Wedding His Takeover Target (7 page)

What made Gavin Jarrod tick? “Where do you live when you're not here?”

“I divide most of my time between Vegas and Atlanta.”

“Why two such different places?”

“Because Vegas is where my brother's hotel is located and Atlanta is close enough to the Appalachian Mountains for hiking and river rafting and has a major airport hub.”

“You're an outdoorsman?” The breadth of his shoulders implied as much.

“Yes.”

“A hunter?”

“I shoot nature with a camera these days, although I have nothing against putting food on the table through hunting.”

Good answer. She'd have to find something else to dislike about him—other than that he was rich, he'd forced his
company on her and she didn't trust him. As if that weren't enough.

“What makes you think you're qualified to be our handyman? Aren't construction engineers pencil pushers?”

“I'm a hands-on manager. I work with my team, and I worked part-time construction jobs during college.”

He worked construction? That might explain the faded scars on the backs of his hands. So much for proving him unqualified for the job. “Didn't your father pay your bills?”

“He paid tuition, and for that I had to come back and work at The Ridge every summer. But during the academic year I earned my own wages rather than answer to him on how I spent my money.”

So maybe Gavin hadn't lacked responsibilities the way so many of her parents' wealthy students had. “Why engineering?”

“I like figuring out how things work and finding ways around obstacles that others consider impossible. What about you?”

She startled. “What about me?”

“Did you always want to manage the inn?”

She bit her tongue on the automatic no. In high school all she'd cared about was getting as far away from her parents and their stilted, judgmental university community as she could. She'd had no grand goals beyond escaping. Initially, she'd been drawn to Russell because he'd been everything academics were not—big, brawny, into action more than higher learning. He also wanted out of their small college town, and he'd had a plan to achieve his getaway.

She'd fallen head over heels in love with him and ended up pregnant. Her parents' ultimatum—terminate the pregnancy or get out of their house—had left her with no choice. She and Russell had eloped on her eighteenth birthday—just days after her high school graduation. She'd planned to be a
good military wife and raise Russell's babies. But that hadn't happened.

She pressed a hand to the empty ache in her belly, then blinked to chase away the past. “Does it matter? I'm where I'm needed right now, and I'll never let my grandfather down. Nor will I let anyone take advantage of him.”

“What would you do if your grandfather sold the business?”

Alarm raced over her. She'd come to love making a warm, welcoming home away from home for their visitors, the way her grandmother had always done for her. She couldn't imagine doing anything else now, nor did she have the qualifications for anything else. “He wouldn't do that. He knows I love Snowberry Inn.”

Pops knew the inn was her refuge, the one place she'd always felt wanted and loved regardless of her choices. But she'd seen that blasted pamphlet and she had her doubts. However, she wasn't giving Gavin Jarrod that information.

His brown eyes searched her face. “What if you marry someone who lives elsewhere?”

“I won't.”

“You sound certain.”

“I am.” She'd done that before, and during her four-year marriage she hadn't seen Snowberry Inn or her grandparents. Russell had been stationed in North Carolina, too far from Aspen to drive the distance in their old car, and she'd been too proud to tell her grandparents she couldn't afford the airfare for a visit. During that time her grandmother had died, and Sabrina hadn't been able to say good-bye. She'd had to borrow money from Russell's friends to come to the funeral because her own parents wouldn't loan it to her.

Time to change the subject. “Why did you leave Aspen?”

His face hardened. “My father was determined to turn us into clones of himself.”

“And that was a bad thing?”

“Yes. He was excessively controlling. But I escaped. We all did. Until now.” Anger flattened his lips into a thin line.

Demanding parents and a desire to escape were two things they had in common. Her perfectionist parents had never forgiven her for failing to meet their standards. They'd considered her an embarrassment and she hadn't spoken to them in years.

But this wasn't about her. “What about your mother?”

He focused on the mug cradled in his big hands. “She died from cancer when I was four. I barely remember her.”

Her mother may not have been the milk-and-cookies type, but she'd always been there at least physically…until Sabrina had needed her the most. “I'm sorry.”

“It happens. If we finish the repairs on time you'll have a few days to relax before your guests arrive. What will you do with the time?”

Relax? What was that? She'd been so busy doing her job and picking up Pops's slack that she couldn't remember the last day off she'd had. She shrugged. “I don't know. I used to ride horses on the trails, but—”

She bit off the thought. She didn't want to imply the inn wasn't financially secure to a shark like Gavin. Besides, her hobbies were none of his business.

“I didn't see any horses.”

Busted. “Pops sold them after my grandmother died because they were too much work for him to manage alone and they reminded him of her.”

