Wedding His Takeover Target (8 page)

Gavin took a different path than the one he'd hiked with her last time. They hadn't gone a hundred yards before she noticed her grandfather's raspy, rapid breathing. Before she could say anything Gavin stopped. “This is the best view of the valley. If I ever decided to return to Aspen for good, I'd build a house here.”

Pops leaned against a rock. “You could be right. I can see the inn and Colleen's favorite spot by the river.”

The sadness in Pops's voice tugged at Sabrina's heart. She hooked her hands through Pops's elbow, offering support. She ached over losing Russell, but she'd only had him for a fraction of the time her grandparents had been together. How would it feel to lose someone who'd shared almost a lifetime with you? She didn't want to know because she didn't think she could survive it. Would she always ache for Russell the way her grandfather did for her grandmother?

The old anger stirred. She only half-listened as the men made small talk about the city's history as if they'd known each other for years. She'd wanted the rest of her life with Russell and she'd been robbed of it. He'd sacrificed his life
so others could return to their wives. He'd chosen his men over her.

When Pops caught his breath, Gavin continued up the path only to stop again at the first sign of Pops struggling and point out some odd rock formation. She was both impressed and appalled at the smooth way Gavin manipulated her grandfather. This consideration was the last thing she'd expected of him, and if he hadn't warned her what he'd planned she never would have guessed each pause in their trek was deliberate and not incidental. But that he did so without giving a clue to his motive worried her. How else could he fool her—and Pops?

When they finally reached the clearing her grandfather tramped ahead of them toward the mine entrance.

She held back with Gavin. “That wasn't the way you brought me the other day.”

“You could handle a more strenuous ascent.”

The rat bastard. “You had me huffing and puffing and sweating just for fun?”

“The tougher trail is more picturesque, but I doubt Henry could handle it.”

He was right on both counts. Her anger died quickly. She turned to follow her grandfather. Gavin's big hand curled around hers holding her back and making her wish she'd taken time to put on her gloves.

“Give him a few minutes alone.”

He had to stop touching her. Each time he did, something inside her fanned an ember she didn't want rekindled. She tried to pull free, but he held fast and stuffed his hand, along with hers, in his coat pocket. His body emitted heat like a roaring fire. “You left your gloves in the truck. Your hands are cold.”

So she had. “I can get them.”

“No need. We won't be here that long.” His fingers laced through hers, pressing her knuckles against his abdomen and
narrowing her focus to his flesh against hers, his calluses against her palm, his height looming over her. “Who hurt you, Sabrina? Who made you so wary?”

Her breath caught. “No one. No one hurt me. I'm fine.”

“Yes, you are fine, quite beautiful, in fact.” The words should have sounded like a cheesy pick up line, but the sincerity in his eyes held her transfixed. He lifted his free hand and stroked her cheek. Despite the cold, she felt flushed and too hot in her down coat. His proximity messed with her head, making her slightly dizzy. Tension stretched between them.

Back away.

But then his gaze dropped to her mouth and it was as if her feet had grown roots anchoring them in the hard ground. Her stomach fluttered. He bent and she gasped in surprise, then his lips settled over hers with a brush, a nudge, a sip. The heat of his tongue swept her bottom lip and a shower of sparks rained over her. He cradled her head in his palm, holding her captive as he ravaged her mouth with hot, hungry kisses.

She needed to push him away, but he tasted so good, like the mint chocolate chip cookies she'd served for dessert and like…Gavin. She didn't mean to kiss him back. But somehow, her tongue twined with his. Somehow she moved closer until his hard chest supported her. He released the hand he held captive in his pocket to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her even closer.

Excitement coursed through her, making her feel alive and womanly and desirable—a trio she hadn't experienced in far too long. A combination that had brought her nothing but pain. A sobering chill rushed over her.

She jerked free, backing up one step, two. Her heavy breaths fogged the air between them. “I don't want you to do that again.”

“When was your divorce final?”

The question blindsided her. “I'm not divorced.”

His eyes narrowed. He lifted her hand. “But you're not still married. You don't wear a ring.”

She yanked her hand free and debated telling him to mind his own business. But maybe a dose of the truth would scare him away. “My husband was an army medic. A hero who died saving his team in combat.”

Gavin's jaw shifted. “That was his funeral flag on your desk and his picture on the nightstand.”

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

“Three years.”

“And you're not over him.”

“I'll never be over him, Gavin. You never forget a love like that.”

“You can't move forward when you're living in the past, Sabrina.”

“Maybe I don't want to move forward.” Because forgetting the past meant opening her heart to that crushing pain again.

 

He was competing against a damned saint, Gavin realized. No wonder Caldwell had to bribe someone to woo his granddaughter. The old geezer had deliberately set an unattainable goal. Had Henry known all along that Gavin didn't stand a chance of winning?

The hell you don't.

