Telling him about the affair would be a great way to drive a wedge between him and Gavin.
She debated the option, but decided she couldn’t handle Pops being as disappointed in her as her parents had been when they’d found out about Russell. Especially since, like that first time with Russell, she’d forgotten to use birth control. Surely she wouldn’t be as unlucky as to have the same consequence. Worry churned in her stomach. She fisted her hands rather than give in to the aching need to cover her belly. And what if she was wrong about Gavin? What if he was being honest and wanted nothing more than the mine? But her doubts niggled.
“I want to go home.”
Without moving, Gavin’s body seemed to coil with tension. “I’ll drive you.”
She suddenly felt uncomfortable and exposed being outside and nak*d, and she wanted to duck back into the water to cover up. Instead, she forced herself to climb from the tub, knowing Gavin had an unobstructed view of her butt—which she’d never been fond of. Dripping, she stood on the wooden deck, hugging herself and getting colder by the second. The snow chilled her feet. Now what? She couldn’t track water all over the floors. The heck with the polished wood. Better a wet floor than hypothermia. “We should have brought out towels.”
“No need.” Gavin climbed from the water, mesmerizing her with his ropy arm muscles, defined chest and wet, long legs. He opened a cabinet built into the wall of the lodge and withdrew a large bath sheet which he unfolded and draped around her shoulders.
She gasped in surprise. “It’s warm.”
“The cabinet is heated.” He gripped the ends of the fabric, trapping her arms by her sides. His attention dropped to her mouth, and before she could move, he dipped his head and kissed her. Her senses overloaded with the cold air, the warmth of the towel and touch of his mouth.
The easy brush of his lips across hers might be considered innocent compared to their earlier, more carnal exchanges, but nonetheless it slammed her with the full force of desire, weakening her knees and making her want him all over again. How did he do that?
She dug up the strength to push away. Grabbing the towel and hugging it close, she put a yard between them.
Your hormones are making up for lost time. It’s nothing special. He’s nothing special.
Gavin extracted a second towel and dried himself as casually as if he were in the privacy of his bathroom instead of outside on his back porch in freezing temperatures. Not that anyone was likely to see them with the way every Jarrod Ridge lodge was secluded, and with the hot tub tucked into a little nook, but still…
She caught herself admiring the ripple and flex of his muscles beneath his taut skin and the tightening of his n**ples due to the cold. The temptation to drag her tongue across the tiny brown bumps drove her to bolt through the French door and race for her clothes.
The sound of the door closing and the quiet, confident pad of footsteps told her Gavin had followed. When she risked peeking at him and noted he’d wound a towel around his h*ps she exhaled in relief. He threw another log on the fire. The pop and hiss drew her like a flame does a moth. But getting closer to the fire meant getting closer to him and standing in the exact spot where he’d pleasured her so many times earlier.
Turning her back to him, she hastily dragged on her bra and shirt, and then reached for her jeans. The denim had dried in front of the fire, and if it was stiff and rough against her skin, then the discomfort was no more than what she deserved.
Consider it penance for using the man to scratch your sexual itch.
She yanked on her socks and boots, then prowled the room rather than watch Gavin dress, but she couldn’t block out the swish of his jeans sliding over his hair-dusted legs, the rrrp of his zipper or the thump of him stomping his feet into his boots. Her brain filled in the gaps with graphic images collected over the past three hours, and her body hummed like a beehive.
She couldn’t recall ever being this aware of anyone before—not even Russell, and she’d thought she’d memorized her husband’s every gesture. Being so attuned to a near-stranger concerned her.
She had to get out of here. Now. She hastily donned her coat, then turned and found Gavin immediately behind her. She staggered back at his close proximity.
“You planning to love me and leave me, snow angel?” he asked with a teasing half smile that didn’t carry to his searching eyes, and it was his eyes she focused on rather than the way his “snow angel” rumbled through her like an avalanche. Why was he so solemn?
“Pops will wonder where I am.”
“He knows you’re with me and that I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“It’s late.” And her will to escape was weakening. “Ready to go?”
Bracing a hand on her waist, he reached past her for his coat, pressing the length of his body against hers. Her hormones clamored to attention despite the workout they’d already been given. She was more physically sated tonight than she’d ever been in her life. How could she still want him? She gulped.
He shrugged on the garment, staying in her personal space as if laying claim to it. “Let’s go.”
Then he moved out of scent range and opened the front door, giving her an opportunity to fill her tight lungs with fresh, cold, sobering air. She stepped outside into a world of white and stopped to admire the scene. Inches of fresh snow blanketed the ground and low shrubs.
She glanced up at him. “The weather forecast wasn’t calling for this much snow, was it?”
“No. And it’s still coming down heavily. It would be safer for you to stay until morning when the roads have been plowed.”
