Kissing Under the Mistletoe by Marina Adair Page A

“Can I have a doughnut? It’s polite to share.”
    Gabe’s mouth opened and shut, his chest rising and falling faster than seemed healthy. With a single nod, he offered Holly the entire box of pastries. Sucker.
    Regan almost felt sorry for him. Okay, she didn’t feel sorry at all. It felt nice to see Mr. Laid Back squirm.
    Holly peeked under the lid and clutched the treasured pink box to her chest. Eyes squinted, face scrunched in concentration, she tilted her head and studied Gabe—tall, dark, and undoubtedly feeling guilty as hell. Regan almost snorted.
    After long deliberation, Holly eyed the Dirty Jar and frowned. “He didn’t shake my hand, but he brought the ones with the pink sprinkles on top.”
    Regan smiled at her daughter’s dilemma. The law was the law. But doughnuts were doughnuts. She also admired her daughter’s ability to gracefully break the tension in the room. The moment Holly opened her mouth, Gabe’s horrifiedexpression faded and a charmed smile hovered on his lips. He squatted down and extended his hand.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Holly. I seem to have left my manners at home.” Holly easily accepted his excuse and hand, pumping it like a politician.
    “He’s sorry ’bout the bad manners, Mommy.” Holly looked back and forth between the two adults. “Does he have to put a quarter in the Dirty Jar?”
    At that Gabe raised a brow. “Dirty Jar?”
    “Yup, whenever Mommy or I do something dirty or impolite we have to put a quarter in the Dirty Jar.”
    “Ah,” he stood, pinning Regan with a look. “So, if your mom were to, say, call someone a bad name or throw a melon at someone’s head she’d have to—”
    “Pay fifty cents,” Holly said proudly. “We collected enough quarters to go to the movies
and
buy popcorn when we got stuck in traffic moving here.”
    “I’ll bet,” Gabe said, hands in belt loops, rocking back on his heels.
    “Holly, why don’t you take those in the kitchen and put one on a napkin,” Regan instructed.
    Holly flew down the hallway, the box teetering dangerously in her greedy little palms.
    “Do you need to go help her?”
    “No.” What she needed was for him to leave.
    Gabe watched Holly disappear, then took stock of the Dirty Jar. His right eyebrow twitched, and the look he gave her was 100 percent Dirty Jar–worthy.
    “Since I ran into you, I’ve practically paid for two years at Stanford for her.” Regan laughed, but quickly realizedthat she was the only one laughing. Gabe looked pained and a bit constipated.
    “Is she Richar—”
    “She’s mine.” Richard may have donated the sperm, but that’s where his influence ended.
    “She’s beautiful,” Gabe said. “Like her mom.” A heated gaze swept down her body and made its way back to lock with hers. His assessment wasn’t filled with disgust but an appreciation so primal Regan looked at the floor and toed at the corner of the entry rug.
    How was it possible to be turned on by the one person who had caused her so much pain?
    “Why are you here?”
    “I came to see if you needed help loading up.”
    “Of course you did.” Too bad for him she was only moving two miles away. “Well, thanks, but no thanks.”
    She went to slam the door—in his face—when he shoved his foot in the doorjamb.
    “Wait, that came out wrong. ChiChi mentioned that you got a place over by the school.” So he knew. She frowned, mentally kicking herself for wondering how he felt about it. “I figured I have a truck that would make moving your things easier than trying to fit it all in your car. Plus, an extra set of arms always helps.”
    Regan remained silent, her eyes trained on his face, unconvinced. If she looked down at that extra set of arms, she’d give in. Because he had really nice arms. A nice chest too. And his lips—
    “Also, I wanted to apologize for my behavior last weekend.”
    Regan found herself smiling, pleasantly stunned that the most irritating, high-handed man she knew was