Tugging on Seb’s jacket, Matty drew him nearer. “Sure do.” The crooked smirk reappeared. “Found lots of ways to sneak around.” An indefinable something flickered in his gaze, like a pop of firelight in the dark. Then he brought his hand up to cup Seb’s cheek, callused fingers scratching along his jaw. “May I kiss you?” he whispered.
Nodding his consent, Seb pressed their lips together, raising his arms around Matty’s shoulders. Matty tasted bitter like cocoa and smooth like cream, and the combination was heady. Melting into the pressure and wetness of the kiss, Seb mapped out edges and curves as a silent litany of yes yes yes played like a drum…. Pulling back, Seb ran the tip of his tongue to Matty’s earlobe, bringing his teeth together to nibble the soft flesh, and Matty trembled before pressing their mouths together again.
Dragging air back into empty lungs, they parted out of necessity. Matty’s hands were pressed against his lower back, practiced fingers kneading as if Seb were a lazy cat in need of affection.
“It’s not like I forgot, but….” Matty didn’t finish his sentence, diving back in and squeezing till their thick jackets met with a clack of zippers clashing. It was dark on the side of the garage where they stood, but Seb couldn’t forget he was in public. Not that Matty wasn’t working hard to make him forget everything but the warm pressure of lips, slippery glide of tongue, and mounting heat in his groin.
There had been other men in the ten years since they’d last seen each other but nobody kissed him like that, so fully, wholly, like every brush was vital. Alternating between hungry and petal soft, there was a relentless purpose behind every movement designed to pleasure as many senses as possible. If it were a song, it would be classical, he thought. A Rachmaninoff concerto, starting slow, like nascent flowers fluttering toward the sun. The music of longing. And then buds blooming and bathed in light, fulfillment like a bath of pure warmth against chill skin.
“Get a room, you two!”
Jumping apart at Stephanie’s cry from the open window, Seb felt his face burn in embarrassment, not at all assisted by his sister’s almost evil cackle as she retreated.
Matty stood rubbing his disheveled hair, trying to tame it but only making it worse. His face was pink and breath quick, and his lips were plump and so utterly well kissed it quickened Seb’s own breath. Because he’d done that.
There must have been something obvious in his expression because Matty smirked back and said, “Yeah.” Sticking his hands in his pockets, he took a step backward, eyes never leaving Seb’s face. “Friday night, after the caroling…. Would you like to come back to my place?”
Butterflies attacked, his gut feeling the fluttering wings as if they’d been set free en masse from a too-small cage. Of course, Matty had asked that after the way they’d been making out like teenagers. But they weren’t teenagers. What would it be like to be with adult Matty? Shouldn’t he concentrate his time on his mother, sister, and nieces before he left for England? Could he keep his heart safe this time?
“I’ll make you a milkshake.” Matty’s eyes sparkled beneath the colored glow of the holiday lights, reflecting red and green and gold off his cheeks.
Seb couldn’t help the returning smile, mouth twitching in delight at Matty’s devilish grin and cocky tone. Confidence, he thought, might be the greatest aphrodisiac. “Yeah,” he replied, matching Matty’s earlier saying-it-all tone.
Chapter Six
Sebastian
FRIDAY night’s caroling outing was a smooth affair until the Great Marshmallow-Versus-Whipped-Cream Debate began.
“It’s redundant, that’s why!”
“No, it’s not. Marshmallows and whipped cream are two distinct things,” Matty argued, standing before the large urn of hot chocolate set on the outskirts of the temporary Town Square stage. “Whipped cream is, well, cream that’s been whipped and marshmallows are sugar and… probably more sugar.”
“But they serve the same purpose,” Seb repeated, exasperated. “They add a creaminess to the hot chocolate. If you use both, you don’t taste the chocolate!”
Chance looked between them, head tilted in her considering way. “Uncle Seb is right,” she conceded.
The amount of vindication Seb felt far outweighed the subject. Then she popped his balloon. “But… adding two delicious things to another delicious thing… gives you even more deliciousness.”
With that definitive declaration, Chance proceeded to add a mountain of whipped cream to the hill of miniature marshmallows she’d already dropped in her hot chocolate, causing the liquid to pool over the sides like dripping paint.
Matty had a napkin ready, anticipating the displacement. Rowen tugged at Seb’s coat sleeve. “Both is better,” she intoned, settling this debate once and for all. Seb heard Steph’s snort behind him.
“Outvoted, eh? I like only marshmallows too. Like we had as kids.”
Seb caught their mother adding a small squirt of the canned whipped cream to the marshmallows in her cup. Caught by his gaze, she shrugged and then added, “That one-or-the-other thing was your dad’s, not mine.”
“Still seems redundant,” he muttered.
“The masses have spoken,” Matt said cheerfully. “C’mon, let’s get a good spot.” He walked them to the viewing area in front of the stage. The girls were too short to see so Matt promised that as soon as they’d finished their hot chocolate, he’d lift Rowen to his shoulders. A glance at Seb had him agreeing to the same for Chance.
