James, Sherry - [Studs For Hire 02]

by Woman In Charge (lit)

  She swallowed hard, so hard she thought she'd popped a muscle in her neck while trying to curb her increasing desires.

  "I wonder how many suits he owned?” she managed to croak around her protesting vocal cords.

  "Elvis owned about one hundred different stage costumes,” a velvety voice said from beside them. Startled, Casey turned to see a petite brunette tour guide smiling at them. “We have more than seventy of those costumes here in the Graceland collection,” she continued.

  "Ah ... incredible. I had no idea,” Casey said with a wobble in her voice. Her cheeks flushed with heat. God, could anyone else tell what she'd been thinking? Probably not. That didn't stop the guilt, however, from crashing over her like a tidal wave for having such racy thoughts in a place bordering on the sacred.

  "What happened to the other thirty or so costumes?” she asked, attempting to act the part of the interested tourist. She had to admit though, she was curious to know how Heather planned on getting her hands on one of these flamboyant, magnificent pieces.

  "Elvis was very generous,” the guide said. “He often gave away items to individuals and charities. The charities would then auction the items to raise funds for their respective organizations."

  "So it is possible for private collectors to obtain some of his stage costumes, even now, after all these years?” Alex asked.

  "Absolutely. In the world of Elvis collecting, some items have changed hands several times. It might surprise you to know that pieces of his personal clothing are in the hands of private collectors as well."

  "These jumpsuits certainly are fabulous,” Casey said, eyeing the collection with awe. “So colorful. Breathtaking."

  "They looked fabulous under the stage lights, too,” the guide said with enthusiasm. “The fans loved them, but the jeweled ones are very heavy."

  "They look like they'd be really hot, too,” Casey said, the subject of heat forefront in her brain.

  "Actually, they weren't too bad. The jumpsuit was a popular fashion style of the 1970's and Elvis’ costume designer, Bill Belew, had these made of wool gabardine imported from Italy because the wool breathes."

  Clothes that breathe? Sounded exactly like what Casey needed right about now. Either that or stripping off every stitch of material on her body. Yeah, like that's an option.

  Feeling restless and in need of air, Casey thanked the guide and she and Alex left the building. The last stop on the tour was the Meditation Garden and together they stood, gazing upon the graves of Elvis and his family. Reverence and a profound sadness surrounded them as they read the markers and marveled at the number of flowers left by adoring fans.

  And Casey got it—Elvis’ impact on the world, and the world's fascination with him.

  She stole a glance at Alex and wished she understood her own growing fascination for this man she'd hired.

  * * * *

  Alex's cell phone buzzed against his hip as he and Casey made their way back to their hotel rooms after a long day of experiencing everything Elvis. From clothing to furniture, to automobiles and airplanes, they'd lived and breathed Elvis for the last nine hours.

  His phone buzzed again and he checked the number. Dotty.

  His gut tightened. Dotty calling late on a Saturday afternoon signaled a problem—and not just a plumbing or deranged client problem. Those minor issues she could handle. The woman was the goddess of efficiency. No. Her calling him now, with less than an hour before the members of her weekly poker club were scheduled to descend upon her condo, meant something else was awry.

  Dotty worked hard for Alex all week long, but when it came to the weekends she was as possessive about her time off as an alley cat with a fresh chicken bone. She never called him on the weekends.

  Unless there was an emergency.

  Casey turned and looked at him, concern in her eyes. “Is something wrong?"

  Only the feeling that all hell was about to break loose, but he decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

  "No. It's my secretary. I'd better give her a call back."

  "Sure.” Casey shifted the sacks overflowing with Elvis goodies she'd purchased in the gift shop, and pulled her key card out of her back pocket. Damn nice back pocket, too, Alex thought. “I'd like to freshen up, anyway,” she said.

  "Okay. Let's meet in say ... thirty minutes? I'd like to get a serious start on this tonight. I've got a few ideas and I'd like to get them down on paper while they're still fresh."

  "Sounds great."

  "Good. I'll bring a sketch pad and come to your room. We can order room service if you're hungry."

  "You don't want to go out?"

  "I don't like a lot of background noise when I'm trying to work. Makes it hard for me to focus."

  "Oh. Well, we can discuss ideas on the plane tomorrow, too. And there is always Monday.” Alex cringed at the disappointment he heard in her voice. And for two seconds he almost reconsidered. It was damn tempting to take her out for a night on the town, but he knew that wasn't a wise move. Already today the impulse to make this into more than a working relationship between them had hit way too many times.

  "I'd rather start now,” he said. “I can't be away from Denver forever. The sooner we get things in motion, the sooner I can get back."

  "Right. I understand.” The light shining in her eyes all day had since dimmed and Alex felt like the biggest kind of heel. But it was better to keep things in check now, rather than suffer the consequences later.

  "Well, times a wasting. I'll see you in a half-hour.” Casey disappeared behind the door. The slide of the deadbolt ramming home sounded like thunder.

