Kissing Under the Mistletoe

by Marina Adair

  Great, the man was admired and endearing.

  “I’m surprised to find Miss Martin here,” Gabe continued. “Astonished really.”

  “Likewise,” Regan snapped, crossing her arms.

  “Careful.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Your eyes are going all shifty. Sure you don’t want the number for that anger management class I told you about?”

  “What is wrong with this world? Anger management classes!” ChiChi snapped. “Just the other day Gabriel took me to the market to buy the meat for dinner and some crazy destroyed my car. Santa was thrown through my back window, and they still haven’t found poor Randolph.”

  “You mean Rudolph,” Regan casually corrected, going for innocent.

  “The rest of the world has Rudolph. St. Helena has Randolph,” ChiChi said as two of her fingers moved from forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder, while mumbling something about the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. “A cardinal sin, I tell you! They should lock that crazy up.”

  “I agree,” Gabe said, crossing his arms, which pulled his tuxedo jacket tightly across his chest. A chest that had absolutely nothing to do with the way her mouth went dry. “Don’t you agree, Regan?”

  “Yup,” Regan mumbled, polishing off her second glass of wine in one gulp, surprised that Gabe hadn’t ratted her out—and making a mental note to drop a whole roll of quarters into the Dirty Jar.

  “You two know each other, then? How interesting,” Jordan said with a little too much enthusiasm.

  “Interesting,” Gabe deadpanned. “Regan and I go way back.” His stormy-blue gaze flicked to her hands and back to lock on her eyes, sending a shiver down her spine. “Now about that dance.”

  “I’ll sit this one out, thank you though,” Regan replied with a serene smile, in direct contrast to her eat-shit-and-choke-on-it bat of the lashes.

  Gabe might have laughed if he hadn’t been scanning the room for his sister. Between Richard’s wayward dick, his sticky fingers, and last year’s grape-ravaging frost, Abigail had had to claw her way back from bankruptcy—fiscally and emotionally. She’d spent the first four years after Richard left in Santa Barbara, avoiding the family, her friends—anyone who knew what had happened, which was pretty much the entire Napa Valley.

  Then, two years ago, ChiChi convinced her to go in as partners in a new winery. With ChiChi heading up wine production, Abby designing the winery and handling the build, and a team of amazing women running the day-to-day operations, Ryo would become the only female-run winery in the DeLuca family.

  Abby had finally agreed, under the conditions that her name stayed off the paperwork and that she could do the preliminary designs from her house in Santa Barbara. Over the past year, Ryo Wines had become her baby, the project that pulled her through a difficult time in her life.

  Tonight was to be Abby’s big moment, her I’m-back-and-stronger-than-ever party. It was her chance to prove to herself, and to everyone else, that she’d recovered from Richard’s blow—it was not going to become a reminder of what a bastard he was.

  “Too late for that, don’t you think?” Gabe said. “Besides, they’re playing our song.”

  “We don’t have a song.”

  “No, but we do have an audience,” he said softly, his eyes going from his grandmother to Jordan and back to Regan, who was now looking panicked.

  “A dance,” ChiChi said, clasping her chest. “What a lovely idea. You two go catch up, and I will entertain Isabel.”

  Isabel, right. Isabel Stark was blonde, stacked, and the woman ChiChi had blackmailed Gabe into bringing as his date tonight. She was a head of the local PTA, heir to the newest cork empire in the Valley, and had her recently divorced sights set on Gabe, who was not interested in anything other than a good time.

  He looked around the room and found Isabel standing by the bar, looking entitled and irritated, right where he’d left her when he’d spotted Regan. At his party. Laughing with his family.

  “Thank you, Nonna. And Jordan, remind me to give you a raise. You did a fantastic job tonight.” To avoid his grandmother discovering just who Regan Martin was, Gabe extended an arm. “Shall we?”

  When Regan’s eyes met his, they were wide with understanding. Smart girl. She’d pieced it all together. Ryo Wines may not bear the DeLuca name, and he might not be allowed to set foot in their production house because he lacked the right number of X chromosomes, but it was still a DeLuca company. And his employees were loyal to him and his family.

  “It was, um, so very nice to meet you, ChiChi.” She set her wineglass on a passing tray and turned to Jordan. “Gabe is right, Jordan. It really is a wonderful party. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it seems I have a dance.”

  Head high, Regan walked right past Gabe and headed straight for the exit. And straight for Abigail.

  “Dance floor is this way.” He clasped her arm firmly and led her back to the room, ignoring her protest and the pointy heel digging into his big toe. He’d have thrown her over his shoulder if it meant avoiding a scene.

  “What makes you think I’d ever want to dance with you?” She jerked her arm away.

  “How about because we are going have a conversation. The one where I remind you how you fucked over my family, and you promise to waltz your sweet little ass back to Oregon.”

  “I don’t know how to waltz.”

  “Great, because this is a rumba.” Wrapping his arm around her waist, he slid his hand down the exposed part of her back. Shit. She was soft and smelled incredible and was so damn sexy he went hard immediately.

