Mistletoe at Midnight

by LB Gregg

  Where?

  “No. That’s not what I mean. I’ve seen you watching me. All the time. You can’t take your eyes off me.” Breath tickled my ear as if he found my crush endearing, or curious, or, oh God please, maybe mutual. We huddled together out of the wind and snow—my shoulders met the wall and our hips connected in painful perfection.

  “We talked in the library that day. Remember?”

  “I remember.” He moved, pulling something from his jacket pocket and I flinched. I had no idea why—but all he had in his hand was a tiny, silly sprig of mistletoe. “Look what I stole from the dance. Right off the top.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “I must be to think you were waiting for me.” His fingertip brushed the corner of my mouth. I wanted to touch my tongue to his salty finger and suck him inside, but I was too frozen with fear to follow through.

  “What…what are you doing?”

  His breath fluttered on my lips. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  Jesus. It was all exactly the same. Every bit of it. I tried to shrug him off, but my cock hardened against his fly. “I…I don’t know.”

  “Liar. You do know and you want this as much as I do.” That fingertip stroked a line of fire from the corner of my mouth to my chin, and then his hand gripped my nape, sliding until he held me in the palm of one hand. “Don’t you, Owen?”

  I swallowed.

  Our coat buttons clicked together and it was the first time in my life that the bulge of another man’s groin magically hardened against my own erection. His lips hovered over my neck. “Do I make you nervous?”

  “No.” Yes. Fuck, yes.

  “Don’t be. It’ll be good.”

  Jesus, he was a teenage Don Juan. He held that tiny twig right over my head and my skin grew unspeakably hot. His lips met my jaw, feathering across my skin as somehow our clothes, layer after layer, dissolved. We were naked, sealed to each other in the alley or forest or gym or wherever the hell we were. Time didn’t matter. This was my dream and I wanted to finally, finally play it out. For him to open my body, and put himself inside me.

  The snow was gone. The heat of Caleb’s body had melted it all. He was firm and smooth and unlike me, his chest was free of hair. His nipples were pebbled points that rubbed, his cock a torch that burned. After a lifetime of longing, I was desperate. I needed him. I wanted him. I wanted his hands opening my thighs, his mouth trailing my chest, his cock quickening inside my hole—I wanted it all. So I slid my palms around his flank. I cupped the sweetly curved cheeks of his ass and curled around his body, sheltering him.

  Stark light hit his face. Even here in the dark of my dreams, light sought him, and he blinked, slow and deliberately. Thick, sooty lashes spiked on his cheek and Caleb’s weirdly pale eyes opened and he stared with hunger at my mouth.

  “Just fucking kiss me already.”

  “I will.” He teased the edge of my lip and lust forced my cock to kiss his. Hair rubbed into my groin. My skin burned under his gaze and I licked my lip. “Let me do that for you.” And goddamn if his mouth didn’t at last meet mine. “Open up, Owen.”

  I did—wishing for the sugary, bubble-gum flavor from years ago. Touching my tongue to his, he was every bit as succulent as I remembered—sticky candy sweet.

  “Open up, Owen.”

  I groaned, “I am.” I opened and opened and willed him to fuck me. I begged him to do it. I rubbed myself against him, humping into the illusion of Caleb as some asshole knocked on the tree trunk. So close. So fucking close. Branches groaned from far away. They nipped from existence with a knock-knock.

  “Owen. Open up. Open the fucking door.”

  I blinked awake.

  Above me a canopy of eerie twinkling lights was strewn like a blanket of fading stars—it was the soft fire glow shining through eyelet and lace.

  “O-Owen?”

  I stared at the door, but the knocking came from outside.

  “Shit. C-can you open the f-fucking door—I’m l-locked out.”

  I was in Vermont, in the yellow cabbage-rose room. It was Christmas. I was with family. It was late. Caleb Black had conveniently taken the room next to mine and my hand was stroking my dick.

  Bang bang bang.

  “O-Owe-n?” His voice came from the porch and it sounded borderline desperate. His teeth chattered through the door.

