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soft as a cloud.
    The image brought others to his mind. His imagination worked in feverish overtime. He wanted to lavish her with all the attention she deserved, and then some. Running his hands over her dark skin. Cupping her generous breasts, caressing them, playing with her dusky nipples until they stiffened. Maybe she would make that sound again, the moan that emerged from her when she slipped chocolate past her lips.
    The thought went straight to his cock. Bruce was almost painfully hard.
    She touched him. Her fingers trailed down the inside of his forearm. Even after she snatched away her hand, the imprint of her fingers lingered on his skin, drawing him in. He was uncomfortably aware of his own arousal.
    He didn't just want her. He ached for her through his whole body. He needed her. He loved her.
    And he couldn't tell her.
    She cleared her throat, letting the curtain close over the city, and now there was a twinkle in her eye. The hurt and pain had disappeared from her expression—or maybe she was only now wearing a mask again.
    "Ready to meet Elvis?" she asked.
    "I hear he's been sighted around here," he said gravely, and they both grinned.

Chapter Five
     
    Violet
     
    Violet hadn't ever imagined being married by Elvis in a Vegas wedding chapel, but if she had, the reality would have exceeded her wildest imaginings.
    "I think the pink Cadillac really makes your eyes pop." Leaning back into the limo's leather seat, she held the photo up so Bruce could see. It showed them both in the front seat of the Cadillac in their wedding garb—and in Bruce's case, a chapel-provided Elvis pouf. Violet was holding a plastic bouquet in a riot of color.
    "Definitely." He slanted a grin at her. They were sitting close together, their shoulders touching, almost leaning into each other. "I like how you hitched your blue suede shoes up on the dash."
    "I'm a classy lady like that."
    "I can tell."
    Getting hitched had been more fun than Violet remembered having in a very long time. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so much, especially when the Elvis impersonator-slash-minister began singing as he walked her down the aisle. It was the kind of ridiculousness that looked silly and dumb from the outside but was insanely fun to participate in on the inside. In the limo, she was still more than a little euphoric.
    It helped that Bruce—billionaire, inventor, genius Bruce, Wanda's boss Bruce, whom she'd met in a business suit—had wholeheartedly embraced the fun alongside Violet. He took to the Elvis wig like a fish to water. In fact, he was still wearing it.
    "Are you going to be Elvis all night?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow and suppressing another giggle.
    "If the little lady wants …" He modulated his voice and accent to sound like Elvis. Well, kind of like Elvis. If Elvis were drunk, maybe.
    "I've figured it out!" she crowed giddily. "Your deep, dark secret!"
    "I have a deep, dark secret now?"
    "You have to." Violet poked him in the arm. "You're a billionaire, and you're actually nice and funny"—and sweet, and stunningly good-looking, and no, she wasn't going to say that to his face.
    He was so tall, even sitting down—he leaned over her. Warmth spread through Violet. "So what's my secret?"
    "It's a tragic story," she began. "When you were young, you desperately wanted to be an Elvis impersonator. You worked so hard on your craft. Day and night, you sang 'Heartbreak Hotel' to yourself into the end of a hairbrush. But it was not to be. You just weren't good enough. You had to leave the city."
    She could feel the laughter shake all through his body where it was pressed against hers. "So I decided to become an inventor instead," he finished.
    "Sometimes you still think about it wistfully, though."
    "It's true. There's a white jacket in the back of my closet, covered in rhinestones. Once in a while I take it out, try it on …"
    The limo came to a stop, so slowly and smoothly she almost didn't notice until Bruce