Right Before His Eyes (4 page)

“See,” Rue said, breaking into her thoughts. “You've both made your own way in the world. What else do you want to have in common?”

A passion for hot, steamy kisses in the foyer of my apartment.
“Absolutely nothing.”

“I'm not buying that for a second, Miss Clam. I've seen the way he looks at you. Did he kiss you goodnight?”

The abrupt question had caught Sheila off guard, so she started to instinctively nod. She stopped herself just in time and narrowed her eyes.

“He did!” Rue exclaimed with a broad smile. “How was it? Come on, give details. You know I won't tell anybody—well, not many people. Just the ones who come in my shop. You and Gil Sizemore. It's so yummy.” Sheila
knew
she had her intimidating stare down cold. What was wrong with her? All those mushy feelings, no doubt. Emotions that would only lead to a broken heart.

Again.

“You come on,” she said, jerking away from Rue.

“And don't tell another soul. I'd be a joke in this town. Me and Gil Sizemore? Get real.”

Rue lost her teasing expression. “I am. Are you?”

“Reality is kind of my specialty.”

“Honey, that defensiveness won't work with me. Or with Gil, either, I expect.”

She'd hurt her friend's feelings. Damn. Couldn't she do anything right? “I didn't mean—”

“The very last thing anybody would do is laugh about you,” Rue said, her eyes fierce. “People admire you. All of us Tarts, your customers, your friends. They see you care for everybody in sight and work yourself to the bone in the meantime. Everybody would be happy if you found something besides the diner to love.”

Maybe she had escaped poverty. Maybe she'd become a successful business owner. But she'd only gotten those things after prison, after a sympathetic guard had mentioned her brother owned a restaurant in Charlotte. He'd hired her despite her record, taught her the restaurant business and even given her a loan to buy the diner.

While the Tarts knew some of that history, they didn't know why she'd really left Florida. They, like Gil, would never trust her again if they found out.

With a dramatic huff, Rue headed to the door. “When you're ready to be reasonable, call me.”

“Rue, I—”

“These just came for you, Sheila.” Mellie stood in the doorway with a huge bouquet of flowers—daisies, roses, carnations, daffodils, lilies. There didn't seem to be a flower or a color that wasn't represented. “Pretty impressive, huh?”

Sheila refused to acknowledge the smirk that was surely on Rue's face and took the vase with a quiet thanks to Mellie. She set the arrangement on the coffee table, which it pretty much took over.

Without looking at the card, she knew the sender, but her hands trembled anyway as she opened the envelope.

She also knew Rue stood behind her and read the one word on the card:
Texas?

“Must have been some kiss,” her friend commented. “How about sharing some tips at the next Tarts meeting?”

“L
OVE ISN'T ALWAYS ROSES
and daffodils.”

Pacing his office, Gil stopped to stare at his baby sister. “That's what I sent her.”

“Oh, well, nice touch,” Marley said with a shrug. “I was speaking metaphorically anyway.”

He slid his hands in his pockets. “It won't matter. She won't care.”

“About the flowers?”

“About me. Can we stay on topic?”

Marley lifted her hands. “I'm trying. You're the one who's suddenly nuts.”

“You're out there doing…whatever with one of my drivers.” Actually, he didn't like to think about it much, so he pushed that issue aside.

“I'm engaged to Linc. What's wrong with that?” She paused, but before he could give her a detailed list, she added, “Oh, right, I forgot. You think you're CEO of my love life.”

Now that he was turning to her for help, Gil suddenly regretted being so overprotective of Marley regarding the men in her life. One in particular.

“News flash, brother dear,” she continued. “You've dated a lot more than I have.”

“This isn't dating. It's a—” He stopped and cleared
his throat. He wasn't sure how to say
fascination
without sounding like a wacko. “It's something else.”

Now it was her turn to stare. The shocked blue eyes looking back at him mirrored his own, which, frankly, didn't do much for his state of mind.

“Talk about falling hard and fast,” she said.

Gil sank into the chair behind his desk. “I'm a wreck.”

“And without a soft wall in sight.” She patted his hand. “So, you really think the opposing backgrounds is the primary issue?”

“Yes, but I think I could overcome that with time. There's something more.”

“Like she's embarrassed to be seen with you? I'll admit I've been there, but—” He silenced her with a glare. “Sorry, couldn't resist. Residual aggression from adolescence. You could've pulled my ponytail less often, you know.”

“You could have been less annoying, but that clearly comes too naturally to suppress for long periods of time.”

