Kissing Under the Mistletoe

chapter 10





“I told you that you didn’t have to do this,” Regan said from the passenger seat.

“And like I told you, it’s no big deal. I have a truck, a free day, a good set of arms.” She stared stiffly out the window. “Besides, why waste money on a rental when you don’t need to?” he reasoned, feeling pretty stiff himself, but for a whole other reason.

A Storage Wars marathon, a couple of ice-cold beers, and an even colder shower hadn’t helped him one bit. All he had to do was think of Regan in that yellow bra, panting in his ear, and he was as bad as a fifteen-year-old.

He’d called her a couple of times yesterday to confirm what time she wanted him to pick her up. He’d been sent to voice mail. Not that he blamed her. He’d shown up unannounced, crashed her tree-decorating party, and then mauled her in the parking lot. And on her front stoop.

Which was why, when he pulled up right around breakfast time with a box of doughnuts, two peppermint lattes, a packet of invitations courtesy of Pricilla, and the mind frame to wait in the truck until she came out of hiding, he wasn’t shocked to see Regan already loading Holly in her Honda. She said she’d called Stan down at the service station, and he had a trailer he was willing to rent her.

Holly took one look at the doughnuts on his dashboard and said she would rather ride with him. Gabe had smiled. Regan had scowled. And Holly had polished off two doughnuts with pink sprinkles. End result, he currently had one of the sexiest ladies he’d ever met and one of the cutest girls he’d ever seen riding snug in his truck. And he couldn’t be happier.

“Thank you,” Regan said, so quietly he wasn’t sure he heard it correctly. Actually, he was positive that was her thanking him, but he wanted to hear her say it again.

“What?” He made a big ordeal of turning down the stereo. When she didn’t repeat herself, he reached out and touched her thigh, giving it a playful squeeze. “The radio was too loud.”

“You heard me,” she said to the windshield.

“Yeah, I did. I just wanted to make sure you said what I thought I heard. It sounded kind of like a compliment.”

“I said thanks.” It came out just as quiet, but this time her hand covered his. He slid her a sidelong glance, but she remained staring straight ahead.

“I can’t wait to see my new bed. I hope it will be soft and fluffy and purple with kitties on it,” Holly said from the back seat of the king cab.

“Well, I’m not sure about the kitty part. But I’m sure it will be soft and fluffy,” Regan answered.

Holly’s voice dropped in volume, a hint of sadness creeping in. “But I’m gonna miss our camping, Mommy. It was fun, just you and me under the stars.”

Tightening her hand on Gabe’s, Regan twisted in the front seat. “I had fun too. You’re a pretty special kid, you know that?”

Holly shrugged, accepting the praise like a kid who knew she was loved and cherished. Gabe was once again surprised at what a great mom Regan was. Being a single parent was tough enough; he’d seen Jordan struggle daily. And yet here sat this woman, who hadn’t been much more than a kid herself when she’d had Holly, but she’d figured it out. Even alone and struggling, she had managed to make sure that each and every decision made was in the best interest of her daughter, in turn making Holly’s world magical.

“You’re a pretty special mom,” he said in a voice just meant for her, which finally had her looking his way. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She looked flustered and surprised and adorable as hell. And that made what he was doing all the more shitty.

Oh, he wasn’t there to please his brothers and see what he could find out about Richard. He was there because spending time with the two Martin women made him feel alive, as though all of the other bullshit in his life didn’t matter. It also made him an a*shole, because at the end of the day, this would lead nowhere good.

Gabe pulled into the driveway and put the truck in park. Regan was back to staring out the window. Only, instead of the wonder she’d had in her eyes a minute ago, he saw irritation—and a lot of it.

“Lauren!” Holly shrieked at the window, her hands waving excitedly at the blonde-haired girl who stood on the front porch at their final destination. “Lauren, Lauren. It’s me, Holly,” she yelled louder, right in his ear.

“Don’t think she can hear you. Window’s up,” Gabe said, amused. Regan sent him an apologetic look, but he just smiled. Holly was one cute kid.

“Gabe! That’s my friend Lauren!” Holly yanked at her seat belt. “She’s in my class and we played together at recess. She and Chloe and Summer are my BFFs. But next week I’ll be the F and Summer gets to be the B ’cuz we thought we should share. Can we play, Mommy? Can we?”

Regan looked at the impressive house and twisted her hands in her lap. Plastering a smile on her face she said, “Sure, angel. Now that I think about it, I bet it was her grandma that I talked to earlier. You two could play while we load up the truck.”

