Kissing Under the Mistletoe

by Marina Adair

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2012 Marina Adair

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781612185859

  ISBN-10: 1612185851

  DEDICATION

  To my daughter, Thuy. You were my Christmas wish. Among the billions of people on this planet, separated by over seven thousand miles of ocean, we managed to find each other. You, bug-a-boo, are my proof that miracles really can happen...

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  SNEAK PEEK: SUMMER IN NAPA

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  It wasn’t every day that your average girl got to watch her career crumble before her very eyes. For Regan Martin, that day had been on repeat for the past six years. To be reminded of it while she was wearing blinking plastic antlers and a shirt that said “Elves Do It Better,” though—that was enough to make her snap.

  The minute Regan spotted her Ghost of Christmas Past, looking primped and relaxed as he lurked behind the condiments aisle, she no longer had to wonder why her career had suddenly gone from Welcome to the Gordon and Associates Family to Don’t Let the Door Hit You in the Ass on the Way Out in under three seconds flat.

  Which was why she dropped another pint—make that a gallon—of Rocky Road into her cart and sprinted for the front door. She ignored the clerk reminding her that she hadn’t paid and the Santa clanking his bell for charity.

  Fishing her keys from her purse, Regan rounded Picker’s Produce, Meats and More, passed City Hall, and was reaching the community Christmas display—complete with a Santa and all nine reindeer—when she came to a screeching halt. Because there, under the town’s flapping red banner that said “Merry Christmas One and All” and parked next to her 1994 Honda Civic, was a mini-McMansion on wheels, license plate reading: DELUCA1.

  Her passenger door was blocked by a cluster of old wine barrels filled with festive poinsettias, leaving Regan’s car completely boxed in. She parked her cart alongside the shiny orange Hummer, sure to test out its ding-free bumper claim, and tried to shimmy her way between the vehicles. Tried being the operative word. She doubted even her daughter could squeeze through that space, and Holly was only five. But there was no way she was willing to ask the man who had made her professional and, in turn, personal, life a living hell to move his car. Especially since she’d just landed a new job.

  She propped her knee on the hood of her car and was about to see if she could pry off the moonroof when she heard a loud rip.

  She teared up as she saw that Gabe DeLuca’s side mirror had snagged and torn the ass out of her favorite pair of “Bah Humbug” sweats—an early Christmas present from Holly.

  “Shit.” Regan shimmied back to freedom. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  She slapped her hand over her mouth, looking around to make sure nobody had heard her foul language. At home that would have cost her a quarter for every swear word uttered.

  Suddenly, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” started playing. Loud and mechanical, the annoying shrill was accompanied by a blinking elf’s nose. Damn shirt.

  Shit, another quarter. Make that two.

  Pressing her lips closed, Regan swallowed back a frustrated scream and resisted the temptation to kick his car. No sense in ruining her shoes, too.

  Was he serious? How high school could he get, stalking her all over the country? Sure, she’d made a mistake—a big one. Just thinking about it made her stomach feel hollow and her chest tighten to the point of pain. She had been nothing but stupid, entrusting her heart to a man who’d lied to her, played her for the naive fool, never telling her that he was married. As a result, she had unintentionally committed one of the most unforgivable sins ever: she’d become the other woman. It was why she would never trust another man. She had learned her lesson the hard way, tried to make amends, and was, from the bottom of her heart, sorry. But she’d been paying the price ever since.

  Enough was enough. Gabe DeLuca, enemy numero uno, had cost her eleven jobs over the past six years. Eleven! At first she’d tried to be understanding and see things from his family’s point of view, but she was fed up. The minute she’d gotten the call from Ryo Wines offering Regan her dream job, she had packed up her life and moved Holly away from her friends and everything that was familiar, with the hope that they could find a fresh start here in St. Helena—and that didn’t include being pushed around.

  Regan glanced at the ice cream, perspiring in the afternoon sun, and looked back at her car. She had been in town only a week, hadn’t even started her new job, and already her constant shadow had found her. No doubt he’d followed her here to get her fired—yet again.

  Grabbing her cart, she took one, two, three steps backward, and before she knew what had happened, she surged ahead, ramming her cart into the back of Gabe’s overcompensation-with-an-engine. A gigantic crash echoed, sending ice cream flying over the top of the car and landing on the hood with a victorious splat.

  She picked up the remaining tub of Rocky Road, ripped back the lid, and squeezed the container until the contents fell to the trunk with a thwack. Still not satisfied, she sank her finger in and then carefully scrawled across the back windshield: Bah Humbug Mother Fuc—

  “Are you through yet?”

  Regan froze, her fingers still in the Rocky Road, and closed her eyes. She didn’t need to turn around to see who was standing there; she’d recognize that voice anywhere. She knew she should pull on the big girl panties, apologize, and drive away. Unfortunately, today she had opted for her Rudolph panties, and was sporting a sequined nose on her ass.