  Shit. He'd blown that one. Real subtle, Roy. He'd much rather follow and find out how Casey planned on spending those thirty minutes than calling Dotty to find out what was wrong now.

  He had his own ideas how he'd like to spend his half-hour—like with Casey. Relaxing. Under the sheets. Well, relaxing wasn't exactly the right word. In fact, with Casey by his side, relaxing would be the farthest thing from his mind.

  There was his biggest problem. He couldn't trust himself. All day her soft, alluring scent had teased him unmercifully, driving him crazy with need for more than a platonic, business relationship. On more than one occasion he'd come close to acting on his urges only to thankfully be interrupted by a tour guide or a horde of crazy Elvis fans shoving by to see the next amazing artifact Elvis had either worn, touched, played, donated or drove.

  If he was alone with her he couldn't count on an unwanted interruption to save his ass.

  Alex's phone buzzed again, temporarily stilling the carnal desires boiling in his system. While flipping his phone open, he unlocked his door and entered the dark quiet of his room. The air conditioner hummed methodically, spewing out its frigid air.

  "Hey, Dotty. I was just about to call you back. What's up?” He turned on a light and dropped his key card on the dresser.

  "Alex, I'm glad I caught you,” Dotty said in a breathless rush. “I was afraid that you might have your phone off or were out of range or something."

  "Whoa. Calm down. Dotty, are you okay? There hasn't been an accident or—"

  "No. No, nothing like that.” She took another deep breath, and so did Alex.

  "Well, it must be something to get you all riled. You're breathing heavy into the phone. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were coming on to me."

  "Stop goofing,” she chided in her usual good-natured tone. “This is serious, could mean big things for you. What am I talking about? It will mean big things for—"

  "Slow down. Tell me what's got you so excited? You recruit some rich, new player for your Saturday night poker game or something?"

  Dotty moaned. “No. It's the same ‘ol crew. But this isn't about me. This is about you. Aren't you listening?"

  "Me? Where are you?” Alex asked, trying again to get to the bottom of what had her so excited she'd taken time out of her sacred poker game preparations to call him.

  "I'm at the office."

>   "Why? Was there a fire—?"

  "No. I'm telling you, nothing bad happened,” she blurted out, interrupting him.

  Alex let out a deep breath and every tight muscle in his body relaxed. “Okay. So, why are you at the office on a Saturday then? You never go in on a Saturday."

  "I had some work to finish up since I left early yesterday for a dentist appointment. And it's a good thing I was here, too, or I would have missed it."

  "Missed what?” Alex smiled to himself. Good ol’ honest Dotty. He'd never find a truer employee or anyone better to watch his back, and his business. She reminded him of a poodle on steroids.

  "Alex,” she said, her voice rising an octave. “You'll never guess who called."

  Alex scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. “Dotty, enough with the guessing games here. Just tell me. Who called?"

  "Okay. Okay. Be that way, spoil the fun. But you aren't going to believe this."

  "Try me,” he said with a huge dose of sarcasm.

  "Hunter Dierks called about ten minutes and fifteen seconds ago. He, himself called. Can you imagine? I thought I was going to pass out. Well, at first I thought it was some kind of prank so I quizzed him on some of his movies and—"

  "Whoa. Hold on. Hunter Dierks? The actor?"

  "Yes. The actor. He wants to build a get-away-from-Hollywood home in the rural Aspen area. And he wants you to do it."

  Holy shit. This was it. This was the break he'd been hoping and praying for. If he landed this job and satisfied the world-famous actor, Alex would never hurt for work again.

  "Alex? Are you still there?” Dotty asked. “The call didn't drop, did it?"

  "No. I'm still here."

  "Isn't this exciting? It's just what you need."

  "Dotty, did he give any details? When he wanted to get started? Completion date?” He plopped down on the bed and scrubbed his hand over his face to make sure he wasn't dreaming the whole thing.

  "He didn't get too specific, but he mentioned something about after the first of the year."

  First of the year. Okay. Alex could handle that. He'd be done with immortalizing Elvis in Omaha long before that and would be ready for a new job.

  "But he wants to talk to you as soon as possible,” she continued. “He's on a short three day break from filming and he wants to get things in motion while he's home. I'll text you the number where you can reach him. And he gave me some specific times he'll be able to take your call. I'll text those as well."

  "Sounds great. I'll get in touch with him as soon as possible."

  "In the meantime, go out and celebrate, Alex. You deserve to. As for me, I'm late for my poker game. I hope I can catch my breath and focus on the game. Hunter Dierks. Who would have thought.” They said goodbye and Alex flipped his phone shut.

  Hunter Dierks. Yeah. Who would have thought. Here Alex was, a quarter of a million dollars in debt, struggling to rebuild his business, and living in a tiny apartment. Provided everything fell together right, his luck could be turning around. After fifteen months of hell, he was ready.

