To Win Her Heart Page 4
Her dark eyes snapped beneath those thick-framed glasses. “To say nothing of your character.”
“My character is fair game,” he said. “But rest assured that I can definitely count the notches on my bedpost. At least to fifteen hundred or so.”
She looked suitably disgusted.
“Don’t worry,” he said, unable to resist the impulse to keep teasing her. “We’ve got seven full days in paradise. Maybe we’ll add another notch to your bedpost. Good sex is probably nothing like you remember.”
“I’m sure I remember…well, maybe not good sex. I mean, I hope that’s not as good as it gets. But—” she shook her head, obviously flustered “—never mind. You’re taking way too much for granted.”
“Really? No, wait.” He held up a hand to stall her, marveling at how easily she entertained him. And to think he’d almost refused to join her. “Let me guess. You don’t want to sleep with me.”
She looked down her dainty nose at him, just as he’d accused her of doing earlier. “Exactly.”
Sobering, he purposefully dropped his focus to her lips until she began to fidget uncomfortably. Then he grinned. “This is going to be even better than I thought.”
CHAPTER FIVE
APRIL’S HEART POUNDED in her ears for the rest of the ride to the Hacienda Del Mar. What had she done? Here was a man who’d cut his teeth on challenges, and she’d offered him the most irresistible challenge of all. She had to be a complete fool. Except that she really believed she could outwit a person who’d spent twenty years putting himself in mortal danger again and again and again. A man like that couldn’t be too smart. Besides, Gunner Stevens didn’t realize there was a woman out there who might be impervious to his charm.
She was that woman, April told herself—although she could feel her breasts tingling from the way he’d looked at her.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t completely impervious to him, but she did understand her own limitations. A man like Gunner Stevens would never be genuinely interested in a woman like her. He ran with the fast and the loose. A relationship with him would be very much like her first experience with Bill Sossaman. As soon as they went to bed, it would be all over.
The limo turned left into the cobbled driveway of the resort and wove through burnt-orange-, coffee-and bone-colored buildings, all with Mexican tile roofs and neatly tended grounds. The azure water of the ocean sparkled beneath the warm sun as April looked through the open-air reception area, beyond the massive decorative pools and palm trees, toward a white, absolutely pristine beach. Cabo was paradise. But April couldn’t relax. Not as long as Gunner Stevens was sitting so close to her. And not as long as so much depended on this trip.
“Has your mother arrived?” Gunner asked when they’d circled the water fountain and came to a stop at the curb.
“She flew in with me this morning.”
“So your father knows she’s here?”
“Not yet. He sent a driver to pick me up because he was in meetings with management all day. He wanted to come with me to get you, but I convinced him, in deference to our relationship, to let us have some time alone.”
“When will your parents meet?”
“Tonight at dinner.”
“I can hardly wait,” he said sarcastically.
April felt the same way.
The driver opened the door, but Gunner hesitated. “What have you told them about us?”
“I mentioned that you’ve called me occasionally.”
“Wouldn’t your mother know better? Doesn’t she live with you?”
“I said this has been going on at work, where I spend most of my time, anyway.”
“That’s all you told them?”
“That’s all it took to get them excited.”
“Then this will be a piece of cake,” he said, getting out.
April followed him and spotted her father striding through the lobby doors to meet them. Judging by his smile, she was right in what she’d just told Gunner—he still didn’t know that Claire was anywhere in the vicinity.
“Gunner.” Her father shook his hand as eagerly as he had at the Christmas party.
“Good to see you again, Walt,” Gunner replied.
“I feel the same. Especially now that I know you’re seeing my little girl.” Her father grinned proudly at her, and it was all April could do not to immediately confess the truth.
“She’s something else,” Gunner said, and April wondered if she was the only one who could see the laughter in his eyes.
Her father winked at her. “You bet she is. But you’d probably like to shower and change, so I won’t hold you up. I just wanted to welcome you to Cabo and tell you we’ll be having dinner on the beach tonight, at seven.”
“Sounds great.” Gunner turned toward April. She thought he was going to say something polite in parting. Instead, he took her by the shoulders, gave her a devilish grin and swept his mouth lightly across her lips. The scent of his aftershave raced to her head, along with the smell of orange on his breath. His fingers seemed to burn through her T-shirt, sending sensation in the other direction.
“See you at dinner,” he murmured.
April couldn’t answer. She was too busy telling her knees not to buckle.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, when April stood in front of the mirror, a stranger stared back at her. She was wearing huarache sandals with a sarong-style skirt that rested low on her hips and a strappy turquoise T-shirt that revealed her arms, shoulders and a thin slice of midriff.
After Gunner’s kiss, April felt a little too exposed. She certainly didn’t want to do anything to encourage him. But her mother had just bought the entire outfit at the gift shop downstairs and wouldn’t hear of her wearing anything else. Claire was on one of her “don’t let life pass you by” tirades. And, knowing what they were about to face with her father, April didn’t want to upset her mother ahead of time.
“You look gorgeous,” her mother gushed.
