Right Before His Eyes (6 page)

“Okay,” she whispered, her breath teasing his skin.

As he kissed her, he promised himself to go slow. He didn't bring her here for a weekend fling. She was an investment. A woman who mattered a great deal to him. He wasn't going to blow his chances at a real relationship by losing control.

Like last time.

That kiss in her apartment on Tuesday had been an inferno of long-suppressed need. Tonight he'd find gentleness. He wouldn't hurry or push.

Even if it killed him.

Even if the tips of his fingers tingled with every breath she took, every beat of her heart.

As things heated and hands began to roam, they both jerked back at the same time. Breathless, eyes wide, they stared at each other.

“I should probably go,” he said, forcing himself to stand.

Seeming stunned, she nevertheless nodded. “I guess so.”

He escaped before he could follow through on an impulse that would never gain him the bond of trust he wanted so desperately between them.

T
HROUGH THE
NASCAR N
ATIONWIDE
Series race on Saturday, Sheila mingled with CEOs, drivers, engineers and tire changers. She knew from her friend and celebrity chef Grace Clark that many of the major teams had a full-time cook, who kept the energy going and the home fires burning regardless of where their cars started or finished.

And she was astounded by the number of people to be fed—officials, teams, sponsors and fans. She ignored Gil when he tried to insist she sit and relax, let people wait on her for a change.

She was in her element, as she'd never expected to be in Gil's world.

The racing itself was exhilarating, but she was even more impressed by the sense of community, the way everybody knew everybody. Team members joked with competitors under the food tents one minute and fiercely tried to defeat them on the track the next.

She couldn't remember a time she'd had more fun.

Her life had been full of struggle and, oftentimes, betrayal and despair. She'd dragged herself to respectability through sheer force of will, and often wondered if a day would come when all she'd built would crumble before her.

Today, that fear was a distant memory.

The moment the cars dashed across the finish line—which she watched from the top of Rafael's hauler—Gil slid his arm around her waist. “Come on,” he invited, his eyes glowing and seemingly unaware of the excitement around him.

“Where?” she asked, though she let him lead her down the ladder to the ground, where teams were rushing around to pack up their equipment for the night.

His warm, capable hand squeezed hers. “Steak. Dinner. You. Me.”

“You're getting as bad as Rafael.”

“Sorry. I'm a little single-minded at the moment.”

And before she knew it, she was swept from the track and into a limo, then they were seated in a booth at an elegant downtown Dallas steak house.

“They have an excellent variety of whiskey here,” Gil said, sliding a menu across the table toward her.

“Yeah?” She glanced at the selections, her eyes nearly bugging out at the prices. But vowing not to say anything to spoil the “bubble,” she smiled at him. “I'm not picky. You choose.”

He did, and the drink he chose was both smooth and warm, much finer than anything she'd ever had. She also gave up control of ordering dinner—just as she had earlier in the week.

In her whole life, she'd never relied on anybody, but Gil was the kind of man who made surrender easy. And while she recognized it could never last, she didn't much care as he smiled at her like no other woman existed in the world.

“Who betrayed you?”

The smoky whiskey dried like ash in her mouth.

“Excuse me?”

He picked up her hand where it rested on the table and linked their fingers. “Somebody made you distrust everybody, men in particular. Who was it?”

The closeness she'd felt flicked off. “I don't think that's any of your business.”

“Your father?” he pressed. “You said he's never been part of your life, so he can't be the one.”

“I don't have a father.” She glanced around the quiet, elegantly lit restaurant, then leaned toward him, fire in her eyes. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Regret moved through his eyes. “I'm pushing too hard, too fast.”

“Yes.”

“I swore I wouldn't, but I—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I want you too much.”

That certainly had her pulse jumping into overdrive. She scooted closer to him in the booth. It was incredibly hard for her to extend intimacy, but she did, sliding the hand he wasn't holding up his chest, where his heart beat, true and strong.

“The last two days have been amazing.”
The best of my life.
As such, she needed to offer him some version of the truth. He'd given so much, and she'd lied just by existing. “It's like a dream, my responsibilities gone while I hang out at the track, watching everybody who's come through my diner do what they love.”

“But…”

She met his gaze, praying he'd understand. “You were the one who proposed the truce.”

