were too thin and certainly didn’t curve into an inviting smile. Her thick-framed glasses reminded him of a schoolteacher who’d once banished him from class. And he couldn’t remember ever dating a woman who wore her hair in such a no-nonsense bun. Loose and messy, maybe. Sexy. But not pulled back so tight it nearly slanted her eyes.
She took her hand off his shoulder long enough to adjust her glasses. “You’re staring,” she pointed out, meeting his gaze without flinching.
Gunner cocked an eyebrow at her as he considered the defiant glint in those dark eyes, and purposely let his attention move lower. Skinny. Too skinny. And mostly flat. Not a good combination with a plain face and a sharp tongue.
“Do you mind?” she said.
He grinned at the annoyance in her voice. Walt wasn’t playing matchmaker. Anyone could see that an intellectual like April Ashton wasn’t Gunner’s type. And from the stiff way she danced, and the significant distance she insisted on keeping between them, he doubted she had men standing in line.
“This is supposed to be a slow dance,” he murmured when she resisted his attempt to pull her closer.
“I’m aware of that, thank you.”
“So maybe you should relax.” Once again he tried to maneuver her into a more natural embrace, but her eyebrows gathered above her glasses, and her arms stiffened, holding him right where he was.
“I typically don’t dance.”
“That comes as quite a surprise.”
He knew she’d picked up on his sarcasm when she stumbled and barely missed landing on his foot. He thought she might pull away then, but, for some reason, he was glad she didn’t. He wasn’t quite ready to let her go. Maybe her cool indifference was a refreshing change.
Or maybe he simply didn’t want to face the idea of turning his back on the whole Ashton Automotive deal, because then he’d have nothing to do but head home to the opposite coast. These days his penthouse in New York seemed empty and faraway even when he was just down the street. And the parties and people he’d associated with over the past few years appealed to him even less. Ever since his mother had died eighteen months ago, he didn’t want to do anything anymore—not even visit his father, who still lived in upstate New York where Gunner had grown up. Quincy Senior had walked out on Gunner’s mother when Gunner was only two. They’d barely heard from him—until Gunner started seeing some real success with racing. Then Quincy Senior began to show significant interest, and now all he could talk about was when Gunner won Rookie of the Year, the Busch Clash, the Coca Cola 600, his first Winston Cup, his last Winston Cup, his other Winston Cups, or his statistics for any given year.
Glory days. Gunner didn’t like discussing the past with his father or anyone else. Recounting the achievements of his racing career made him feel as though the best part of his life was over. No one wanted to be a has-been at thirty-five.
“Your father mentioned you’re a physicist,” he said, preferring conversation to his thoughts.
“Yes.”
“Which means you spend your days where?”
“Working in a laboratory for Lenox-Moltinger.”
“What kind of company is Lenox-Moltinger?”
She twisted slightly to study the crowd at the edge of the dance floor, and he saw a blush creep up her neck. Following her gaze, he noticed a fiftyish woman smiling into the face of a young man, both of them unnaturally tanned for Christmastime. They were standing by the silver and white tree, holding hands in a way that suggested to Gunner they weren’t mother and son. “Someone you know?” he asked.
April jerked her attention back to him and flushed even more brightly. “Lenox-Moltinger builds computer processors,” she said, reverting to his earlier question. “You see, light travels extremely fast under normal circumstances, Mr. Stevens—”
“Gunner,” he broke in with a smile. He’d heard the respect and pride in Walt’s voice when he’d introduced April and knew it couldn’t hurt to win her over.
“Um…okay. Gunner, then,” she said, obviously flustered and still preoccupied with the couple she was surreptitiously watching. “Anyway, light is a very efficient way to move data.”
“Hence the use of fiber-optic cables.”
“Exactly. But I’m trying to do the opposite. I’m trying to slow the speed of light.”
Her eyes were now fixed on a point past his shoulder. Never had he received less of a woman’s attention. When he glanced back, he saw that it was the same couple who held her interest. “Slow it?” he