Kissing Under the Mistletoe by Marina Adair

back into the box, Gabe pulling them back out one by one to inspect them.
    Satisfied that she had gotten every last scrap, Regan yanked the yellow demibra out of Gabe’s long, lean fingers, dropped it in the box, slammed the flaps shut, smacked away his hands, and taped it securely. She stood, ready to give him an earful. Her day was stressful enough without having to deal with him.
    Only, when she looked up she was speechless. Between Gabe’s two pointer fingers, the elastic stretched tight, hung a pair of red panties with a big green bow and “Merry Christmas, Love, Santa” across the crotch.
    His lips twitched. “I didn’t know we were exchanging gifts. I think you have to be wearing it for the full effect, though.”
    Ignoring the way her toes curled into the rug, she snatched the panties and shoved them in her back pocket. “Do you have a reason for being here? Other than to bother me?”
    “I was supposed to come bearing fruitcake, care of ChiChi. But—” Gabe picked up a pastry box off the porch bench. Oh, God, he brought doughnuts? She loved doughnuts. “I stopped by Pricilla’s and picked up these instead.”
    “Why?” She tried to feign disinterest but found herself sniffing the air for hints of maple.
    “Because ChiChi’s fruitcake has been known to cause copious amounts of vomiting, and I didn’t want you to accuse me of digestive assault with a deadly fruitcake.”
    Regan refused to smile. Even though, when Gabe wasn’t getting her fired or kicking her out of parties, he was charming. And she
could
smell the faintest hint of maple. Oh, boy, she was a goner.
    “No, I mean, why are you here?”
    “I heard you were moving and—”
    “Oh.” Of course. Her heart sank.
    Disappointed and mad at herself for feeling disappointed, Regan grabbed her purse off of the table by the door, riffled through it, and extracted an envelope with his name on it. Forcing herself to look him in the eye, she explained, “I don’t have it all. But I hope this will be enough for now. I’ll send you a payment every week until it’s paid off.”
    Gabe just stared at the envelope. When he didn’t make a move to take it, Regan leaned around him and stuck it in his butt pocket, making sure
not
to notice how firm his ass was, or how yummy he smelled, or how her heart picked up when his eyes lit with humor. Nor did she succumb to lust and give him a firm little pat on that incredibly pat-able butt.
    “Look, Regan. I didn’t come here to—”
    Gabe’s words were cut short by what sounded like a small herd of elephants stampeding down the hardwood floor. The thundering drew to a close, only to be replaced by a shrill squeal that was nothing short of pure, uncontained joy.
    “Mommy, he brought us doughnuts!”
    Gabe looked at the tiny bundle of excitement jumping up and down, and froze. His face went slack and his eyes widened with shock.
    He didn’t know?
    Holly’s hands alternating between clapping and pointing at the pink box in his possession only made his discomfort more obvious. Regan closed her eyes. This was not what she needed today.
    Wrapping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, she pulled Holly into the shelter of her body and pinned Gabe with a glare, hard and determined. Neither spoke, but the message was clear: Mess with my kid and I will fuck you up.
    “Mommy,” Holly whispered, eyeing the Dirty Jar. “You should introduce me. It’s only polite.”
    Regan nodded. “Holly, this is Mr. DeLuca. Gabe, my daughter, Holly.”
    She knew the moment he figured out who Holly’s father was. It didn’t take much. Holly was the perfect combination of her and Richard. At least physically.
    “Nice to meet you,” Holly said, sticking out a hand that had a brown smudge that looked suspiciously like peanut butter.
    Regan sent a questioning glance at the undeniable evidence of pre-breakfast nibbling. Holly swayed nervously and quickly wiped the evidence off on her jean-clad legs before reoffering her hand.