“Forget the past, not think about the future.”

“Exactly.” She fisted her hand to keep it from shaking, then unclenched and glided her fingertips across his jawline. “We don't have very long.”

The tension dissipated as he lifted both his lips and his brows. “We turn into pumpkins tomorrow night?”

“I do.”

Through dinner, he played the indulgent host, and she let him.

He wouldn't be put off for long. If he truly cared about her, and somehow she was convinced he did, then he'd need to know everything. She no longer feared the possibility of him leaving for the next hot chick to cross his path, she
knew
he would when her mistakes were revealed.

Still, she ignored her conscience and its warnings. Her past was just that…over.

When they reached her suite, she didn't invite him in for coffee, she just kept hold of his hand and led him inside.

“This room has a cool feature,” she said, crossing to the desk. “I can plug in my music player and listen to all my songs, just like home.”

She launched a romantic playlist she'd enjoyed a great deal since Gil had come into her life. Way before she'd accepted his dinner invitation and more frequently this week, when she'd reflected on the turn their relationship had taken.

As the piano notes echoed through the suite, she turned back and approached him. Strong, elegant and tempting in his white dress shirt and navy pants, she admired both the breadth of his chest and the focused look in his eyes.

The look that seemed only for her.

“Dance with me?” she asked, curling her arms around his neck.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, pulling her tight against him.

The warmth from his body infused her instantly, and she tucked her head between his neck and shoulder, breathing in his spicy cologne and the scent that was Gil alone.

Naturally, it wasn't long before his mouth glided across her cheek, then found her lips. She leaned into him, gripping his arms and returning every stroke and caress.

It's just a crush,
she repeated to herself over and over.

And over again.

It wasn't as if his kiss sent off sparks she'd never experienced before. It wasn't as if she was on the verge of fainting from the sensation of his touch. It wasn't as if he meant anything to her.

But her abstinence from romantic relationships—which she'd embraced wholeheartedly after all she'd been through—suddenly became a problem. Sensations she'd ignored tingled to life, burning with an intensity that had no intention of being extinguished.

No, they didn't have long. Her weekend of pure fantasy would soon be over. She'd have to ruin everything with the truth.

But they had tonight.

 

T
HE ALARM WOKE
G
IL ABRUPTLY.

Groaning, he reached across Sheila and turned it off.

Without opening her eyes, she scooted toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It can't be morning already.”

“I know what you mean.”

Actually, he was still trying to assimilate what had
happened the night before. She didn't want to share her past or who had hurt her. But she was fine giving physically. She thought
he
was moving too fast; she was on pace to set records.

He was pretty sure he should be worried that she wanted him, but didn't want to get too close. But with her warmth and satiny skin enveloping him, he wasn't about to question his windfall.

He kissed her forehead, temple, cheek, then captured her mouth. “It may be an early morning,” he said when they parted. “But it's a good one.”

She traced his lips with her fingers. “Yes, it is.”

With extreme reluctance, he gave her one last peck, then slid from the bed. “I'm going to my room to take a shower. You've got twenty minutes. Is that enough—” He stopped as he glanced over at her and found her staring at him.

“Are you sure you have to wear a shirt at the track?”

He felt an embarrassing flush crawl its way up his neck. “U-uh, well…yeah.”

An inviting smile bloomed on her face. “Too bad.”

He was a grown man, not an inexperienced teenager. Yet she was constantly throwing him off balance. And for the first time in his life, he wanted to toss aside business and responsibility and spend the day just watching her smile.

“Twenty minutes?” she asked, bringing him back to reality.

“Yeah.” He crossed to the bed and leaned over her. He spent two minutes of their twenty kissing her and
still not seeing how that could possibly sustain him all day long.

“Go,” she whispered, pushing him away even though the look in her eyes clearly said
stay.
“The boss can't be late.”

Somehow, he made his feet move through the room and out the door. A cold shower shocked away the craziest of his plans, which involved grabbing her and running away to Bermuda for the next month.

When he knocked on her door fifteen minutes later, she answered while she was brushing her hair. “I've still got three minutes.”

“I missed you.”

“You're crazy,” she said, pulling an elastic band off her wrist, obviously intending to pull her hair back in her usual ponytail.