“Yes!” Kicking open the door, Holly raced up the driveway singing Lauren’s name the entire way. Lauren reciprocated the excitement and before long the two girls disappeared into the house.

“Cursed,” Regan said, shaking her head.

Gabe didn’t even question Regan’s statement because the second Isabel appeared on the porch with a cordial wave, cursed was not the word he was thinking to describe his current situation.

Isabel was dressed in black yoga pants, a barely-there tank, and fake lashes. He watched her eyes widen as recognition bloomed and her wave took on a caffeinated tick as if she’d downed one too many skinny lattes. Her persona went from socialite to seductress.

Isabel’s plans had just shifted, and by the way her walk took on a sexy sway, Gabe was now her target of interest.

Outside of mumbling something Holly would have nailed her for, Regan didn’t move. She actually looked a little pale and completely ticked.

“You okay?”

“What?” She looked down at their intertwined hands and back to him as if remembering he was next to her. He tightened his grip. “Oh, I just expected a little old lady in a muumuu and rollers.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t how I expected our date would start,” Gabe said.





“Date?” Regan looked over at Gabe. His shirt was soft and relaxed and made his shoulders look like ones she could count on. Then he flashed that orgasm-inducing smile, the one which curled up slightly to one side, declaring all of the things he would like to do to her, and the air rushed out of her lungs.

She’d been battling hormone-induced suffocation since he’d stepped out of his truck earlier that morning in a pair of worn jeans that highlighted his butt perfectly, breakfast in hand and ball cap pulled low on his head. He looked like your basic super-stud mover to the rescue.

Then Holly had asked him to put her hair in a rubber band. Which he did. And it ended up more of a porcupine than a pony. But Regan noticed that where she saw a supersexy guy, Holly might begin to imagine a superspecial daddy.

Even if Regan were ready to risk a broken heart to give love a try again, she couldn’t do that to Holly. Because ultimately Gabe would get bored, move on to the next woman, and that would crush her daughter.

“This isn’t a date. We aren’t dating.”

He quirked a brow. “Then why am I here?”

“A good set of arms, remember?”

“Fair enough.” Did he just flex? “But if this isn’t a date, then why are you holding my hand?”

Regan jerked her hand back and crossed her arms over her chest. Partly to look tough but mostly to keep from touching him again. “You held my hand first.”

“And you held back.”

“This is not a date,” she felt compelled to state again.

“If you say so, Vixen.” Gabe crossed that good set of arms over his equally good set of pecs, and she had to squish her brows together to keep from looking down at his guns. She had never really been into arms before, but there was something about his that made her want to wrap them around her and beg him to never let go.

“You want to keep staring at my arms all day? Or are we going to go get you some furniture? Honestly, I’m up for either”—he smiled—“because even though floor sex or wall sex is hot, afterward a guy needs a place to lay and cuddle with his date.”

“You are not staying the night. We are not having sex. And this is not a date!” Regan hopped out of the truck and slammed the door before he could scream, “Liar, liar.” She also tied her sweatshirt around her waist just in case her pants were smoking.

Before she could shake off the post-Gabe-encounter buzz, which she told herself was caused from irritation, she was confronted with the second most annoying resident in St. Helena. However, said resident seemed to have eyes only for Mr. DeLuca.

“Morning, Gabe,” Isabel cooed, beckoning him onto the porch so she wouldn’t have to step out into the light drizzle. Her hair looked smooth and coiffed while Regan’s was frizzing by the sprinkle.

Isabel slid her hands around Gabe’s neck in greeting, plastering her silicone to his chest. Gabe mumbled a “Nice to see you,” and with a brief pat on her back, stepped away. Fast. So fast Isabel was still doing the air-kisses.

Then she glared at Regan through a pair of Gucci glasses, as if Regan had intruded on their moment; as if it wasn’t raining; as if Gabe had come here to see her.

“Regan, I didn’t expect to see you today,” Isabel said, her welcome as plastic as her family’s corks. “What a small world. Oh, wait, is this about the Costume Committee?”

Isabel knew exactly what she was doing there. Knew exactly who was buying her mom’s hand-me-downs, and the way she kept her face pleasantly devoid of any real emotion told Regan that she’d not only come on purpose to witness the groveling, but now she wanted Regan to voice it. In front of Gabe.