  Alex's rational business side, however, kept him from getting too excited. He hadn't even spoken to Dierks yet, they were a long way away from a deal. A lot could happen between now and then.

  "Yeah, like I wake up.” He laughed.

  But Dotty was right. Alex deserved to celebrate, and what better place to do that than Memphis. And he was with a smart, sassy and beautiful woman who made his chest ache and his jeans tighten. Nothing was going to take away his chance for a night out on the town with Casey.

  Flipping his phone back open, he pushed the end button and watched the screen go black as it shut down. He set it on top of the dresser and headed for the shower.

  Tonight he wasn't going to be disturbed. He had other business on his mind.

  * * * *

  Casey double-checked her lipstick in the mirror while Elvis and Nancy Sinatra crooned out a tune in the movie Speedway. A thunderous pounding beat at her door.

  "Uh-oh. That can't be good.” Checking through the peep hole she saw Alex. He'd changed his clothes and even through the distorted view, he looked hot. She took a deep breath, planed her hands down her jeans and unlocked the door.

  "Where's the fire,” she teased. He stood there, hands on hips as usual, his ever present cell phone absent. A nice chambray shirt tucked into the low waist of his jeans highlighted his broad shoulders. His dark hair, slightly damp, proved he'd showered. A day's growth of beard dusted his chin.

  Yes. Hot. Hot. Hot.

  What she wouldn't give to bury her face in his neck and inhale his fresh, musky scent, feel the roughness of his whiskers against her cheek.

  "We're going out,” he said, the huskiness in his voice making her quiver all over.

  "Going out?” she asked, a little breathless.

  "Yeah.” Slowly, he walked into the room, forcing Casey to take two steps back for every one of his. “You ready?” He shut the door, blocking out the world. His gaze darkened like a building thunder cloud as he watched her.

  "Oh. Sure. But I thought..."

  "I changed my mind."

  The hard edge of a chair pressed into the backside of her legs. Holy cow, she'd backed across almost the entire room and didn't even know it. Who was coming on to who, here?

  "Is that so?"

  "Looks like you figured I would,” he said eyeing her clothes.

  "It never hurts to be prepared."

  "Hmm.” He hooked a finger under the thin strap of her white cami top peeking out from beneath her blouse. “Nice.” The intoxicating combination of his approval, and the brush of his touch against her collar bone, revved her pulse into high gear. She could feel the heat of him down to her painted toenails.

  Casey scrambled to gather her wits. “What about all that talk of staying in? Room service? Working the night away?"

  "Work can wait. This is our last night in Memphis. Let's enjoy it."

  "What did you have in mind?” she asked, throwing in a hint of her own seduction for good measure.

  "How about we check out Beale Street?” He let the strap fall back into place and lifted a length of hair off her shoulder. He caressed the strands between his fingers. “Let's find a great restaurant to please our taste buds. Share a few drinks. Enjoy some blues.” Brushing her hair back, he let his thumb trace the line of her jaw.

  The tingling sensation of his touch nearly made Casey whimper out loud with want. And her taste buds craved a lot more than Memphis cuisine.

  "Sounds like you've ... got the whole night planned..."

  "Could be.” His eyes darkened even more, looking dangerous with intent. Intent to throw her down on the bed and take full advantage? Oh, she hoped so.

  "What changed your mind?” she asked, the rational side of her wanting to know. Sometimes her rational side could be a real pain in the ass. This really wasn't the time to be asking questions—this was a time to be going for it.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “My secretary talked me into it."

  Casey's speeding gears came to a screeching halt.

  His secretary? Not the answer she'd expected. Or hoped for. She had to ask. Yeah, her rational side could be a major, royal, pain in the ass.

  Chapter Ten

  Casey and Alex left the dark, noisy interior of the Platinum Record restaurant and stepped out into the balmy autumn evening. Beale Street hummed with the Saturday night life of buzzing neon signs and couples strolling arm in arm.

  Casey stole a peek at Alex and a longing to share such an intimacy with him, like what those couples shared, tugged at her insides.

  Right. Like our fire and ice association is going to allow that. But, I can dream.

  "Doing okay?” Alex asked, breaking the silence hovering between them as they walked.

  "Uh-huh,” she said, shoving aside her yearnings. “I think I ate too much, though.” Casey placed a hand on her tummy and smiled. “That was some of the best barbequed pulled pork I've ever had. The potato
salad had a different taste to it, but it was still good. I'm afraid I overindulged."

  "A person has a right to overindulge every once in a while. Don't you think?” One corner of his lip curved up into a smile.

  "I suppose so.” She laughed. “Unfortunately I have a tendency to overindulge ... a lot."

  "How so?” He tugged at the collar of his bomber jacket and shoved his hands in his front jeans pockets. A light breeze tousled his hair, making him look every inch a rebel. Wild, erotic fantasies sauntered through her mind. Don't go there.