Wedding His Takeover Target (14 page)

“I guess you're right. I'll tell Gavin tonight.”

And she prayed he'd be as happy as she was.

 

“Hey.” Blake's shout jerked Gavin back to the present.

“What?” Gavin scanned the area and spotted a backhoe heading toward him. He moved out of the way without a second to spare.

Blake approached. “Didn't you see the tractor coming?”

Gavin shook his head. “My mind was elsewhere.”

“On the Auckland job?”

“No. I—” He cut off the words rather than admit he'd been thinking about Sabrina, how flushed and satisfied she'd looked this morning when he'd climbed from their bed.

Blake grinned. “Thinking about your pretty new wife? Welcome to the club, man. Go home and get you some. I have it covered here.”

“I don't need to leave. I'm fine.”

“Cut yourself some slack. You didn't even take a honeymoon. Spend a little time with your woman.”

Tempted more than he should be, Gavin checked his watch. It was almost quitting time anyway. He'd go because if he stayed his distraction was going to get someone hurt—probably him. Heavy equipment on-site meant everyone's head had to be one hundred percent in the game one hundred percent of the time. Today, his wasn't.

But he wasn't leaving because he needed to see Sabrina.

Who are you kidding?

Disgusted by what he considered a weakness, he waved good-bye to Blake and stomped across the mud and slush-covered ground toward the pickup. What had Sabrina done to him? How had she managed to shatter his concentration when his ability to focus anywhere and under any conditions had previously been one of his best assets?

He shoved the key into the ignition and glanced at the folder labeled
New Zealand
on the passenger seat. Blake had asked about the project. Before meeting Sabrina, Gavin had considered the bridge the most exciting opportunity of his career. But the sad fact was he hadn't been able to work up any enthusiasm for the job since he'd met Sabrina. He carried the file around intending to delve into it, but he'd only opened it a couple of times when Sabrina had been tied up at the inn, and then he'd been listening so intently for her key in the lodge's front door he'd had trouble concentrating on the geology reports.

“It's just the sex,” he muttered under his breath. “Damned good sex.”

Yeah, right,
his conscience jibed.
And that mine is just a hole in the ground.

The dashboard clock read four o'clock. At this time of day Sabrina would still be at the inn. He tromped on the
gas, earning a warning glare from the Jarrod Ridge security man working the gate blocking access to the construction site. Within minutes he reached the inn's lot, pulled in and parked beside two other cars—probably tourists getting a head start on sightseeing before the crowds swept into town next week.

Using his key, he let himself in the back door. The smell of cinnamon hung in the air telling him she'd recently made a batch of her famous oatmeal cookies. “Sabrina?”

“In the office,” she called back.

He made his way down the short hall. She sat behind the old wooden desk with her hair twisted up, baring her neck and that spot near her nape that she liked for him to nibble. Seeing her hit him with a pulse-accelerating punch of desire to the gut. “Where's Henry?”

“Out with the judge.”

“And your guests?”

“Visiting art galleries.”

He pushed the door closed and turned the lock. Her eyes widened. “It's early. Why aren't you at the construction site?”

“Blake has everything under control.” He circled the desk, grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. He studied her from her face to her breasts outlined to mouthwatering perfection by the purple sweater and then down. He liked the surprise. “You're wearing a skirt.”

“I attended Erica's bridal shower today.”

He skimmed a hand over her hip and then beneath the hem and back up her thigh. She wasn't wearing pantyhose. But she was wearing panties. Too bad, but not for long.

She gasped as he tugged the cotton down her thighs. “Gavin, we need to talk.”

Why did women always want to talk when they
communicated so much better on a more basic level? The panties fell to her ankles. “In a minute. First, I need this.”

He hooked a hand around her nape, pulled her forward and kissed her, covering her soft lips, stroking them with his tongue and lapping up her unique flavor. “Mmm. You've been eating chocolate mints again.”

Ever since the night he'd painted her nipples with chocolate she'd had a craving for the things.

“Just one.” Her breath caught when he cupped her breast and found her tight nipple, then a moan slipped free. Her breasts were so sensitive a man couldn't help playing with them. But he wouldn't taste them today—not with the threat of Henry or the guests interrupting him.

He lifted her skirt, finding her curls already wet and her slick little nub swollen and waiting for his attention.

“Gavin, please.” Her breathless voice egged him on.

“I will, baby. I will please you. I know exactly what you like.” He caressed her until she trembled in his arms, then turned her, planting her hands on the desk's surface. He buried his face in her neck and her perfume filled his nose as he opened his mouth over the warm, satiny flesh beneath her ear. She bowed her back, pushing her bottom into his groin. Hunger surged through him, making his erection pulse in her warm crevice.