There was a whole other conversation that Regan imagined she and Isabel were going to have someday soon, but for today Holly needed a bed, so Regan sucked up the ego and played nice. Which meant she would not bring up the secret town council meeting planned for tomorrow, and she would most definitely not poke Isabel in the eye.

She reached in her purse and pulled out a red glittery envelope. “Actually, Holly’s birthday party is coming up and we wanted to drop off the invite.”

Isabel blinked down at the invitation in Regan’s hand but made no move to accept the offering. Then she looked up, a smile firmly in place, but her eyes turned mean. “Actually, I don’t think Lauren can come.”

Regan’s confidence faltered a little. Women like Isabel always made her feel insignificant, but she would be damned if Isabel overlooked Holly as easily. So she practically shoved the card into Isabel’s hand. “You haven’t even seen what day it is.”

Isabel took the card and flipped it open. “Ah, yes. Next weekend Lauren is at her dad’s. His family is in town doing the whole Christmas festivities.” She shoved it back at Regan. “Maybe next year.”

She shouldn’t be upset that they weren’t coming. Spending the whole afternoon with Isabel watching and judging would have been exhausting. But Holly really wanted her best friend there and, in spite of her mother, Lauren was a sweet kid, one who had gone out of her way to make Holly feel welcome at her new school.

Regan stuffed the invitation, and her bad attitude, back in her purse. It didn’t matter if Isabel and Regan didn’t mesh—for the kids they should at least try. If Holly and Lauren continued playing together at school, Regan was going to be seeing a lot of Isabel, which meant that someone had to make the effort. She just hated that the someone had to be her.

“Maybe we could get the girls together sometime after school or over the break,” she offered, thinking of how that would lessen the blow of Lauren not being there Saturday. “I could do a little mock party, just the two of them. Make cupcakes or something.”

“That sounds great. I’ll have to check the calendar. We’re pretty busy this season.” Dismissing Regan, Isabel turned to Gabe, all smiles. “Speaking of calendars, I must have used up one of my Christmas miracles.”

“How’s that?” Gabe asked, his eyes darting between the two women, trying to figure out how he’d just gotten pulled into the middle. But Regan noticed, giddily, that he slid closer, almost offering her his alliance if she needed it. She didn’t, but the thought was sweet.

“I was just talking to Daddy about you. He’s having a small soirée tonight and wanted me to bring you along.” Isabel looked at Regan. “Please don’t think I’m being rude, but it’s an industry-people-only kind of event. Wine industry. I imagine you’d get bored anyway.”

And that was when those rage issues Gabe was always warning Regan about kicked in. Being dismissed was one thing. Being treated like she was stupid was another.

She’d dealt with girls like Isabel her whole life. She knew how to turn the other cheek, how to smile while ducking when they were going for the jugular. When she was younger she’d had to suck it up because her mom cleaned houses for most of their families. But she wasn’t that girl anymore.

“That’s okay, I’m really not all that into plastic corks. Plus, we already have dinner plans tonight.” She slid her arms through Gabe’s. “Right, Gabe?”

Gabe smiled big and long, and Regan knew she’d just played into his hands. “Regan’s right. Tonight she promised to feed me since we’ll spend most of the night testing out that new couch of hers.” She felt him flex and swallowed. “You know, to see where it fits best.”

Isabel’s hurt eyes flew from Gabe’s to Regan’s and narrowed into two scorned slits. Regan instantly regretted using him to get to Isabel. Sure, Lauren’s mom could be nasty and rude, but that didn’t mean Regan had to be nasty back. Isabel was still Lauren’s mom and Regan was better than that.

Regan dropped Gabe’s arm and took a step closer to Isabel. “Look, I think somehow we got off to an...awkward start. We have two wonderful daughters who obviously love spending time together. Why don’t we start over?” She stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Regan, Holly’s mom.”

Isabel stared at her hand, then at the powerful DeLuca at her side, and Regan could almost hear her weighing all the possible outcomes. Taking on a single mom who worked at the local hotel would be fun for her. Taking on a DeLuca could be devastating to her family. That Regan knew firsthand, and the way Isabel’s features softened, she did too.

But before anyone had a chance to speak further, Holly came running out of the house with Lauren right behind her, phone in hand.

“Mommy!” Holly screamed. “Lauren’s coming to my party. She’s the first one to RSVP.” Holly pronounced the acronym as a single word, going heavy on the S and the P.

Regan looked at Isabel, silently begging her, from one mother to another, not to break her daughter’s heart. But Isabel only smiled, walked over to stand behind Lauren, and rested her hands on her shoulder. The effect was creepy. It was almost as though Lauren was the puppet and Isabel was the ventriloquist.

