arms over surprisingly full breasts. “May I help you?”

  Momentarily distracted, he glanced up to find her eyes piercing him like a laser. Getting off on the wrong foot wouldn’t help matters, he realized. He extended his hand. “I’m Steve Mulcahy, the new photographer.”

  Her pink mouth rounded in surprise. “Oh…yes, Cordelia said that she’d filled the position. I just didn’t expect…” She straightened and put her hand in his. “I mean, welcome to TCB, Steve. I’m Gracie Sergeant, the wedding director.”

  He noted her white eyelet sundress, rhinestone flipflops, blue nail polish, black velvet choker and the tiny mole on the crest of one fine cheekbone. She looked…eccentric…and oddly appealing. He shook her hand, wondering idly if all of her was as soft as her long, slender fingers. His chest expanded with satisfaction as he noticed her assessing his build as well.

  She abruptly withdrew her hand and looked at her Betty Boop watch. “You’re just in time. We have a 4:00 p.m. booking—they’ll be here in an hour. That will give us just enough time for me to show you the ropes.”

  Since she was already walking away and talking over her shoulder, he trotted to keep up with her. He looked over and saw that, to his chagrin, the basset hound was also scampering behind her. Steve glared at the dog and swore the squatty beast glared back. Despite the pleasing view of Gracie’s backside swishing the white dress back and forth, Steve stepped up the pace and caught up to her as she walked through a door behind the counter and down a hallway.

  “So, Steve, what do you know about Elvis?”

  The question caught him off guard. “I don’t know. The usual stuff I guess—he sang, he made movies.”

  She stopped so suddenly, he almost passed her up. Her brow wrinkled. “He sang? He made movies?”

  Steve glanced from side to side. “Didn’t he?”

  Her chin went up. “The man is an icon.”

  Steve started to smile, then swallowed it when he realized she was dead serious. “Right,” he said solemnly.

  She gave him a suspicious look, then continued down the hallway, her sandals flapping against her heels. “The Burning Love chapel is on the right,” she said, pointing to a set of white double doors. “It seats fifty. The Graceland chapel is on the left—it’s smaller and our most popular venue, the one we’ll be using this afternoon.” She tilted her head. “You do know how to take photographs?”

  He gave a little laugh. “Yeah—that’s the job, right?”

  “And you can operate a video camera?”

  He nodded—he’d certainly filmed enough crime scenes. A wedding couldn’t be too different, he thought wryly.

  She looked relieved. “Good—that’s one less thing I’ll have to do. It’s been just me, Cordelia, Roach, Lincoln and H.D. for a couple of months now, and everyone’s been filling in wherever they could.”

  “Roach?”

  “He’s one of our ministers.”

  “Ah. And Lincoln?”

  “Another minister—they swap shifts with Cordelia. Oh, and Lincoln’s also our florist—he’ll be here soon. I’ll take you back to meet Cordelia in a few minutes—she’s working the drive-through.”

  “Drive-through?”

  She nodded. “It’s our most popular feature, open twenty-four/seven. That’s why we need three ministers to pull shifts.”

  Steve pursed his mouth—hmm. He wasn’t keen on marriage, but if a couple were hell-bent on doing it, a drive-through sounded less expensive and less painful even than a justice of the peace. With a fifty percent chance of failure, why not at least go the cheap route?

  “We offer full-service packages in the chapels from 4:00 p.m. until midnight.” She smiled. “As the evening progresses, we tend to get drop-ins.”

  As people became more inebriated, he thought. “How long do the ceremonies last?” He needed to get a handle on day-to-day operations as quickly as possible.

  She shrugged. “It depends. The Love Me Tender package is our most basic, and usually takes about twenty minutes. The Aloha Las Vegas package is our most comprehensive, and takes about forty minutes—forty-five if they order a hula dancer.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Hula dancer?”

  She looked sheepish. “I, um, wear a grass skirt.”

  At the thought of her in a grass skirt, his sex stirred. He shifted and cleared his throat. “What happened to your photographer?”

  “He met someone during a wedding, got married and moved to Alabama.”

  “Oh.”

  She shrugged. “It happens a lot. The turnover rate here is pretty high—a lot of people wind up getting married and moving on. I guess it comes with the territory.” She seemed a little sad, then suddenly looked hopeful. “You
wouldn’t happen to be married already, would you?”

  “No,” he said, more emphatically than he meant to. At her worried frown, he held up his hand. “But don’t worry—I have no intention of getting married, in the near or distant future.”

  One delicately arched dark eyebrow raised. “Oh? Confirmed bachelor?”

  Her eyes were smiling—mocking? Her lips were as plump and pink as fruit, and he unwittingly moistened his own mouth. “Yeah.”

  She looked relieved. “Good. I’m tired of training people for this job—which happens to be the most important as far as the customers are concerned.”

  She resumed walking, and he followed, working his mouth from side to side. He assuaged the slight pang of guilt that Gracie Sergeant might be burdened with more work when he left, with the knowledge that she would be safer on the streets of Las Vegas with a slippery thug like Mitch Lundy behind bars. Then a question popped into his head—was the fetching Gracie herself already married?

  He decided not to ask. It was none of his business, and it was best not to become involved with the employees. When it came time to finally take Lundy into custody, he didn’t want to be distracted.

  He glanced at her slender tanned legs and again felt a tightening in his groin. It didn’t mean, however, that he couldn’t enjoy the view.

  She opened a door, revealing a deep closet with shelves on either side lined with dated camera equipment, shabby background cloths and a mind-boggling array of tacky props. He picked up a dusty pink lei and had a flicker of panic about his tolerance. “So what kinds of pictures do most couples expect?”

  At his feet, H.D. sneezed violently, then shuffled toward Gracie, who was in the back of the closet, flipping through a clothing rack.