Kissing Under the Mistletoe (35 page)

“You did? Why?”

They were both talking so hushed, Regan could see people sway closer, straining to listen. So Gabe dropped his voice even more. “I found him in the PTA room and thought Isabel was setting you up.” Regan had assumed the same thing. “I considered just returning it to the town display, but you had been so adamant—”

“You mean stubborn?”

“
Determined
to do it yourself that I wanted to give you the time you needed.”

“I had already given it back to your grandmother...in front of half the town.”

“I figured that out last night. Right around the time I realized that you would also come here this morning to make things right.”

“So you planned all of this?”

He nodded. “To say I’m sorry. Truly sorry for everything.”

She looked around at her friends holding reindeers, a public statement that they had her back, and couldn’t believe that Gabe had gone through all that trouble just to cover for her.

“You’re forgiven. For the Randolph part,” she clarified.

He pulled her even closer, their hips and thighs brushing. “Well, before you make up your mind on the rest of it, please let me show you the
best
part.”

“Oh, she’s seen his part,” Jordan yelled. The crowd nodded.

Gabe winked at Holly, then looked down at Regan. “Ready?”

No, Regan wasn’t ready. She was still stuck on the “I love you.”

Holly pushed the pink nose on the Randolph imposter. But instead of a robotic voice wishing one and all a Merry Christmas, it was Gabe’s voice that came out.

“Marry me, Regan.”

Regan looked down and there around girly Randolph’s neck was a diamond ring attached to a big red bow. It was old and aged with memories, and she recognized it immediately.

Holly handed the ring to Gabe. He held it for a silent moment, his face vulnerable and unsure. He must have misread her face, because his went slack. “If you don’t want
this one because of Richard, I can get you another one. It’s just that it was my mom’s and—”

“The ring is perfect.” She slid her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest. No matter how much she loved him, how much she wanted to say yes, she couldn’t.

She felt Gabe tense, then he buried his face in her neck and whispered, “I sense a ‘but’ coming, Vixen.”

“I can’t.” Gabe froze at her confession. She loosened her hold, unwilling to let him see the emotion in her eyes, stared at his arms that were so strong she wanted to crawl right back into them. “I love you so much, but I just can’t. Your family—”

He cupped her cheeks and tilted her face up, and what she saw staring back made her breath catch. Gabe was looking down at her with so much intensity and love and heat that some of her doubts that stemmed from their past began to fade and give way to a few hopes for their future.

“You are my family,” he said fiercely. “You and Holly.”

Regan opened her mouth to point out that he also had a big bad Italian family who hated her, but before she could get a word out he leaned down and gently kissed her. “Last night you said it wasn’t enough,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re right. It wasn’t. Anything that doesn’t include dinner with you and Holly and waking up with you in my arms, every day, will never be enough. I love you, Regan. I don’t care where we live or who shows up to Christmas dinner, as long as I have you. You two are home to me, you’re my family. Please say you’ll let me be yours.”

Regan had received a Christmas miracle six years ago and promised herself that she would never forget what it felt like. So when the warmth spread through her body, surrounding
her heart and filling her with joy, she closed her eyes and for the second time since she was seven she thanked Santa.

“Was that a yes?” ChiChi shouted from the back.

“I can’t hear a thing back here,” Pricilla harped.

“It’s cuz she stepped away from the mic,” Lucinda shouted.

“Well, I’m pretty close,” the mayor said, “and I’m not sure. She said she liked the ring and then started crying, so Gabriel kissed her and then she mumbled something about Santa.”

“So what is it, Mommy?” Holly asked.

“Yeah, Vixen, what is it?” Gabe asked, his voice low and rough. His arms tightened around her, one hand sinking dangerously low on her back, the other into her hair.

Regan looked at the two most important people in her world and understood that even though she and Holly made a perfect pair, with Gabe they were the perfect family.

“Yes,” Regan said, loud enough for even Perkins to hear. “Yes, I will marry you.”

“Thank God.” But instead of kissing her, like Regan had hoped, Gabe leaned down and picked Holly up. One arm tightly around Regan, the other holding Holly. “You gonna show her?”

