Kissing Under the Mistletoe (12 page)

“Holly, why don’t you take those in the kitchen and put one on a napkin,” Regan instructed.

Holly flew down the hallway, the box teetering dangerously in her greedy little palms.

“Do you need to go help her?”

“No.” What she needed was for him to leave.

Gabe watched Holly disappear, then took stock of the Dirty Jar. His right eyebrow twitched, and the look he gave her was 100 percent Dirty Jar–worthy.

“Since I ran into you, I’ve practically paid for two years at Stanford for her.” Regan laughed, but quickly realized
that she was the only one laughing. Gabe looked pained and a bit constipated.

“Is she Richar—”

“She’s mine.” Richard may have donated the sperm, but that’s where his influence ended.

“She’s beautiful,” Gabe said. “Like her mom.” A heated gaze swept down her body and made its way back to lock with hers. His assessment wasn’t filled with disgust but an appreciation so primal Regan looked at the floor and toed at the corner of the entry rug.

How was it possible to be turned on by the one person who had caused her so much pain?

“Why are you here?”

“I came to see if you needed help loading up.”

“Of course you did.” Too bad for him she was only moving two miles away. “Well, thanks, but no thanks.”

She went to slam the door—in his face—when he shoved his foot in the doorjamb.

“Wait, that came out wrong. ChiChi mentioned that you got a place over by the school.” So he knew. She frowned, mentally kicking herself for wondering how he felt about it. “I figured I have a truck that would make moving your things easier than trying to fit it all in your car. Plus, an extra set of arms always helps.”

Regan remained silent, her eyes trained on his face, unconvinced. If she looked down at that extra set of arms, she’d give in. Because he had really nice arms. A nice chest too. And his lips—

“Also, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last weekend.”

Regan found herself smiling, pleasantly stunned that the most irritating, high-handed man she knew was actually apologizing. To her.

Still, she wanted him to sweat it out.

“And the other day downtown.” Gabe cleared his throat and ran a hand through his already messy hair. “Actually, I wanted to apologize for just about everything I’ve ever said or done since the moment we met.”

Regan blinked. Twice, actually, and considered what to say.

She had rehearsed this moment a thousand times. Yet standing there, while he sincerely made his apologies, her scathing reply somehow stuck in her throat. Her anger faded and all she could think about was how his heartfelt contrition made her warm in places she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Did ChiChi make you say that?”

“No. I’ve been trying to say it for a couple of days now, but every time I get around you I end up making everything worse.”

She knew exactly how he felt.

“That’s the last of it,” Gabe called out, biting back a disgusted grunt and dropping a box on the carpet next to the patio door.

Patio didn’t even begin to describe the six-foot concrete square that sat behind Regan’s apartment. Rolling his shoulders, he scanned the interior of her new home. This time he did grunt. No matter how she decided to dress it, the four sterile walls, two single-paned windows, and industrial
sludge–colored carpet wouldn’t amount to much more than a crappy apartment. Nowhere near the home that a little girl deserved come Christmas morning. Hell, he didn’t even think there would be room for a tree once they brought Regan’s furniture over.

Gabe made his way to the bedroom and leaned against the door frame, his body suddenly heavy. Holly was curled up in a sleeping bag on the floor. Her eyes fluttered shut and snapped back open, fighting naptime while Regan read from a book with a kitten on the cover.

Closing his eyes, Gabe listened to her hushed voice, which to him sounded sleep-roughened and husky, and it made him want to crawl into bed too. But only if it included Regan, naked and eight uninterrupted, kid-free hours.

She came to the end of the book, leaned over, and pressed a kiss to Holly’s forehead, her jeans riding low and her shirt high as she bent over, exposing a tiny mark on her right hip that Gabe would have never guessed existed. Vixen had a tattoo. A little green bundle of leaves.

The distance made it impossible to determine for sure, but he was pretty confident that under those business suits and polished professionalism, she was sporting a holly leaf tattoo. He wondered what other secrets she had hidden and knew it would take a whole lot more than one night to discover each and every one of them. And he was up for the task.

When she’d answered the door earlier, face flushed from packing, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, elbow deep in lingerie, all he could think about was what kind of panties she was wearing. And if they too had a big bow that he could slowly untie to get to her present. And who, if anyone, currently had their name on that particular box.

She, on the other hand, had looked like she wanted to punch someone. He’d bet good money that that someone was him. He considered puffing out his chest and offering her a free swing or two, on the house, to help her burn off some of that pent-up anger. Then he came up with a bunch of other ways to blow off steam and was about to tell her each and every one in great detail when Holly came bounding down the hall.

At that moment, Gabe realized that the only help he should be offering was to make the Martin ladies’ lives easier, not further complicating it. Which was why when he finished helping unload, Gabe was going to wish them well in their new life, somehow explain to his family that Regan wasn’t a threat, and do his best to stay away.

“Sleep tight, angel,” Regan said.

“But I’m not sleepy,” Holly protested, her lids halfway closed.

“Well, how ’bout I come back and check on you in twenty minutes, and if you’re still awake, then no nap. Deal?”

“Twenty minutes!”

“That’s my final offer.”