He snagged the band. “Leave it down.”

“It's a mess,” she protested. “Twenty minutes doesn't give me time to wash it.”

He threaded his fingers through the fiery locks. “It's beautiful.”

Her eyes softened at the compliment. The reaction made him realize people didn't compliment her often. Her food, her efficiency, her diner, but not
her.

More than anything he wanted to reach back into her past and pummel whatever idiot had damaged her spirit.

“Please?” he asked. “You can turn into Sheila the Diner Queen tomorrow.”

“Okay, fine.” She looped the elastic band back around her wrist. “Next time you eat hairless mashed potatoes, you should say a silent prayer of thanks for the invention of the ponytail.”

“You bet.”

“I need mascara and lip gloss, and I'll be ready.” She rushed into the bedroom, returning a couple of minutes later. “All set,” she said, grabbing her purse off the coffee table.

He let his gaze rove her from head to toe. Again, a Double S polo and jeans had never looked so remarkable. “How am I going to keep my hands off you all day?”

She glided her hand down the center of his chest. “You should have brought the motor home—convenience and privacy.”

“Good point.” He grinned as an idea occurred to him. “But that's not the only place we can be alone.”

“You want to make out between the haulers?”

“No, inside one of them.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I'll show you.”

“G
IL, ARE YOU SURE
that door's locked?”

He gave her a “Mmm” that Sheila took to be a yes and continued trailing his lips along her neck.

The race had reached the halfway point, and though all four of the Double S cars were still in the hunt, Bart Branch was the class of the field.

Surprisingly, Gil didn't seem too upset.

He'd been attentive and caring all morning, patiently answering her many questions. Every time he had to leave her side, he made sure somebody else was watching out for her.

She'd spent the race on top of the war wagon behind Rafael's pit box. His crew chief, Denton Moss, sat in a swivel chair right next to her, so she got to witness every intimate detail of the team's fight to win. Gil even provided a set of headphones so she could hear Denton and Rafael's radio communications.

The perspective was completely different from the one she'd had in the grandstands, but just as exhilarating.

Eventually, though, the heated glances between her and Gil had gotten to be too much, and he'd led her into Rafael's hauler, down the narrow hallway of equipment lockers and past team members, straight to the back, where there was a small office containing a computer station, a love seat and a couple of folding chairs.

Gil's mouth found hers, and she breathed in his familiar taste and scent. She couldn't count on his attention and touch for long, but she wasn't about to squander a single moment.

When she ran out of breath, and her head was ready to spin off her shoulders, she broke away, leaning her forehead against his. “Are you prepared for Bart to win?”

“Three and a half races and you're the expert now, are you?” He kissed her cheek. “Race isn't over till the checkered flag waves.”

“Whatever you say.”

“You do want one of my guys to win, don't you?”

“Of course, but I don't see anybody catching the No. 475 car.”

“You don't, huh?” Levering them off the sofa, he swung her into his arms, then set her on the floor. “How about a little wager?”

She didn't have much cash to bet with, but noticing the speculative look in Gil's eyes, she had the feeling money wouldn't be required. “What're the stakes?”

“One of my cars wins and you have dinner with me every night this week.”

“Hang on. I have to run the diner. I can't go skipping off every night at dinnertime.”

“You don't skip, and I'm willing to eat at the diner. I'm just asking you to take an hour's break to have it with me.”

Staring at Gil across the table wasn't exactly like losing. “I can do that. Now, what do I get if Bart wins?”

“You get mine and Marley's expertise in finding somebody you can hire to help manage the diner.”

Sheila's mood went from teasing to ticked in the space of a heartbeat. “I manage the diner just fine.”

“And work yourself to death. You at least need to have somebody you trust to lock up at night. You can't keep up this pace.”

“I have Mellie.”

“Who has a young child to raise. She can't take on this kind of responsibility right now.”

She acknowledged the undeniable truth of that, but her temper still hummed. If Gil thought he was going to breeze into her life and take over everything, he was greatly mistaken. “When did you cook up this idea?”

“It's not mine. It's Marley's.” When she looked skeptical, he said, “Ask her.”

Marley and the other Tarts had been trying to convince her for months to hire an assistant manager or promote one of the waitresses.

