Wedding His Takeover Target (Dynasties: The Jarrods #5)(19)
Author: Emilie Rose

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 br**sts, 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 n**ples 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.”