Kissing Under the Mistletoe

by Marina Adair

  “I need more.”

  Damn right.

  Gabe slid his other hand down the back of her thigh, hooking it around her knee, and gently brought her foot up and set it on his chair, the heel of her boot straddling the armrest. There went her skirt, up and over her ass, and he froze.

  “Gabe, now. I’m almost there.” He could see it in the way her pupils were fully dilated and hear it in the need thickening her words. So was he and he was still fully clothed. Vixen, on the other hand...

  “God, you are so damn beautiful,” he breathed, taking in the sight of her. Her hair was wet from the rain and tumbling down her back, her shirt was shoved up to her armpit, her skirt was bunched around her waist. And there, right on the inside of her hipbone, was that sexy tattoo. Only it wasn’t a bundle of holly, it was fucking mistletoe.

  CHAPTER 12

  Regan watched as Gabe’s mouth kissed its way down her hip, getting closer to the impact zone. With agonizing slowness, and a gentleness that stole the air from her lungs, he sucked and licked and kissed until her whole body tensed in anticipation, nerve endings stretching out to meet him.

  Regan didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t even beg him to hurry up. She couldn’t. Just like she couldn’t look away when he smiled up at her right before he ran his tongue in one long, thorough swipe straight up her center.

  “Oh, God!” Heat shot though her, warming her entire body and making her stomach clinch. She’d known that he would be amazing—just the way he kissed was enough to tell her that. But amazing didn’t even begin to explain what he did to her body as he explored, sucking and teasing, until her legs were shaking so bad she thought they were going to buckle.

  Gripping his shoulders for support, she moved restlessly against his mouth, wanting to get there. But Gabe seemed in no hurry. His hands tightened, holding her still as he worked his magic. And that mouth of his had enough magic to be considered a Christmas miracle all on its own.

  Then his fingers joined the festivities, and Regan thought she would die from the pleasure. Tension built, making her back arch and hips push forward, striving toward an invisible finish line that she could feel was right there. Just out of reach.

  Gabe finally picked up the pace, sliding a second finger inside her and bringing her so close all she had to do was press down and—

  Her breath stopped, right there in her throat, making her vision blur and her mind turn to mush. Making her forget that she had a slew of costumes to stitch, that Holly wanted tacos for dinner, that she was out of milk, that she was naked on the balcony of a winery with a man buried between her legs where anyone could walk by and see.

  None of that mattered, because in the moment of forgetting, she remembered that she was a woman. And nothing had felt this right in a long time.

  And then her mind emptied as Gabe gave a final swirl and gently bit at her bundle of nerves. She heard herself scream and she felt as if she was falling, fast and hard, without a care in the world.

  Thunder cracked overhead and the rain came down, pounding the tile floor. When she finally opened her eyes and came back to herself, she was straddling Gabe’s lap, the heels of her boots digging into her bare ass, her face smashed into the curve of his neck.

  “That was about the sexiest damn thing I have ever seen,” he whispered gruffly, his hand under her hair kneading the back of her neck with such tenderness that it made her throat close. “Are you okay?”

  No. She wasn’t. He was holding her as though, to him, she were precious and special. Which made her feel precious and special. Made her feel as though in that moment maybe she could be the kind of woman a man like Gabe would want to spend the rest of his life with. Would want to call his family.

  He isn’t looking for permanent.

  She knew that. She also understood that if he was, she wouldn’t be the kind of woman to inspire that kind of commitment. So she stared out at the sky and watched the rain cast a glassy shine over the vineyard below, listened as it danced across the roof overhead.

  “Hey.” He dipped down and looked into her eyes. “Are you thinking again?”

  “Not anymore.” She kissed his neck, his chin, working her way to his mouth, where she kissed him long and slow. She could feel his erection pressing against her and she pulled back—on so many levels. “But I think you need to catch up.”

  She slid her hands under his shirt, loving how his muscles bunched and tightened under her touch. Needing to see him, she pulled his shirt off and threw it on the chaise longue next to them.