“Show me what?” Regan asked, smiling at her giggling daughter.

Holly reached into the pocket of her Christmas dress and pulled out a cat collar. It was green with a little red bell and had a gold tag dangling from it. “Gabe said I could have a kitty of my very own. So I was hoping you’d say yes and marry him.”

“Hold it up higher,” he said as Holly raised the collar above her head. “A little to your left. Other left. There you go. Now read the tag.”

Collar directly overhead, Holly stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth and squinted at the name tag. “It says Mistletoe. Look, Mrs. Clauses, my new kitty is named Mistletoe.”

“Well, how about that? My favorite holiday plant,” Gabe said, setting down Holly, who took off toward her three grandmas. He pulled Regan close and kissed her, telling without words just how merry a Christmas it was going to be.

Read on for a sneak peek of Marina Adair’s next delightful romance

SUMMER IN NAPA

Available April 16, 2013

A
lexis Moreau grabbed her car keys, and headed down the rear stairs. Cracking the door open, she glanced around and smiled when she found the parking lot behind the shop blessedly empty.

She had snuck in and out of this apartment so many times as a teenager, there was no reason that her heart should be pounding out of her chest right now. It was like riding a bike, right? The only difference was that back in high school she had snuck around so that no one would know she was having sex with Jeffery, and now she was going stealth because she didn’t want people to know that Jeffery stopped having sex with her a long time ago.

Lexi’s heart went heavy, because erasing the past ten years wasn’t going to happen. Neither was ignoring the fact that her expected arrival time was less than an hour away. She would have to face family and friends eventually. But when she did, it was going be on her terms.

Lexi took a single step, stiffening at the sound of feet pounding the pavement, followed by the instant clang of
jangling metal. Both sounds were wild and hurried. And both sounds were moving.

Toward her.

“Shit!” Lexi reached back for the doorknob, twisted, and—nearly broke her wrist.

Chest tight, palms sweaty, she faced the door and gave it another try.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

It was locked. In her grandmother’s quest to protect Lexi’s teenage virtue, Pricilla had installed safety measures: a doorknob that was extremely loud to open, with a lock that was always engaged.

Lexi patted down the sides of her shorts as though expecting to find magical pockets containing a set of apartment keys. Sadly, she found neither.

“Come here, boy,” a distinctly male, and distinctly familiar, voice called out. Followed by a playful bark that sounded much farther away.

Lexi froze and last night’s pastry dinner declared war on her stomach.

“That’s it, come on. Good boy.” Paws clicked excitedly on the pavement—directly toward her. “Damn it, Wingman, I said come!”

This could not be happening
.

Fear had her moving—and fast. Lexi would rather face her grandmother and a few customers than face
him.

A gentle breeze blew past her and with it the smell of freshly baked choux pastry. Lexi followed the scent and found that both of the windows that her grandmother used to ventilate the rear kitchen were open a crack.

She automatically pried the first window open, her body going into adolescent autopilot as she hoisted herself through. She got that same old high school thrill until she realized she didn’t have the same old high school hips and found herself, ass-up, wedged between the window casing.

“Oh, God, no.” Lexi rocked, trying to gain enough momentum to tumble to the other side of the windowsill. “Please, no.”

Seconds ticked by and sweat beaded on her forehead. She clawed at the sill and kicked at the planter box she stood on, mentally willing her hips back to prom night—but she didn’t move, or loosen, an inch. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t squeeze herself through the window.

Refusing to give up, she looked around the kitchen, hoping to find something, anything that might help. But everything was out of reach—except for a fresh tray of éclairs, which sat just to her right.

Her body sank, dangling over the windowsill. It was no use. She was stuck. Trying to move forward while dodging your past was clearly impossible. So she did what any reasonable woman would do: she reached across the table and plucked a petit-éclair from the tray, shoving the entire thing in her mouth, sure to lick her fingers clean in the process.

She was reaching for her second pastry when something cold and wet poked her in the butt. She yelped. There was a bark, a sniff, and the wet nose again.

