Kissing Under the Mistletoe

chapter 6





“Okay, angel. Hands up and then we finish packing your room.”

Regan pulled a pink T-shirt with two kittens across the front over Holly’s head and slid her arms through the sleeve holes. With a quick twist of the wrist she began securing Holly’s silky curls into two tiny pigtails resembling little chocolate fountains poking out on either side of her head.

“But the bird’s nest,” Holly said, her body shaking with excitement.

Last week they had discovered a hummingbird nest in the tree adjacent to the kitchen window. They hadn’t seen any hummingbirds, but Holly still checked every morning.

“It will still be there when I’m done with your hair. The stiller you are, the faster I can go.” Holly froze while Regan twisted the last rubber band in place.

When standing still became too much, she lifted her little arms and wrapped them around Regan’s neck.

Regan crushed her daughter tight, breathing her in and sending up a silent thank you to her Mrs. Clauses. All of the uncertainty that had been churning since the night of the Christmas party had taken its toll.

You just have to make it through today, she thought. Because today was the last day of Regan’s old life, the last day of her old dreams. Tomorrow was another day with new direction. And it would be worth it, she reminded herself, holding Holly even closer. The chance to raise her daughter in St. Helena would be worth every sacrifice: the long hours, toothpaste-stained sinks, and soap-scummed showers.

Holly wiggled out of reach, and without another word dashed down the hallway, her pigtails bouncing with each step.

Regan looked around at the cottage, with its two bedrooms, hardwood floors, and even the avocado-green tile, and swallowed hard. They were moving into a one-bedroom apartment with white walls, gray carpet, and venetian blinds. It would smell of carpet cleaner, paint, and bleach.

Not the end of the world. She could make this work. Would make this work.

“Two minutes, young lady. Then we need to pack up your books,” she called.

Regan opened her underwear drawer and started tossing lace and satin—and a depressing amount of cotton—into a box. Not willing to admit that she was in serious need of some new lingerie, she stuffed the practical panties at the bottom of the box and draped the sexy and slinky ones over the top. She’d just folded the flaps over when the doorbell sounded.

Hoisting the box in her arms, she grabbed the tape and made her way to the front door. ChiChi had said she would come by to help keep an eye on Holly so Regan could take the first load to the new place. The thought of how wonderful her three Mrs. Clauses had been over the past two days made her perk up as she opened the door.

Her smile vanished and something entirely inappropriate began to burn low in her belly.

Even in faded jeans and a worn Stanford T-shirt, Gabe looked expensive and full of himself—and good enough to strip down and lick. His dark hair, still damp from a shower, was rumpled like he’d just run his fingers through it, and based on the shadow of stubble, he hadn’t even bothered to shave.

Gabe DeLuca was a perfect specimen of the male sex. And suddenly, the only thing she could think about was sex. With him. And that incredible package Jordan talked about. Which she was currently gawking at.

Gabe cleared his throat and Regan jerked her eyes up, away from his prize-winning package to his face that was crinkled into a knowing grin.

“Morning, Vixen,” he said in that low, you-know-you-want-me voice.

She scowled by way of greeting. His eyes dipped to the floor and Regan squeaked. Somehow in the process of mentally stripping him down, she had dropped the box and now her entryway looked like Victoria’s Secret after a two-for-one blowout.

“Let me help with that,” Gabe offered.

“I got it.”

They both bent down at the same time, Regan scrambling to shove handfuls of panties back into the box, Gabe pulling them back out one by one to inspect them.

Satisfied that she had gotten every last scrap, Regan yanked the yellow demibra out of Gabe’s long, lean fingers, dropped it in the box, slammed the flaps shut, smacked away his hands, and taped it securely. She stood, ready to give him an earful. Her day was stressful enough without having to deal with him.

Only, when she looked up she was speechless. Between Gabe’s two pointer fingers, the elastic stretched tight, hung a pair of red panties with a big green bow and “Merry Christmas, Love, Santa” across the crotch.

His lips twitched. “I didn’t know we were exchanging gifts. I think you have to be wearing it for the full effect, though.”

