Kissing Under the Mistletoe (29 page)

“Regan, about this week—”

“It’s okay,” she said brightly. Too brightly. Everything about her seemed amped up and all for his benefit. “Jordan told me. I get it.”

She looked up and everything inside him stilled. There in her big baby blues, hiding under all the professionalism and distance she was creating, was sadness and confusion and shame all wrapped up in one gut-wrenching look.

Panic pushed at his chest. He’d gone out of his way to make sure neither he nor his brothers were ever overheard talking about their plan to find Richard. But Monday he’d been frustrated at how the date ended, pissed that Jordan was all in his business, and might have yelled a few choice words at Marc on the phone in his office.

“Actually, you know what?” Regan’s eyes went from hurt to pissed. “It’s not okay. I get that my life can be a lot to take and that dating someone with a kid has its challenges. And even though it was hard, I never lied to you about where I was at.” She shoved at his chest, her thimble digging into his pec. “But you should have just grown a pair and told me, instead of avoiding me in town and making me feel like you’re ashamed to be seen with me.” Dig. Dig.

Ashamed? Ah, hell, he’d screwed this one royally. “I’m not ashamed of you.” He took her hand in his and set the offending thimble on the table. Small or not, the thing had punch. “And I wasn’t avoiding you.”

She raised a brow.

“Okay, I was avoiding you, but not because I was ashamed.” He slid his arms around her waist and inched her closer. How could anyone ever be ashamed of a woman like Regan?

That he’d made her feel that way tore at him. That she hadn’t discovered his brothers’ plan relieved him. That he knew he’d eventually have to tell her scared the shit out of him.

“I spent the first twenty-four years of my life being responsible for my younger siblings, and the last twelve being everyone’s hero. It’s an honor and something I take seriously, and sometimes it’s suffocating as hell.” He paused, remembering how it felt to wake up with her in his arms, and inched her even closer, until he could see the gray flecks sparkle in her eyes and the pulse thundering in her throat. “The other day with you was incredible and intense and I got spooked. Then I saw Holly at Pricilla’s and she was telling me about her party and I wanted it to be perfect so I started building her a damn throne and—”

Regan pressed three fingers to his mouth. “I don’t need you to be my hero. Holly and I manage just fine.”

“More than fine.” He kissed each one of her fingers, most of them tipped with Band-Aids. “You are an amazing mother who’s managed to raise an amazing daughter all on your own, which is what I figured out sometime between having my ass handed to me by Jordan and seeing you in the freezer section.”

“I don’t need to be rescued, but I do need honesty from the man I’m sleeping with.” She tugged at the hem of his shirt. When she looked back up her expression was one of uncertainty. “I mean, if you’re still...if we’re still...”

“Oh, we’re still.” Not one to miss an opportunity, Gabe covered her mouth with his. Her arms slid around his neck, and she melted into him. The taste of her lips filled his head, and it would have been so easy to set her on the counter or try out a new table, but he remembered Holly, just two rooms over. And even though he had been adamant on the no-juice-before-bedtime rule, he didn’t want to mess this up.

He wanted Regan in his bed. And Regan was a single mom. Which meant that he would have to work on his patience and get used to cold showers. With one last kiss he pulled back.

“Why don’t you clean up and crawl into bed?” He tightened his arms around her. She snuggled deeper. “It’s late and you have work in the morning.”

Her body sagged against his and she shook her head, bumping it against his chin. “About that. I don’t want Holly to wake up with a man in the house or catch us in bed or
another close call like the other night. I think it would be confusing.”

He smiled as she rambled on, and when she finally paused he said, “Agreed.”

“So if this sounds too complicated...” She looked up. “What?”

“I said I agree.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I meant, it’s late, why don’t you take my bed and I’ll crash on the couch?”

“No, I can’t make you sleep on the couch. You’d have a horrible night’s sleep. You could barely get out from under the table. Sleeping on a couch will cripple you for a week at least. I’ll just pack up and head home.”

