Wedding His Takeover Target (11 page)

With his arms and head resting on the rim of the hot tub and his breathing deep and even, he appeared totally relaxed. Was he asleep? He hadn't moved since he'd dragged her out onto the deck to sink into the steaming water after their impromptu fireside dinner followed by round two of lov—sex. Her body quivered at the memory of his devilishly talented tongue making her climax again and again on the rug by the fire.

She blew out a silent, shaky breath and prayed she wasn't courting disaster. She couldn't afford to care for him. No matter how much fun she'd had with him tonight. Or how good the sex—all three times—had been. He'd done something to her, cast some spell over her to keep her from thinking straight. If she wasn't careful she'd forget this temporary relationship was all about physical fulfillment.

An urgent need to run surged through her. She started to rise. “I have to go.”

Without cracking an eyelid, Gavin snagged her wrist and pulled her back down into the water. It was as if he had some sixth sense or mental GPS or something that told him where she was without looking. “Stay with me tonight.”

Her heart slammed against her chest like a racing horse against the gate, then it pounded like thundering hooves. “I can't. Pops will be waiting for me.”

Without releasing her Gavin turned his head and their gazes met. “Henry will understand.”

She'd be lying to herself if she didn't acknowledge she was tempted. Tempted to give in to the passionate demand in Gavin's dark eyes, tempted to lie in his arms, tempted to hold and be held throughout the dark night. And that was exactly why she had to go. She broke free of his grip, the lubricant of the water enabling her escape, and bolted to her feet.

The biting cold temperature slammed against her hot, wet skin like an iceberg. “There's nothing to understand. We were both answering a biological need and we had sex. That's it.”

He rose and stood beside her, water streaming over his corded muscles, flat belly, groin and thighs. Involuntarily, her eyes tracked the cascade. He caught an escaped curl and tucked it back into the knot she'd made at her nape, then lifted her chin with a knuckle. “It's more than that. You know it. I enjoy your company, Sabrina. I had more fun tonight than I have had in a long time.”

The hint of surprise in his eyes and voice undermined her resistance. Was he as shaken by this sudden attraction as she was? She struggled to rally her defenses because she needed room and privacy to think and reevaluate her plan. “I enjoyed tonight as well, Gavin. But I nee—I want to go home. If you can't take me, then please call me a cab.”

She couldn't—wouldn't—call Pops. She knew he'd come
get her instantly, but even if he didn't have trouble driving after dark, she didn't want him to know about tonight—today—any of it. As much as he'd been nagging about her lack of a social life lately, he was incredibly old-fashioned. He wouldn't approve of an affair with no future.

Telling him about the affair would be a great way to drive a wedge between him and Gavin.

She debated the option, but decided she couldn't handle Pops being as disappointed in her as her parents had been when they'd found out about Russell. Especially since, like that first time with Russell, she'd forgotten to use birth control. Surely she wouldn't be as unlucky as to have the same consequence. Worry churned in her stomach. She fisted her hands rather than give in to the aching need to cover her belly. And what if she was wrong about Gavin? What if he was being honest and wanted nothing more than the mine? But her doubts niggled.

“I want to go home.”

Without moving, Gavin's body seemed to coil with tension. “I'll drive you.”

She suddenly felt uncomfortable and exposed being outside and naked, and she wanted to duck back into the water to cover up. Instead, she forced herself to climb from the tub, knowing Gavin had an unobstructed view of her butt—which she'd never been fond of. Dripping, she stood on the wooden deck, hugging herself and getting colder by the second. The snow chilled her feet. Now what? She couldn't track water all over the floors. The heck with the polished wood. Better a wet floor than hypothermia. “We should have brought out towels.”

“No need.” Gavin climbed from the water, mesmerizing her with his ropy arm muscles, defined chest and wet, long legs. He opened a cabinet built into the wall of the lodge and
withdrew a large bath sheet which he unfolded and draped around her shoulders.

She gasped in surprise. “It's warm.”

“The cabinet is heated.” He gripped the ends of the fabric, trapping her arms by her sides. His attention dropped to her mouth, and before she could move, he dipped his head and kissed her. Her senses overloaded with the cold air, the warmth of the towel and touch of his mouth.

The easy brush of his lips across hers might be considered innocent compared to their earlier, more carnal exchanges, but nonetheless it slammed her with the full force of desire, weakening her knees and making her want him all over again.
How did he do that?