Ignoring the way her toes curled into the rug, she snatched the panties and shoved them in her back pocket. “Do you have a reason for being here? Other than to bother me?”

“I was supposed to come bearing fruitcake, care of ChiChi. But—” Gabe picked up a pastry box off the porch bench. Oh, God, he brought doughnuts? She loved doughnuts. “I stopped by Pricilla’s and picked up these instead.”

“Why?” She tried to feign disinterest but found herself sniffing the air for hints of maple.

“Because ChiChi’s fruitcake has been known to cause copious amounts of vomiting, and I didn’t want you to accuse me of digestive assault with a deadly fruitcake.”

Regan refused to smile. Even though, when Gabe wasn’t getting her fired or kicking her out of parties, he was charming. And she could smell the faintest hint of maple. Oh, boy, she was a goner.

“No, I mean, why are you here?”

“I heard you were moving and—”

“Oh.” Of course. Her heart sank.

Disappointed and mad at herself for feeling disappointed, Regan grabbed her purse off of the table by the door, riffled through it, and extracted an envelope with his name on it. Forcing herself to look him in the eye, she explained, “I don’t have it all. But I hope this will be enough for now. I’ll send you a payment every week until it’s paid off.”

Gabe just stared at the envelope. When he didn’t make a move to take it, Regan leaned around him and stuck it in his butt pocket, making sure not to notice how firm his ass was, or how yummy he smelled, or how her heart picked up when his eyes lit with humor. Nor did she succumb to lust and give him a firm little pat on that incredibly pat-able butt.

“Look, Regan. I didn’t come here to—”

Gabe’s words were cut short by what sounded like a small herd of elephants stampeding down the hardwood floor. The thundering drew to a close, only to be replaced by a shrill squeal that was nothing short of pure, uncontained joy.

“Mommy, he brought us doughnuts!”

Gabe looked at the tiny bundle of excitement jumping up and down, and froze. His face went slack and his eyes widened with shock.

He didn’t know?

Holly’s hands alternating between clapping and pointing at the pink box in his possession only made his discomfort more obvious. Regan closed her eyes. This was not what she needed today.

Wrapping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, she pulled Holly into the shelter of her body and pinned Gabe with a glare, hard and determined. Neither spoke, but the message was clear: Mess with my kid and I will f*ck you up.

“Mommy,” Holly whispered, eyeing the Dirty Jar. “You should introduce me. It’s only polite.”

Regan nodded. “Holly, this is Mr. DeLuca. Gabe, my daughter, Holly.”

She knew the moment he figured out who Holly’s father was. It didn’t take much. Holly was the perfect combination of her and Richard. At least physically.

“Nice to meet you,” Holly said, sticking out a hand that had a brown smudge that looked suspiciously like peanut butter.

Regan sent a questioning glance at the undeniable evidence of pre-breakfast nibbling. Holly swayed nervously and quickly wiped the evidence off on her jean-clad legs before reoffering her hand. “Can I have a doughnut? It’s polite to share.”

Gabe’s mouth opened and shut, his chest rising and falling faster than seemed healthy. With a single nod, he offered Holly the entire box of pastries. Sucker.

Regan almost felt sorry for him. Okay, she didn’t feel sorry at all. It felt nice to see Mr. Laid Back squirm.

Holly peeked under the lid and clutched the treasured pink box to her chest. Eyes squinted, face scrunched in concentration, she tilted her head and studied Gabe—tall, dark, and undoubtedly feeling guilty as hell. Regan almost snorted.

After long deliberation, Holly eyed the Dirty Jar and frowned. “He didn’t shake my hand, but he brought the ones with the pink sprinkles on top.”

Regan smiled at her daughter’s dilemma. The law was the law. But doughnuts were doughnuts. She also admired her daughter’s ability to gracefully break the tension in the room. The moment Holly opened her mouth, Gabe’s horrified expression faded and a charmed smile hovered on his lips. He squatted down and extended his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Holly. I seem to have left my manners at home.” Holly easily accepted his excuse and hand, pumping it like a politician.

“He’s sorry ’bout the bad manners, Mommy.” Holly looked back and forth between the two adults. “Does he have to put a quarter in the Dirty Jar?”

