Wedding His Takeover Target by Emilie Rose

didn’t want—not while she battled this push-pull thing between them. “But the inn’s chore list—”
    â€œIs 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.
    â€œMucking stalls is too much for him.”
    â€œI had him clean the tack room while I did the heavy work.”
    His consideration surprised her yet again. How could hebe 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?”
    â€œYes.” 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.”
    â€œThen there’s Melissa and…Erica Prentice? But she’s not a Jarrod, right?”
    â€œWe 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?”
    â€œErica’s nice enough.”
    â€œBut?”
    He pitched the brushes into a caddy. “My father had an affair immediately after my mother died.”
    â€œYou think he forgot her, and you’re angry that he moved on.”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œGavin, 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.”
    â€œNot 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 pouringover the mountains and crashing into her