She dug up the strength to push away. Grabbing the towel and hugging it close, she put a yard between them.

Your hormones are making up for lost time. It's nothing special. He's nothing special.

Gavin extracted a second towel and dried himself as casually as if he were in the privacy of his bathroom instead of outside on his back porch in freezing temperatures. Not that anyone was likely to see them with the way every Jarrod Ridge lodge was secluded, and with the hot tub tucked into a little nook, but still…

She caught herself admiring the ripple and flex of his muscles beneath his taut skin and the tightening of his nipples due to the cold. The temptation to drag her tongue across the tiny brown bumps drove her to bolt through the French door and race for her clothes.

The sound of the door closing and the quiet, confident pad of footsteps told her Gavin had followed. When she risked peeking at him and noted he'd wound a towel around his hips she exhaled in relief. He threw another log on the fire. The pop and hiss drew her like a flame does a moth. But getting closer to the fire meant getting closer to him and standing
in the exact spot where he'd pleasured her so many times earlier.

Turning her back to him, she hastily dragged on her bra and shirt, and then reached for her jeans. The denim had dried in front of the fire, and if it was stiff and rough against her skin, then the discomfort was no more than what she deserved.

Consider it penance for using the man to scratch your sexual itch.

She yanked on her socks and boots, then prowled the room rather than watch Gavin dress, but she couldn't block out the
swish
of his jeans sliding over his hair-dusted legs, the
rrrp
of his zipper or the thump of him stomping his feet into his boots. Her brain filled in the gaps with graphic images collected over the past three hours, and her body hummed like a beehive.

She couldn't recall ever being this aware of anyone before—not even Russell, and she'd thought she'd memorized her husband's every gesture. Being so attuned to a near-stranger concerned her.

She had to get out of here.
Now.
She hastily donned her coat, then turned and found Gavin immediately behind her. She staggered back at his close proximity.

“You planning to love me and leave me, snow angel?” he asked with a teasing half smile that didn't carry to his searching eyes, and it was his eyes she focused on rather than the way his “snow angel” rumbled through her like an avalanche. Why was he so solemn?

“Pops will wonder where I am.”

“He knows you're with me and that I won't let anything happen to you.”

“It's late.” And her will to escape was weakening. “Ready to go?”

Bracing a hand on her waist, he reached past her for his coat, pressing the length of his body against hers. Her hormones clamored to attention despite the workout they'd already been
given. She was more physically sated tonight than she'd ever been in her life. How could she still want him? She gulped.

He shrugged on the garment, staying in her personal space as if laying claim to it. “Let's go.”

Then he moved out of scent range and opened the front door, giving her an opportunity to fill her tight lungs with fresh, cold, sobering air. She stepped outside into a world of white and stopped to admire the scene. Inches of fresh snow blanketed the ground and low shrubs.

She glanced up at him. “The weather forecast wasn't calling for this much snow, was it?”

“No. And it's still coming down heavily. It would be safer for you to stay until morning when the roads have been plowed.”

Alarm raced over her. She wasn't ready to play house or sleep with him all night. He'd already shaken her defenses. “I can't. I have to make sure Pops takes his medicines.”

“Then I'll get you home.” Gavin led her to the Jeep he'd driven that first day and helped her into the passenger seat. He took her hand, uncurled her fingers and pressed the keys into her palm. “Start the engine. Warm up the car.”

After closing her door he scraped the windows, then joined her in the cab. The Jeep slipped a bit as he backed out of the parking space, making her pulse skip. Maybe staying would be safer. No. Too big of a risk.

Gavin drove slowly through the resort's winding roads. The short drive into downtown seemed to take forever. He reached across the seat and briefly covered her cool hands with the heat of his. “I'll get you there in one piece. Relax. I've driven in worse.”

She winced when she realized he'd caught her fisting her fingers so tightly that her nails had dug into her palms. “Sorry. I just haven't mastered driving on slick roads yet.”

The inn finally came into view. She heaved a sigh of relief.
Gavin pulled as close to the back door as he could get and killed the engine.

“Who plows your parking lot?”

“Pops has always done it with the tractor we have in the barn.”

“I'll come by and do it in the morning.”

“You don't have to do that, Gavin.”

“The ground's going to freeze tonight. Henry doesn't need to risk slipping and breaking a hip.”