At that Gabe raised a brow. “Dirty Jar?”

“Yup, whenever Mommy or I do something dirty or impolite we have to put a quarter in the Dirty Jar.”

“Ah,” he stood, pinning Regan with a look. “So, if your mom were to, say, call someone a bad name or throw a melon at someone’s head she’d have to—”

“Pay fifty cents,” Holly said proudly. “We collected enough quarters to go to the movies and buy popcorn when we got stuck in traffic moving here.”

“I’ll bet,” Gabe said, hands in belt loops, rocking back on his heels.

“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 a*shole 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.

When Gabe reached out, his hand sliding into her hair and tipping her face to his, three things hit her all at once. First, she knew that he was going to kiss her. Knew that it would be the kind of kiss that would literally change the game. And once it happened there would be no stopping it.

Because—and this was where the second realization came into play—kissing Gabe would lead to one hot roll in the sack. And since the only kind of sack Regan owned had a zipper and a sleeping five-year-old, any sacking would be had in the bed of a man whose family—minus a meddling grandma—hated her. Which was a one-night roll straight into disaster.

Finally, Gabe would be an incredible lover. Although he was six-plus feet of muscle and sexy male, he also had a gentleness about him. She had seen it in the way he treated his grandmother and how patiently he sat while Holly carefully wrapped each and every toy in bubble wrap before letting him place it in the moving box. And she felt it now in the way his hands confidently held her to him, while his finger gently traced her lower lip.

This was a man who would ruin her. Not just for other men, but period. Because there was no future for them, and she was afraid that after him there would be no going back.

Knowing all that, Regan realized that she was in trouble. This kiss was going to happen, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. So instead of telling him no, she slid her arms around his neck and stepped flush with him, something quivering deep in her belly when his arm tightened around her waist.

“This is crazy,” he whispered, and before she could agree his mouth was on hers.

Slow and gentle, his lips cradling hers. He tilted his head, taking the kiss deeper and making every single synapse in her brain fire simultaneously.

Holy Mother of God, the man could kiss. They hadn’t even made it past first base and Regan’s head was spinning. Which was why, she told herself, when Gabe eased back she found herself practically crawling up his chest with her hands fisted in his hair.

“Wow,” was all she could manage, and even that came out breathy. Gabe smirked and she smirked back, until reality set in. And she understood how incredibly stupid they’d both just been.

He must have sensed her withdraw, because they both let go of each other at the same time and took a gigantic step back.

“We can’t—”

“I know—”

“That was—”

“Hot as hell—”

“This can’t happen again.”

“Agreed,” Gabe said with a decisive nod. Then he grabbed a stack of boxes and headed for the door.

“What are you doing?”

“Moving you back to the cottage,” he said, halfway to the front door. “You can stay until you find something”—he shot her a look over his shoulder—“furnished.”

Regan was on him in two strides. She reached for the boxes, but when he merely raised them over his head and out of reach, she wedged herself between his massive body and the door frame. “Are you offering me my job back?”

Gabe released a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. Not a good sign.

“I can’t, Vixen. I can’t risk you and Abby running into each other. Plus she’s a partner in Ryo. ChiChi might be the face of Ryo, but Abby’s the passion behind it.”

“And you think me living in the cottage is going to solve that problem?” Regan’s stomach sank to her toes. “Gabe, we live in the same town, we’re bound to run into each other. Me and Holly living on Ryo’s property is a guarantee that we will run into each other. A lot.”

“Damn it, Regan. What do you want me to do?”

“Give me my job back,” she said, tired of always getting the sucky end of the straw. Gabe dutifully went to the extreme to protect his family; Regan would do the same.

“Move in with me.”

“What?” There was no way she’d heard him right. “You can’t be serious.”

“Can and am. I have way too much space for one guy and”—he looked around, genuine regret in his eyes—“this place is way too small for the two of you.”

Regan shook her head, which was only adding to the ache that had been growing there since she’d run into him in the parking lot two weeks ago. If he kept looking at her like that, the ache would drop to her heart.

