“Sure.”
“Can I touch it?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Of course.”
“Cool. I always see the team jump over the wall, and I’ve always wanted to see it firsthand.”
“You’ve never been on pit road?”
“No. I went to the spring race at the Concord track last year, but by the time I got there, the race had already started. I watched from the Grossos’ suite in Turn Two.”
The racetrack was as common to him as the grass in his own backyard. Given her place in the racing community, it seemed inconceivable that Sheila hadn’t shared that experience at least once. She was good friends with several drivers’ wives, including Patsy Grosso, whose family was legendary in NASCAR circles.
“Any one of a hundred of your customers could’ve gotten you infield passes anytime you wanted,” he said, still having a hard time grasping the idea that Sheila was a garage-area novice. “Including me.”
“Oh, I know. The Tarts are always trying to get me to go with them.” She angled her head. “Did I mention I have a business to run? Hey, there’s Rafael.” She waved at the driver, who was walking with his team, trying to sign an autograph as he moved.
Though Sheila was always rushing through the diner, she was always controlled and focused. Her whiplash-inducing reactions were a revelation, a childlike side of her he’d never dreamed she possessed.
Noticing them, Rafael walked over. “Hey, boss, Sheila.” His blue-eyed gaze swept Sheila. “You look different.”
Gil laid his hand on her shoulder. “That’s a compliment.”
Rafael cocked his head. “Definitely.”
Like the other night at dinner, her wavy hair was loose of its usual ponytail. Though she wore plain, slightly worn jeans and a Double S Racing polo she’d requested he bring her, she looked as beautiful as any other woman would in high-class designer clothes.
“Are you flirting with my date?” Gil asked him, his tone casual even if his intent wasn’t.
“Not at all.” He exchanged a knowing look with Gil.
“I’m just a little surprised to see her here.”
“I’m pretty successful when I’m focused—just like you.”
“Can I see your helmet, Rafael?” Sheila asked, seemingly unconcerned that they were discussing her as if she wasn’t standing right next to them—a fact that any other time would have at least elicited a sarcastic comment.
Her fascination with his world only made him fall for her even harder.
“Sure.”
The moment the driver handed over the helmet, Sheila started asking questions. She kept a running dialogue going all the way to pit road, where Rafael broke off to wait by his car with his team.
Gil spoke briefly to the CEO of Hometeam Insurance, driver Ben Edmonds’s primary sponsor, and when he turned to Sheila to introduce her, he realized she’d moved a few steps away to run her fingertips over the pit wall. The gleeful look on her face made everything inside him go soft.
He grasped her hand in his and led her toward Rafael’s stall, where he assured her she could not only touch the wall, but sit on it and watch qualifying. She grinned as the first car roared onto the track, and he was certain her smile never dimmed the entire time.
Rafael’s team took good care of her, bringing her drinks and snacks and patiently answering her many questions, and Gil was happy to be part of the group who catered to her, especially since she was usually the one making sure all of them were happy and well fed.
When he offered dinner after qualifying, she shook her head. She wanted to watch the truck race.
Maybe an addiction to racing would keep her by his side.
He encouraged her to watch the race from on top of one of the haulers. So, binoculars in hand, she kept her attention focused on every lap. She even called Mellie from her cell phone and held it up, so she could hear the roar of the engines as everyone in the field fought like tigers for victory.
By the time they left the track, it was nearly eleven o’clock, so Gil’s plan of a romantic steak dinner was scrapped. They wound up driving through a fast-food place, then eating burgers, fries and salads as they sat on the sofa in her hotel suite.
With a satisfied sigh, Sheila dragged a fry through ketchup. “Just like home.”
“Your burgers are better, and I promised steak.”
“Sorry. I got carried away at the track. Tomorrow night, maybe?”
He slid his thumb across her cheek. “Whatever you want.”
“You’re awfully agreeable these days. After all the arguments we’ve had, I never would have guessed we’d actually get along.”
“Hey, you started most of those arguments. Probably to make sure I kept my distance.”
Shrugging, she polished off another fry, then leaned back into the sofa cushions. “Probably.” She looked around the spacious suite, her gaze lingering for a moment on the vase of yellow roses sitting on the desk. “You gave me your room, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” He’d hoped his switch wouldn’t be noticed. She always seemed suspicious of generosity. “I thought you’d like the space.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Across the hall. Room 1214.”
“Most of the owners have a motor home at the track, right? Why don’t you?”
“I do. But I don’t usually bring it when we come out west.”
Her gaze flitted around the room again. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble for me.”
“I like to.”
Sitting cross-legged with her feet bare and her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, she looked more like a teenager than a grown woman with a mysterious past and a demanding business to run. She cleared her throat.
“What now?”
“We could make out.”
After a startled jolt, she surprised him by scooting closer and looping her arms around his neck. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
He pulled her into his lap. “Making me really, really happy.”
“That’s quite a step up from making you miserable.”
“It’s been quite a day.”
He took his time at the races for granted. Even though he was in his first year as a team owner, his sponsorship days had afforded him days at every track on the circuit at one time or another. Conducting business with the roar of engines in the background was as normal as doing it in a boardroom.
Today, though, everything was fresh again. He’d seen all the action, frenzy, lights, colors and crowds through new eyes.
Sheila’s eyes.
Her golden-brown gaze searched his. “I don’t belong with—”
He laid his finger over her lips. “Don’t. Please.” Desire invaded him as surely as her smiles had touched his heart, so he brushed his mouth over her cheek. “This weekend is a bubble in time. Until Sunday night let’s forget the past and even the future. Okay?”
“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.
CHAPTER SIX
THROUGH THE NASCAR NATIO
NWIDE 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.
THE ALARM WOKE GIL 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 stari
ng 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.”
Right Before His Eyes Page 5