  His eyes turned dark and hot when she lifted her arms over her head, asking him without words to help. Which he was more than happy to do. He helped her right out of her shirt, skirt, and bra, stopping when he came to the boots, saying he wanted those left on. Then he went to work on himself, quickly dispensing of his clothes, until he was gorgeously naked and—holy moly—impressive package indeed.

  He must have seen the mix of fascination and, if she were being honest, a little fear in her features, because he flashed her a cocky smile. She rolled her eyes and took his hand.

  Not only had it been a while for her. A six-year while. But she was also vanilla when it came to sex. So getting wild on a chair in the middle of a vineyard was too much. They could start on the chaise longue and maybe work their way up to the armchair cha-cha. Plus the cold winter air bit at her skin, causing her to shiver. Why be cold and bare-ass naked in public when there was a snug-looking blanket draped over the back of the chaise?

  She led him toward the chaise, but Gabe obviously wasn’t thinking vanilla, because two steps from the sofa she found herself pinned against a stack of oak barrels by a mass of muscles with magical hands.

  “The chaise,” she said, his mouth already on her neck, his hands going for Christmas miracle number two. Not that she didn’t want a second feliz navidad. She did. A lot. More now than she had two seconds ago, before his head dipped to kiss her breast, before his thumbs circled her navel, and even more than before his erection slid against her stomach.

  “Chaise,” she repeated.

  Gabe looked up, his eyes firm. “No. You said I have one day. Which means I need to get you to stop thinking about groceries and PTA shit if I want a shot at a second day. And a third.”

  “One day, Gabe. That’s it. I don’t think that—”

  He kissed her silent. When he pulled back she studied his face, trying to figure out what he was feeling. If he was asking for more sex, or just more. More her, more him, more them. At the thought, her heart fluttered a little. Okay, a lot. She was already treading dangerously close to falling and didn’t know if she could handle more.

  “There you go with the thinking again.”

  “I’m just trying to read your face, figure out—”

  Before she could blink, Regan found herself facing the wine barrel with Gabe’s hard-on pressing into her lower back. His hands came around her waist and when he spoke his breath tickled her ear, making her shiver again—but for a whole different reason. “Don’t read, don’t think, don’t figure, Regan. Just feel.”

  His hands slid up to cup her breasts and feel she did.

  His skin felt hot, telling her just how cold it must be, but she didn’t move away; if anything, she leaned into his touch. Giving herself over to the experience—and to Gabe—she dropped her head back against his shoulder and blocked out everything but his touch.

  His mouth worked hot open-mouthed kisses along her neck and spine while his hands worked her into a frenzy. He bent a little at the knees, and when he stood back up his erection slid between her legs from behind. He eased across her, pulled back, and eased across her swollen flesh again, releasing a low “Ohhhh” from her lips. He kept up the pace until she was helplessly panting and her body felt like it was too small to hold in all of the pressure.

  “You. Inside me,” she whispered, reaching around with both hands and digging her nails into his ass. “Right now.”

  “Best idea you’ve ever had.” He tighte
ned his grip on her hips and, in one fluid motion, Regan found herself turned around and seated on an oak barrel, Gabe nudging his way between her thighs.

  He tore open the condom packet that appeared out of nowhere, which meant she was getting an A+ in the “no thinking” department. He slid it on and Regan attempted to help. Attempted being the operative word, since she spent most of her time teasing and kissing. But he gave her a resounding A+ in that department too. He also gave her a kiss that almost knocked her right off the barrel.

  He slid her forward, placed her feet on the edge of the barrel beneath, and in one smooth, gentle slide, seated himself fully inside of her. Shocked at how perfect he felt inside of her, Regan let out a sigh of contentment. Even began to wonder if they had been building toward this moment their entire lives. It sounded ridiculous since they hardly even knew each other, but something about this moment felt so right.