“I’m sorry, Holly. But Lauren is at her dad’s this weekend and we have to talk to him first—”

“I already did,” Lauren said, stepping away and breaking the connection. She waved the phone wildly. “And he said that I could go cuz we don’t have anything to do this weekend and Holly’s my best friend.”

With every word, Isabel’s smile got brighter and brighter until Regan was convinced her forehead was going to break.

“Plus, it’s an official Pricilla tea party.” Holly bounced on the tips of her toes.

“Just like the one you wanted to throw me when I turn six,” Lauren declared, clapping in unison with Holly’s bouncing.

It may not have been Isabel’s forehead that broke, but something inside the woman shattered, and all of the jagged edges were now aimed at Regan. “Pricilla’s is booked years in advance. I know. I have been on the wait list since Lauren was born.”

She paused, her focus flickering between Regan and Gabe. “You must have pulled some pretty large strings to get that party for this weekend.”

Her eyes went wide and took on a sinister spark that hollowed Regan’s stomach.





“It’s just dinner,” Regan repeated, standing in the dark and resting her cheek against a bag of frozen corn. No matter how many times she said it, it didn’t stop her heart from hoping that it might turn into more. Which was silly because she’d only asked Gabe to dinner to stick it to Isabel. She’d tried to rescind the invitation, but Holly had reissued it. And then charged her a quarter for being rude.

Rude didn’t even begin to describe what Isabel had been. And there weren’t enough quarters in the world for Regan to get over the way she’d implied that A) Regan was the kind of woman who would use sex to get her daughter a freaking party at a teahouse, and B) sex was the only way a woman like Regan could catch a guy like Gabe’s interest. Not that having sex with Gabe was totally out of the question, but they had more between them than just sheer chemistry.

Right?

Lightning crackled though the night sky, illuminating the kitchen a second before thunder shook the apartment. After another few seconds she shut the freezer door and went to the oven. Thank God for gas. She was not going to let Isabel ruin her night.

She opened the door, inhaled the smell of chilies and melting cheese and, flashlight in hand, checked on dinner. Her mom’s enchiladas bubbled, a perfectly golden top layer forming.

The thunderstorm had blown in and subsequently blown a transformer on the far side of town, leaving most of St. Helena with no power. Gabe and Holly had gone to the store and bought a warehouse supply of candles and a few dozen flashlights.

Gabe had thankfully put together Holly’s new bed before the power went out. Now he was moving it from wall to wall until Holly decided where she wanted it.

Not that Regan was any better. She’d moved the couch four times in their peanut-sized apartment, only to put it under the window—the place where Gabe had originally suggested, although, he’d said, they’d have to move it around some more later, just to be sure. That was when Regan took it upon herself to hide in the kitchen and scour her new table and chairs until they gleamed.

She had a house full of furniture, a happy daughter with a bed, and a sexy man staying for dinner. She was going for perfection tonight.

Holly scrambled across the linoleum, sliding to a stop next to the sink, a little breathless and a whole lot excited. She was practically vibrating. “Scissors and tape?”

“Tape’s in the junk drawer. I’ll get the scissors.”

Holly jerked open the top drawer and yanked out tape, a pile of construction paper, the bottle of fast-drying, superstrength glue that was guaranteed to stick any two surfaces together, even if it were a child’s hand to a head of hair, and looked up. “I’ve got adult supervision this time. And I like my bangs.”

“You had adult supervision last time.” Regan rolled up on her toes, stretching to reach the craft basket on the top of the fridge. No such luck. “What are you guys doing in there? It’s pitch black.”

“Gabe and me tied a bunch of flashlights together and then he hung them from the lamp. Upside down.”

Regan placed one palm on the puckered finish of the freezer door and contorted her body to gain an extra half inch of reach, her fingertips barely brushing the woven basket. She tried again, this time managing to knock it back another inch.

“Damn it.”

“That’ll cost you a quarter,” Gabe said, his voice a sexy rasp in her ear.

One strong hand slid around her waist, splaying across her midriff and creating all kinds of electricity. His calloused fingers pressed her back, until the curve of her bottom fit snug against his groin, and she had to brace herself against the freezer door since her body had turned to Jell-O.

The other hand trailed up her arm, over her elbow, her wrist, between her fingers, before palming the basket handle.

