by Marina Adair
Nate’s face turned serious. “Broke or not, those are the facts, Gabe.”
“Regan didn’t do it.” That much he knew. But arguing with his brothers about it didn’t feel right. Arguing with his family never felt right. It felt like a betrayal of his parents’ memory.
“You’re willing to bet Abby’s future on that?” Marc challenged. “Half the people in this town still wonder if Abby was covering for her husband. A husband who she doesn’t want and can’t divorce. The other half are taking bets on how fast she’ll tank Ryo. She’s under enough pressure without running into Regan buying groceries or on her way to rehearsal for the musical.”
“You were the ones who said we should keep Regan here, not me.”
“Because you were supposed to be finding out what she knows,” Nate reminded him. If his brother was going for the guilt angle, it was working. Gabe had stuck himself between a woman and his family. What the hell kind of mess had he gotten into?
“Maybe I should step in,” Marc said. “She’s working at the hotel. I could use the boss-employee angle. We already know she has a thing for her bosses.”
Gabe glared at Marc out of the corner of his eye. It was a silent warning to shut his pie hole, but instead Marc kicked the footrest of the recliner down and leaned forward, his face going hard. “Maybe I’m a little young for her, though, seeing as she tends to have a thing for older guys.”
Gabe jumped to his feet, his fists curled as he towered over Marc. “Maybe you should shut the hell up.”
Marc stood, moving until they were chest to chest, shoving his kid-brother bullshit all up in Gabe’s face. Marc was five years younger, but he outweighed Gabe by a good twenty pounds and at least two inches. Had ever since he’d turned sixteen.
As a kid, Marc had been a handful. His act-first, think-about-it-later personality intensified after their parents died, landing him in trouble with school and with girls. By the time Marc had graduated and gone off to college, Gabe felt like a middle-aged father. By the time Trey had left the nest, Gabe was done being a parent.
Which was why when Marc said, “Maybe you should start thinking about Abby instead of thinking with your dick,” Gabe lost it.
He was done. Done being a parent. Done sacrificing everything on the chance that it could make his siblings’ lives run a little smoother.
“Maybe Abby needs to grow the fuck up and get over it. And maybe, just maybe, Regan was as much of a victim as our sister.” He grabbed the remote out of Marc’s hand, punched the off button, and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered. “You know what? I’m tired of wasting my time trying to fix this mess.”
At that, all three of his brothers exchanged a look. Gabe didn’t need to be a genius to figure out its meaning. They thought he was in over his head. And they were right.
“You slept with her,” Marc accused.
“No. I did not.”
“But you want to.”
“What I want is to let this woman go on with her life. And for you guys to stay the hell out of my business.”
Already grabbing his keys, Gabe headed for the door. If this was what it felt like to have a sibling meddle in his life, he was cured. ChiChi was right—it was like being smothered.
“My house better be clean and you guys gone when I get home.”
By the time Gabe made it to Regan’s apartment his temper had cooled some, but his guilt had kicked up a few dozen notches. The last time he and his siblings had had a blowout like that was the Christmas when Richard proposed to Abby. Gabe had been the only one not adamantly opposed to the union, and for three weeks leading up to the wedding, not one of his brothers had spoken to him.
“And look how that turned out, genius.”
He’d assumed that it was his brothers being overprotective as usual, but maybe they had sensed what he’d been too blind to see. That Richard had had an agenda from the start.
He flipped his seat forward and leaned into the back of the truck’s cab, pulling out several bags of ornaments and a box of tinfoil.
If he were smart, he would have gone to his office, cooled down while riffling through the piles of paperwork and endless e-mails that he’d been too busy following Regan to deal with, then called his brothers to apologize. But for the first time in a while, he didn’t want to do the smart thing and he didn’t want to babysit his siblings. He wanted to spend a nice evening making tissue-paper snowflakes and decorating a Christmas tree.
With his brother-in-law’s former mistress.
Crap!