“We have horses at The Ridge.”

They had everything at the resort. “Goody for you.”

“That was an invitation, not a boast. If you want to ride I'll take you.”

Tempting—except for the part about having to endure his company. The man irritated her like a blister forming on her
heel halfway through a long hike. She just knew he wasn't going to get better as time passed. “Thanks, but no.”

She had to get out of there and away from him even if all she did was freeze her fanny off with an hour of window shopping. The waitress provided an opportunity when she strolled by with the coffeepot. Sabrina caught her attention with a wave. “Excuse me, could I get the check, please?”

“Sure.” The woman peeled off the ticket and laid it on the table.

Sabrina reached for the bill, but Gavin moved a split-second faster. Her hand landed on the back of his. The contact uncorked something in the pit of her stomach, releasing a flood of fizzy heat that gushed through her like froth from an ineptly opened bottle of champagne.

She snatched back her hand, severing the connection, but her palm continued tingling, and her body bubbled with excitement she never expected or wanted to experience again. “Hey, I was going to pay that.”

He shook his head. “I'll get the coffee. It's the least I can do considering you're going to be feeding me three meals a day for the next three weeks.”

Horrified, she stared into his dark eyes in dismay. “Says who?”

“Henry. He actually offered me room and board, but I already have a place to stay.”

Thank God for small favors. “I'm sure the food will be more to your liking at Jarrod Ridge.”

“I've been eating gourmet food for months. It's time for a change. I'm looking forward to your good home cooking.”

At that moment she didn't like her grandfather very much. What had he gotten her into?

C
aldwell's old bones had been right, Gavin concluded as a cold gust of wind cut through his turtleneck, chilling the sweat he'd worked up while unloading the building supplies from the truck bed.

He monitored Sabrina's progress as she carefully picked her way down the brick sidewalk through the snow that had begun feathering down five minutes ago. The stubborn woman had insisted on helping him empty the truck despite the worsening weather. And while he admired her grit, as Henry called it, Gavin didn't want her doing any heavy lifting or slipping and cutting herself on the pane of glass she carried toward the porch. If that made him a male chauvinist too bad.

After he stacked the last two gallons of paint inside the storage closet he grabbed his coat from the railing where he'd tossed it then let himself into the warmth of the cozy, good-smelling kitchen. The kitchen at Jarrod Manor had never had this welcoming atmosphere.

The glass pane lay on the table, still in its brown paper wrapper, but there was no sign of Sabrina. He caught the tap of her boots down the hall as he hung his coat on a peg by the back door, shed his gloves and mentally shuffled the chore list. Having weather change a timeline on a job was nothing unusual for him, but usually there were tens of thousands of dollars in penalties at stake. This time the delay was a reward rather than a punishment because it worked in his favor.

Sabrina returned. “Pops is napping.”

Her discarded knit cap had ruffled her curls, giving her a sultry, just-out-of-bed look that contrasted with her reserved expression. She'd shed her outerwear giving him another chance to appreciate her lean curves in a body-skimming sweater, this one a pale blue that accentuated her eyes. Her gaze met his and he experienced a now-familiar punch to the solar plexus.

“Go home, Gavin. We can't work in the snow.”

She wasn't getting rid of him that easily. If the only thing they had going for them was chemistry, then he intended to exploit it shamelessly to get what he wanted. “We can't paint when it's snowing. I'll start with replacing the window.”

Her breath hitched. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she briefly glanced away. “That can wait.”

“It's the quickest job on the list, and with the temperature dropping it makes sense to fix the broken glass rather than lose heat. Show me which room.”

She pinched her bottom lip between her teeth and shifted on her feet. “Pops can do it. Or you can tell me how and I will. It's something I need to know anyway.”

“It's easier to show you. Sabrina, I'm here to work. I can either get on with it, or I can spend the afternoon sitting in the kitchen watching you cook and waiting for the weather to clear enough for me to tackle another job.”

Wide-eyed horror morphed into resignation in her features. “This way.”

He'd never encountered anyone so determined not to like him, and he had to admit the novel experience wasn't an enjoyable one. He picked up the glass, points and glazing compound and shadowed her down the hall instead of upstairs as he'd expected. He took the opportunity to enjoy the angry sway of her hips. She had a nice butt—slender, but with just enough meat on it for a man to grip.

She paused, puffed out a breath and then pushed open a door and motioned him to go ahead. He stepped through the doorway. A subtle, but unmistakably familiar scent filled his nose and stopped him in his tracks. Sabrina's cinnamon, vanilla and flowers scent. This wasn't a guest room.

