Right Before His Eyes (5 page)

O
N
F
RIDAY AFTERNOON,
S
HEILA
found herself on board Gil's private plane headed to Texas.

The luxuriously huge, soft-as-butter beige leather seats alone were enough to make her jaw drop, but there was also plush navy carpeting, flat-screen monitors on the walls and a table set up with an array of drinks, cheese and crackers, and a giant crystal bowl of fresh fruit.

Gil introduced her to the other passengers, including Double S Racing's chief engineer, CFO and operations manager. Sheila had seen them all at the diner at one time or another, but strangely enough no one seemed to find it unusual that she was there with their boss. Maybe he brought a different woman aboard every week.

His sister, Marley, who served as sponsor relations director, was also part of the group.

“We're so glad you're coming with us,” she said quietly to Sheila when Gil slipped into the cockpit to speak to the pilot. “Maybe Gil will resist the urge to hold a strategy meeting.”

“Workaholic, huh?” Maybe they did have more in common than she'd realized. “I guess I haven't really seen that side of him.”

“He makes the drivers seem low-key.”

“Aren't they? They're always smiling when I see them.”

“That's because you're feeding them. Trust me, you'll get a different viewpoint this weekend.”

From town gossip Sheila knew Marley was engaged to Linc Shepherd, one of Gil's drivers. Tall, dark-haired Marley with her Sizemore beauty and black-haired Linc would probably have kids even better looking than their parents. Impossible as that seemed.

“You aren't telling Sheila any stories you shouldn't, are you?” Gil asked as he walked up.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Marley said, somehow succeeding in looking both innocent and capable of mischief at the slightest urge.

“What stories?” Sheila asked.

“My baby sister thinks it's hilarious to tell people about all the stupid things I did as a kid. And the more humiliating, the better.”

Marley flipped her long, dark hair off her shoulder. “Humph.”

“But I'm still the favorite son.”

“You're the
only
son.”

Gil grinned. “Being surrounded by women was always a great burden.”

Sheila gave him a meaningful look. “Excellent practice for your adult life. My waitresses—among others of the estrogen variety—fawn over you shamelessly.”

“It's a crime to be popular?” he asked with a teasing note of defensiveness.

“Depends on who you're interested in impressing,” Sheila returned, her gaze locked with his.

Again with the flirting. Did Gil naturally send her to
adolescence or inspire a fun, engaging side of her she thought she'd lost over years of disappointment?

Marley patted his arm. “Don't worry, brother dear, I won't spill anything. I actually like Sheila.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot said before Sheila could further question Gil. “Please take your seats. We're ready for takeoff.”

Gil led Sheila to a pair of seats in the back of the plane. As she hooked her seat belt, it suddenly occurred to her that this little metal tube—as luxurious as it seemed—was about to be several thousand feet off the ground.

This sensation went straight from her gut to her mouth, which she used to babble nervously. “What did Marley mean, she likes me?”

“She likes you.”

She jabbed him lightly in the stomach with her elbow.

“As amazing as it seems, I'd figured that much out. Does she not like many people?”

“Marley gets along with everybody—one of the key reasons she's so good at sponsor relations. My mother used to say she could charm the ticks off a hound dog.”

“
Your
mother? I thought she was Queen of the Debutantes.”

“She is, but Queen of the Deep South chapter.”

“Ah. That still doesn't explain Marley's comment, though.”

“I guess not,” he admitted reluctantly. “I'd imagine she was referring to the fact that since her and Linc got together she's been retaliating against my overbearing interference in her love life by expressing her displeasure over mine.”

“I see.” Sheila shook her head. “No, actually I don't.”

“She doesn't like the women I date.” He started counting off reasons on his fingers. “Too prissy, too dingy, too self-absorbed, too catty, too lazy.”

She peeked out the window and noticed they were moving rapidly down the runway. “Is that all one girl, or several?”

“More than one,” he hedged. “Are you nervous about flying?”

“No, I—” She could feel the plane start to lift off the ground and squeezed her eyes shut. “I'm fine.”

“Then you're cutting off the circulation in my leg for fun?”

Glancing down, she saw her white-knuckled hand gripping his thigh. She let go immediately. “Sorry.”

He snagged her hand and held it between both of his. “Look at me.”

With her stomach doing somersaults, she did as he asked. The steadiness in those blue eyes calmed the worst of her fears. “I don't fly very often and never in a plane this small. It's safe, right? I mean, are you sure it can stay up all the way to Texas?”

“I'm sure.”

“What if we go through one of those bumpy clouds?”

“The plane's smaller size actually allows for greater maneuverability with that type of thing. And Peter is an extremely experienced pilot.” He smiled gently. “Do you think I'd put you in danger?”

She shook her head. Gil's protective instincts were as firmly engrained as her defensive ones.

The question was, who was going to shield her heart from falling for him?

 

G
IL COULDN'T REMEMBER
enjoying a flight more.

He generally used the air time to have strategy meetings, make calls to the crew chiefs who were already at the track, or go through his schedule, making adjustments where necessary. By the volume and frequency of his staff's laughter in the plane, he figured they would be plotting to get Sheila to come with them every weekend.

They touched down, piled in the rental cars, drove to the track, picked up Sheila's weekend credentials and arrived in the garage area ten minutes before qualifying was due to start.

Other than calling the diner to check on Mellie, Sheila seemed entirely focused on him and his teams. She asked a million questions, gawked in amazement at everything and nearly got run over twice by crew members pushing race cars toward the qualifying line on pit road, leading him to ask her how many races she'd been to.

“Including the three I'll see this weekend?” she asked, craning her neck around to look at the stands surrounding the massive track. “Four.”

He ground to a halt. “You've been to one race.”

“I have a business to run. I can't go flitting off to the track whenever I want.” When he continued to stare at her in disbelief, she added, “I'm not green, you know. I watch on TV every week. Can I see the pit wall?”

“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?”