Shoving the bag back in the car and telling himself that this was as stupid an idea as kissing Regan had been, Gabe got behind the wheel. He shouldn’t be here. And if she had wanted him there she wouldn’t have cut and run.
Turning the key in the ignition, he flicked on his headlights and everything inside him stilled as he watched a shadow dart across the parking lot and duck behind a shrub manicured to look like a giant wine bottle. Through the thick fog that had settled on the ground, he couldn’t see who was there or how big they were; all he knew was that they’d come from the general vicinity of Regan’s car and had something slung over their back. And it wasn’t a tote full of toys.
Reaching behind the seat, he blindly grabbed his ax and a Maglite. As he crept around the side of the building, he was acutely aware that no one was around and that Regan’s new place, although right off the main drag of town, was extremely isolated. Back pressed against the cold concrete wall, he glanced down at Regan’s car and noticed the trunk slightly ajar. Using his elbow, he cracked it open and peered inside. It was a disaster. Magazines, papers, flares, and CDs were scattered around. Her taillight was broken and the carpet had been ripped up.
He shifted back to the shrub he had seen the suspect disappear behind. Carefully, he made his way toward the giant wine bottle. Half of him hoped that the son of a bitch was there so that he could beat the crap out of him. The other half, the half that registered that he was a winemaker and not a PI, hoped the guy had fled. And yet a small part, a part he didn’t want to acknowledge, was afraid that maybe it was Richard. And if it was, then what did that mean?
He could hear heavy breathing coming from the other side of the shrub, followed by a rustling of leaves. One hand on the Maglite, Gabe took a deep breath and, wondering why in the hell he didn’t just call the cops, leaped out from behind the wine bottle, ax blazing.
“Don’t move!” he yelled.
He heard a shriek and branches snapping, then a bright red light began flashing, followed closely by a cheery little, “Merry Christmas to one and all.”
Dressed in black tennis shoes, black sweats, a black hoodie, and her hair pulled up in a messy knot on top of her head, Regan was stuck ass first in a shrub shaped like a corkscrew, clinging to Randolph and muttering some very choice words under her breath.
“God, Regan.” He squatted in front of her. “Are you all right?”
“What in the hell are you doing?” she snapped. “And why are you holding a persimmon roll over your head?”
“Me?” He dropped his “ax” to the ground and shrugged. “Hostage negotiations. This in exchange for the deer.” He pulled the Eiffel Tower key ring out of his pocket and dangled it in front of her.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He shot a look, just one, at Randolph. She snatched the key chain and shoved it in the pocket of her hoodie. “You’re trespassing and you should leave.”
He started carefully untangling Regan from the branches. “Says the woman hiding ass-backward in the bushes with America’s Most Wanted Deer in her clutches.”
Even though she was only lit by the moon and his flashlight, he could see her cheeks heat as she fiddled with the strings of her hoodie. “I think I’m cursed.”
“Cursed?” He laughed. She didn’t. She was serious.
Setting Randolph on the concrete, he eased her out of the bush. She dusted herself off, and since the majority of the debris was on that sweet backside of h
ers, he helped with that too. When she realized he was doing more touching that dusting, she batted his hands away.
“Don’t laugh.” She paused dramatically, lowering her voice when she continued. “But I think I did something to piss off the Ghost of Christmas Past or something.”
“Like obliterating the town Christmas display?”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” He reached out and rested his hands on her hips. He couldn’t help it. Whenever he was around Regan he had to touch her. Based on the way she shimmied closer, running her hands up his chest, she suffered from the same affliction.
“I swear, Gabe, I have tried five times to return this damn reindeer. Every time, someone shows up. Or there is a vigil going on. Or your grandmother calls me.”
“Merry Christmas to one and all,” the deer said.
Regan just stared at Gabe as if that was solid proof of a curse.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid?” He ran his hands up her sides, loving how her breasts pressed tightly against the snug black top she wore. He continued heading north, pulling her shirt as he went, exposing that little patch of skin above her belly button.