“It’s a surprise.” Gabe’s lips grazed her lobe. Setting the basket on the counter, his thumb teased the skin that peeked out between the top of her jeans and the hem of her shirt.

Gabe excelled in multitasking. In fact, he was a multitasker extraordinaire. He explored every inch of her stomach while digging out the scissors and a ball of twine, reminding her that she was a woman. A woman who had wants and needs that went beyond what her double-A boyfriend could provide.

Gabe made her feel sexy and smart and wanted. And silly or not, she hadn’t felt wanted in a really long time. Not in the way that Gabe was making clear, as he pressed his erection against her back. Plus her battery-operated boyfriend didn’t like to cuddle.

Regan wanted someone to share her life with. Not the hard times—she was more than capable of handling whatever came at her on her own. But times like this, with Holly busting at the seams with laughter, a warm meal in the oven, and the table set for three. Someone to share her wonderful daughter with, and after she went to bed, someone to snuggle up close to.

Her head fell back, resting on the center of his chest, and she looked up into his eyes and felt her panties go wet. Even through the candlelight she could see exactly what he was thinking, and it involved the table, her naked, and maybe a tub of Rocky Road. Or maybe that was her thinking.

“Perfect,” he breathed, setting a black Sharpie on the counter. Whether he was talking about how well they fit, or the Rocky Road sexcapade, or that he’d found the tools he needed, she didn’t know.

A lazy smile crossed his lips and his finger, not so lazy, dipped slightly below her waistband, running along the edge of her panties. A quick tease, gone as fast as it came. But effective as hell.

“Just give us ten minutes.”

Gabe’s words hummed through her.

Ten minutes? That wouldn’t even give the ice cream time to soften. He had her so wound, ten hours wouldn’t even do it.

As if reading her mind, he chuckled. “I meant that Holly and I need a few more minutes and then we’ll be done.”

“Oh. Right. Ten minutes.” She stepped away and, hoping that the dim candlelight hid her blaring red cheeks, busied herself with stirring the rice on the stovetop that didn’t need stirring.

She could feel Gabe watching her, waiting for her to look up. When she did she forgot to breathe, because his gaze slid from her eyes to her lips, slowly over her breasts and hips, stopping when they got to her bare feet.

She felt her body heat and all she could think was, Don’t look at the table. Don’t look at the table. So, of course, she was so busy telling herself not to look at the table that she looked at the table. And Gabe saw. And understood. And slid her a smile so hot she still felt its burn even after he and Holly had left the kitchen. Even after she told herself that she was not going to have sex with Gabe—kitchen table or elsewhere.

Ten minutes later, she walked into the bedroom to gather the troops for dinner. Two feet from the threshold, she ducked into the shadows and watched from the doorway, careful not to intrude. Gabe and Holly had so much glitter on them they looked like a couple of Christmas ornaments.

Blinking though the limited light, and a little moisture if Regan were being honest, she watched as Gabe helped Holly sprinkle glitter on a piece of paper then carefully stick it to the wall.

“One, two, three,” they said in unison, Holly holding up a little finger for each count. When finished, Gabe slowly peeled back the paper, and any hope that Regan would be able to walk away from today with her heart fully intact fell to the carpet with the construction paper.

She swallowed, so touched by the drawing on the wall that she didn’t even question where all the extra glitter had come from, or how she’d ever manage to get it out of the carpet, let alone all of Holly’s ringlets. Because the far wall, which earlier that evening had been white and bleak, now had the most beautiful display Regan had ever seen.

Brown construction paper hung in a grid, forming a mock window frame. Each of the four panes hosted part of a Sharpie sketch that, when viewed together, appeared to be a giant kitten peering in the window with a full moon in the background, all accented with glitter.

“Gabe and me made it,” Holly said. Then she held up her hands, which were covered in glitter and fast-acting glue. “And he supervised. Did you know he’s an artist?”

“No,” Regan said, still staring at the detail he’d put into making a dismal room into a special place for Holly. She rested a soft hand on Holly’s head. “Go wash up, dinner’s ready.”

“But it’s dark.” Holly looked down the small hallway, her eyes huge. Besides the candlelit kitchen and the makeshift flashlight lamp in the bedroom, the rest of the apartment was pitch black.

“Here.” Gabe walked over and handed her a flashlight. “And make it speedy. I have to wash up too.” He held up his sparkly hands. When Holly disappeared he turned to Regan. “Since we couldn’t find kitty sheets, we figured a kitty wall was just as good. When you move out I can paint over the glitter and Sharpie. I also told Holly that next weekend I could come over and with more time—”

“It’s perfect,” Regan said, and she meant it.