April discounted the compliment as coming from someone who was blind to her faults, and examined her arms. “Are you sure that self-tanning stuff you made me try isn’t going to turn my skin orange?”
“I’m sure. The good lotions don’t do that anymore.”
Adjusting her sarong, April considered her reflection once again. “I don’t know, Mom. I can’t wear a bra with this shirt.”
“You’re not big enough to need a bra. But…” Her mother folded her arms and tapped her toe, considering April’s chest. April instantly regretted drawing attention to one of her most private imperfections. But she didn’t need to say or do much to attract Claire’s attention these days. Ever since her mother had learned that Gunner was joining them in Cabo, Claire had gone into emergency makeover mode. “Maybe you should get a boob job when I do,” she said. “Men love big-breasted women, and with your flat stomach and lean hips, some size up top would have a very dramatic effect.”
“No, thanks,” April said, and slid her glasses into place.
“Won’t you wear your contacts? Just for tonight?” her mother asked.
April shook her head. Her glasses went far toward killing the sexy effect of the new clothes, but they were familiar and she needed that reassurance. Especially because she still felt shivery when she remembered her brief encounter with Gunner’s warm mouth. She was beginning to worry about what he might have in store for her later. She doubted he was going to behave.
She started scraping her hair into a bun, but her mother stopped her. “Not tonight,” she said. “We’re in Mexico. Let your hair fall free.”
“Why?”
“Because it looks better that way. Come here.” Claire motioned for April to join her in the bathroom. “I want to style it a bit. You need to make more of what you have. Live a little—it won’t hurt you.”
A few minutes later, April had a bunch of dark curls tumbling down her back. “Are we about finished?” she asked.
Claire tilted her head in an assessing manner. “Are you sure I can’t talk you out of those ugly glasses?”
“Yes.”
“Will you try some eye shadow or lip gloss?”
“No.”
“Then I guess we’re finished.” Her mother twirled around in an orange-and-red, softly flowing sundress she’d accessorized with gold hoop earrings and lots of bangles. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful,” April said, and it was true. Her mother’s tan seemed much more natural in Mexico, where almost everyone else was tanned, too. And the weight she’d lost had taken her from frumpy and lumpy to sleek and sophisticated. “Are you nervous about seeing Dad?”
Her mother paused from fiddling with her hair, which she’d swept up in an elegant dramatic fashion. “Of course not. Why should I be nervous about that?” she asked. Still, April could tell that her mother was self-conscious. Claire cared about Walt. She was hurting over what had happened to their marriage.
April prayed her father still felt something, too.
* * *
GUNNER WAS STANDING near one of the two bars set up on the sand when April came down the temporary pathway from the hotel. He’d been marveling at how quickly hotel employees had managed to transform the beach into an outdoor restaurant, complete with two long buffets, more than thirty linen-covered tables and a mariachi band. He hadn’t expected to see April quite so soon, but he turned when he heard her voice—and caught his breath.
She looked slender and exotic in the flickering lamplight, and was showing far more skin than he’d ever believed she would. Her hips and hair swayed slowly as she walked toward him, and the nervous little glance she shot him made something in his stomach tighten. April was still plain, still wearing those homely glasses. But there was also a sweet innocence about her, a down-to-the-bone honesty and such clear intelligence that Gunner could no longer call her unattractive.
It’s the magic of paradise, he quickly told himself. The waves pounded the beach only twenty feet away. A perfect seventy-degree breeze stirred the palm trees. Shadows darted and moved with the lamps, concealing and distorting.
Marginally reassured, he put down his margarita and strode over to meet her—and couldn’t help bending close to press a quick kiss to the hollow beneath her earlobe. Her skin, soft as a baby’s, smelled of cucumbers and melon.
She stiffened in surprise, but he knew she wouldn’t pull away because her mother was watching.
“You’re gorgeous tonight,” he told her.
“Thank you.” She gave him a meaningful look, one that told him he was overacting, and he hid a smile at the knowledge that he wasn’t acting at all.
“Hello, Claire,” he said. “And Happy New Year.”
“I’m glad you could be here with us,” April’s mother returned. “It’s wonderful to see my daughter so excited about a man.”
April hid a cough.
“I’m looking forward to our time together, too,” he said. In more ways than one. Who would have thought a skinny, sexually repressed intellectual like April would be able to capture his attention when all the fabulously beautiful, and sometimes extremely talented, women he’d been dating over the past few years had left him cold?
“Shall we sit over here?” he asked, leading them to a table on the far right.
April allowed him to take her hand but, at the first opportunity, she leaned into him and whispered, “You don’t have to overdo it.”
He didn’t have a chance to respond because Walt had spotted them and was on his way over. “There you are,” he said jovially. “I’ve already got a table for us. It’s up front.” Then his eyes fell on Claire, whom he’d obviously not recognized until that moment, and he made a choking noise. “What are you doing here?”
April’s thin fingers, still threaded through Gunner’s, tightened in a death grip as a vulnerable expression flashed across Claire’s face. Gunner opened his mouth, feeling he needed to protect them both, but Claire threw back her shoulders and spoke before he could.