“Shoo,” Lexi hissed, waving her free hand even though the dog couldn’t see. “Go away.”

“He was just saying good morning.”

Lexi froze, considering her options. When she realized she had none, she snapped, “Well, you should teach him some manners.”

“Says the woman mooning half of St. Helena,” the smooth voice behind her said, as though she wasn’t aware that her ass was flapping in the wind. “Plus, as far as Wingman is concerned, you were offering him up a doggie high-five.”

Taking a deep breath, Lexi composed herself and went for enchanting. There was a time when she’d excelled in enchanting. Hell, she’d been cheer captain,
and
valedictorian.

But that was all before. Before the end of her marriage. Before she lost her restaurant. Before she found her husband trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey in nothing but her award-winning
noix de coco brûlée
and a hard-on, while her sous chef Sara used a basting brush and caramelizing torch in ways that were illegal in thirty-seven of the fifty states.

And before she turned her head, looked out the window, and found herself staring up at the one person in town who had never thought Alexis Moreau enchanting. In fact, Marco DeLuca, entitled playboy and total meathead, had gone out of his way to let her know just how annoying he’d believed her to be.

Ignoring Marc’s smart-ass grin and Wingman’s breath on her thighs, Lexi realized that with her new diet of cynicism and foolishness, enchanting was no longer her. So she did the next best thing. She grabbed another éclair and—

“No, he doesn’t do well with—”

—chucked it out the window. Barking and jumping ensued with a lot of scrambling, mainly on Marc’s part.

“No, boy. Drop it. That’s right, chocolate is bad. Very bad. It gives you...Aw, Wingman!”

The window next to her squeaked open. By the time she turned her head, Marc was leaning in, his forearms leisurely resting on the windowsill, ear buds dangling from his neck, and his alpha-male swagger stinking up the kitchen.

“Heard you were coming home.”

The way he said it, with an added little wink for extra sting, made her wonder just what else he had heard. Damn it. This was supposed to be a covert homecoming.

She grabbed the last éclair off the table and took a bite.

“I hope you brought enough to share with the class.”

She could have told him that there was another tray on the far wall, but Marc had been a permanent pain in her butt ever since she moved to St. Helena with her mom in the eighth grade. Lexi never knew what she had done to get on his bad side, a hard accomplishment since Marc loved everything with boobs.

She looked at her breasts and paused. They weren’t huge, but even in her grandmother’s baggy T-shirt they filled out the top nicely. Jeffery had never complained.

Then again, he had also left her for a loafer-wearing vegan who looked more like a librarian than the “other woman.”

She took another bite and pondered. Whatever she’d done had placed her at the top of Marc’s shit list. Not a good list to be on when the DeLucas pretty much ran St. Helena.

Even worse—for Lexi—Marc was not only loved by women, respected by men, adored by the elderly, a real hometown freaking hero. He was also her ex-husband’s best friend. Had been since elementary school.

“Sorry, last one.” With a shrug, she shoved almost the entire thing in her mouth, mumbling around the bits of flaky pastry and heavenly filling.

Marc reached through the window, snatched the remaining bite—the last and
best
bite.

“Give it back.” Lexi’s arms shot out to stop him. Only Marc was faster, and meaner. Palming her head with his free hand, he held her down while he savored the last bite.

Lexi swatted him away. “Does everyone get such a warm welcome?”

Reaching through the opened window, he wiped a glob of filling off the side of her mouth. Licking it clean, he smiled. “Only the ones who wear their breakfast, Creampuff.”

“I’ll be sure to pack a napkin next time. And it’s an éclair.”

When Marc’s hand made its way back toward her lips, she quickly wiped her mouth off on her right shoulder. The white cotton came away with custard and chocolate smears.

“As great as it is to see you again, I’m kind of busy.”

All traces of humor faded and his eyes went soft. “I can see that. Need some help?”

Yes,
she was about to beg, already lifting her arms toward him. The offer seemed genuine enough, the last seventy-two hours had left her on the brink of tears, and for some bizarre reason Lexi wanted to give in to Marc’s charm and gallantry.