Gavin wanted Sabrina more than ever—not just for the mine or because he liked her protective lioness attitude toward Henry, but because the passion she ignited inside him promised to be stronger than any he'd experienced before. Convincing her to test that passion would be a challenge, but he liked nothing better than tackling obstacles. He'd built his
professional reputation on making a success out of projects others deemed impossible.

Peeling off his gloves, he stomped the light dusting of snow off his boots and knocked on the kitchen door Thursday morning. Caldwell opened the door and glanced past him. “Bringing out the big guns, ain't you?”

“Yessir.”

“C'mon in and pour yourself a cup of coffee. Sabrina will be in momentarily.”

“Thanks, but I have a thermos of coffee in the carriage along with breakfast. I hope you don't mind if I kidnap her for an hour or two.”

Henry raised his mug and smirked. “Good luck with that.”

“You could have warned me about her husband.”

“And have you quit before you started? Now that would spoil the fun, wouldn't it?” The old man's eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Glad I can entertain you.”

Sabrina's soft tread carried down the hall. Gavin saw her before she spotted him. The softness of her face before her expression turned guarded had his heart slamming hard against his rib cage. Sabrina Taylor was definitely worth the battle.

She glanced from him to her grandfather and back, her wariness palpable. “Good morning.”

“Gavin here has a surprise for you.”

“What?” Suspicion laced the word and narrowed her eyes.

“A carriage ride,” Gavin told her.

Her lips parted. Interest flickered across her face before she shut it down. “It's snowing.”

“It's barely coming down. I have blankets, coffee and breakfast waiting in the rig.”

She brushed past him, heading for the window. The gentle bump of their shoulders aroused him like a damned schoolboy getting his first peep at a girl's panties. If he ever—
When
he got her into bed, they were going to generate enough heat to melt the snowcaps surrounding the valley.

She looked over her shoulder at him. Excitement pinked her cheeks and sparkled in her baby blues. “I shouldn't. Pops—”

“Go on, girlie. I'll be fine for a few hours. We both know how much you miss the horses.”

Biting her lip, she hesitated. Outside the horses shifted and the tinkle of sleigh bells carried inside. He could feel her excitement, sense her indecision, and decided to give her a nudge. “If you want to see the sun rise over the mountains we need to leave now.”

“Go, Sabrina, before the road gets slick. He's got wheels on the thing, not runners. Time's a-wastin'.”

Gavin observed her changing expressions, and it was a toss-up whether he'd win or lose this round. He'd never met a woman more difficult to decipher.

She huffed out a breath. “Just a quick ride.”

Victory pumped through his veins. One step closer to his goal.

S
he needed to end this Christmas card moment
now,
Sabrina decided as the carriage turned the corner and the inn came into view. But telling herself to snap out of the romantic fantasy Gavin had created with his horse-drawn tour of the city at sunrise and doing it were two different things. She adored horses and buggy rides—thanks to her grandmother.

Warm and toasty despite the frosty temperatures, she snuggled deeper into the fur blankets. Gavin had plied her with hot coffee, fresh beignets and stories about growing up in Aspen, and sometime during the past hour the steady clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the quiet tinkling of the bells on their harnesses had combined with the light drifting snow and the crisp start of a new day to blur the line between reality and fantasy.

“You have good hands,” she offered grudgingly.

He shot her a look filled with sexual intent and the fire in his dark eyes nearly roasted her.

She gulped. “I meant you're good at this carriage-driving thing. Your grip is steady but firm on the reins. My grandmother always said good hands were the mark of a good horseman.”

“My father made us work a variety of jobs. I drove the carriages when I had the chance.”

“What other jobs did you have?”

“We did whatever needed doing. Dad wanted us to learn the resort business from the bottom up.”

Once again, Gavin blew her preconceptions out of the water. Could he truly be that different from the spoiled men who'd attended the college where her parents taught? “You were good with Pops yesterday. How did you know how to handle the situation? Every time I try to talk to him about Grandma he gets ornery.”

“I've learned from experience with friends and co-workers who've lost loved ones to listen if they want to talk and give them space and privacy to grieve when they need it. Men don't like to share their tears.”

When he said insightful things like that it was difficult to believe he was scheming to steal the inn from Pops. In fact, at the moment she actually liked Gavin. And that wasn't good. Her guard was down, and she needed to keep a clear head around him. Being with him threatened the inner peace she'd fought so hard to find. But as long as they stayed out in the open nothing could happen.

He guided the horses into the inn's driveway and then steered the carriage toward the barn. She straightened, letting the fur blanket slip. “Where are you going?”

“Henry's letting me keep the horses in your barn while I'm working here. This pair is good for riding as well as pulling the carriage. You miss riding. So do I. We'll ride together.”

No. No. No.
“I don't have time to ride.”

