Kissing Under the Mistletoe (4 page)

During the phone interview, Jordan had explained that she’d been brought on to hire staff and set up operations for the winery. Once the company found its footing, she would take on a smaller role, leaving Regan with plenty of opportunity for lateral growth. It was another aspect that had attracted Regan to the position.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Regan said, still pumping the woman’s hand.

“I was thinking the same thing,” the older woman said with a smile. “And Holly is just precious.”

Jordan must have seen the look of confusion on Regan’s face. “In addition to making a mean Syrah, ChiChi is also the chairwoman of the Community Action Committee, which means she heads up any and all community events and a lot of the arts programs at Holly’s school.”

“Right now we are working on the Christmas musical. And if that busybody PTA will leave me alone, it will be brilliant,” ChiChi said, frowning at a group of ladies standing at the bar wearing entitled gowns and designer attitudes.

“The musical is all Holly can talk about. She was so excited about tryouts, she’s been practicing her purr all day. And she just loves her music teacher...Mrs. Dee? I was afraid when we moved midyear that it would be hard on her, but everyone has been amazing. It really has made the transition so much easier,” Regan gushed, all in one gigantic breath.

She felt like Holly, all big eyes and blabbering on, but she couldn’t help herself; she was talking to the woman who had made this move a success. So she did what she always managed to do in these kinds of situations. She went on. And on.

“I can’t even begin to thank you for recommending Holly. I know how long the wait list for St. Vincent’s Academy is, and after you called them, they moved her to the top, and, well...” Regan forced herself to be quiet, afraid she’d burst into tears. ChiChi had single-handedly gained Holly admission into a school that Regan could never afford—and offered to pay for the full tuition as a benefit of working for Ryo Wines.

“One less vineyard brat to ferment the barrel. And she’s quite the linguist. Most children today can’t even speak one language properly, let alone three. Her grasp of French is remarkable, spoken like a true Parisian, and her Spanish...” ChiChi paused, leaning in to Regan. “You can let go of me, dear.”

Regan released her death grip on the woman and blushed. “My mother made me take French in school and only spoke Spanish at home. I guess I wanted the same for Holly.”

Actually, she wanted more for Holly. Regan’s mother had been 100 percent Mexican, a Spanish-speaking cleaning lady with no degree, no papers, and no identity other than “illegal.” And stubborn to a fault. The only thing Regan inherited from her diplomat French father was a few extra inches, piercing blue eyes, and the understanding that she was unwanted.

Regan was adamant that Holly have a childhood filled with opportunity and roots—and, above all, one where she knew that she belonged.

“Excuse me, but I believe this is our dance,” a deep—she refused to say sexy—voice cut in from behind.

Startled, she whipped around and tried to convince herself that she was not staring down Gabe DeLuca for the second time in less than a week.

His request came off as cordial, but the reprimanding hand shackled around Regan’s wrist was pure asshole. She pulled back. His grip tightened. Not enough to hurt, but rendering her unable to break free. Furious, she hit him with a look—a hard one.

But it was difficult to appear fierce when facing a mountain of angry testosterone. Gabe wasn’t just angry, he was hot. She hadn’t seen it the other day because she’d been thrown off by his smart-ass smile. She had only ever seen his snarl. And he was snarling now. Even though it should piss her off—which it did—it also made her panties wet.

Okay, time to pull it together, Regan!

She jerked with enough force to disengage her arm, rubbing at the strange tingling left by his fingers and cursing her hormones. That was what happened when young, healthy women avoided men for six years. They went sex-crazy.

“I know she’s exquisite, Gabriel. But you know better than to manhandle a lady,” ChiChi scolded, though she appeared to be smiling at the sparks flying between the two.

Regan wanted to tell the sweet older woman that it was loathing, not lust-inspired sparks, but she was afraid it might be a little of one and a sleigh full of the other.

“I apologize, Nonna.” Gabe smiled—the first honest smile Regan had ever seen from him.

Nonna?
Grandmother
?

Gabe’s eyes softened and he leaned down and gave ChiChi a kiss on both cheeks, pulling her in for a hug. Regan felt a strange tug of longing watching the obvious flow of affection between the two.

“Jordan, you look gorgeous as always.” Gabe glanced around the room and grinned. “Incredible job tonight. You should be proud.”

Regan blinked. This man who she thought didn’t have a nice bone in his body was actually quite charming, and his fondness for the two women was genuine. What surprised her, though, was the way the women embraced him. It spoke of mutual admiration and heartfelt respect.

Great, the man was admired and endearing.

“I’m surprised to find Miss Martin here,” Gabe continued. “Astonished really.”

“Likewise,” Regan snapped, crossing her arms.

“Careful.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Your eyes are going all shifty. Sure you don’t want the number for that anger management class I told you about?”

“What is wrong with this world? Anger management classes!” ChiChi snapped. “Just the other day Gabriel took me to the market to buy the meat for dinner and some crazy
destroyed my car. Santa was thrown through my back window, and they still haven’t found poor Randolph.”

“You mean Rudolph,” Regan casually corrected, going for innocent.

“The rest of the world has Rudolph. St. Helena has Randolph,” ChiChi said as two of her fingers moved from forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder, while mumbling something about the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. “A cardinal sin, I tell you! They should lock that crazy up.”

“I agree,” Gabe said, crossing his arms, which pulled his tuxedo jacket tightly across his chest. A chest that had absolutely nothing to do with the way her mouth went dry. “Don’t you agree, Regan?”

“Yup,” Regan mumbled, polishing off her second glass of wine in one gulp, surprised that Gabe hadn’t ratted her out—and making a mental note to drop a whole roll of quarters into the Dirty Jar.