Gabe stood at the counter, scrubbing the last of the dinner dishes, when he heard bare feet slapping the linoleum. Soap to his elbows, he turned with just enough time to brace himself and catch a freshly pink and mostly naked Holly as she launched herself into his arms. Wearing nothing but Hello Kitty underwear and bath water, she soaked through his shirt and crawled inside his heart in under three seconds flat.

“How was bath time, kiddo?” he asked.

“Shhhh,” she sprayed. “I’m hiding from Mommy.”

“Then we need to find a better hiding spot.”

He looked around, knowing he didn’t have a chance of fitting in Regan’s pantry by himself, let alone with a squirming partner in crime. Then he spotted the table. Shifting Holly to his other hip, he crouched down and slid both of them underneath, careful to be quiet when scooting the chairs back in.

“Hey, Gabe, have you seen Holly?” Regan called out from the other room, her voice high and animated.

Holly smothered a giggle. Gabe put a finger to his lips and Holly went serious, into hide mode, giving him a firm nod.

All day long he’d struggled to keep himself in check. Sleeping with a woman was one thing, but getting involved with her kid was something he wasn’t ready for. Especially when that kid looked up at him with hero worship in her pretty little eyes. Yet there he was, hiding under the damn table, soaked from neck to thigh, wondering if he could be her champion. But if there was anything that the past six years had taught him, it was that being one person’s champion meant breaking someone else’s heart.

“Holly?” The hall closet opened and clicked shut. Then Regan’s legs came into view, the same legs that Gabe had touched under the table all throughout dinner. Her knees, upper thigh, he’d covered every inch. Even clad in denim they drove him crazy. Not as crazy as her cute bare feet, which were small and feminine and tipped in red polish with little white snowmen on each big toe—and standing right in front of him, a bath towel dangling at their side.

Dramatically, Regan tapped her foot, giving the pretense of being stumped. Suddenly, she dropped to a squat and, eyes full of mischief, cried, “Gotcha!”

Holly squealed and tried to scramble out from under the table. Regan caught her and wrapped her in the towel, poking and tickling her sides, making the squeals erupt into fits of giggles.

It took Gabe a lot more than just scrambling to wedge his massive frame out from under the table. And the wet jeans plastered to his thighs weren’t helping any. Neither was Regan laughing at him. Or the fact that he wasn’t the only one who’d been drenched by the dripping nudist. Regan’s tank was translucent, her bra was green, and Gabe was suddenly hard.

“Need any help?” Regan asked when he knocked his head against the table’s corner.

“Nope, I got it.”

“You sure? Wouldn’t want you to break a hip.”

“I’m sure.” But it still took him another few seconds to navigate the chair.

“It’s okay to ask for help if you need it, Gabe. ChiChi sometimes needs help getting up our steps,” Holly offered.

He knew those steps, had walked them several times that day, each time with some piece of furniture strapped to his back. So Holly’s attempt to make him feel better, although sweet in nature, only reminded him of every one of his thirty-five years.

“I’m big,” he grumbled. “Not old.”

But by the time he got out, Holly was dried and her nightgown was on. Both ladies stood with wide eyes, trying not to laugh at him. The image of them standing there, secret smiles on their faces, made his chest tighten and go a little panicky. Because they’d just had a moment, a family moment, and he was somehow a part of that.

“All right, Christmas angel. Lights-out time.”

“Can Gabe put me to bed?”

Holly looked nervous, like he was going to say no and ruin her world. Regan looked terrified, like he was going to say no and ruin Holly’s world. All Gabe wanted to do was burn rubber out the door, afraid that if he put Holly to bed he would someday ruin everything.

Any man would be lucky to be a part of their family. Just not him. He already had a family and they drove him batshit crazy. But how could a guy say no to those big blue eyes?

“If it’s all right with your mom.”

By the time he read Kitty Goes to Washington the third time by flashlight, Holly was passed out, Gabe’s hands were sweating, a twitch had moved to encompass his left eye, and he was pretty sure he’d developed a severe allergic reaction to kitty talk. He’d also developed a serious weakness for the little girl sawing logs next to him. Pulling up her new purple sheets, he tucked her in tight and exhaled.

He didn’t have to be her hero. Hell, he didn’t even have to be responsible for her. He could just be her friend. A friend who spent time with her mom.

A friend who spent time with her mom and was totally full of shit.