When he put it that way, how could she refuse? And yes, his consideration touched her. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” He shoved open his door.

She stiffened. “You should get home before the roads worsen.”

“I'm walking you to the door,” he said, his voice firm and insistent.

Determined to keep the good-bye short and sweet, she slid from the cab. Gavin caught up with her, grabbed her arm and offered support as she made her way through the powdery snow. She wanted to cast off his help, but the back door opened before she could. Pops stood in the threshold.

“Should have known my bones weren't wrong about the storm front.”

“They never are, Pops.” She turned to Gavin, trying to figure out how exactly you said good-night to a lover when you didn't want anyone to know about the intimacy. “Thanks for the ride, and the sledding and dinner.”

He searched her face. “You're welcome.”

“Get out of the way, girlie, and let the man inside,” Pops said from behind her. “You're not sending Gavin back out in this weather. It's late and we have a houseful of beds. He can stay here and go home in the morning after the roads are plowed.”

No.
Panic rose inside her. “But, Pops—”

“B'sides, I'll need his help cranking the old tractor and putting the plow blade on it in the morning.”

Her stomach plunged to her cold feet and a trapped sensation banded her chest. Spending a night under the same roof as Gavin Jarrod was the last thing she wanted to do.

But the choice had been taken from her.

S
he should be exhausted, but instead Sabrina fidgeted in bed, staring gritty-eyed at the ceiling and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. She could still taste Gavin on her lips, smell him on her skin and feel the residue of their coupling between her legs. Maybe a shower would wash away her tension so she could sleep. But no. Since her bathroom backed up to Pops's, he would hear the water running through the pipes in the walls of the old house.

That left her stuck with traces of Gavin all over her and the same old unanswered question playing over and over in her head. Had she made a mistake in getting involved with Gavin?

A noise jerked her from her rumination. Holding her breath, she listened until she heard the click-click again, then bolted upright, climbed from the bed and eased open her door. Was someone in the house? The muffled sounds came from the
laundry room just down the hall. No trespasser would break in there and close the door.

Panic subsiding, she exhaled in relief. No doubt Pops was sneaking one of his contraband cigars with the back door open to try and alleviate the odor. It wouldn't be the first time she'd caught him defying his doctor's orders in the middle of the night when he thought he wouldn't get caught. And with the storm still blowing, his aching bones were probably keeping him awake.

Without turning on the lights she shuffled down the hall letting the sliver glowing beneath the door act as her beacon. She sniffed, but she didn't smell a pungent tobacco aroma. Ready to scold Pops and rehash the old argument
again,
she shoved open the laundry room door. The sight of Gavin, with his back to her and a pair of her grandfather's sweatpants riding low on his hips sent her staggering backward.

He pivoted, all bare-chested, barefooted and delicious.

A thin line of pale, untanned skin showing just above his waistband drew her eyes. She forced her gaze upward. “What are you doing?”

“Washing my clothes. We worked up a sweat on the slope tonight.”

And again in his lodge. Twice. She pushed the heat-inducing memories aside. “You know how to use the machines?”

He tilted his head and gave her a patient look. “Of course. I know how to wash my own clothes.”

He washed his own clothes, she silently parroted. Somehow that fact made him seem more human and less rich, obnoxious and entitled. And she had to admit, albeit reluctantly, she found his confidence in being able to handle anything that came his way extremely attractive.

Yet another thought to squash.
Focus on the fact that he's invading your turf. Again.
“I usually do our guests' laundry if they ask.”

“Henry gave me free run of the place and told me to make myself at home. Do you have anything you want to throw in here?”

“No.” Rejection sprung automatically to her lips. How could something as commonplace as sharing an appliance's washtub seem so…personal, so intimate? But the idea of their clothing intertwining in the water the way their bodies had earlier made her pulse skip and her skin flush.

And then there was her grandfather's new open-door policy. What was up with that? Normally he wasn't as trusting as he'd been with Gavin. Why the sudden change? What did she not know? There had to be something.

Gavin closed the lid and leaned a hip against the machine as water splashed into the basin. “Did I wake you?”

“No.”

Fighting the temptation to ogle his body, she focused instead on his face, and because of that she didn't miss his gaze roving over her, starting with her hair which was probably a frizzy mess from her tossing and turning, then he studied her face, her chest, her torso and her legs. The return trip dragged on equally as long, stirring up a storm of awareness inside her. For a few precious seconds she regretted wearing her old, boring flannel nightgown.

