by Marina Adair
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.