“You have to make time for the things that matter. Besides,
Henry likes watching you. He says you and your grandmother rode together.”

Making it a request from Pops made it impossible to refuse. “She's the one who taught me to ride. Her horses were her babies.”

He climbed from the carriage and opened the barn's double doors then returned. The coach rocked as he resettled himself in the seat, his body nudging hers and bumping her heart rate right off the charts, then he clucked to the mares, driving them inside.

The barn smelled different. Instead of dust and disuse, Sabrina smelled fresh hay, shavings and oats. She scanned the stalls as she descended. Two of the four had been prepared. “When did you do this?”

Gavin made closing the heavy sliding doors look easy when she knew it was anything but. She grunted and groaned and had to put her entire body weight into it when she opened them. “Henry and I cleaned up after we returned from the mine.”

She'd wondered where the men had gone. “Usually Pops naps in the afternoon.”

“He naps because he has no sense of purpose. He needs to feel useful,” he said as he began unhitching the harness from the horses.

Without the pale sunlight the shadowy interior created an intimacy she didn't want—not while she battled this push-pull thing between them. “But the inn's chore list—”

“Is beyond his capabilities at the moment. He's not ready to admit it yet.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile that made her stomach flutter.

“Mucking stalls is too much for him.”

“I had him clean the tack room while I did the heavy work.”

His consideration surprised her yet again. How could he
be a swindler? She automatically helped him remove the tack from the horses. Her fingers fumbled with the once familiar task of slipping pliable leather through buckles. Gavin, she noted, did not fumble. After they finished and the gear had been hung on the wall, he handed her a brush. She caught herself watching him, specifically his hands, and unconsciously matching his rhythm as she stroked the bristles over the mare's glossy hide.

Would his hands be as gentle on a woman?

She pushed the disturbing thought aside. Gavin was as good with the horses as he was with her grandfather. But was it an act? A means to an end? Or was he the real deal? Evidence said he was no stranger to hard work, but her years of experience with men of his ilk said otherwise.

She needed to focus on something besides his positive attributes. “So your twin brothers, Blake and Guy, are a year older than you, and Trevor is a year younger?”

“Yes.” He bent over to clean his horse's hooves and her attention zeroed in on his backside. Tight, firm, with enough muscle development to keep it from being flat.

Gavin straightened. She pried her gaze away and kept it focused on the dust motes dancing in the murky light while he tended her horse's hooves. Then he led the bay mare he'd been grooming into the first stall. She led the sorrel into the second and latched the door. The slurp of the horses at the water buckets broke the silence.

Sabrina cleared her throat. “Are you and your brothers close?”

He shrugged. “Close enough.”

“Then there's Melissa and…Erica Prentice? But she's not a Jarrod, right?”

“We share the same father, but he never acknowledged Erica when he was alive.”

The bitterness in his voice caught her attention. “Don't you like her?”

“Erica's nice enough.”

“But?”

He pitched the brushes into a caddy. “My father had an affair immediately after my mother died.”

“You think he forgot her, and you're angry that he moved on.”

“I don't care.”

But he did. It showed in every stiff line of his body as he carried the caddy and blankets to the tack room.

She followed him inside. The smell of Lexol brought back memories of spending hours in here cleaning and oiling saddles and bridles. A small window filled the room with diffused light.

“Gavin, maybe he simply needed someone to prove he hadn't died with her.”

He dropped the blankets on the sofa. “Is that what you need? Someone to prove you didn't die with your husband?”

The unexpected attack and resultant stab of pain made her flinch. “This isn't about me.”

He closed the distance between them in two long strides. His dark gaze burned into hers. “I think it is. It's about you being afraid to let go of the past.”

She shook her head as denial raced through her, quickly chased by a thrill of something exciting and energizing. She tried to squash the latter, but failed. Her heart raced and her palms tingled. “No. You're wrong.”

“Not this time. Come out of hiding, Sabrina.” He cupped her shoulders, and before she could convince her feet to carry her out of trouble's way, he bent and settled his mouth over hers.

His lips were warm, firm, sure.
Persuasive.
A response she couldn't prevent streamed through her like a waterfall pouring
over the mountains and crashing into her stomach, but instead of filling her veins with icy mountain water, a warm thermal spring bubbled in her veins.

Her brain and body worked against each other. One demanded she push him away. The other stubbornly held on tight. If her internal battle wasn't enough, Gavin's passionate embrace evoked so many long-suppressed memories. She'd forgotten the experience of having a man's strong arms hold her tight, forgotten the heat of a muscle-packed body pressed against hers, and she'd forgotten how deliciously feminine the combination made her feel. But mostly she'd forgotten how it felt to crave more.

More deep kisses. More firm, but gentle hands buffing her body. More of this heady, dizzy, free-falling sensation that made her cling even tighter to him for fear of losing her balance.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not with him. Apparently she didn't have to trust the man to desire him. He was attractive and she hadn't had sex in a long time, so her reaction to him was probably just deprived hormones at work. But he and Pops were wrong. She wasn't hiding. She wasn't afraid.