He quickened his finger, listening to the telltale sign of her panting breaths. When he thought she was close to the edge he ripped open his pants and shoved the fabric out of the way. Then when her muscle tension told him she was on the verge, he rolled on a condom and eased into her, filling her and sending her over the edge.

She felt so damned good. Slick. Hot. Wet. He gritted his teeth to keep from losing control right then as her muscles contracted around him with the rhythm of her orgasm. Once she settled, he stroked her again, this time using his penis as
well as his hand to push her toward the next peak. He teased her as well as himself, alternating fast and slow strokes. Her body drew tight and he backed off once, then repeated the process a second time, making her wait for release. When he couldn't stand the pressure building in his gut any longer he caressed her past the point of no return and quit fighting.

Climax exploded through him in hot brain-numbing bursts leaving his legs weak and shaking in the aftermath. He had to brace his arms on either side of hers to remain upright. His chest burned as he struggled to fill his lungs.

How could it be that good every time? How long would it take before his craving for her waned?

Sabrina squirmed free long before his legs regained stability. She hastily righted her clothing, and ducked to scoop up her panties. “That was—”

“Fantastic.” He dropped the condom in the trash can beneath her desk and refastened his pants.

“I was going to say unexpected.” When she met his gaze again, the pink drained from her cheeks. Worry clouded her eyes. “Gavin, I have something to tell you.”

Her tight tone indicated whatever it was couldn't be good. “Is Henry okay?”

“Yes, he's fine.” She chewed her bottom lip and shifted on her feet. Her fingers tightened and relaxed on the panties in her hand. “I'm pregnant.”

Shock winded him. The blood drained from his head and tension instantly knotted his previously relaxed muscles. “How?”

She searched his face as if trying to gauge his reaction. “I'm guessing I conceived that first time in the tack room. That's the only time we haven't used protection.”

He didn't want to be a father.

He especially didn't want to be an overbearing, fault-finding parent like his had been. Gavin could almost smell the smoke
of his plan for a short marriage going up in flames. He'd expected Sabrina to tire of his long, work-related absences and demand a divorce. And then they'd never see each other again. That blueprint had been part of the Auckland job's appeal. Distance of that magnitude meant fewer visits, less face time.

But now he and Sabrina would be permanently tied by a child. A child he would fail unless he found a better role model than Donald Jarrod.

G
avin's bleak expression dropped a lead weight in Sabrina's stomach, erasing any lingering afterglow.

“Children were never part of the plan.”

She blinked at his bluntness. “We didn't discuss them one way or the other. Are you telling me you don't ever want children? Or you don't want them with me?”

“My job involves too much travel for me to be a good father. I'd be an absentee one at best.”

Her heart sank upon hearing him confirm her fears. “So you are going back on the road when your year in Aspen ends?”

“Yes.”

“What about me? What about us? You know I can't leave Pops, and the inn has been in my family forever. I can't just abandon it or turn it over to strangers to manage.”

“I never intended for you to leave the inn. I'm going back to the lodge.”

“Wait. Don't you want to talk about this?”

“There's nothing to discuss. You're pregnant with my child. I'll make sure you have the assistance you need when I'm away on the job, and I'll provide for the kid.”

Pain pierced her chest. She winced. “So you did marry me to get the deed. Then what? What was your plan after you had what you wanted, Gavin?”

He stared at her through eyes devoid of emotion—eyes that had only moments ago burned with passion. For her. She knew then that Gavin would never care for her the way she did him, and the reason he'd never said he'd loved her wasn't because he didn't know how to verbalize the words, but because he didn't feel them.

Getting buried by an avalanche would have been less painful, less chilling than the realization that sex and land were all that mattered to him. For her the relationship was about so much more than just physical satisfaction.

She wrapped her arms around her middle. “If you married me to get the land then you have it. Mission accomplished. You don't need me anymore. And I don't need you. I'll give you an uncontested divorce if you'll sign over your rights to my child.”

“Our child.”

Numbly, Sabrina shook her head. “I grew up feeling unwanted and in the way and like a burden to my parents. As long as I'm breathing, my child will never experience that. If you don't want him or her, if you don't want
us
in your life, then you and I have nothing more to say. I'll send someone for my things. Now please get out.”

 

Gavin let himself into the Black Spruce Lodge a few minutes before noon. The heavy snow falling had shut down construction. Just as well. With everyone on the site yapping about tomorrow's Thanksgiving plans they weren't getting
much work done anyway, and he'd been eager to escape the chatter for the solitude of his home-away-from-home.

He hadn't told anyone that he and Sabrina had split, but when he showed up at the family dinner without her they'd figure it out.

