Wedding His Takeover Target / Inheriting His Secret Christmas Baby. Emilie Rose

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      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?

      Five

      Caldwell’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 СКАЧАТЬ