Figuring his best bet would be to call it a night so he could think this through, he closed the door and made his way to the kitchen. Standing at the threshold, he quietly took in the view. And what a freaking incredible view it was.

Sponge in hand, Regan leaned over to wipe down the table, her jeans pulling tight while exposing her lower back. It was just about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

Gabe slowly walked up behind her and, spanning her waist, slid his fingers back until he could press his thumbs into the small of her back. Slowly he ran them up her spine, pushing up her shirt as he went.

“Feel good?”

Her only response was to let out a low, throaty moan. So, like any normal guy, his new goal was to get her to moan, over and over. When his thumbs worked circles at the knots in her lower back she dropped her head forward, giving him complete access.

He had just reached the sweet zone and was fiddling with the catch of her bra, Christmas green with little red dots today, when she straightened and turned around. He didn’t back up, which left her wedged between the table and his body, and him with his palms just an inch shy of those breasts.

“About today,” she said, her voice raspy. “I’m sorry for using you to get back at Isabel.”

“You mean when you had your hands all over me?”

“They weren’t all over you,” she sighed. “I’m trying to say that I am sorry for using you.”

“I like your hands all over me.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear, making sure to graze the rim with his lips. “And you can use me all you want.”

Regan rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was also feeling the heat because the second his thumbs moved up her rib cage, shaping the underside of her breasts, her nipples budded under the wet cotton of her T-shirt. He never made the conscious decision to slide his fingers over the bra to palm her breasts, it just happened. She inched forward, into him, and he stopped thinking about all of the reasons why this was a bad idea and focused on the only two that mattered.

She wanted him.

He wanted her.

Wrong or not, neither could deny that there was something between them. It was that same undeniable connection that he’d felt the first time he’d met her. Even though he’d been pissed and angry and knew he should hate her, all he could think about was how much he wanted her. Only that time, he’d had the good sense to walk away.

He was drawn to the only woman in the world he couldn’t have, and yet as he watched her eyes darken and her pulse beat against her neck, he couldn’t seem to find enough energy to care. Being with Regan, like this, felt right.

Deciding to deal with the fallout tomorrow, he pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, running his tongue over her pulse. Slowly he worked his way down to the curve of her breast, tugging at the V of her top to pull it lower.

“Wait. Holly,” Regan said, her body too alert and her voice too clear for his taste.

Without stopping, Gabe made his way to her ear and whispered, “Passed out. Door is shut. We’ll be quiet. I promise,” and then bit down gently.

“She once slept through a Seahawks game. She never wakes up,” she replied huskily, her hands back on him. This time she trailed her fingers down to his wrists and pulled them securely around her, locking them at her lower back.

So Vixen liked to be held tight, fine by him. Hauling her up against him, he took her mouth in a kiss that left them both panting.

Then her phone rang and she pulled it out of her back pocket. “It’s your grandma.”

Slowly he pried it from her fingers, sent it to voice mail, and set it on the table.

“That could have been important. I have that council meeting tomorrow.”

“You can call her back in the morning.” He nipped her lower lip, getting them back on track. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

“All week.” She snuggled into him, her body rubbing against his. But it was her admission rather than the brush of her fingers above the hem of his low-rise jeans that shot straight to his groin.

“All week?”

“Actually, weeks,” she corrected, looking up at him through her lashes. He felt her fingers beneath his shirt, cool and soft, sliding up his stomach to his chest. “Ever since the night at The Spigot.”

“The Spigot?” He leaned back so he could look her in the eye. She had to be shitting him. “You didn’t even like me.”

“I like you now,” she whispered, lifting his shirt and giving him an openmouthed kiss in the center of his chest.

“Yeah?” He fisted up the hem of her shirt, loving how her stomach muscles jumped as he pulled it higher. “Well, I always liked you. And I really like your shirt.”

“You hated me.” She tugged it back down. “And it’s old.”

“I never hated you. And it’s wet.” He pulled it down further, plastering it to her body, and smiled. “And extremely see-through. See.” He dipped his head and sucked her through the thin cotton.

The phone rang again. This time it was his. With a frustrated growl, he reached for the off button, glanced at the screen, and hesitated.

“Let me guess, it’s ChiChi,” she teased, her hands sliding up his chest. When he didn’t answer her, Regan went from turned on to tuned in, and it took every last ounce of control Gabe had not to throw the damn thing through the window.

“Gabe?” She looked at the screen and took a small step back, right into the table. “It’s your sister. You should probably answer it. And then you should leave.”

