Kissing Under the Mistletoe (23 page)

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 fuck 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.