  Reminding herself that Martin women were fighters used to crawling their way back up, and also that she’d always told Holly turning your back while someone was speaking to you was rude, she mustered what was left of her pride, brushed her bangs out of her eyes, and turned to face the man who had ruined her life.

  His gaze dropped to her naked finger and back to her eyes.

  “Actually, no, I’m not.” She was just getting started.

  Gabriel DeLuca glanced over at the woman glaring at him and all he could think was, Thank God.

  Thank God he had been the one suckered into picking up the groceries for the weekly family dinner rather than his sister. Abigail, being the only girl among four brothers, was always protected. And that’s what he was doing now—protecting his sister.

  “They have classes for that you know,” he said, pointing to the wreck of a car. It would take several washings to get all that corn syrup and refined crap off.

  He couldn’t really blame Regan, though. He was responsible for her career—or lack thereof. But he had to keep her away from his family and, most importantly, his sister. The last thing Abby needed, with Christmas only three weeks away, was a visible reminder of her cheating bastard of a husband, Richard, and his taste for extravagance
and beautiful women.

  Gabe had no idea why his brother-in-law’s mistress was in his town. The last he’d heard she was still in Oregon, a safe five hundred miles from the Napa Valley—and from his family.

  “Oh?” She marched straight over, stopping so close that he caught a whiff of something sweet and, even worse, something sexy. Without hesitating, she raised one sugarcoated hand and smacked him. Not in the face, like he expected, but square in the chest—a melted Rocky Road handprint seeped through his button-down. Her other hand slapped a stain onto the left side of his shirt, and then with a smile that, if he were being honest, was almost as sweet as the ice cream, she dragged both hands down his chest—like an idiot, he flexed.

  “I know this guy, he specializes in managing rage. I can call him if you want, set up an appointment.” Gabe pulled out his phone and started scrolling. “Actually, he’s in Portland; you could stop by. On your way home.”

  “I’m. Not. Leaving.” She punctuated every word with another finger-paint doodle before turning back to the trunk for a refill and adding, “So back off!”

  Not going to happen, he thought. Gabe didn’t know exactly why she was here, but it didn’t matter. It had taken him five years to convince Abby to move home. He wasn’t about to give her another reason to move away. This year, he’d have his whole family around the tree. Collateral damage or not, Regan had to go—now.

  As if reading his mind, she picked up her purse off the asphalt, hiked it high on her shoulder, and started walking away from him. Her raggedy sweats parted with each step, flashing him a great view of her ass—and Rudolph.

  Keep on going, he thought, hating how great she still looked. Not that he’d been following her over the past six years, but he had been keeping tabs on her to make sure that her past didn’t affect Abigail’s future in any way.

  Damn. Even with ice cream on her cheek and wearing a worn-out T-shirt, Regan Martin was as gorgeous as ever. And his dick agreed.

  Hell, he’d never faulted his brother-in-law’s taste—just the fact that the bastard couldn’t keep it in his pants after he’d said, “I do.” He also hated how women like Regan, who got off on dating married men with big balances, walked away scot-free while the families they wrecked suffered forever.

  He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but how could a woman not know that the man she was sleeping with was married?

  “What the—” Gabe jerked to the right, narrowly avoiding the flying object spiraling at his head.

  “That would be Dasher,” Regan yelled, winding up again and chucking what appeared to be a porcelain Santa. She missed him, but before he could get smug, the shatter of glass told him she’d hit her target. He turned to find Mr. Kringle’s black boots sticking out the back window of the Hummer.

  “You’ve got a pretty good arm.” Gabe tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the fender. He’d never really understood why he enjoyed irritating her. Only that when her eyes went wild and that fighting pride of hers kicked in, all the years of drama between them seemed like bullshit.

  “Three years of college softball at Oregon State.”

  “Hold up, it’s happening again. Your eyes are glazing over and looking hard.” Something brown skimmed his thigh, taking out the right brake light. She reached for the third deer—Prancer, he believed.

  “Yup,” he said, shaking his head sorrowfully. “Had a dog with that same problem. Used to foam at the mouth, snap at people for no reason. I had to put him down.”

  Another reindeer came jingling his way. Fast, and aimed with lethal accuracy. She may have played softball, but he hadn’t been named MVP and Goalie of the Year on his college soccer team for nothing. He ducked.

  “This whole heartless-bastard thing you got going on is working,” she called. “You show up, growl at my employer, and I get fired. Then you follow me to the next town, block me in, and effectively ruin my Christmas spirit.”

  “You’re calling me heartless?” He laughed. Like her or not, she was the only woman he’d ever met who gave as good as she got. Well, besides his grandmother.

  “Rubber and glue, buddy. Rubber and glue.” Then, in response to the smug grin, she sent Vixen flying, denting the hood and scratching the fender.

  “You’re the one who slept with a married man. My sister’s husband, if you need me to be more specific.”

  “Yeah, I made a mistake. And you’ve gone out of your way to make sure I can’t hold down a job ever again.”