Financially, she could afford to do so, but she wasn't as willing to part with the control as much as the money. Besides, working herself to exhaustion kept her from thinking too much about Gil.

“Fine. If Bart wins, I get your expertise.”

“That doesn't sound very enthusiastic. Maybe you're worried I'm trying to control you and your business?”

Surprised, her gaze jumped to his.

He wrapped his arms around her waist. “You probably don't believe this, but I've gotten to know you pretty well over the last week. I'm not trying to mess with your independence. I'm just concerned about you.” He kissed her forehead. “I want you to be happy.”

She laid her cheek against his chest.
This
made her happy. Just being with him, feeling his arms around her.

Unfortunately, though, he was wrong.

He didn't know her at all.

 

O
N THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT
, Sheila called Mellie and assured her she was on her way home. She'd promised her waitress Monday night off, and she was glad Mellie and Bart had something to celebrate.

When her love life wasn't such a muddle, maybe she could probe Mellie for more details about exactly what was going on between those two.

“When do you want to start interviewing?” Gil asked her.

Sheila glanced at him, his large hands gripping the steering wheel. It bugged him that her prediction about Bart winning had come true, but the Double S teams finished fifth, seventh, tenth and eighteenth, so it was a good day even without the win Rafael needed so much to push him past Bart in the championship standings.

“I'd like to talk to my waitresses before I go to outside people,” she said.

“Why don't you let Marley find a few candidates? They'll give you a comparison to the ones you already have in-house.”

“Okay.” She turned her head to watch the Texas landscape fly by. Was she surrendering too much of herself or was she nuts to not take the advice of a man as successful as Gil?

He laid his hand on her thigh. “Are you okay?”

Sighing, she linked their fingers and dug deep for a smile. “I'm great.”

But, really, she wasn't.

Their weekend was ending, as it had to. Back to real life where Gil was megarich NASCAR team owner, and she was plain ole Sheila, serving meat loaf and mashed potatoes all day and night.

Guilt was also eating a hole through her happy fantasy.

How long could she really expect to keep lying to him? How long before he demanded answers about the bad stuff in her past? He was an astute man, who knew another man had betrayed her. How could she reveal the extent of that betrayal, and the consequences she'd paid as a result?

Raised in his perfect, privileged world, he'd never understand how she could have gone to such a dark place in her life.

“I need to go to the diner when we get back,” she said once they were airborne and the worst of her flying nerves had settled.

“I'll take you.”

She shook her head. “I need my car. I'm staying till closing. Mellie needs a break.”

“Then I'll come back to get you at midnight. I don't like you driving by yourself so late.”

No way was she surrendering everything for him. He wasn't going to be around long enough to rely on, even if she was tempted to yield control of her life. Which she wasn't. “I've been taking care of myself for a long time, Gil. I don't need your protection.”

“Don't need or don't want?” he asked, seeming undaunted by her angry tone.

“Both.”

“But I like taking care of you.”

“I've made a mistake in letting you. That's not me.”

“It could be, if you trusted me more.”

She looked away from the longing in his eyes. How could she trust him when she couldn't offer him the same courtesy?

“How about a compromise?” he asked. “I'll take you to your apartment so you can get your car, but I'll still come back to the diner later and follow you home.”

How much longer would she have him? How much longer would he care? Time ticked relentlessly away on their bond, and she couldn't have denied the opportunity to be with him any more than she could having willingly stopped breathing.

“That would be nice,” she said finally, watching brightness fade from the sky and hoping that wasn't an omen.

He gripped her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “Hey, I'm not losing you, am I?”

“No.” She turned back to him. “I'm just fading a little. We didn't get much sleep last night.”

“And any time you want to not get sleep again, you just let me know.”

She smiled. “Guaranteed. But I'm going to need coffee.”

Naturally, he got her a cup of coffee.

By the time he dropped her off at her apartment with a lingering kiss and promise to see her later, it was after 9:00 p.m.

She was welcomed back at the diner as if she'd been gone three months instead of three days, which she supposed was fair. She'd never left her business for so long.

Mellie was sure she had a tan, no matter how often Sheila told her she'd diligently worn sunscreen every day. Privately, she didn't want to acknowledge the glow Mellie noticed.