“This is your room,” he stated.

“Yes.”

His attention shot to the bed—a bed they would share in the near future because, damn it, he would not fail. He couldn't wait to see her hair spread across those pristine white pillows and feel her naked body against his beneath the old-fashioned quilt. He might even shove one of those prissy lace pillows under her shapely behind to improve the angle when he drove into her. The pressure in his groin increased and his pulse pounded in his temple.

He exhaled and examined the rest of the space, searching for clues about his mysterious bride-to-be. The furnishings were traditional and uncluttered, but feminine nonetheless with white painted furniture and a mostly white décor dotted with pastel shades. The only thing that didn't fit the pale color scheme was the U.S. flag in its triangular glass and dark cherry wooden case sitting on a desk in the corner.

He wouldn't have pegged her as the patriotic type.

A picture frame rested on each bedside table. Henry and a woman, presumably Colleen, smiled in the photo Gavin
could see from his position by the door. The angle of the other concealed the subject. Intent on seeing who else Sabrina kept by her bed when she slept, he stepped deeper into the room.

Sabrina moved between him and his goal. “The broken window is in my bathroom. That way.”

Rather than reveal his curiosity, he headed in the direction she indicated. She followed him. Her bathroom seemed to shrink in size with the pair of them in it. They stood within touching distance, and he was tempted to reach out and stroke the smooth, flushed skin of her cheek. But she seemed on edge. There was a time to make a push for the finish line and a time to maintain the current pace. This was the latter.

Rather than moving in for kiss number two prematurely and risking spooking her, he scanned the work space. A white claw-foot tub with brass feet sat in one end of the room. His mind instantly filled with images of Sabrina naked and wet with her damp dark curls streaming over the rounded tub edge as she waited for him there. His heart pumped faster.

Hoping to derail the train of heat steaming south, he averted his gaze to the vanity which, like her bedroom, lacked the clutter of makeup, perfumes, toiletries and junk the women he'd known in the past deemed necessary for life.

She pointed to the window. “I'm not sure what broke the glass. A bird, maybe. I didn't find one outside.”

A diagonal line, patched with wide clear tape, split the pane. But her rushed speech interested him more than the cracked glass. Why was she so uneasy around him if not for the sexual chemistry? She might deny it, but she felt it.

“Should be a simple repair. I'll talk you through it.”

She backed a quick step. “No. Go ahead. I'll leave you to it.”

He caught her hand and she gasped. “I thought you wanted to learn how?”

Her gaze flicked to his, then away. A line formed between
her brows. She tugged at her hand and he let her smooth fingers slide through his. The rose of her cheeks darkened. “I—I need to start lunch.”

“This will only take a few minutes. We can remove the sash and work inside rather than tackle the job from outside. It will take a couple of extra steps, but you can handle them.”

“I'll learn another time, and I'll close the door to keep the cold air from sweeping into more than this room.” She left hurriedly, the door snapping close behind her.

More curious now than ever, Gavin let her go. There was no doubt his touch affected her as strongly as hers did him, but she was resisting. The question was why?

He quickly finished the simple job, then gathered the broken glass and tools and returned to her bedroom, determined to see whose face she looked at when she laid in bed.

The photo frame was gone. Sabrina must have moved it.

What did she have to hide? It was imperative that he uncover her secrets and get on with his plan.

 

Sabrina tried to be as quiet as possible while washing the lunch dishes, but no matter how hard she strained, the men's voices didn't carry clearly enough from the living room for her to make out their words.

Eavesdropping!
How low was she going to have to go to get rid of Gavin Jarrod?

She shouldn't leave Pops alone with him, but until she made sense of her jumbled thoughts, she had no choice, and washing up was her first break away from Gavin's intense scrutiny since he'd returned from fixing her window.

Having him in her bedroom had felt like an invasion—but in an agitating way, not a repulsive one. Her skin had flushed and her pulse and respiratory rates had increased.

Only because you haven't had any man other than Pops in your bedroom since Russell.

Right. She'd been uncomfortable, not anything else. She definitely had not been turned on.

When Gavin's gaze had looked toward the flag, then moved on to Russell's picture, shock quickly followed by panic had seized and chilled her. She used to end each day looking at the flag and remembering her husband had been willing to die for a cause he'd passionately believed in. Every night before she'd closed her eyes she'd told the image of Russell's beloved face good-night.

When had she stopped? She couldn't remember.

Guilt poured over her. Shaken and weak, she'd hidden the photograph because she couldn't bear Gavin asking about Russell. And he would, the nosy bastard. She hated that she'd been so rattled she hadn't even been able to stay and learn basic window repair. How could she take care of the inn if she didn't tough it out?