“Listen.” He set the boxes down and, after prying her hands off the door frame, took them in his. “I f*cked up. Big time. I never intended for you to end up here. All I was trying to do was protect my sister. Let me fix this.” She opened her mouth, but he went on. “I’ve got three spare rooms. My place is so big, we won’t even see each other. And Holly will be close to the school.”

“She’s close now.”

“So are the local dealers and punk-ass kids who’ll steal your tires.”

“I know where I live, Gabe. And I don’t need you to fix my life.” Although if he kept stroking his thumb over her wrists, she might melt into a puddle at his feet. “You and I living in the same space—” She shook her head. “We just agreed that taking this...attraction any further could never happen.”

“I never said that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No. I agreed that you and Holly can’t end up in a shithole again. I never said anything about not kissing you again.” He wagged a brow. “Or sex being off the table.”

God, sex. Something Regan had accepted that she would never have again. Between being heartbroken, her mom dying, and raising Holly, she hadn’t had a man-made orgasm in six long years. But single motherhood didn’t leave time for men, and Holly was her main focus right now.

Plus, Regan had already learned her lesson with regard to relying on someone else for survival. It was too hard when they walked away. And with women like her, they always walked away.

“I don’t date.”

“Ever?” He sounded shocked. And she guessed it did sound weird. She was only twenty-seven, and already she had resigned herself to the life of a retiree. Although, she’d worked at a retirement community for a few months and those people had sex. A lot of sex. Which made her next admission a bit embarrassing.

“Not since Richard. Holly is my number one priority right now. And think of how your family would react to you living with Richard’s ex-mistress.” His panicked expression proved her point. Even though it shouldn’t sting, it did. “I won’t put Holly through that. Or myself.” Not again.

“I don’t know how to fix this.”

His voice broke her heart. Here was a guy, a surprisingly good guy, who just wanted to keep everyone safe. She admired that, even though she knew from experience that it was an impossible goal to keep.

“You already did,” she whispered. “By making my kid feel like she matters. And helping me through a really hard day.”

Slowly she extracted one hand and fished through her front pocket. She closed her eyes when her finger brushed metal. Taking Gabe’s hand, she maneuvered it palm up and placed the item in it before closing his fingers around it.

“So this is where I say, ‘Thank you, Gabe, for all your help.’” She stretched up on the tips of her toes and brushed his cheek with her lips, her hand still covering his. “And you say, ‘No problem. See you around, Vixen.’”

The moment her hand was free of his, the weight was lifted, releasing her from the past. He had given her the moment she was desperate for, the day when she got to move on with her life, free of the guilt and regret. Regan wanted to smile, laugh, and cry—all at the same time. But she would wait until she was alone and Holly was in bed for the night.

Gabe opened his fingers and froze. His eyes flickered to her and back to the platinum and diamond band that lay on his open palm. It was as beautiful as it had been the night Richard slid it on her finger. Only now, when she looked at it, she saw it for what it was, a stunning piece of twisted metal and crystallized carbon.

“Why?” was all he said, but that one word held so much pain.

“I saw how you looked at it the night we met. You search my hands every time we run into each other. I figured Richard didn’t get it at an estate sale.”

Gabe’s fingers traced the filigree scrollwork on the antique band. “It was my mom’s. My dad got it for her on their twenty-fifth anniversary. Abby thought she had lost it.”

“Well then, I’m glad it’s back with the right family.”

She stepped back and held open the door. But Gabe didn’t leave. Instead he studied her much like his grandmother had. Yet the pain in his eyes when he looked back at the ring, clutching it as if he was afraid he might lose it, tugged at her heart. Because that feeling Regan connected with in a way that only someone who had lost something precious could.

“Now, it’s your turn, Gabe.”

She could tell he didn’t want to leave. But she needed him to because she was one heartbeat away from falling for him.

“No problem. See you around, Vixen.” He hugged her and Regan found herself clinging to his strength. Giving herself just a moment to pretend that she was the kind of woman a man like him would want to come home to.

He released her and then he was gone.

She closed the door and leaned against it. Something crunched as she pressed herself against the wood. Reaching in her back pocket, she knew that the tears wouldn’t wait. Because her panties were missing. And in their place was the envelope with her money.