“I should.” And he should probably take this as a sign from the universe to back the f*ck up, walk out of her kitchen and out that front door, because the only thing he could offer Regan was surface—and what he wanted, what she deserved, went so much deeper.

“But the hell of it is”—he turned his phone off and tossed it on the table next to hers—“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t either,” she admitted quietly.

He cupped her face and kissed her hard, bringing the focus back to where it should be. Not on family, or history, or the crap ton of other things that they couldn’t change, but on the one thing that they could—getting naked.

Regan briefly hesitated, then tangled her arms around him, kissing him back with enough force that they both stumbled against the table. Letting gravity, his new best friend, take over, he followed her down on the table, shoving the chair out of the way and doing his best not to crush her.

He looked at her wet shirt again. “And I don’t care about my sister, or that this is going to blow up in our faces. Right now, all I care about is getting this off you before you change your mind.” With a quick tug, her shirt went flying. “Or the phone rings again.” Her bra was nice and sexy...and had to go. “Or you remember you have to make Holly’s lunch.” He flipped the catch and the lace fell loose, and she shrugged out of it, letting everything spill free. And hot damn—stacked didn’t even begin to describe her.

“God, Vixen.” He cupped her breasts, shaping and weighing them, taking his time. Breasts like these deserved to be treasured, and he intended to treasure the hell out of them.

“Yeah?”

Regan was resting back on her elbows, nipples jutting prettily, her silky hair spilling across the tabletop, looking like every guy’s wet dream. And yet there was a shy uncertainty in her expression that tore at him. How could she not know how beautiful she was?

“Hell, yeah,” he whispered, taking one peak in his mouth, giving it every ounce of attention it deserved. By the time he got to her other breast she was writhing beneath him.

This was exactly what they both needed. No more wondering. No more arguing. No more games. From now on, the only game they were going to play would have a strict no-clothes policy.

He cushioned one hand between her cold back and the even colder tabletop to give himself more leverage and considered asking her if she wanted to move to the couch. But he felt a little tug at his jeans, watched as Regan’s fingers slid home, and realized that interrupting would be rude. So he kept his mouth shut and thought about adding a new rule: soft surfaces optional.

The button on his pants opened, her hands dove inside, and all thinking shut down immediately. He could only feel. Her soft hands curled around the base of him and with one stroke his big plans for taking his sweet time snapped. Fast now, finesse later.

He went for the button on her jeans, got the zipper down, and was nearing the promised land—

“Mommy?” Holly’s voice came through the hallway, into the kitchen, and right between them.

Regan froze.

Gabe yanked his zipper up.

Holly called out again.

“What, honey?”

“I have to go potty and it’s still dark.” Gabe wanted to tell her that it was nighttime, it was always dark.

“I thought you said she sleeps through everything,” he whispered, handing Regan’s T-shirt to her and pulling his own over his head with hurried hands. Ms. Calm and Collected was nowhere to be seen.

“Be right there,” she called out, then looked at Gabe with apologetic eyes. “Everything but liquid before bed.”

He stopped, T-shirt midway over his head. “I gave her a glass of water.” He closed his eyes. “Actually two.”

“It’s okay.” Regan abandoned the bra and just slid on her shirt, covering up those perfect tens. “I shouldn’t have...I mean, this is why I don’t...Dating with a daughter in the house is—”

“Mommy? I really gotta go.”

Regan sighed, but Gabe didn’t fail to notice the embarrassment and regret already clouding those pretty eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, skirting past him. He grabbed the back of her jeans, stopping her. The kid had to go—and by the agitation in her fourth call, he imagined pretty bad—but he didn’t want it to end like this. Regan was more than embarrassed, she was mad at herself and Gabe didn’t want that.

“Regan, it’s okay. No harm.”

“No, it’s not okay.” Her eyes went bright, and he was pretty sure she was about to cry. “I don’t do this. I made myself one promise: Holly first. Always.”

“And what about you?” he asked softly, tugging her fingers.

She gave a small, sad shrug. “I think I’m always stuck in mommy mode and when she—”

“Mom-my?”

Regan looked at the doorway and then back to their linked hands, and he could see that she was being pulled in two and it was killing her. So he let go first. “Go on. Take Holly to the bathroom and then snuggle in bed with her and be a mom. We can figure this out later.”

She nodded and reluctantly headed for the hall. Midway she stopped and turned back to face him. “Gabe, what if being a mom is all I can be right now?”

“Then it will be enough.”