  “No, I go out of my way to make sure you never work with a company where your path might cross with my sister’s.”

  “I’ve built my career on marketing wine. Your family is wine! So does that mean you’ll only stop harassing me if I give up my career?”

  “As far as I know, your career is seriously lacking.”

  At his words, all of her attitude faded and she just looked tired. Sad, vulnerable, and so damn defeated that his chest actually clenched. He didn’t like being the asshole. Hated it, as a matter of fact. But when his parents died, Gabe, twenty-three and the eldest of five, had stepped in as head of the DeLuca clan, and, as such, his duty was to protect his family. Twelve years had passed and nothing had changed—his family was his life. And right now no one was a bigger threat to their happiness than the gorgeous brunette standing in front of him.

  Regan lowered the last reindeer in defeat, her voice barely audible over the light traffic. “How many times can I say I’m sorry? I mean, just let me know what that number is so we can both move on and you can leave me alone.”

  He never made the conscious decision to approach her. His legs just started moving, his tension increasing with each step. He knew he was an intimidating man, but her being a little afraid of him right now couldn’t hurt. She didn’t need to know he would never harm her.

  Actually, he hadn’t even really ruined her career. Oh, he may have gotten her fired from her first job, but that was because the firm she worked for, the one that had given her the job based on Richard’s recommendation, was handling their family’s new label. And he may have mentioned her name to a few friends in the industry as persona non grata. Aside from that, whatever problems she’d had over the years were all on her.

  “I meant what I said to you that night I found you with Richard.” Even the memory made him want to punch something.

  Instead of backing away like a smart woman would do, Regan stayed put; her pert nose rose higher in the air, if that was even possible, and she did her best to look down at him—an amazing feat since he was a whole head taller.

  “I will stop at nothing to protect my family from any further pain,” he continued, trying to ignore the panic filling her big blue eyes and the way she clutched the deer to her chest, rocking it as if out of habit. “So until I see those taillights of yours heading out of town, I will be at your side, watching your every move, making your life hell until you realize that a vacation in the wine country isn’t worth it.”

  Regan must have squeezed a little too hard, because the deer’s nose lit up and a cheery, “Merry Christmas to one and all,” echoed across the parking lot.

  “Okay, I give up,” Regan said, shutting the last closet door. Their new house was only seven hundred square feet. With only two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, and family room, there certainly weren’t many places that could conceal a dripping-wet, three-foot-tall urchin who was doing her best to avoid bedtime.

  Regan glanced at her watch. She’d spent the past fifteen minutes trying to find Holly, a time span that most kindergarteners would lose patience with. Not her kindergartener.

  Holly had the patience of Job and the determination of a hall monitor in training, which explained the “Dirty Jar” sitting on the coffee table. It was two-thirds full and strictly enforced. Every dirty word or rude action resulted in a twenty-five-cent fine. Regan went through lots of quarters. When the man at the bank, who was exchanging her twenty for two rolls of coins for the second time that week, suggested that the Laundro
mat had a change machine, Regan told him the machine was broken. Which cost her a quarter for lying.

  Regan sighed. She had put off paying her fine from three days ago.

  Draping the dry bath towel on the back of the couch, she dug through her purse, found her coin bag, and mentally added: shoplifting, bad words, cart to fender, ice cream to windshield—and one surly DeLuca—vandalizing Christmas display, raising her voice. She pulled out her buck seventy-five and dropped it into the jar, adding another dollar for stealing Rudolph, who was shoved in the trunk of her car.

  At the clanking of coins, a giggle erupted from the far side of the family room. Regan spotted dark little ringlets sticking out over the top of a stack of moving boxes, which had a large tree drawn on them in pink crayon.

  She leaned to look around the box, and sure enough, there were wiggling, naked toes. Eyes closed and clutching her favorite stuffed kitty, PurrKins, Holly stood silent in a puddle of wet carpet, careful not to give away her hiding spot.

  “Gotcha!” Regan smiled as Holly screamed and took off for the back of the house, her bare feet slapping the hardwood. She picked up the useless towel and followed.

  Ten minutes and another round of hide-and-seek later, the sitter was waiting on the couch and Regan had managed to corral Holly into her bedroom. She pulled a red nightgown covered with white kitties wearing Santa hats over her daughter’s head and brushed a kiss across her forehead.

  Holly was old enough to dress herself, and normally, when there was a guest her daughter wanted desperately to impress, she insisted. Tonight, though, she let Regan brush her hair and teeth, not even expelling a single huff or puff when Regan pulled out the long-sleeved nightgown.

  One look at the red envelope with glittery candy-cane stickers resting under Holly’s pillow and Regan didn’t have to question the stellar behavior. Taking in her daughter’s smile and the way she’d organized her toys in the bin, her heart melted.

  Holly was adjusting like a champ. She’d made it through the first week of new house, new school, new life. And she seemed to be doing all right. More than all right—she was happy. Which made Regan happy, run-in with Gabe DeLuca notwithstanding.