What do you care about his opinion of your wardrobe?

You don't.

A rueful smile twisted his mouth. “Considering the day we've had, we should both be sleeping soundly tonight. But here we are. Awake well past midnight.”

Because of the orgasms, he meant. She couldn't even remember how many she'd had. Russell had always allowed her one, sometimes two, then he'd gotten down to business. Not that their sex life hadn't been good, but it had never been…stupendous.

Uncomfortable with the traitorous thought, she shifted on
her feet. “If you're tired you can go to bed, and I'll switch your stuff to the dryer when it's done so you'll have clean clothes in the morning.”

“I can handle it. I make a mean hot chocolate. It'll help us unwind.” He leaned forward, snagged her wrist and tugged her toward the kitchen.

She tugged back, but trying to pull free proved useless. His grip remained tight. Hijacked in her own home. How had that happened? “What if I don't want hot chocolate?”

“You will once you taste mine. Like me, it's irresistible.”

His cockiness combined with the playful attitude he'd displayed while sledding tonight startled a laugh from her. The man had an ego the size of the Rocky Mountains. “You think so?”

He stopped abruptly and snatched her forward. Their bodies collided with a soft, heart-skipping thump. “I know so.”

Her breasts, overly sensitive from the attention he'd already showered on them today, nonetheless welcomed the pressure of his chest against them. His lips settled on hers, sipping and sampling softly at first, then with increasing pressure and urgency. Her pulse rate tripled and her body seemed to come alive in his arms, wanting more of the magic she knew he could deliver. Before she could work up a protest or convince her hands to rise and shove him away, he grasped her upper arms and set her back. “Wait and see. Where do you keep your cocoa and spices?”

Dizzy from the abrupt change, she blinked to clear her head, then pointed toward the pantry and sank bonelessly onto the nearest barstool. She wasn't used to letting someone wait on her. And she wasn't sure she liked it. But she'd give it a try. It wasn't as if she'd get used to it and get lazy since the relationship was short-term.

Gavin found a pot, then gathered and combined the ingredients. After he'd stirred the mixture into the milk and
turned on the burner he leaned against the counter watching her with those predator's eyes. Was he trying to read her mind or looking for a vulnerable spot to attack? Her nipples tightened and her breathing quickened. Sexual tension sizzled in the air between them. She didn't know how to handle it.

“Come here, Sabrina.”

Her breath caught at the hungry look in his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you want to.”

She did, and that scared her. For that reason alone she should refuse, but she slid from the barstool and circled the work island on trembling legs because… Well, she didn't know why exactly. She just did.

He cupped her jaw. “I haven't had as much fun as I did today in a long time. We're good together. In bed. And out.”

When he spoke in that low, knee-melting rumble and looked at her as if he wanted to eat her up she had trouble remembering her name, let alone why they were so wrong for each other. “It's just sex.”

He caressed her cheek, and the urge to lean into his palm, into his body, surprised her. “Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

“You don't agree?”

“No. I don't.” He paused and sniffed. “Hold that thought and prepare to be impressed.” He turned back to the stove, stirred the mixture.

Confused by her disappointment, she hugged her arms around her chest. She should go back to her room. If she stayed there was no telling what would happen.

“Do you have marshmallows?” he asked.

She retrieved the bag. He dropped a few of the white puffs into each mug then poured the steaming liquid over them. The scents of chocolate and cinnamon filled the air.

He lifted his cup for a toast. “To us and the good times we have yet to share.”

The statement implied more of a future than they had.

“To good times,” she corrected and clanked her mug against his. She really should hate him. He was encroaching on her territory, possibly threatening the roof over her head and her grandfather's security. But distrusting Gavin grew more difficult by the second. And then she sipped his hot cocoa, and disliking him became easier. First his coffee was better than hers, now this.

“Your cocoa is better than my grandmother's recipe,” she offered grudgingly.

“Told you I'm good.” But his suggestive tone and the hot look in his eyes implied he wasn't talking about the beverage.

Rather than deal with the sexual innuendo that tangled her thoughts and her tummy, she gulped another mouthful, savoring the sweetness of the marshmallows and the richness of the chocolate. “I can't see you slaving over a hot stove perfecting a recipe.”