“I’ll sleep even worse if I’m up all night worrying about you making it home safe. Feeling like crap that you woke Holly up on a school night. And that you have work early in the morning.”

Those full lips of hers quirked and all he could think about was kissing her again. “God, you really do have a hero complex.” Then she took a deep breath, making her chest rise and fall, and a hero complex was the least of his worries.

“I don’t have work tomorrow. I took a Sunday shift so that I could finish those.” She glared at the costumes on the table. “But, you’re right, waking up Holly would make for a miserable morning for all involved. So, if you can point me to the linens, I’ll take the couch.”

“ChiChi would kill me if she knew I let you sleep on the couch.” And the couch would kill her. It was comfortable enough for watching the game and napping on Sundays, but it was hell on the back.

“See.” He dropped on the sofa, stretched his legs out, and then tugged her down with him. Right on his lap. She made a big deal out of bouncing up and down, testing him out like she was Goldilocks until he was as hard as the couch.

“A little lumpy for my taste.”

“Little, my ass,” he grumbled, grabbing
her
ass and flipping her around so she was straddling him and she could feel for herself how wrong she was.

“I thought I was going to bed.” She leaned back, resting her hands behind her on his knees and rolling her hips forward, bringing all their good parts in perfect contact.

“Maybe we should test out the couch for a few minutes first.” His hands settled right below the dimples on her lower back and worked their way up, under her shirt and around the front searching out her other good parts.

“Clothes stay on. Then I go to sleep with Holly and you sleep in your bed. Couch stays empty.”

He dipped down and kissed her stomach. “Afraid you’ll be tempted?”

“I’m just glad you only have one couch.”

“Actually, I have one in my office too.”

Before Gabe even opened his eyes he knew three things: he’d fallen asleep on the couch, Regan was not with him, and someone was staring him down.

That someone was a little taller than a fencepost, stood next to the couch wearing one of his old T-shirts, a mess of brown ringlets, and a scrunched face that said she’d nearly used up all her superkid patience. The curtains were open,
but no light was filtering through, meaning it was either storming again or way too early to be awake.

“What time is it?” Gabe said, his voice struggling to wake up.

Holly plopped on the floor, pulled the too-long tee over her bent knees and picked up his phone. “Five thirty-seven.”

Gabe groaned. “Want me to walk you back to bed?”

Holly shook her head, curls bouncing everywhere.

“Want me to get your mom?”

Again with the hair. Only this time she fidgeted with the hem of her tee.

Something was up. He could sense it in his gut. Could see it in her expression, in the way she was worrying that adorable lower lip just like her mom did.

Adorable or not, it was too freaking early. Because her eyes were also batting and innocent-looking, reminding him of ChiChi when she set her mind to something. Something that was sure to complicate his already complicated life.

He raised his brow in a silent last chance. Holly smiled bigger.

“Suit yourself.” Gabe rolled over, grabbing a pillow and smothering it over his face.

He stayed like that, back to Holly, face wedged between the couch and the pillow, sucking in the leather, waiting to hear the pitter patter of feet back to the guest room. It didn’t happen. She just kept silently willing him awake—he could feel it. He could also feel her little breath on the back of his neck. She was almost as bad as Marc, just cuter.

Which meant she’d wear him down.

Resigned to the few hours of sleep he’d managed to get, Gabe threw back the blanket and sat up. “You want some breakfast?”

“Pancakes with chocolate chips and bananas and a glass of milk?” She blinked. Three times.

He wiped a hand down his face, the stubble scratching his palm. His groggy mind tried to catch up, making a mental rundown of what he had in the kitchen. “No pancake mix. No bananas. But I do have milk and some chocolate chips.” They were left over from one of ChiChi’s failed fruitcake attempts.