“You two know each other, then? How
interesting
,” Jordan said with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Interesting,” Gabe deadpanned. “Regan and I go way back.” His stormy-blue gaze flicked to her hands and back to lock on her eyes, sending a shiver down her spine. “Now about that dance.”

“I’ll sit this one out, thank you though,” Regan replied with a serene smile, in direct contrast to her eat-shit-and-choke-on-it bat of the lashes.

Gabe might have laughed if he hadn’t been scanning the room for his sister. Between Richard’s wayward dick, his
sticky fingers, and last year’s grape-ravaging frost, Abigail had had to claw her way back from bankruptcy—fiscally and emotionally. She’d spent the first four years after Richard left in Santa Barbara, avoiding the family, her friends—anyone who knew what had happened, which was pretty much the entire Napa Valley.

Then, two years ago, ChiChi convinced her to go in as partners in a new winery. With ChiChi heading up wine production, Abby designing the winery and handling the build, and a team of amazing women running the day-to-day operations, Ryo would become the only female-run winery in the DeLuca family.

Abby had finally agreed, under the conditions that her name stayed off the paperwork and that she could do the preliminary designs from her house in Santa Barbara. Over the past year, Ryo Wines had become her baby, the project that pulled her through a difficult time in her life.

Tonight was to be Abby’s big moment, her I’m-back-and-stronger-than-ever party. It was her chance to prove to herself, and to everyone else, that she’d recovered from Richard’s blow—it was
not
going to become a reminder of what a bastard he was.

“Too late for that, don’t you think?” Gabe said. “Besides, they’re playing our song.”

“We don’t have a song.”

“No, but we do have an audience,” he said softly, his eyes going from his grandmother to Jordan and back to Regan, who was now looking panicked.

“A dance,” ChiChi said, clasping her chest. “What a lovely idea. You two go catch up, and I will entertain Isabel.”

Isabel, right. Isabel Stark was blonde, stacked, and the woman ChiChi had blackmailed Gabe into bringing as his date tonight. She was a head of the local PTA, heir to the newest cork empire in the Valley, and had her recently divorced sights set on Gabe, who was not interested in anything other than a good time.

He looked around the room and found Isabel standing by the bar, looking entitled and irritated, right where he’d left her when he’d spotted Regan. At
his
party. Laughing with
his
family.

“Thank you, Nonna. And Jordan, remind me to give you a raise. You did a fantastic job tonight.” To avoid his grandmother discovering just who Regan Martin was, Gabe extended an arm. “Shall we?”

When Regan’s eyes met his, they were wide with understanding. Smart girl. She’d pieced it all together. Ryo Wines may not bear the DeLuca name, and he might not be allowed to set foot in their production house because he lacked the right number of X chromosomes, but it was still a DeLuca company. And his employees were loyal to him and his family.

“It was, um, so very nice to meet you, ChiChi.” She set her wineglass on a passing tray and turned to Jordan. “Gabe is right, Jordan. It really is a wonderful party. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it seems I have a dance.”

Head high, Regan walked right past Gabe and headed straight for the exit. And straight for Abigail.

“Dance floor is this way.” He clasped her arm firmly and led her back to the room, ignoring her protest and the pointy heel digging into his big toe. He’d have thrown her over his shoulder if it meant avoiding a scene.

“What makes you think I’d ever want to dance with you?” She jerked her arm away.

“How about because we are going have a conversation. The one where I remind you how you fucked over my family, and you promise to waltz your sweet little ass back to Oregon.”

“I don’t know how to waltz.”

“Great, because this is a rumba.” Wrapping his arm around her waist, he slid his hand down the exposed part of her back. Shit. She was soft and smelled incredible and was so damn sexy he went hard immediately.

Gabe spun her out and back in, then gently swayed to the music. To anyone else it would appear as though they were a couple enjoying a friendly dance. No one would notice how Regan’s knee rose up within striking distance, her nails digging into his chest, while Gabe’s arms tightened around her like a vise.

Unfortunately, his body couldn’t help but notice her dress, red and silky and hugging every curve. Or the way their bodies brushed against each other. Or that when he looked down he had a damn-near perfect view of black lace and the most incredible cleavage he’d ever seen.

Based on the cold glare coming off Regan, which was enough to freeze his nuts off, she knew exactly what he was staring at. He looked at the walls, the band, anywhere but at her. Not that it helped. The woman smelled like gingerbread cookies and sex, and all he could think about was getting her under the mistletoe three feet away.

“We have to stop meeting like this, Vixen.”

Her eyes narrowed into two rage-induced slits and she opened her mouth. Gabe placed his finger against her
lips. “Careful now, it looks like you’re getting ready to say something you’ll regret later.”

She bit his finger, smiling when he jerked his hand back. She wouldn’t be smiling if she knew that his hand wasn’t the only thing that jerked.

“Actually, I was going to say thank you for not ratting me out to ChiChi about the car.”
Asshole
went unsaid. So did
liar, liar, pants on fire
. “So if you could please tell her that the crazy lady said she’s sorry. That she didn’t know it was her car.”

“Are you saying you wouldn’t be sorry if it had been mine?” He took her in a close embrace, this time sliding his fingers between hers while guiding them even farther toward the back of the ballroom.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

Gabe laughed and “Vixen” looked ready to bite again.

“Is this funny to you? Screwing with my life?” Even though she didn’t miss a step, her words came out low and steady and full of fury. “What was your plan, to hook me with some fake job offer, make me leave behind everything I know and love so you could you get me down here and publicly humiliate me? I have a red Sharpie in my purse if you want to draw the letter
A
on my forehead and get it over with.”

Gabe stopped dancing but didn’t release her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me.” She stepped back, ignoring the couple that nearly toppled over her and the other three who had slowed their pace to listen in. “Look, I get it. You hate me and want to ruin my life. Well, you win, mission accomplished. At least have the balls to own it!”