And then Gavin had watched her throughout lunch with that wolf-like predator's awareness of his. Her nerves had stretched to almost the breaking point as she'd waited for him to voice the questions in his eyes and rip the scabs off barely healed wounds. But he hadn't. Instead he and Pops had discussed the dam Gavin had built in Namibia. If she'd been less tense she would have been fascinated by the stories Gavin told of his adventures. He'd worked in places she'd only dreamed of seeing and done things she couldn't even begin to fathom. It must be amazing to look up at a massive dam or bridge and know you'd had a part in its creation.

Pops shuffled into the kitchen, followed by Gavin. The men headed for the coatrack.

She quickly dried her hands. “Where are you going?”

“Henry wants me to take him to the mine,” Gavin answered.

No.
“But it's snowing.”

“It stopped an hour ago and we checked weather radar. The
next band of snow won't move through for a couple of hours.” Gavin helped Pops with his coat.

She scrambled for excuses. “The ground will be slick.”

“I'll drive him as close to the mine entrance as possible,” Gavin replied in a deep, patient tone that made her want to scream. “With the forecast we have we won't be able to make the trip later in the week.”

If she couldn't make the lug head see reason, she'd work on Pops. She turned to her grandfather. “What about your aches?”

“They've eased a might since my nap. The exercise will do me good. Might even loosen me up.”

She couldn't let them go alone. Gavin had already gotten a promise to sell land and a blank check. No telling what else he would wheedle out of Pops. “I'll go with you.”

“We're taking the pickup,” Gavin warned.

She smothered a grimace. That would put her in the sandwiched-between-two-men position she'd fought so hard to avoid this morning. “Fine.”

Gavin held out her coat, leaving her no choice but to turn her back and let him assist her. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and before she could step away he scooped his hands under her hair to pull it free of her collar. His fingertips grazed her nape. A shiver of awareness trickled down her spine.

Startled, she jumped out of reach. She was not attracted to him. Absolutely not. She wouldn't let herself be. She had too many good reasons to dislike and distrust him.

“Pops, wouldn't you prefer your beaver hat?”

“B'lieve I would.” He shuffled toward his bedroom.

Sabrina waited until he was out of earshot, then scowled at Gavin. “The climb will be too much for him.”

“He can handle it if I take it slow and stop to show him points of interest along the trail.” He kept his voice at the same low volume as hers.

“Gavin—”

“He needs to do this and you need to let him.” His firm I'm-the-boss tone warned her not to argue. But that wasn't going to stop her from trying to protect Pops.

“He doesn't have to do it today. He can wait until it's warmer.”

“Today is the anniversary of the day he and your grandmother carved their initials into the beam. He claims it's the last time they were happy together before her pancreatic cancer was diagnosed. He wanted to go alone, but I insisted on tagging along.”

Sabrina's heart clenched and her anger deflated. Could Gavin be a complete ass if he were this considerate of Pops?

“I didn't know about the anniversary. He's never said anything before. In fact, they never told us about the diagnosis until close to the end. I guess I should thank you for insisting on going.”

He snagged her knit cap from the peg and tugged it over her head. The intimate gesture startled her and made her chest tight, but she couldn't move away since he still gripped her cap.

“Sabrina, I like your grandfather. You have nothing to fear from me as far as he's concerned.”

Gavin looked and sounded sincere—and she wanted to believe him—but there was too much at stake to risk being wrong. “You'd better not be lying.”

“I don't lie.” He slowly trailed his knuckles down her neck and then his palms over her shoulders, her arms. His fingertips raked along the back of hers, making her jump at the jolt.
Static electricity. That's all it is.
He ended the contact seconds before Pops entered the kitchen.

With her pulse banging wildly in her ears, she trailed the men to the truck and reluctantly climbed into the middle of
the bench seat. Gavin slid in beside her. His big body pressed hers from knee to shoulder and not even several layers of clothing could block the heat radiating from him. Her skin tingled. Her heart skipped. Awareness pooled in the pit of her stomach, heavy and hot. She wanted out of this vehicle, and yet she couldn't avoid this excursion and still protect Pop.

Time seemed to crawl as they crossed the valley and ascended the ridge with each bump in the road making her burn from the friction of Gavin's hard male body chafing against hers. Relief surged through her when Gavin finally parked the truck. She jumped out of the cramped cab as soon as Pops was out of her way and took a deep, sobering breath. But a nagging part of her noticed and missed the warmth Gavin had provided.