Holly took his hand and walked with him to the kitchen, eyes batting the entire way. After starting the coffee—he had a feeling he was going to need it this morning—he plopped her on one of the bar stools at the counter, poured her a glass of milk, and scavenged the pantry for something other than beer, chips, and a half-empty jar of maraschino cherries.

In the eight years he’d owned the house he couldn’t remember anyone ever using the breakfast bar. People usually sat at the table, or more often on the couch.
People
being his siblings, Jordan, Ava, and his grandmother. Gabe didn’t entertain. Didn’t like people in his space. It made him feel like he had to put on the DeLuca hat. He was beginning to hate the DeLuca hat.

He looked at Holly, milkstache above her lip, hem hanging past her ankles, and realized that somewhere along the way he’d lost the façade and, with the Martin women, he was comfortable just being himself. Not a side many people experienced.

He opened the fridge and rummaged through the shelves. “Okay, I’ve got bread, eggs, onion, and cheese. How about an omelet and toast? Scratch that.” He studied the cheese. It was looking a little fuzzy, so he tossed it in the garbage. “Scrambled eggs with onions and toast?”

Holly’s nose scrunched up. Either the kid was going to sneeze or she wasn’t a big onion fan.

“You got any cereal?” she asked, her feet swinging back and forth.

“Yup, cornflakes.”

“With chocolate chips?” Holly asked, her eyes darting back toward where Regan was sleeping.

So, Mom didn’t feed the kid junk. Good to know. “One bowl of
plain
cornflakes coming right up.”

Holly dropped her chin to the counter and blew out air. Smiling, Gabe grabbed two bowls, a couple spoons, and joined her. Holly poured the cereal, and Gabe polished off each bowl with the milk. He even opened a can of pineapple, also ChiChi’s, pleased that he had covered three of the five food groups.

He helped himself to a cup of coffee, patiently waiting for Holly to spill. She was so amped her entire body was humming with the need to talk. So he’d do exactly what he did when Abby or ChiChi had a secret. He’d get busy, because the second he got invested in something the women in his life decided to talk.

Gabe lifted his mug, took a big sniff of hazelnut and caffeine, and could almost taste the first sip. He brought the cup to his mouth—

“Gabe?”

“Uh huh,” he mumbled, watching her over the rim of his cup. When she didn’t continue, he tilted the cup back and the liquid touched his tongue—

“I know it’s not polite to
ask
someone for a present, but...”

The clank of ceramic on granite sounded as he set the mug down and turned his attention fully on Holly. Women
tended to like that. And he could tell by the way she clasped her hands in front of her chin and smiled that, five years old or not, so did Holly.

“But?”

Holly took a big breath and exhaled so slowly Gabe was afraid she was never going to get on with it. Once she opened her mouth, he was suddenly afraid the only way she would stop talking was when she ran out of oxygen.

“Lauren’s got a single mom just like me. Only Ms. Isabel is divorced from all three of Lauren’s daddies, which is kind of neat because she gets to have four kitties of her very own, one at each house, and I don’t even have one kitty of my very own. Well, not yet because we had to move and Ms. Jordan isn’t our landlord anymore and Mr. Chester doesn’t allow any kind of pets, not even goldfish. He says his wife’s allergic and she would smell it all the way to her house and then where would he be?”

She gave a dramatic pause, her hands out to her side in a dramatic question.

Gabe swallowed, hard. So that was what Regan had been talking about the night of the Christmas party when he pretty much fired her and kicked her to the curb. If the kid wanted a cat for her birthday, he would figure out a way. Even if it meant paying Chester an insane pet deposit.

“I can talk to Chester about letting you have a cat.” Hell, if Regan was on board he’d even buy Holly the cat. Let her pick out one of those expensive white ones with the flat face.

“No, then Mrs. Chester would divorce him and he’d come live at the apartment, and then we’d have to move again. And I just got my own bed.”

And his day got shittier and shittier as the story went on. Every Christmas Gabe dressed up like Santa for his little cousins and his employees’ kids. This year he was feeling more like the Grinch.