The silence of the house echoed around him and the sterile smell of hotel disinfectant lingered in the air. In the short time Sabrina had lived here she'd made her mark—particularly in the small kitchen. Each night when he'd come home from the site the delicious scents of the recipes she'd been testing had greeted him at the door, and the refrigerator had been filled with tasty and sometimes decadent morsels for him to munch on.

But not this week. This week the place smelled like sanitizer. His refrigerator was empty and Sabrina's flowery shower gel wasn't on the shelf by the tub. And even though he'd asked the maid not to, she still left chocolates on his pillows—chocolates that reminded him of making love to Sabrina, of painting her nipples and then lick—

He wiped a hand down his face, trying to sever that thought, but it was too late. Heat built like steam in his groin—heat that would have no outlet. He hung up his coat and headed for the minibar and a shot of Dewar's. It burned all the way down his throat.

An odd restlessness rode his back. Why? He was used to hotels. Hell, he spent most of his life in generic, temporary accommodations. Free. Unencumbered. Uncluttered. And he liked it that way. So why did it feel as if something were missing now?

Deciding to forego lunch due to a lack of appetite, he opened his briefcase and extracted the Auckland file. He'd work until he got through the data. He considered lighting a fire, but that too brought back memories of making love to
Sabrina in front of the crackling flames. He'd even given her rug burn on that—

He drowned the thought with another gulp of Scotch and headed upstairs to the loft office—where the fireplace was out of sight. He settled on the leather sofa and tried to focus on the geological reports, but it was slow going. His lids grew heavier with each passing second when normally the technical pre-construction specs fascinated him. He loved the challenge of anticipating problems before they arose. But not today.

What do you expect when you're not sleeping at night?

That was only because he was worried about failing a kid as badly as Donald Jarrod had failed his children. Gavin and each of his siblings had baggage from their father's brand of tough love.

Twenty minutes later—yeah, he was watching the clock—a knock at the door gave him an excuse to abandon his fruitless attempt. He made his way downstairs and opened the front door. A clean-cut twenty-something guy in a suit stood on the stoop. “Gavin Jarrod?”

“Yes.”

“This is for you, sir.” The young man handed over a thick envelope, then turned and departed before Gavin could dig a tip out of his pocket.

Curious, Gavin scanned the return address. An attorney's office. “What in the hell?”

He hadn't spoken to Henry since the separation, but the old man might have followed through with his promise to muck things up with inspectors since Gavin had hurt his granddaughter. The construction crew had barely begun. Plenty of stuff could go sour at this point.

He opened the tri-folded sheets expecting to find some kind of injunction to halt work on the lodge.

Divorce Petition.

The words hit him like a one-ton I beam slamming into his chest. Sabrina had filed for divorce. He flipped through the pages, skimming the legalese, most of it predetermined by their prenup, and then he came upon a second document—a form asking him to relinquish his paternal rights to the child she carried.

Gavin staggered backward until the living room sofa hit the backs of his legs. His knees buckled. He collapsed onto the cushion.

If he signed this then he'd have no reason, no
right
to contact Sabrina ever again or to see their child, and no reason to ever return to Aspen.

Sign it. It's the best thing you can do for both of them. You'll make a lousy husband and a worse father.

He pulled a pen from his pocket. His hand shook, quaking over the page until his eyes blurred. He couldn't do it. He dropped the pen, shot to his feet and walked away from the papers lying on the table.

The idea of going another day—let alone a lifetime—without seeing Sabrina made it hard to breathe. His chest and throat burned as if a hot steel band constricted him. He glanced over his shoulder at the papers on the table. Signing them was the easy way out of all his problems. So why did the idea of walking away from her feel as if he were ripping out a part of himself? He'd never wanted a wife, and he'd sure as hell never wanted children.

Because you've fallen in love with the woman you married under false pretenses.

The realization stunned him. He didn't do love.

Until now.

In their short time together, Sabrina had gotten to him and breached barriers he didn't let people cross. She'd shown him how warm and welcoming a real home should be and reminded him how much he loved Aspen when his father
wasn't acting as a domineering killjoy. She'd taught him that real love meant sometimes putting another's happiness ahead of your own.

For a moment when she'd been telling him about the baby there'd been a glow of hope and excitement in her eyes making them sparkle more than the diamond on her finger. And he'd killed it with his knee-jerk reaction and cruel words.

He wanted to see those emotions light up her face again. He couldn't live a lifetime wondering if she and the child they'd created together were happy and flourishing. And leaving Aspen to avoid her the way he had his father seemed repugnant.