Holly’s eyes narrowed and her arms crossed as she considered her mom’s compromise. With a nod she conceded, but her frown said that she was not happy about it.

Holly spotted Gabe in the doorway and her face lit up. “Mr. DeLuca. You gonna be here when I wake up?”

“I should be.” He turned to address Regan, who looked so damn sweet holding her daughter that he forgot what he was going to say. She quirked a brow. He smiled back.

“I was going to call my brother, Marc. See if he’d meet me at the cottage and help me load up the rest of your stuff.
That way Holly can sleep, and you don’t have to worry about the clouds opening up again.”

They had been lucky. That morning there was a lull in the normal December showers in the Valley, making the move much easier than expected so far. By the looks of the dark clouds coming in over the mountains, though, their luck was quickly running out and they were in for a pretty bad downpour.

Regan’s face went red. “There’s nothing else left. We’ve moved it all.”

Gabe looked at the bedroom, which, much like the front room, held only a few boxes and three suitcases. “But the furniture—”

“It came with the cottage. None of it was ours. But we’re looking forward to camping out in our bedroom,” she said with overdone excitement, tickling Holly in the ribs.

“Mommy says we’re gonna camp on the floor, but we can’t have a fire ’cuz it’s against the law and dangerous.” Holly folded her hands under her cheek, snuggling deeper into her pillow.

He looked at Regan. “Are you serious? You can’t live in a sleeping bag.” He regretted his tone the moment little Holly’s face fell. He looked at Regan, expecting her to laugh it off because there was no way that they could live here. Not like this.

Regan didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. Instead her face hardened, and she gave him the same look she’d given him earlier when he’d first met Holly.

“Could you please wait for me in the front room?” Regan said, clearly dismissing him.

He went. But this conversation was not over. Mama bear claws out or not, there was no way those two were going to
sleep here with nothing but a few clothes, a box of books, and a ratty old sleeping bag.

Regan leaned down for one last peanut butter-and-honey-flavored kiss. “Tonight, it’s just you, me, and the great outdoors.”

“Can we make s’mores?”

Regan thought of the microwave, mentally added graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate to her grocery list, and nodded. “And hot dogs?”

Holly nodded excitedly. Closing the blinds, Regan headed for the front room, soft breathing already emanating from the sleeping bag.

Her breathing, however, was coming fast and furious.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Gabe said the second the door slid closed. It was part statement–part question, and completely judgmental. “You can’t let her sleep on the floor.”

Regan marched across the room, glaring the whole way. “Don’t you
ever
tell me how to raise my daughter. Do you think
this
is what I want for her?”

“I’m sorry, but it just can’t be good.” His eyes raked over the dismal apartment. It wasn’t the Ritz, but she and Holly had survived worse. And they would survive this.

“Kids do it all the time at sleepovers. This is no different.”

“Sleepovers don’t smell like...God, what is that?” Gabe sniffed the air. “It’s like wet dog or—”

“I live above a corkery, which aside from the smell—” Regan held her breath. It didn’t smell like wet dog, it smelled worse. “Can be a cool place to live when you’re a kid. But
the minute you start questioning, she’ll go from feeling like this is an adventure to feeling like she should be ashamed of her...of where we live.” She couldn’t stomach using the word
home
to describe their current living condition.

Gabe closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“I know this isn’t ideal, but I am doing the best I can.” Regan leaned against the wall, so tired that it took everything she had not to cry. Or hyperventilate. “Please...don’t ruin this for us.”

Gripping the back of his neck, Gabe stared at the ceiling. “Look, why don’t I load up some of the furniture from the cottage and bring it over.”

Like that was going to happen. Martin women made their own way. “We’ll manage just fine.”

“Let me help you. This is partly my fault.”

“Partly?” Was this guy serious?

“Christ, Regan. I can’t leave you two here in this—”

“Careful,” Regan said, stepping forward again and poking him in the chest. “You’re about to say something about my home. And I know that compared to your Armani McMansion this seems like a pathetic little dump. But it’s my pathetic little dump.”

The past week had drained her, played on every one of her insecurities. And being here with him, like he was today, had thrown her off balance. Gabe DeLuca could be charming, funny, even gentle when he wanted to be, which for her was more dangerous than the asshole she’d come to know and loathe. Problem was, reconciling him with that guy who’d been determined to ruin her life was becoming more and more difficult. And that made her nervous.

When he was going for the jugular, Regan knew how to respond. Because there, at least, she understood the rules. So of course Gabe had to go and say, “You’re right, Regan. And I’m sorry.”

“You’ve started saying that a lot.”

“Only to you,” he whispered, tugging on her ponytail and—oh boy—her stomach did a funny little flip right up into her chest. Not good.

“And I mean it every time. I am so sorry.” He opened his mouth to say more, but instead of speaking he took a step closer.

Regan’s fingers wouldn’t listen to reason. They tangled in his shirt, pulling him even closer. She could feel the strong beat of his heart vibrate under her hand and wondered what it would feel like to fall asleep listening to that.

Gabe’s head tilted to look at her hand, which was now splayed over his chest, and she felt his pulse speed up. His head didn’t move, but his eyes flew to hers. They were the most intense shade of brown and so heavy with want that Regan felt her whole body actually tingle with awareness.