“You could suppress the need to try to run my life.”

“You need my guidance.”

Silently, they faced each other across the big mahogany desk.

She was his direct line to his sponsors, and he was her ticket away from debutante balls and their matchmaking mother, who'd lately taken to popping up at the office unexpectedly and offering unsolicited advice on making proper marriages and the future of the Sizemore line.

Gil and Marley were bonded by more than blood. They needed each other.

“There's something more?” Marley finally prompted, leaning back in her chair.

Relieved she was going to take this seriously, Gil nodded. “Something I'm not sure I'll ever get Sheila to talk about, and if I want to be with her—which I definitely do—then I need to find out what it is.”

“She's a confident woman. I can't imagine why she'd care about how differently you were raised.”

“Or what anybody thought about us dating. That was the thing that made me realize she was holding back.”

“You're not a woman. She does care about what people think in one crucial way—she doesn't want to be compared to your colorful past.”

“What colorful past?”

His sister grinned. “The blondes, brunettes and redheads.”

He clenched his fist. “She wouldn't go out with me. What was I supposed to do?”

“Pine away in your lonely mansion writing sonnets to her beauty.”

Sighing, Gil leaned back in his chair. “Women are too damn much trouble.”

“Oh, I imagine you can think of some benefits to having contact with us.”

He pointed at her. “Don't even think about bringing sex into this.”

“I love how the male mind works.” Marley shook her head. “I didn't. But since you brought it up, are you sure your invitation to Texas was low-key?”

“I assured her we'd have separate hotel rooms. I offered a rental car at her disposal. I told her I'd have to work a lot, but she was free to hang around or do her
own thing. I promised intimate dinners and anything else she dang well wanted.”

“Well, then I'm forced to repeat myself and say nice touch.”

What inane part of his brain had locked on the idea of asking advice from his little sister? Her teenage infatuation with driver Linc Shepherd caused her to set his race car on fire. Now he was frustrated, confused and his head hurt. “Have I mentioned you're lousy at romance?”

“I have a boyfriend. One you could have been a bit more helpful with, by the way…” She must have noticed the contrition on his face then, because she waved her hands. “Okay, okay. I'll give you my best advice.”

“Today?” he asked when she fell silent.

“Keep at it.”

“Keep at it? Oh, well. That's brilliant. Should we use that as a new marketing slogan? I can see it in lights now—Getting Your Butt Kicked in Life or on the Track? No Big Deal. Just Keep at It.”

Marley rose, leaning over the desk. “Yep, that's what you need to do all right. You're here all pitiful and sending flowers, being complacent and whining, and I'm telling you not to give up. You want Sheila, then go after her. You've flitted from girl to girl for quite a while—when you weren't obsessing about your precious business deals and how I run my life, that is. She's got issues beyond wondering how loyal you can actually be, so you've got to overcome them. Show her you're a man to be trusted. Show her how much you care. Don't pick up the phone, call a florist and spend a bunch of money. Go to her with one flower and a lot of understanding.”

Okay, so maybe that was good advice.

Still, he scowled. “You couldn't have said that ten minutes ago?”

Marley turned and headed for the door. “I did. Love isn't all roses and daffodils, you know.”

Finally, all she'd said clicked into place. “I can't expect her to fall into my arms with just compliments and invitations. If I want to win her over, I've got to prove she's the one I want.”

In the doorway, Marley flashed him a wide smile. “And the lightbulb finally goes on.”

“Hang on.” Gil rose. “What if that doesn't work?”

“Then you'll die lonely and bitter.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Come on, there are other fish in the sea and all that jazz.”

Were there? Gil couldn't imagine trying to catch them. All he saw was Sheila.

“Just so we're clear,” Marley added, “I'm all for you finding somebody—besides me, that is—to deal with your temper and drive for perfection. Mom and Dad, however, will most definitely feel different about your choice.”

With a wince, Gil remembered a race last month that his mother had turned up at—along with a young, attractive
friend of the family.
“Yeah? Tell me something I don't know.”

 

A
T
12:05 S
HEILA LOCKED
the diner's front door, then retreated to the back for a glass of whiskey.

Leaning against the counter, she toasted the empty break room. “Drinking alone in the dark. How pathetic can you get?”

Brooding didn't suit her, but she had cause at the moment.

Rue's Give Gil Another Chance campaign had been followed up by visits from Grace, Patsy and Sophia. She was determined to put the man out of her mind, and everywhere she turned, somebody was singing his praises.