“You're right. My brother is top chef in the kitchen. But make it campfire rations and I'm king. I made hot cocoa whenever my brothers and I camped out at the mine.”

King. Yes, she'd just bet he liked that. She enjoyed the peeks into his past more than she should since they were completely irrelevant to whether or not he was trying to swindle her grandfather. “I want your recipe.”

“You'll have to earn it.”

“How?”

His lips curved slowly upward, stealing her breath and sending a rush of warmth to her lower regions. “Drink up and I'll show you.”

Every fine hair on her body rose to attention. Gavin Jarrod excelled at whatever game he was playing. He was so far out
of her league, how could she even begin to compete? And if she wasn't careful, she was going to fall under his spell.

Who are you kidding? You already have.

Her heart went splat like a thrown snowball and settled like a cold, heavy blob in her stomach. She was falling for Gavin Jarrod despite her aversion to rich men and emotional involvements, and her fear that he had ulterior motives for befriending Pops.

She'd let him get too close. And she didn't know how to push him away. Or even if she wanted to anymore.

 

A creeping awareness of pins and needles prickling Gavin's left arm woke him slowly. He flexed his fingers, trying to work the circulation back into his limb. That's when he noticed the warm, soft, sweet-smelling weight on his biceps and remembered where he was and why.

Sabrina. He'd slept with her last night. In her bed. Under Henry's roof. Not smart considering the deed had not been signed over. But he was close—damned close—to closing the deal.

He'd intended to sleep alone just to prove a point—the point being that he controlled the hunger he felt for his soon-to-be temporary wife rather than the hunger controlling him. But the marshmallow foam on Sabrina's upper lip had been his downfall. One cocoa-flavored kiss and he'd lost control and his common sense, apparently. Even then, he'd intended to leave after the sex, but when he'd tried, Sabrina had whispered, “Stay,” and he'd caved like a damned fool.

To make matters worse, dawn outlined the curtains, and his clothes were still in the washer. Henry would be expecting him to help with the tractor soon.

Gavin grimaced. He had to get up. But he didn't want to move. The narrow queen bed should have felt cramped since he was used to stretching out in a king. Instead he liked it
because it forced Sabrina to lie against him, his body spooning her warmth, her hair tickling his chin and chest. He felt better rested than he had in months—as if he'd had his first good night's sleep since returning to Aspen.

What in the hell had she done to him?

He had to get out of here before he started believing their relationship could be anything other than temporary. Any marriage to him would be doomed to failure—his past relationships and those of his co-workers had proven that fact repeatedly. He didn't do failure. And he sure as hell didn't want to end up like his father—a cold heartless bastard who had driven his children away and had to die to get them to come home.

He eased out of bed, being careful not to wake Sabrina. She sighed in her sleep and rolled onto her back, one pink-tipped breast peeking above the sheet. Hunger speared him and he nearly reached out to stroke the soft swell. He searched her face from the dark fan of lashes on her cheeks to her red lips, and smooth, flushed skin. Beautiful. The urge to say to hell with Henry and climb back between the sheets hit hard, but he stifled it and reached for the borrowed sweatpants. Business came first, and his family was counting on him.

He made his way to the door and escaped as silently as possible. The smell of strong coffee was his first indication of pending disaster.

He ignored it and made his way down the hall to the laundry room. He opened the washer. Empty. It was still too early for Henry to be up, but he hadn't felt Sabrina leave the bed during the night to switch the clothes to the dryer. He was a light sleeper, but maybe he'd been so drained he'd missed it. Doubtful. He opened the dryer. His clothes were inside and still warm. The warmth was a bad omen.

He had a feeling he'd been busted by Henry. Gavin dressed quickly by the machine, and dreading what lay ahead, made
his way toward the kitchen. Henry sat at the table, cup of coffee in his hand, a newspaper in front of him and a scowl on his face so fierce it would blister paint. Anger shot from his eyes like lasers and stiffened his frail body.

Aw, hell. A sinking feeling entered Gavin's stomach. He squared his shoulders, prepared to fight the battle since he couldn't avoid it.

“You've abused my hospitality and my trust.”

Yep. Busted. “You asked me to romance Sabrina. I'm doing it. My way.”

“You'd better not hurt that girl.”

“I have no intention of hurting Sabrina.”

“If you do, you'll never get what you want out of that land. I'll tie it up in so many legal knots you won't be able to untangle it.”