  “Coming.” Or nearly so. Holy hell. I tossed the pillow wedged between my thighs, and flung the cloud of eyelet covers away. It was snowing tonight and the wind howled over the mountains—a Canadian blast that swept straight from the North Pole. The temperature was a scant four degrees. “Yeah. Hold on.”

  What the hell was he doing outside? I found my underwear on the chair and then flipped the porch light. Caleb’s white face appeared ghostlike in the window as he watched me drag a pair of boxers over my swollen privates.

  He’d seen me jerking off in my sleep. I mean, seriously, it didn’t get worse than that, did it?

  I flipped the lock and the wind smacked the door wide. Jake whined at the sudden cold air. A sheet of snow slid from the ledge above us. It fell directly on Caleb’s head but he seemed too frozen to shake it off. His hands were stuffed in his pockets; his head was bare. He wore a somber black wool coat with round buttons the size of half-dollars and a full collar hiked to his ears. A pea coat. His pajama pants were stiff white cotton covered with tiny blue anchors.

  “What the hell are you doing out there? You’re freezing.” I dragged him by the lapel into the room and was shocked by the chill of his bare skin.

  “I-I am. Je-Jesus you sleep like the d-dead.” Another gust of bracing air followed him as he stumbled into my warm room and I kicked shut the door.

  “F-fuck it’s c-cold.”

  “Yeah, well it’s December in Vermont and…where do you think you’re going?”

  “D-down to get the k-key.” He moved toward the hall with all the grace of Frankenstein.

  “I’ll call down. Don’t be an idiot—go warm up.”

  Caleb veered directly to the fireplace. He stuck his bare hands toward the heat, moving close enough to crawl inside. Jake sat up to watch him. “Th-thanks. It’s fu-fucking cold.”

  “You said that. How long were you out there?” He was borderline hypothermic and I was so stymied that he was actually here in my bedroom, I was having difficulty reacting.

  “I d-don’t know. Thirty m-minutes?”

  Shit. He’d watched me playing with myself for half an hour. There wasn’t time to be embarrassed, though, because the wind chill had to be minus twenty. “You banged on the door the whole time?”

  “There aren’t a-any s-stairs.”

  Ryan was right—what a shitty design—and actually, that couldn’t be legal. Where was the fire escape? And what was he doing outside? I stomped to the fireplace. “Take anything off that’s wet or frozen.”

  He nodded but his long fingers were currently stick-stiff and he couldn’t slide a single button free. I’d have to do that for him. Could this night get any weirder? “Move.” I pushed his hands away and worked to peel his coat off. Underneath he wore a thin blue T-shirt with the St. James logo. “Sit.”

  Jake looked at me, but Caleb was the one who obeyed by sinking onto the foot of the bed. “Not even a sweater or a hat? Nothing? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  My bedside manner could use a little work.

  “The d-door c-closed and I think my k-key is on the table. I didn’t know th-the door would lock-k.” I shucked his shoes and socks, my relief immediate that his feet were dry. Cool, but dry.

  “Wiggle your toes.” He did and that was one less thing to worry about. White patches on his cheeks contrasted against his pinking skin, but that would fade. “Lift up, I need to take your pants off.”

  He finally reacted. Popsicle-cold as he was, his glance still strayed to my crotch. “Uh…I don’t know…”

  “Off. Don’t be an idiot.” I was stripping him whether he agreed or not. This wasn’t
sexual, it was practical.

  Caleb lifted. He didn’t look away as I slid his sailor pants down over his knees. He tumbled back—

  —onto my bed, his slim thighs so long I didn’t know where to put my hands first. He was here, he was hard, and he was in my bed. Buffalo Tom drowned the sound of my heavy breathing as I all but salivated on his beautiful skin, but I tossed him the bag from the bookstore instead. I was so bloody nervous. What if he didn’t like it? What if it was a stupid idea? I’d never given a present to a…whatever he was. A boyfriend. My boyfriend. “Merry Christmas,” I said sheepishly.

  “Seriously?” He dumped the books onto the bed, and then he shoved his hair back and stared at the bounty covering the sheets. His smile was so intensely needy, my heart flipped over. “You got them all? I love it, Owen. I love you.”