  Gabe spun her out and back in, then gently swayed to the music. To anyone else it would appear as though they were a couple enjoying a friendly dance. No one would notice how Regan’s knee rose up within striking distance, her nails digging into his chest, while Gabe’s arms tightened around her like a vise.

  Unfortunately, his body couldn’t help but notice her dress, red and silky and hugging every curve. Or the way their bodies brushed against each other. Or that when he looked down he had a damn-near perfect view of black lace and the most incredible cleavage he’d ever seen.

  Based on the cold glare coming off Regan, which was enough to freeze his nuts off, she knew exactly what he was staring at. He looked at the walls, the band, anywhere but at her. Not that it helped. The woman smelled like gingerbread cookies and sex, and all he could think about was getting her under the mistletoe three feet away.

  “We have to stop meeting like this, Vixen.”

  Her eyes narrowed into two rage-induced slits and she opened her mouth. Gabe placed his finger against her lips. “Careful now, it looks like you’re getting ready to say something you’ll regret later.”

  She bit his finger, smiling when he jerked his hand back. She wouldn’t be smiling if she knew that his hand wasn’t the only thing that jerked.

  “Actually, I was going to say thank you for not ratting me out to ChiChi about the car.” Asshole went unsaid. So did liar, liar, pants on fire. “So if you could please tell her that the crazy lady said she’s sorry. That she didn’t know it was her car.”

  “Are you saying you wouldn’t be sorry if it had been mine?” He took her in a close embrace, this time sliding his fingers between hers while guiding them even farther toward the back of the ballroom.

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

  Gabe laughed and “Vixen” looked ready to bite again.

  “Is this funny to you? Screwing with my life?” Even though she didn’t miss a step, her words came out low and steady and full of fury. “What was your plan, to hook me with some fake job offer, make me leave behind everything I know and love so you could you get me down here and publicly humiliate me? I have a red Sharpie in my purse if you want to draw the letter A on my forehead and get it over with.”

  Gabe stopped dancing but didn’t release her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” She stepped back, ignoring the couple that nearly toppled over her and the oth
er three who had slowed their pace to listen in. “Look, I get it. You hate me and want to ruin my life. Well, you win, mission accomplished. At least have the balls to own it!”

  She patted down her sides as if desperately searching for a pocket. When she came up short she dropped her head back with a dramatic sigh and mumbled something about dirty language and being a lady.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A quarter,” she huffed, and Gabe swore she stomped her left foot.

  He reached into his pocket and offered her one, but she just stared at it, her shoulders slumping. When she looked up at him, her expression was one of defeat.

  “Do you have any idea what your stupid game has done to my life?”

  Gabe looked around the ballroom and found everyone staring back. He saw her throat working hard, her eyes blinking rapidly, and—shit!—she was about to cry. He hated when women cried. Especially ones who he was certain were too tough to cry. And especially if he was the a-hole who was the cause of those tears.

  “Regan, I swear I had no idea that you were the marketing VP Jordan hired. She told me ChiChi had found the perfect person for Ryo, showed me the mock-ups, and I signed off.”

  He’d been so blown away by the proposal that he hadn’t even asked questions. It should have struck him as odd that there wasn’t a name on any of the mock-ups, but it wasn’t his company—wasn’t his call. ChiChi had declared that this was the person she’d chosen to take Ryo to market; Gabe signing off was a mere technicality.

  It was also a necessity. Ryo was heading into its first harvest, and they needed a marketing strategy—fast. But he needed his managing director back. Jordan had been on loan to ChiChi for nearly five months, three months longer than the agreed-upon time. Her only goal now was to get Ryo staffed and operating smoothly so that she could get back to what she was paid to do—making his life easier.

  “You expect me to believe that out of all of the people who work in the wine and marketing space, I was selected purely on the basis of my talent?” Regan asked.

  “And you expect me to believe that you coming to my hometown had nothing to do with screwing with my sister?”

  “I had no idea you even lived here. And your people called me, Gabe. Not the other way around. I researched Ryo Wines after my recruiter contacted me with the offer. It was a startup winery, owned and operated by women, and in no way could I tell that it was connected to your family. I would have never accepted the job had I known.” Either she deserved an award or she really was as confused as Gabe, because he almost—almost—believed her. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m still out of a job, and Abigail is once again protected.”

  “Yes, you’re fired. And believe me when I say that Abigail will always be protected.”

  “Lucky her.” The words were spoken so softly Gabe barely heard them. But he couldn’t miss the look in her eye. It wasn’t anger or envy. It was almost admiration, underscored with longing.

  They continued to silently face off as a crowd gathered. It looked as though ChiChi had invited the entire Napa Valley who were now witnessing what appeared to be Gabe making an innocent woman cry.

  Regan must have felt the weight of the stares because she straightened her shoulders and, with the best screw-you flick of the hair he’d ever seen, glided toward the back exit, the fabric of her dress hugging that heart-shaped ass with every step. She rounded the bar and disappeared into the hall, leaving Gabe to wonder what had just happened.

  She was the one who should be apologizing. So why was he feeling like he’d just told a preschooler that Santa is a lie? That woman was the most confusing person he’d ever met. Whenever he was around her he felt off balance. Which was the only reason he could think of why, after he started chasing her down like some stalker, he found himself apologizing. To her!