She wanted Gavin Jarrod, she admitted as their tongues dueled. And what was wrong with that? What was wrong with wanting to experience hot, sweaty mind-numbing passion one more time? It didn't have to mean anything. In fact, she wouldn't let it mean anything. She'd already had a man who'd loved as ardently as he'd lived, and like her grandfather, she'd never settle for second-best.

Gavin's hands skimmed her waist, her breasts, and her heart banged wildly. He lowered her coat's zipper tooth by tooth. The rasp shattered the silence of the small room, then welcome cool air soothed her overheated skin. He parted her coat and spanned her rib cage, palms burning hot through her sweater as he stroked his thumbs back and forth beneath
her breasts with breath-stealing effectiveness. The urge to press herself into his palms surged through her. It had been so long she almost didn't recognize the bite of lust gnawing her middle.

And then his hands slipped under the hem of her sweater and his skin found hers. She jumped. The chilly air contrasting with the heat of his touch set her core on fire. Breaking the kiss, she threw her head back and gasped for breath, for sanity, for control. Her head spun. Her knees wobbled. His lips scorched a path from her cheek to her temple then down the side of her neck. Desire thundered over her like a storm coming over the mountains, rumbling with a strength she couldn't remember experiencing before. But she must have. With Russell.

Was she making a mistake? Playing with fire? Taking on more than she could handle?

The heady rush caused by Gavin's warm breath on her skin combined with the slick heat of his tongue teasing the sensitive spot behind her ear and his teeth grazing the cord of her neck provided her answer. She
had
to taste the passion,
had
to sample the need of a hungry man. She'd missed that feeling so much. Too much. She'd allow Gavin into her life long enough to take the edge off. But that was it. Nothing more. No promises. No long-term. Just this. Today.

She shoved Gavin's coat off his shoulders. He whipped hers down her arms. Breathing heavily, he cupped her face, traced her jaw as if he were trying to slow down. Then he pressed his lips together, and with a rueful grimace shook his head and yanked her close.

The impact of his ravenous kiss robbed her breath, her balance, her reason. He kissed her as if he couldn't get enough of her and a similar sensation swelled inside her. She clung to him. The hard length of his erection burned against her hips. Cool air swept her midsection, then he eased his upper torso
away only far enough to whisk her sweater over her head. She had a moment to feel uncomfortable and exposed in her plain white bra before he ripped off his own shirt, and then her doubts vanished and her appreciation focused on him.

His chest was all male—wide shoulders, brawny pectorals, dark swirls of hair, tiny, puckered nipples, and hot, so, so hot to the touch. She dragged her fingertips down his sternum. Satisfaction rose in her when she left a crop of goose bumps in her wake. She pressed her cheek to his chest and inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with his masculine scent, then she licked his golden skin and tasted a slight tang of salt.

His breath hissed and his grip tightened on her waist as she licked across the tiny hard tip. A groan rumbled from his chest. “I like your mouth, your hands on me, Sabrina.”

Hot palms buffed her back, her waist and then he covered her breasts. He captured her gasp with his mouth, swallowed the
Mmm
of pleasure she couldn't contain. She wanted,
needed
skin on skin. Her bra was in the way. She reached for the hooks in the middle of her back, but he beat her to them and dispensed with the garment. He cradled her aching breasts in his palms. His thumbs teased the tips, sending bolts of need straight to her center.
Intense. Too intense.

She eased back to map the supple skin covering the ropy muscles of his shoulders, his thick biceps, his hard pectorals. She flicked her short nails over his beaded flesh then raked downward over his six-pack abs to his waistband.

He shuddered an inhalation, then swept her into his arms and carried her to the sofa where he laid her on top of the fur blankets before following her. His weight pinned her down and being trapped beneath him felt good. So good. She lightly raked his back and then his mouth found her breast. Hot. Wet. Slick. Pleasure bathed her as his tongue laved her, and she moaned. He sucked, nipped, rasped her with his chin stubble, and all she could do was struggle to control her growing
urgency. Her legs shifted restlessly, trying to soothe the knot of nerves between them.

She ached to tear off the remainder of their clothing and fill the emptiness expanding in her belly. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. He worked his way down her midline until he reached the button of her jeans. He released it. The fabric gave way and the zipper parted letting in a kiss of cool air. He skimmed her pants and panties down her legs, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses in the fabric's wake. Then her pants, boots and socks were gone.

She lay naked before him and she should have had second thoughts, but she didn't, not with the way he devoured her with his eyes. She attributed the depth of her hunger to the length of time it had been since she'd allowed herself even a teensy sexual urge. Why else would this feel so right, so necessary? She reached for the fly of his jeans.