The most important lesson he'd learned from Sabrina was that bad parents didn't necessarily make an emotionally crippled child. Look at her. Despite her parents' lack of interest he'd never met a warmer or more generous woman. She relished making even strangers feel welcome in her home.

And she hadn't let losing her husband or her first baby stop her from trying love again. She believed her late husband was the courageous one, but that man had nothing on Sabrina. Any child would be lucky to have her for a mother. Gavin fisted and released his hands by his side. He wanted a chance to raise that child with her even though he didn't have the skills to handle the job.

Maybe with Sabrina's help he could learn how to be a father.

You could end up failing Sabrina, your child and yourself.

But that was a risk he had to take. If it wasn't too late.

But first he had to talk to his siblings. What he was considering wouldn't affect just him. He had to find a way to prove to Sabrina that she was worth more to him than a hole in the ground.

 

“Kinda overdid the cooking, didn't you?” Pops said.

Sabrina glanced up to see him looking over the top of his glasses at the kitchen work island laden with pies, cakes, cookies and an assortment of other dishes she'd prepared for tomorrow's Thanksgiving meal.

She shrugged and continued kneading the dough for Friday's sourdough coffee cake. “I had a lot of new recipes I wanted to try, plus all of Grandma's favorites.”

“Did cookin' fix what ailed ya?”

Her fingers twitched in the malleable mix. “I'm sorry?”

“Colleen always baked when she was upset. I ate best when she had issues to think through.”

Sabrina ducked her head. Was she so transparent? “I'm fine, Pops.”

He snorted. “You gonna let him get away with it?”

She considered playing dumb and asking “Who?” but Pops wouldn't buy it. He'd been hovering since she'd moved back in, and his worrying about her wasn't good for him. His agitation would only worsen once she told him about the baby. She hadn't found the nerve to do that yet. “Let Gavin get away with what?”

“Running scared.”

“He's not running scared. He married me for the land. He got it. He's history.”

He shook his head. “If he was history you wouldn't have cooked enough to feed a church congregation.”

Embarrassment burned her skin like a heat lamp. “The inn is at full occupancy. I want to have plenty to go around. You know our guests are ravenous when they return from the slopes.”

He
tsked
and shook his head. “Never known you to back down from a challenge, girlie. Always admired your grit. Until now.”

She flinched. “What would you have me do?”

“Nope. I'm not giving you the answer. You have to figure that out for yourself. But I'll tell ya this much. Hiding in the kitchen and baking into the wee hours every morning ain't gonna solve your problems or make you happy.” He shuffled out of the room.

The spacious room suddenly felt crowded and hot. She needed a break. Sabrina quickly washed and dried her hands, then plucked at her cowl-neck sweater. If only she could turn back the clock to October, back to when she'd been normal and numb. No. She smoothed a hand over her tummy. She didn't want to go back. Going back meant undoing the miracle she and Gavin had created and forgetting those wonderful, magical, Christmas-card moments they had shared.

The only thing she'd change if given the chance was to slow everything down. Her relationship with Gavin had been too…everything. Too fast. Too intense. Too perfect. Too good to be true. And now…too painful.

What else could she do? She'd fought for her parents' attention and failed to get it. Then she'd begged Russell to come home and share her grief after she'd miscarried. And even though his superiors would have granted him leave, Russell had chosen to stay with his men and do his job over being with her. She wasn't going to set herself up for another rejection from Gavin.

If you don't have the guts to ask for something, then you don't deserve it.
Sabrina heard her grandmother's voice as clearly as if Colleen Caldwell were standing in the kitchen kneading dough and dispensing advice the way she'd done every summer of Sabrina's life.

But was her grandmother's wisdom right?

Sabrina fussed with the tie strings of her apron. No. She wasn't going to beg for love. She wanted a man who chose to
be with her, one who needed her as much as she did him. If Gavin wasn't that man then she didn't want him.

Yes, you do.

Sad, but true. She still loved him. Gavin had hurt her, but he'd also taught her how to play again, how to feel, and he'd shown her a side of Aspen she'd never experienced before—Aspen through the eyes of a native who truly loved this place, even though he let his father drive him away.

And that was the key, she realized. When you loved something or someone, you couldn't let them push you away. You had to push back and fight for what you wanted.

She couldn't walk away without at least making an attempt to see if what she'd shared with Gavin was more than just an act on his part. His touch, his lovemaking, his smiles had all seemed too genuine to have been nothing more than a pretense to seduce her into marriage.

And didn't her child deserve better than an emotionally and geographically distant father? Yes. And the only way this baby had a chance at having an involved father was if Sabrina found the courage to confront Gavin and demand he be a better parent to their child than his or hers had been to them. If he'd already signed the relinquishment papers her lawyer had sent him then she'd just have to change his mind.