  “God, you feel”—he pulled out slightly and rolled back in—“so fucking incredible.” He filled her again, picking up the pace until the world shifted beneath her. Literally.

  “Gabe, the barrels,” she moaned, not really caring if they came tumbling down, as long as he didn’t stop until she came tumbling down.

  “Shit,” he said. “Wrap your legs around me.”

  She did and found herself pressed against the cold stone of the wall, Gabe never breaking the connection. He felt so good, Regan didn’t even mind the freezing wall or the stones pressing into her back. Her hand roved everywhere, and her legs squeezed with everything that she had. All she could do was feel Gabe’s lips on her neck, his body slam in and out of her until everything went black and she couldn’t feel anything.

  She heard Gabe moan her name and he followed her into a floating oblivion. When she came back to herself, he looked up at her and smiled. “Now the chaise.”

  She thought he meant for another round, maybe two. Instead he walked them over to the chaise and placed her on the cushion, only to crawl in next to her, hold her close. He pulled her hair off of her shoulder and placed little kisses on her spine.

  “I’ve been dreaming about that for years.” He pulled the fuzzy blanket over them.

  “Years?” She turned over to face him so she could smack his chest. Which she did. All six of his packs. “You mean weeks.”

  “Years.” He trapped her hand against his chest with his, the expression on his face serious. “Now, you want to argue some more or can we take a nap?”

  “Did you hear that?” Regan whispered. And if she was talking about all those sexy little noises she was making a little while ago, his answer was yes. But he was too spent to talk, so he shifted closer, smelled gingerbread, and tightened his arms.

  “Gabe, I’m serious.” She elbowed him.

  “So am I,” he said, eyes firmly shut but still managing to find all her curvy spots with his hands. He pulled her to him, loving how she gasped when she discovered he was already hard. “I take this problem very seriously. And think it is our duty to solve it.”

  At that she smacked his chest. “Someone is coming. And I have to get my clothes.”

  “Then get your clothes,” he said, nibbling on her earlobe.

  “I can’t,” she hissed. “You’re practically laying on top of me.”

  Yeah, he’d noticed. Liked it, even. And though he too could hear movement coming from down below, he was fairly confident that whoever it was would go away. Fairly. Not many people knew about this place, but he didn’t need to let her know that.

  “Better?” He rolled all the way on top of her, since the “practically” seemed to irritate her.

  “No.” She glared up at him. He smiled back down at her. Then he kissed her, taking his own sweet time about it and waiting until she was as hot and bothered as he was before pulling back.

  “How about now?” When she just stared up at him with dazed eyes he knew his job, for the moment, was complete. So he rolled off of her, giving her that space she was so adamant about.

  It took a moment for her brain to unscramble, a condition he sympathized with, and then she stumbled to her feet. She gathered up most of her clothes, frantically searching for her bra, which he had tucked under the blanket. He, on the other hand, put his arms behind his head, leaned back, and watched the show. And what a show. Regan Martin had one hell of a smoking hot body. She was lean in all the right places, soft where she needed to be. And he didn’t even want to talk about how sweet she tasted.

  Prickly and stubborn and so damn sweet she made his heart do stupid shit. Like feel.

  “What are you doing?” She threw his shirt at his head.

  “Thinking up how we’re going to spend our next rainy day.”

  “Yeah, well, if you don’t help me find my bra, you might not see the next rainy day.”

  She was about to get all worked up. Which made them even, because watching her prance around in a skirt and no bra had him all worked up too.

  He pulled her bra out and dangled it from his fingers. She reached for it, and he yanked it just out of reach. Meaning she had to reach across him and he got another up close and personal of those perfect tens.

  “Gabe,” she said, crossing her arms and only managing to make him hotter. But then he saw the look in her eyes. She wasn’t having fun.

  “Hey.” He stood up and helped her get in her bra, which went against every man rule, helped her into her sweater and then pulled her into his chest. “I’m sorry, I was just screwing around. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not mad. I just don’t want someone to catch us up here and for everyone to think that I got my job by...”