“No,” she said, her eyes going heavy when he paused to remove a branch that was stuck to her sweats before pushing her shirt high enough to display a very pretty yellow bra—and not much else. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t have any more branches stuck to you.”
“Under my shirt? I landed ass-backward, remember?”
“We’ll get there.” Nudging the hoodie over her head, he pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck. Slowly made his way down her collarbone.
“We can’t.” She dropped her head back, giving him room to work. “We have a problem”—she gasped when he ran his tongue over the swell of her breast—“upstairs.”
“I guarantee you”—he took her hand and placed it over the bulge in his pants—“that we have a much bigger problem downstairs.”
“I told Holly I’d be back in five minutes. I let her watch Miracle on 34th Street on my laptop to keep her busy, but I don’t like to leave her alone.”
“I can deal with five minutes.” He kissed her long and hard, taking his sweet time. He wasn’t about to be rushed. Not now. Not when she was moaning into his mouth and had her fingers sliding over where he needed them most.
They couldn’t have sex in five minutes, he thought, as his hand glided over her stomach to toy with the elastic on her sweats, but they could definitely round third.
“Five minutes ended five minutes ago,” she whispered against his mouth, still tracing the outline of his erection through the denim. If she kept that up, they both might walk away feeling a whole hell of a lot more relaxed.
“Then we’d better get up there.” He kissed her again, one hand coming up to cup her breasts. He could feel her nipple stiffen beneath her bra and had dipped his thumb inside to pull the lace aside when a bright light blinded them.
He blinked into the headlights, trying to make out who was driving the car, and then saw spinning hubcaps, a DELUCA1 license plate, and groaned.
“Shit, you really are cursed.”
CHAPTER 9
“I’ll take him,” Gabe said, grabbing for Randolph.
“No.” Regan pulled her shirt back on and snatched the deer by the antlers. “You buy me some time. I’ll hide the deer.”
“Why don’t we just tell them the truth and then this whole mess will be over?”
She jerked her head from side to side.
“Then why don’t I say I had him?”
“I can’t let you lie too,” she said, feeling tears prick her eyes. “And I can’t tell them the truth because then they’ll know I deceived them. I am the webmaster for the Safe Return of Randolph hotline, and ChiChi made me a junior detective on the Where’s Randolph campaign. If they find out that I took Randolph and threw Santa through ChiChi’s rear window, the only three people in town who have been nice to me from day one will hate me.”
Gabe stroked her face and she leaned into his hand. “They won’t hate you.”
“I’ll take him back tomorrow. I promise. I can get Ava to watch Holly.”
Gabe sighed. She could tell he didn’t want to let her go. Or let this charade go on any longer. But she meant what she said. The Mrs. Clauses were the closest thing Regan had come to having a mother figure in a long time. She didn’t want to lose that.
Hugging Randolph to her chest, she ran behind the corkscrew shrub and, making a mental note to join a gym immediately, made a wheezy lap around the building. Darting behind her car, she waited until Gabe approached the orange SUV, then slid Randolph in her trunk, closed the lid, and snuck up her steps.
She shut the front door, emptied her pockets into the Dirty Jar, gave Holly a kiss on the forehead, and hightailed it to the bedroom. Yanking off her hoodie, she pulled on the first shirt she could grab. She was just smoothing out her hair when she heard the doorbell.
“Mommy!” Holly leaped up off the carpet and scrambled to the window. “We have our first visitor.” She peered out the window and started jumping. “It’s Gabe and the Mrs. Clauses.”
Whoops. Regan had started calling them that at home, but she never thought about Holly repeating it. Especially within hearing range.
Regan opened the door and barely had a chance to step back before the three Mrs. Clauses, each in a pink Santa hat, each holding a Christmas offering, and each with a pop-up chair slung over her shoulder, chimed in with a “Merry Christmas.”
All three women stood on the stoop and blinked up innocently at her, and Regan got a bad feeling in her gut. She eased the door a little more closed than open and placed her body between the welcoming committee and the entrance to her house.
