16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

C ourage

"Viva Las Vegas!" Candy shimmies her shoulders as we approach the gates of Graceland. Her eyes dance with excitement, her pink hair a vibrant contrast to the greenery. "Or should I say, Viva Memphis?"

I chuckle, shaking my head. "I think that's a different Elvis tune, rock star. This is more ‘Welcome to My World.'"

"Ooh, nice one." She grins as we exit the car and head toward the ticket booth, her hips swaying. "Maybe the tour guides will be ‘All Shook Up' by my vast Elvis knowledge."

I snort. "Or maybe they'll tell you ‘Don't Be Cruel' with your crappy song puns."

Candy laughs brightly, the sound a welcome change from the tension that's been hounding us lately. But today, with no concert or blackmail threats looming, it feels as though we can finally just say ‘That's All Right'.

"Well, even though you make fun of my crappy song puns, I bet you'd rock a rhinestone jumpsuit." She gives me the once-over and, in case I missed her ogling, she waggles her eyebrows at me. "‘A Big Hunk O' Love' like you? Wide shoulders, slim hips, they'd have to custom make one to fit."

"Careful, or this hunk might have a ‘Suspicious Mind' about your intentions," I quip back, flexing my biceps for her benefit.

She winks. "I'm just sayin', you could give the King some competition in that getup. ‘C'mon Everybody,' let's go see the Jungle Room!"

She waves a dismissive hand, her bracelets jangling. "The point is, we're about to enter the hallowed halls of the King himself. Can you feel the excitement in the air?"

I take an exaggerated sniff, my nose twitching. "Smells more like hairspray and fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches to me."

We spend the next few hours exploring the mansion and grounds, Candy exclaiming over every glitzy detail. She takes particular delight in the Jungle Room, with its green shag carpet—on the floor and ceiling —and carved wooden furniture.

"Can't you just picture Elvis lounging on that couch, strumming his guitar?" She mimes playing a guitar as she strikes a pose. "Singing ‘Hound Dog' to a room full of adoring fans?"

"I think you'd give him a run for his money in the adoring fans department."

She scoffs, but I can see the pleasure in her expression at the compliment. "Please. I'm just a pop princess playing dress-up. Elvis was the real deal."

"So are you. Candy, you've got a gift. A real, honest-to-goddess gift. The way you connect with people, the way your music touches their souls… that's not something you can fake."

Her breath hitches, her gaze locked with mine. For a moment, the air between us crackles with tension, with unspoken longing. I want to reach out, to brush my tongue across her bottom lip, to taste the sweetness of her mouth.

But before I can act on the impulse, a tour group barrels toward us, their loud discussion shattering the moment. We spring apart, Candy murmuring "busted" with a laugh that sounds too bright.

"Come on, bodyguard. Let's see if the gift shop has any of those bedazzled jumpsuits in size tall, blond, and handsome."

The rest of the day passes in a blur of laughter and inside jokes, the heaviness of the past few weeks momentarily lifted. We pose for goofy photos in front of the famous gates, Candy insisting on throwing up peace signs while I roll my eyes fondly behind her.

We sample peanut butter and banana sandwiches in the on-site diner, Candy daring me to add bacon to mine. "Elvis loved it," she insists, her eyes dancing. "Called it the ‘Elvis Special.'"

I take a big bite, trying to keep my fangs from flashing, and nearly choke on the sticky sweetness. "Goddess, that's… an experience."

Candy cackles, snapping a photo of my puckered face. "Oh, I am so sending this to Maury. He'll get a kick out of seeing the big bad wolven bodyguard defeated by a sandwich ."

"Defeated? Never." I steal a sip of her tea to wash down the cloying taste, then it's all I can do to keep from spitting it out. "What in all that's holy?!"

"It's not big in Cali, but this is sweet tea, honey. " She drawls the last part of that sentence like a true Southern belle.

"How much sugar is in that thing?" I guzzle half my glass of water and still can't get the sweet taste out of my mouth.

"Enough to make a spoon stand up, honey ."

"Want the rest of my sandwich?" I lift my plate toward her. "I've suddenly lost my appetite. Who invented sweet tea? They should be tarred and feathered."

"Poor baby," She pats my hand with an air of condescension, her fingers lingering just a beat too long. "Too bad you don't have a sophisticated palate like me." She swigs the rest of her tea.

As the day winds down and we make our way back to the van, I can't shake the feeling of contentment rolling through me. Here, with Candy by my side, trading quips and laughter and fleeting touches, I feel more at home than ever before.

It's a dangerous thought, one I shouldn't indulge. She's my charge, my responsibility. Blurring the lines between professional and personal is a recipe for disaster.

But as she's close to nodding off on the ride back to our hotel, her hand resting dangerously high on my thigh, I can't find it in myself to pull away.

"Thanks for today," she murmurs, her voice soft and sleepy. "So much fun."

It's such a simple statement I don't know why a wave of tenderness crashes over me. I reach down, twining my fingers with hers. "Yeah. I had a blast with you, but if you ever let me take a swig of poisoned tea again, I can't guarantee there won't be retribution."

She nuzzles closer, her breath warm against my neck. "Wait until I introduce you to Rocky Mountain Oysters."

"Geography isn't my strong suit, but there's no ocean near the Rockies, right?"

"Rocky Mountain oysters, my friend, are bull testicles."

After taking my eyes off the road to ensure she's not pulling my leg, my balls actually tighten against my body.

"If you ever enter the gates of the Integration Zone, never mention such a thing to the minotaurs, Candy. Seriously. Not if you value your life."

It takes her a moment to catch my meaning, but when she does, she sucks in a shocked breath, then huffs out a guffaw of laughter. "Scout's honor. I'll never mention it to a bull minotaur."

A few minutes after we finish chuckling, I glance over to see her leaning against her window, fast asleep.

As I tuck her to my chest and carry her to her hotel room, I hum an Elvis tune under my breath: "Wise men say only fools rush in…"

But I'm starting to think that when it comes to Candy? I just ‘Can't Help Falling in Love.'