She glared at the flowers on the table.

Why didn't they all understand she didn't belong with a man like Gil? Money and social status aside, they'd never fit. He was honorable and generous, and though she was trying to be the same, her past mistakes could never be forgotten. The humiliation of him learning what she'd done was a moment she could never face.

She doubted he'd be so hot to date her if he knew she was an ex-con.

The distinct sound of somebody tapping their keys against the front-door glass echoed through the empty diner. Setting her tumbler down with a sigh, she headed toward the interruption. She hoped Al's car hadn't broken down again. With all the engine specialists in this town, you'd think he could find one that worked.

When she was steps away from the door, she noticed the shadow of the person standing outside. Way too tall for Al.

Gil.

Despite her vow to snap off their relationship, and knowing she was no good for him, her traitorous heart had other ideas. It fluttered like a bird trapped in a cage.

She unlocked the door and extended her arm to invite him inside. “It's pretty late for coffee and pie.”

He handed her a single red rose. “I came for you.”

Her heart stuttered. She was supposed to resist
this?
Why did he have to make things so difficult? “You investing in floral shops now?”

“Since you so clearly love them, I should buy a dozen.”

“Yeah, well, I imagine you could afford to.” Avoiding his gaze, she turned toward the back room. “I was having a whiskey,” she said as she walked away.

Naturally, he followed. “I was going to offer to take you to a new wine bar that just opened up by the highway.”

“Wine is for wimps.”

“You were full of compliments about the wine last night.”

“That was then.”

He faced her, his gaze searching her face and not seeming at all intimidated by the keep-away vibes she was throwing in his direction. “You're in a mood.”

“Yeah. A bad one.” She glanced at him, holding up an empty glass. “Wanna join me?”

“Why not?” Once she'd tossed in ice and poured out a measure of whiskey, he took the glass and toasted her.

“I'm already miserable. How much worse can things get?”

As he sipped, her temper flared. He was gorgeous, popular, successful and rich. “What do you have to be miserable about?”

“You. And if you hold that rose any tighter it's going to snap.”

Deliberately, she set it on the counter with great care. “How could I possibly have the power to make you miserable?”

“I want to be with you, and you're determined to
reject me. That, alone, is enough. But seeing you here, by yourself, exhausted, drinking in the dark as if you just lost your best friend sends the miserable quotient over and above.”

As controlled as he seemed, she recognized that he was in a towering fury. The sparks in his blue eyes could have started an inferno with a single blink.

Given his size, she should have been frightened. She'd seen the violent side of a man before. No matter how far she'd come, those memories lingered. Probably always would.

Yet, she felt no fear of Gil.

Was it the Tae Kwon Do she'd learned? Was she so different from the impressionable girl she used to be? Or could it be the simple fact that the man before her was like no other in her life?

He needed her for reasons she couldn't begin to understand, so she had the power to hurt him.

And the thought of doing so humbled her.

“I'm not who you think I am,” she said, lifting her chin in challenge, knowing she had to warn him.

“And isn't that the problem? I don't know you.” He moved closer, and her breath clogged in her throat. “I want to.”

Continuing to see him without telling him about her past was lying, right? How could she look into that beautiful face and not spill every thought, need and emotion? “You're too old for me,” she said in a rushed, last-ditch excuse.

“You're ten times my age.” He took her glass from her hand, then set it with his on the counter behind her. “Or at least there are times it seems you've lived a hundred years.”

“You really know the way to a girl's heart, Gil Sizemore. No wonder you're forty-one and un married.”

“I can't hang on to the one woman I'm seriously interested in for more than a single night. How would you expect me to get married?”

Sheila squirmed for the first time in years. “It's not you. It's me.”

“Clichés, huh?” Laying a hand on either side of her, he caged her against the counter. “I expected better.”

With the heat pumping off him, met by her own desire, she couldn't seem to remember her own name, much less why she was so determined to resist him. “It's been a long day,” she said weakly.

“How about we make it better?” He dipped his head, brushing his lips across her jaw. “Come with me to Texas.”

In her experience, happiness was flighty and intermittent, so why shouldn't she grab some of it for herself? It certainly wouldn't last, but protecting herself from the power of his smile didn't seem to be an option anymore.

He'd already dragged her under his spell.

“All right.” She laid her head against his chest. “Sure.” She inhaled the exotic scent of his cologne. “Okay.”

“Three yeses, huh?” Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed the top of her head. “I always get much more from you than I expect.”