  Caleb jettisoned back to sitting and I shook myself. “Can I have the b-blanket?” He shivered in his plain boxer briefs and T-shirt.

  I threw the blanket over him and thumped to the phone. What the hell was wrong with me? I dialed Winters, who answered on the fourth ring. “Can you bring some hot milk to my room, and some whiskey? And bring Mr. Black’s key, please. He’s locked out.” I set the phone down with a clatter and raked my hair with my fingers, desperate to get a handle on my wayward thoughts.

  But Caleb Black was in my bed.

  “Are you trying to k-kill me? That sounds v-vile.”

  “The milk? When he gets here, you drink it. It’ll bring your core temperature up.”

  “Sure, Doc. B-but the whiskey sounds b-better.”

  “That’s mine. You’re lucky I woke. You could have had a serious case of exposure.” How ironic that he woke me before I shamed myself and died from my own case of exposure.

  I knelt and rolled a sock on to Caleb’s cold foot.

  “I can do th-that.”

  “You can probably do it just as well as you opened the door.” I rubbed his shoulders briskly with my big hands and marveled that now he was broader and more deeply muscular. He’d definitely grown, although he was still slender. I stopped myself from asking him if he worked out. I had to keep things professional. “What were you doing outside?”

  “Sm-smoking. I was about to break the window. I couldn’t wake you. You were like the dead.”

  “I don’t usually sleep so deeply.” But I was having a wet dream about you. “Let me see your hands.”

  Caleb showed me his fingers and I took them in my palms and rubbed, breathing to warm his skin. The firelight danced behind us and our shadows flickered on the wall. I worked to move his circulation, rubbing his shoulders, his feet, and back to his hands until his shivers subsided. My actions were purely clinical.

  Purely.

  “I think I’m fine now, just exquisitely embarrassed. I don’t usually smoke, but old habits die hard. And it was the strangest evening.”

  “I should apologize for my family. They’re a little intense.”

  “I remember. It seemed to all come tumbling back as soon as I saw you. Ryan was outgoing and hard to handle. Your mom was vibrant and artistic. Your dad was quiet and demanding. I remember them.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Smoking seemed such a good idea forty minutes ago, and I couldn’t sleep…I should have brought something to do.”

  “There’s an entire library downstairs.”

  “I…couldn’t read. I went to the parlor and played the piano for a while, but then I was too keyed up.”

  “So you went out in that?” Right on cue, the wind shook the shutters. “That’s extreme.”

  “You have no idea. That wind whipped the cigarette right out of my hand and over the railing. Which was as fulfilling as it sounds. It’s freezing out there.”

  He looked down at where I’d stopped warming his hands and was now simply stroking his long fingers with my thumb. He didn’t wear a ring anymore. I sort of missed that wide silver band just above his knuckle. It had seemed so exotic at the time. “Thanks, Doc.”

  What the hell was I doing? This wasn’t my dream. This was the real thing and he was now a stranger. But he didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like Caleb.

  I dropped his hands like he’d given me contact dermatitis. He didn’t let me get far. He gripped my warm fingers before I could move away, and poof, just like magic, I was back in that alley—hard as a plank and nearly as naked.

  “What…what do you think you’re doing?”

  “I have no idea.” He didn’t look away—just stared so deeply into my eyes that I couldn’t hide how much I wanted him. Just a taste. One taste. Damn him. His breath was sweet, his skin back to a healthy pink—or maybe he was blushing. His graceful fingers explored the backs of my rough hands and all the blood in my body thudded through my groin, which was a serious problem because I was in my underwear. Kneeling at his feet.

  He said, “Look, I’m sorry if I was rude at dinner.”

  “What? You weren’t rude at all.”

  “I felt rude. Unfriendly. But this entire situation took me by surprise. You took me by surprise, although you always managed to do that.” He smiled ruefully and I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. “I never thought I’d see you again…and then…there you were. Right in front of me. I was a total ass.”

  “Well, I didn’t do any better. I was definitely rude.” Inconsequential. “I still can’t believe you’re here. I have to wonder if you’ll disappear again.”