“Merry Christmas,” Regan replied, tugging down the bottom of her shirt, which felt like it was creeping up, and hoped she looked halfway presentable. Her cheeks were still flushed and her breath was coming in low spurts. Partly from the jog and partly from Gabe’s magical lips.
“Mommy.” Holly nudged at her legs and gracefully squirmed her way around them to face their visitors. “It’s not polite to leave guests standing on the front porch. You invite them inside and offer them a drink.”
“And some would say it’s not polite to drop in unannounced,” Gabe murmured from behind.
“Says the man hiding in the bushes,” ChiChi said, pushing her way inside. “Plus, we’re here on official committee business.”
Lucinda followed holding Mr. Puffins, looking dashing in a green Christmas tree dress with a star Velcroed to his head. Pricilla waddled through the door, but not before delivering a grandmotherly kiss, one to Holly and one to Regan, and digging through her crocheted handbag to offer both of them peppermint lollipops.
“Thank you.” Holly beamed as she led them into the house.
Each granny set her plate on the counter and took her place in the family room in front of the tree. ChiChi set up her chair and the other ladies followed, even popping up a mini red and green one that was Holly-sized.
Which left Regan standing at the front door, staring up into the eyes of one sexy vintner. Not sure what to say or do with her hands, she settled on a lame smile. Then felt her cheeks heat when she thought of what they had almost done in the alley below.
Gabe leaned in, his eyes dropping to her shirt, and whispered, “My thoughts exactly.”
She looked down and felt the embarrassment rise. In her panicked state she had grabbed one of Holly’s shirts. It was tiny enough to smash her breasts, white enough to pass for wet T-shirt attire, and had Prrrrrr scrawled across the chest in pink. And poking out, just above the top curve of the second and fifth R, was hard evidence that she was still turned on.
“Yeah, me too,” Gabe said, his lips grazing her ear, before walking through the doorway.
“Here you go.” Regan threaded gold yarn through the last tinfoil star and handed it to Gabe, a tingle shooting throu
gh her body when he purposefully ran a thumb along the underside of her wrist.
The Mrs. Clauses had arrived with cookies, cocoa, hot buttered wine—everything needed for a Christmas tree decorating party, including a few ornaments to add to their collection. And they had helped Holly find the perfect place for each one. The way they treated her daughter, went out of their way to hug her and make her feel special, touched Regan deeply. But what had melted her heart were the contents of the bag that Gabe dropped by the front door.
It wasn’t filled with expensive presents or store-bought decorations. Gabe had brought tinfoil, yarn, tissue paper, popcorn—all the things needed to create a homemade Christmas tree. And Holly had been thrilled.
“One North Star, coming up.” He pasted a piece of tape to the yarn and passed it up to Holly, who giggled and took the handmade decoration.
Holly tapped her tiny finger against her chin and scanned the ceiling before pointing to the corner on the far side of the room. “Over there.”
“As the lady wishes.” Gabe carefully stepped around to the other side of the tree.
And that was exactly how they’d spent the last hour. The Mrs. Clauses stringing popcorn and shouting strict directions from their thrones. Holly perched on Gabe’s shoulder, sticking hundreds of tinfoil stars and tissue paper snowflakes to the ceiling to complete the illusion of a Winter Wonderland. And Regan wondering if her new friends understood just what a gift they had given her and her daughter.
“Not there,” ChiChi said from her chair, shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth and using a laser pointer to make a red X on the star in question. “It needs to be right above the tree.” The laser flew to the spot on the ceiling that was just above the tree’s point.
Lucinda reached over, grabbed a handful of popcorn for herself, and studied the room. Mr. Puffins opened one eye. It went wide and then narrowed in on the moving beam. “She’s right. It’s the biggest one we made, so it should be right over the tree.”
“Oh, I like that idea.” Pricilla nodded eagerly.
“Nope,” Holly said, reaching up to stick the tape to the ceiling in the place she had deemed perfect. “The biggest one was my nana’s and it goes on top. Right, Mommy?”