  “Regan, I’m sorry. There was no master plan to mess with you. It was just dumb luck. We’ve used the same staffing firm before, and there wasn’t any information connecting Ryo to the DeLuca name because ChiChi wanted this to be her and Abby’s thing.” She kept on walking. With her taking three steps for each one of his, he caught up quickly. “Look, to make things easier, you can just drop the keys in the mailbox when you leave town.”

  That got her attention.

  She stopped and slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Like she’d been crying.

  Damn it.

  “The keys?”

  “To the cottage. You can just drop them in the box.”

  At his words, Regan gasped and then took another breath, until she was breathing too fast and too hard. Gabe was doing some heavy breathing of his own, because Vixen was about to hyperventilate and all she kept saying was something about a kitty of her very own.

  “Easy there.” He took her by the shoulders and her skin was cold and clammy. Steering her down the hallway, through the back doors and into an open courtyard, he lowered her to an empty bench. The night air was cold, but that wasn’t what was causing her to shake. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her.

  “You still with me?” He knelt down and, taking her wrist, pressed two fingers to her pulse. “Regan, I need you to look at me.”

  But when those baby blues went blank and her lower lip quivered he regretted asking, because something inside of him hollowed out and he found himself wishing they’d met under different circumstances.

  After several long seconds, her breathing slowed and he could almost feel her fight to gain composure.

  “You okay?” he asked, feeling her pulse return to normal.

  “I think so.” Still a little dazed, she rested her forehead against his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I would have fallen, so thanks.”

  “I think this is the first time we’ve been this close and you haven’t yelled at me or tried to inflict bodily harm,” he teased, keeping a careful watch on her.

  “No, it’s not,” she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes. “The night we first met.”

  She was right. In fact, that night Regan hadn’t spoken at all. She’d only watched him and Richard, her eyes wide and filled with tears as they got into it about Abby. Even as Gabe dragged that cheating ass out of the restaurant, Regan had remained silent.

  After he was certain Richard was headed home to face his wife, Gabe had chanced one last look inside the restaurant. Regan sat alone, staring down at a small, unwrapped box, tears streaming down her cheeks, making him feel like the ass.

  Kind of like he felt now.

  Once again, he reminded himself that it was all bullshit. None of this should be his problem. It wasn’t his fault Regan chose to sleep with a married man or that Richard didn’t have a loyal bone in his body. Except that it was. If it hadn’t been for Gabe, Abby would never have met Richard.

  “You think you can stand now?”

  “Of course,” she said, lifting her head and easing her hand out from under his. “I understand that the cottage is a perk for the marketing VP, which I no longer am. But could you give me a few days to find a new place?”

  “How about next weekend. Is that long enough?”

  She merely nodded.

  What the hell was he doing? He was supposed to be getting her out of town, not offering her a way to stay longer. Then he took in her position, found himself eye level with the most perfect set of breasts, and blamed everything tonight on his dick.

  Keeping her away from his sister for the next seven days would be difficult, but keeping his hands off her would be hell. Which was why, even though he felt like he was kicking a litter of puppies, he said, “It would probably be best if you settled down somewhere else after that. I wouldn’t imagine you’d find living here...well, there won’t be any warm welcome.”

  And just like that the fire flickered in her eyes, her shoulders went back, and she stood. Had he not straightened with her, she would have taken him out in the process—and smiled while doing it. Even though she was only about five foot four in heels, she somehow manag
ed to stare down her nose at him.

  Sworn enemy or not, this woman drove him crazy, and he feared he was starting to like it.

  “Thank you for the extension,” she said, not an ounce of vulnerability visible, making him wonder if she’d faked the entire panic attack to get extra time in the house. “I don’t think you have to worry about my feelings, since I don’t believe any welcome could be crueler than yours.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Wait? She’s still here?” Marco asked, resting his pool stick against the wall and dropping onto the nearest bar stool. Gabe’s middle brother could barely hold his head up and his eyes were bloodshot. Gabe felt for the guy—he’d recently sunk all of his money into renovating a local hotel. Whereas Marc’s sleepless nights came from having more sweat equity than the liquid kind, making it a slow and risky venture, Gabe’s stemmed from one fiery brunette with exotic eyes who seemed damn set on ruining his life.

  Gabe faced down his brothers over the green felt top of the pool table and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s still here.”

  That was the reason all four DeLuca brothers had decided to meet here, at the plaster-sealed wine cave that sat smack in the side of a mountain and doubled as the town’s watering hole.

  The Spigot was the only place in St. Helena that served something out of the tap, and since it wasn’t off the main highway, tourists didn’t know it existed. It was loud and dirty and a cash-mandatory, shoes-optional kind of place. And it fit his mood perfectly right about now. Because they needed to come up with a plan—fast.

  “I talked to Rocco over at Chiappa Vineyards. Regan interviewed there yesterday.”

  “And?”

  “And the position was no longer available.” Gabe leaned down and broke. Not a single ball went in.

  “Your game is crap.” Trey, the youngest brother, aimed and shot. The one ball went in the right corner pocket, the three ball in the left.