Alarm raced over her. She wasn’t ready to play house or sleep with him all night. He’d already shaken her defenses. “I can’t. I have to make sure Pops takes his medicines.”
“Then I’ll get you home.” Gavin led her to the Jeep he’d driven that first day and helped her into the passenger seat. He took her hand, uncurled her fingers and pressed the keys into her palm. “Start the engine. Warm up the car.”
After closing her door he scraped the windows, then joined her in the cab. The Jeep slipped a bit as he backed out of the parking space, making her pulse skip. Maybe staying would be safer. No. Too big of a risk.
Gavin drove slowly through the resort’s winding roads. The short drive into downtown seemed to take forever. He reached across the seat and briefly covered her cool hands with the heat of his. “I’ll get you there in one piece. Relax. I’ve driven in worse.”
She winced when she realized he’d caught her fisting her fingers so tightly that her nails had dug into her palms. “Sorry. I just haven’t mastered driving on slick roads yet.”
The inn finally came into view. She heaved a sigh of relief. Gavin pulled as close to the back door as he could get and killed the engine.
“Who plows your parking lot?”
“Pops has always done it with the tractor we have in the barn.”
“I’ll come by and do it in the morning.”
“You don’t have to do that, Gavin.”
“The ground’s going to freeze tonight. Henry doesn’t need to risk slipping and breaking a hip.”
When he put it that way, how could she refuse? And yes, his consideration touched her. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem.” He shoved open his door.
She stiffened. “You should get home before the roads worsen.”
“I’m walking you to the door,” he said, his voice firm and insistent.
Determined to keep the good-bye short and sweet, she slid from the cab. Gavin caught up with her, grabbed her arm and offered support as she made her way through the powdery snow. She wanted to cast off his help, but the back door opened before she could. Pops stood in the threshold.
“Should have known my bones weren’t wrong about the storm front.”
“They never are, Pops.” She turned to Gavin, trying to figure out how exactly you said good-night to a lover when you didn’t want anyone to know about the intimacy. “Thanks for the ride, and the sledding and dinner.”
He searched her face. “You’re welcome.”
“Get out of the way, girlie, and let the man inside,” Pops said from behind her. “You’re not sending Gavin back out in this weather. It’s late and we have a houseful of beds. He can stay here and go home in the morning after the roads are plowed.”
No. Panic rose inside her. “But, Pops—”
“B’sides, I’ll need his help cranking the old tractor and putting the plow blade on it in the morning.”
Her stomach plunged to her cold feet and a trapped sensation banded her chest. Spending a night under the same roof as Gavin Jarrod was the last thing she wanted to do.
But the choice had been taken from her.
Nine
She should be exhausted, but instead Sabrina fidgeted in bed, staring gritty-eyed at the ceiling and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. She could still taste Gavin on her lips, smell him on her skin and feel the residue of their coupling between her legs. Maybe a shower would wash away her tension so she could sleep. But no. Since her bathroom backed up to Pops’s, he would hear the water running through the pipes in the walls of the old house.
That left her stuck with traces of Gavin all over her and the same old unanswered question playing over and over in her head. Had she made a mistake in getting involved with Gavin?A noise jerked her from her rumination. Holding her breath, she listened until she heard the click-click again, then bolted upright, climbed from the bed and eased open her door. Was someone in the house? The muffled sounds came from the laundry room just down the hall. No trespasser would break in there and close the door.
Panic subsiding, she exhaled in relief. No doubt Pops was sneaking one of his contraband cigars with the back door open to try and alleviate the odor. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d caught him defying his doctor’s orders in the middle of the night when he thought he wouldn’t get caught. And with the storm still blowing, his aching bones were probably keeping him awake.
Without turning on the lights she shuffled down the hall letting the sliver glowing beneath the door act as her beacon. She sniffed, but she didn’t smell a pungent tobacco aroma. Ready to scold Pops and rehash the old argument again, she shoved open the laundry room door. The sight of Gavin, with his back to her and a pair of her grandfather’s sweatpants riding low on his h*ps sent her staggering backward.
He pivoted, all bare-chested, barefooted and delicious.
A thin line of pale, untanned skin showing just above his waistband drew her eyes. She forced her gaze upward. “What are you doing?”
“Washing my clothes. We worked up a sweat on the slope tonight.”
And again in his lodge. Twice. She pushed the heat-inducing memories aside. “You know how to use the machines?”
He tilted his head and gave her a patient look. “Of course. I know how to wash my own clothes.”
He washed his own clothes, she silently parroted. Somehow that fact made him seem more human and less rich, obnoxious and entitled. And she had to admit, albeit reluctantly, she found his confidence in being able to handle anything that came his way extremely attractive.