  Ah, hell. She didn’t say “banging the boss’s brother,” but it was what she was thinking. And it was what the gossip mill would say if Isabel and her PTA buddies found out. He kissed the top of her head and then helped her into her jacket.

  “First off, you got that job on your own merit.” And because his brothers wanted to make sure she stuck around. Shit. “The stairs are hard to find and very few people know about them.”

  “I found them,” she said, looking up through her lashes at him and damn near slaying him on the spot.

  “And I used to sneak up here and have sex when I was in high school,” Jordan said from the doorway. “Never saw a naked ass like that, though. Impressive, boss.”

  “Shit.” Gabe grabbed the blanket and draped it over his body, careful to cover Regan in the process. Clothed or not, she was feeling exposed and embarrassed. He could see it in every detail of her face.

  “I hope you have a damn good reason for coming up here,” Gabe said, harsher than intended.

  Jordan’s eyes went wide a moment before narrowing into two slits of pure attitude. “Although not as fun as yours, I do have one. Want to hear it, or are you going to yell at me some more?”

  “Sorry,” Gabe said, guilt weighing hard. He never snapped. But hell, he could feel Jordan’s disapproval all the way in his conscience. The problem was, even though she was aiming it at Gabe, he could tell Regan was taking it personally.

  “Apology accepted, although I think it is chivalrous of you to get surly on your woman’s behalf.” Jordan offered “his woman” a warm and supportive smile, making it clear that it was just Gabe who was the disappointment.

  “Sorry. I was coming up to...how did ChiChi put it in her threatening call? Ah, yes. That I was to come up here and tell Regan that I would be thrilled to join the Costume Committee. And that since it happens to fall under my new job description as committee grommet, it is my task to find a location for Thursday’s sewfest, which I think will also double as a bitchfest.” Jordan’s smile told him just who they would be bitching about. “And since Regan’s place smells like decomposing fur, I was wondering if we could use yours?”

  “My pla—”

  “Yes? Great. Thanks, boss. You’re a stand-up guy.” With a final glance at Regan, one that women shared when bonding over castrating the opposite sex, Jordan turned and left. And with her she took all
of the ease and comfort that Gabe and Regan had accomplished that afternoon.

  “Explain to me how I ended up here, sewing glitter and shit on a costume for some kid that I don’t even know,” Frankie said, peeling dry, hot glue off her fingers. “Especially when I was supposed to be one of six committee members.”

  “Pricilla and Lucinda are finishing up the last-minute details on the cupcakes for Holly’s party tomorrow. And ChiChi had a headache,” Regan explained, and didn’t believe the excuses any more than when the Mrs. Clauses had explained them to her.

  “They didn’t know I had agreed to actually show up and help,” Jordan said, finishing the last stitch on the frog’s body and knotting it off. She cut the thread with her teeth and went on, confirming Regan’s suspicion. “Effectively ruining their matchmaking plan.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why I got sucked into this.”

  “Because scaredy-pants Regan didn’t want to do this alone,” Jordan said, jerking an obvious chin at Gabe, who sat on the couch with Holly watching Puss in Boots. “I figured since I had to be here, between the two of us we could pry out of her what’s going on between her and Gabe.”

  Regan’s foot froze on the pedal, running the needle right up the crotch of the pantaloons and almost sewing her finger to the fabric. The Band-Aid, already firmly in place from her last needle run-in, saved her. She grabbed the seam ripper and angrily tore out each stitch.

  “Nothing.” And that was the God’s honest truth.

  Since Monday, absolutely nothing had happened. He hadn’t called or e-mailed or done more than send her a friendly smile when he’d come to visit Marc at the hotel. It should have made Regan happy. It was exactly what they had agreed upon. It didn’t. It actually made her feel a little foolish and a whole lot confused. And every time she thought she’d gotten a hold on her emotions, Gabe would show up and remind her that casual was a hard concept for her to grasp.