  “I don’t plan on going anywhere—St. James is my home.” Bundled in my lace comforter, Caleb had the gall to smile in amusement—as if he knew just how badly I wanted to tear the blanket off and tumble him to the bed. I could hear him loud and clear, even in the silence, because he wanted me, too.

  I had to quell the urge to rip my hands from his and flee my own room—or knock him back and wrap myself inside him.

  Instead I waited—as I always did.

  “Thanks for letting me in.”

  “I wasn’t going to let you freeze to death, Caleb. I’m just glad you woke me.”

  “Me too.” He licked his pale lips, and I was mesmerized by the slide of his tongue. My thighs cramped with need. My cock bulged with heat and I allowed Caleb to tug me by the hand—oh God what were we doing?

  His mouth opened an inch from mine and there was a knock on the door.

  “So close…” Caleb sighed and dropped my hands before I could yank them free.

  My breath came short. “What the hell are we doing?”

  “Reacquainting ourselves?”

  “Not a good plan.” I grabbed my robe—I wasn’t letting a tousled and tired Doug Winters see my cock waving at full mast when I opened the door. I tripped over Jake, who wagged and wiggled and when Doug knocked again, I practically ripped the door from its hinge. “What?”

  The innkeeper shrank back. “Here you go! Uhm. Well! Hey! Everything all right, then?”

  I took the tray from his hands and Doug’s eyes widened at the sight of two male guests nearly naked together at one in the morning. The sheets were a mess—and Caleb was curled in my bedding, sleepy-eyed and pink-cheeked. I could only pray that the innkeeper kept his mouth shut.

  “No, actually, it’s not all right. The balcony door closed and Caleb was locked outside.”

  Doug’s eyes bulged. “That’s…that’s impossible, Dr. McKenzie. Maybe it’s stuck? That can happen with the extremes in temperature, or icing, but it…it shouldn’t have locked.”

  “Well, I don’t think he imagined this.”

  Doug scurried to fix the door.

  Caleb stood and my eyes boggled when the eyelet comforter slithered down his body. It landed in a billowy puff at his ankles. Sculpted muscle and smooth flesh were revealed in the orange light. His T-shirt molded his chest. His briefs lovingly cupped his crotch. I didn’t even pretend I wasn’t looking because, by God, he wasn’t as shriveled from the aftereffects of hypothermia as one might expect. He was gorgeous.

  He reached for the sweats I’d set out
and my mouth dried as he casually tied the drawstring just below his hips.

  “Well, I won’t be doing that again.” It took me a second to follow his meaning as I dragged my gaze upward. He gathered his wet clothing. “And you don’t have to worry. I’ll clear out of your way.”

  “Just like old times,” I said like an utter fool.

  “No. Not really.” Caleb’s smile dissolved. “Night, Owen. Thanks for letting me in. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  He took his glass of warm milk and shut the door with a click.

  Chapter Six

  Dawn broke and the sky was an unimpressive December gray. Jake and I took our morning constitutional, running five miles to the covered bridge and back, and then I hit the shared hallway shower hoping to hell Caleb wouldn’t waltz in and find me in flagrante delicto. Again.

  “Open up, Owen.” Those three words played on a permanent loop inside my feeble mind all night, and all morning. That and the real-life feel of Caleb’s cold fingers warming in my palms as he tugged me almost on top of him—I should have made the shower ice cold. It had been so long since another man had touched me, even in my dreams, that I was in an embarrassing state.

  I could handle my erection—literally—it was the rest I wanted to hide from.

  I put the sticky shower gel to good use. Water rained on my shoulders as I rested a palm against the tile, bit my lip and lathered myself into a knee-weakening froth. The process took about thirty seconds before I slumped against the shower wall, my come dribbling down the drain. It was quick. I wasn’t sure how much it helped because I still couldn’t shake the memory of Caleb’s green eyes reflecting in the firelight last night as he’d turned away.

  Unless I planned to spend Christmas alone in my lacy room entertaining myself with the shower gel, I needed to join the other guests for breakfast. God help us all if my mother came looking for me. I grabbed my jeans and a cable-knit fisherman’s sweater, and followed the clatter of cutlery and the invigorating scent of freshly brewed coffee.