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