“I have every right to be here, Walt.” Her voice was as pleasant as though she’d just addressed a total stranger. Only the tightness of her smile gave away the underlying tension.
Walt harrumphed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his chinos, scowling as if they’d all double-crossed him. But Gunner looked at him expectantly and finally Walt seemed to make a decision. “Oh, all right,” he told her. “You can join us.”
* * *
APRIL COULD FEEL Gunner’s eyes on her all through dinner. She had to hand it to him—he could act. His interest in her almost seemed authentic. Especially when the temperature grew cooler and he removed his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders without asking if she wanted it.
Gunner’s residual body heat, which clung to his coat along with the scent of his cologne, quickly became a distraction, conjuring up visions of his kiss near the limo. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant association. Having a boyfriend—even a pretend one—had excellent benefits, April decided, although Gunner probably wasn’t too comfortable sitting there without his coat.
She looked over at him, wondering if he felt cold. But the other people at their table—Wayne Smith, the District Sales Manager for California, Wayne’s wife, Christie, and Tom Corcoran, Advertising Director for the whole company, as well as her parents—had just begun a conversation about Gunner’s background.
“I’ve never been to upstate New York,” Tom said, “but someone once told me it’s nothing like New York City.”
Gunner waved away the waiter circulating with testers of tequila. “It’s mostly rural. Lots of green rolling hills, dairy farms and small towns.”
“Did you grow up on a dairy farm?” April’s mother asked.
“No. My mother was the lunch lady at school. The job didn’t pay much, but she wanted to be home with me and my older sisters in the afternoons.” He grinned ruefully before taking another bite of his steamed vegetables. “And we weren’t the easiest kids in the world to raise, so that was probably a good decision.”
“What did your father do?” Tom asked.
Gunner took a sip of his margarita. “I’ve heard he was a truck driver, but he’s done a lot of things during his life, so I’m not really sure. My parents separated when I was only two, and my dad didn’t bother coming around much until I hit my teens.”
April watched her mother throw a surreptitious glance at Walt, who was sitting across from her. He happened to meet her eyes, then they both looked hurriedly away. “Do you have contact with him now?” Claire asked Gunner.
Gunner shrugged. “He calls occasionally.”
“Where does he live?” Walt asked.
“He’s still in New York.”
Christie, Wayne’s wife, set her fork down, leaned away from the table and folded her arms. “Is that where your mother is, too?”
Wayne cleared his throat and answered before Gunner could. “Gunner’s mother passed away over a year ago, honey,” he said gently.
“Oh.” She blushed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stevens. I hadn’t heard.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Gunner smiled and Christie relaxed visibly. But April could tell they’d touched upon a difficult subject and that Gunner was only being courteous in appearing to shrug it off.
Walt must have sensed the same tension in Gunner because he seemed eager to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Sounds like you come from pretty humble beginnings.”
Gunner cut off another bite of steak. “We were definitely poor, but my mother was an incredible woman. She made sure she provided everything we needed, even though my father didn’t help out much.”
“Racing takes a lot of money,” Walt said. “Considering your circumstances, how did you get into the sport?”
Too full to eat any more but intrigued by the conversation, April pushed the rice around on her place and listened.
“My grandfather on my mother’s side sponsored me until I had enough wins under my belt to attract corporate support.”
“I’ll bet you could buy yourself half a dozen cars then,” Christie said, obviously trying to make up for her earlier gaffe.
“Not for a while,” Gunner said. “Most of the money I earned went to help with rent and the other household bills.”
April pulled Gunner’s jacket more tightly around her. He’d stated it so matter-of-factly she got the impression he thought nothing of giving his mother his earnings. “That was nice of you,” she said.
“We all contributed what we could,” he replied.
Wayne accepted a refill of his margarita. “You won early on, if I remember correctly. How old were you when you started racing?”
“I raced quarter midgets at nine.”
Tom whistled. “Jeez, that’s young.”
“Not really. A lot of kids start that young.”
“Did you go into racing full-time right out of high school?” Claire asked.
“He first got a Bachelor of Science in Vehicle Structure Engineering from Purdue,” Wayne said, then smiled when everyone looked surprised that he’d know this information. “I’m a big fan.”
“So am I,” her father said. “You had quite a career, Gunner. I was checking your stats on a fan Web site the other day. Said you’ve won over fifty-four million dollars. And your last year was your biggest ever, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
A muscle in Gunner’s cheek twitched and his smile seemed strained—signs that he wasn’t enjoying himself. But April couldn’t imagine why. They weren’t talking about his mother anymore. The conversation had veered toward his impressive racing career.
Wayne and her father asked him several more questions about racing, which he answered as succinctly as possible, and April finally stepped in.
“I think Gunner’s probably tired,” she said. “We should let him finish his dessert so he can head up to bed. He’s been on a plane all day and must be feeling some jet lag.”
Gunner put down his napkin, even though he was only half finished with his flan. “Actually, I was hoping I could talk you into taking a walk with me before I turn in.”