The glow was Gil.

Somehow, saying aloud how much things had changed between them seemed like a jinx. But as she fell into the rhythm of serving customers, the surreal quality of the trip fell away, regardless of how much she wanted to hold on to the dream.

The diner was where she belonged. Not in private jets, luxury hotel suites or a plush bed with an attentive lover.

Yet when that lover showed up at midnight, following her home to make sure she was tucked in safely, she invited him to do the tucking personally.

Maybe surrender wasn't such a lousy idea after all.

 

G
IL MIGHT HAVE LOST THE BET
over the Texas race, but he won anyway.

He and Sheila were planning to have dinner together every night. He even snuck in Chinese takeout on Monday, which they ate in the back room and gloatingly assured everybody who popped in to investigate the unusual smells that they were imagining the scent of soy sauce and ginger.

While he also convinced her to interview some of the people Marley recommended she hire, in the end, she promoted Louise to part-time assistant manager. She was still watching Lily until Mellie could make new arrangements.

“Thank you,” Sheila said suddenly to him as they shared pie and coffee in the back room on Thursday night. “Promoting Louise has been the best decision I've made in a long time.”

“She's only been on the job a day.”

“But she's so happy. I swear the woman is floating through her shifts.”

“Give her a week running your insane schedule, and she'll be begging for mercy.”

“There's nothing insane about working hard. You do it.”

“Yeah, but I'm stronger.”

“Because you're a man?” she asked after a significant pause.

Oops. He'd gone down the wrong road. This was a common problem with Sheila. She was a challenging woman, and any attempt to help her—she would say wrestle control from her—was usually met with a fierce stare from those beautiful brown eyes.

“No, not really,” he said, scrambling to cover his blunder. “Gender doesn't really have a place in working hard, does it?”

“I don't think so. But if you want to make comparisons, you could equate stronger to bigger.”

“Yeah, that's—” He stopped, patting his stomach, which he kept trim through disciplined diet and rigorous exercise. The months wooing Sheila had packed on a couple of pounds. “And getting bigger every day thanks to this pie you keep pushing on me.”

“Any time you want a grilled chicken salad, you just ask.”

“How did we go from discussing your diner to my waistline?”

“You did that all by yourself.”

He supposed he had. “My point about Louise was that she's nearly fifty and—”

“You're over forty.”

He leaned toward her, flicking his finger over the impish dimple in her chin. “You have a problem with my stamina?”

Grinning, she pulled his pie plate in front of her. “No, but I don't have a problem with my waistline.”

“Louise is nearly fifty, while you are younger and have a supportive boyfriend to pick you up off the floor at the end of the night.”

Her eyes widened. “Boyfriend?”

“Yes.” Realizing he'd dropped that in and hoping Sheila wouldn't give him a hard time about it, he rose and crossed to the cooler he'd brought with him. “One who brings you champagne and chocolate, by the way.”

Reflecting on the rewards of spoiling Sheila, he set a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries on the table. He wondered if there would ever come a time when she'd stop being surprised by indulgent gestures.

Maybe not. But if she did, he'd certainly miss the pleasure of her shock, the slowly dawning knowledge that somebody cared about her.

He popped the champagne cork—quietly so the entire diner wouldn't come running for a taste—then poured out two servings into crystal flutes he'd also brought. “See the rewards of dating me?”

She took the glass, then tossed back the entire contents.

He poured more and sincerely hoped Louise was ready to jump in with assistant-manager duties, since her boss was likely to be too dizzy to go back to work anytime soon.

“Problem?” he asked, even though he was well aware of the problem.

Her brown eyes found his and locked in. “Boyfriend?”

“Not a fan of the word? How about significant other? Exclusive date guy? Lover?”

Her gaze roved him, leaving heat in its wake. “You're not much of a boy.”

“Glad you noticed.” He tapped his glass against hers.

“I'm leaving tomorrow for Phoenix, and I wanted to make some things clear before I go.”

“Clear would be good,” she said, still looking stunned.

Focusing intently on her flushed face, he pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I'm completely, utterly crazy about you.”

“But you—”

He stopped her with a kiss.

She leaned in to him, and the sense of rightness invaded him as it did each and every time he saw or touched her.