The choir was in the middle of a rendition of “Carol of the Bells” when Chance wriggled her legs around his neck and inadvertently kicked him with her thick-soled winter boots. He glanced over at Matty with a grin at a sleeping Rowen, chin nestled in Matty’s soft brown waves. Mom and Stephanie shared a knowing look with Matt, who was clearly aware of Rowen’s state. There was a familiarity to the way they all looked at each other, reliving memories of other times and other circumstances.
Seb’s throat tightened—this time next year they would all be here again, laughing over marshmallows and sporting hot chocolate mustaches. Except, with the new job, and corporate holiday events having the highest priorities, Seb wouldn’t be.
“Baz?” Matty stood in front of him. Small puffs of Rowen’s breath lifted his hair in tiny waves. Matty’s eyes glistened in the glow of the lights wrapped around the trees and gazebo.
“Ma and Steph want to get the girls to bed.”
Nodding, Seb followed Matty back to Stephanie’s Highlander. Once the groggy children were strapped in their car seats, he stood bouncing, running a hand through his hair.
“You riding back with Matt?” Mom asked.
“Baz and I were going to hang out some tonight,” Matt answered for him.
After a moment of wide-eyed surprise, his mom smiled. “I see,” she murmured.
Stephanie couldn’t resist. “Should we not wait up?”
“Probably not,” Matty said, winking.
Seb blushed. He’d packed a few things and left the small bag in Matty’s car earlier. Now Seb wanted to punch them both. Instead he said a dignified “Good night” to his mother and sister and settled into the passenger seat of Matty’s Jeep.
Matthew
“WOW, that’s good,” Baz said, eyes shy despite the enthusiasm in his tone. Matt tried not to groan out loud as Baz took a long slow slurp of the vanilla-banana mixture. He’d added a shot of rum just because.
Tasting his grown-up smoothie, he appreciated how the sweetness was tempered by the bite of the rum, and the concoction went down smooth as silk. Gesturing toward the living room, he indicated for Baz to follow and they settled on Matt’s leather couch. He leaned his back against the wide arm and twisted to face Baz, bringing his feet up and bending his knees. Memories kept overlaying the present, and in his mind’s eye he saw a handsome teenager, just on the side of adolescence where it presages what is to come. At seventeen, Baz’s hair had been less controlled, falling over his temples in waves. His eyes were still the same intense steel blue,
though.
Baz caught Matt staring and looked down at the glass in his hand, twirling the straw. After contemplating the frozen mixture, he pointed at the eight-foot unadorned fir tree near Matt’s fireplace. “Will the girls help you decorate it?”
“Yeah. I didn’t settle it yet with Steph, but soon. You too. I hope.”
“Sure.” Something in Baz’s tone gave Matt pause.
“You don’t want to?” He tried to keep the petulance at bay but feared it crept out anyway.
“It’s not that. I’m just…. There’s just so much Christmas in this town.” Baz released a soft sigh.
Matt met Baz’s earnest gaze, aware his own was shuttered as a drawn shade.
Growing up, his parents chose to leave town every Christmas. Most years they dropped him off at his grandparents’ house forty minutes south. His mother’s parents were a dignified, wealthy couple living in a stately home that matched his parents’ home. Christmas Eve was a quiet affair, watching DVDs of old holiday specials bought especially for Matt. On Christmas morning he’d rise early to open presents, his grandparents trailing dutifully behind in their neat matching plaid robes. Given the extravagant mound of professionally wrapped gifts, his parents’ generosity was always a source for comment from his grandparents. Young Matt never knew if he was supposed to agree or not, unsure if it was praise or censure. Once he heard the murmured word “spoiled” and spent the remainder of Christmas day oscillating between wanting to play with his gifts and wanting to hide them away so he didn’t appear greedy.
There were a few times that Matt’s parents took Matt with them during the holidays. At ten, he remembered his mother telling him that they were all going to spend the holidays in London that year, that it would be a treat beyond description. It had been one of those times that her animated dark eyes were captivating instead of assessing. He watched her look at his father’s indulgent smile.
Until Stephanie, he’d never realized how much he’d missed by not being around Fir Falls during the holiday season. The joy of voices in song, the scent of pine and cinnamon, the belonging of family.
A tentative touch to his knee startled Matt. “Hey,” Baz said, squeezing before dropping his hand. “You okay?”
Matt forced a smile to break his own melancholy. “Yes. Sorry. I know you’re not Mr. Holiday. My folks left town every Christmas, so I never got to enjoy Fir Falls as a kid.” He chuckled. “Being here is like living inside a snow globe. It surrounds you. Keeps you warm even when it’s cold outside.” Baz was studying him a little like one of the confused puppies at the school.
“You didn’t enjoy traveling with your folks?”
“We visited London one year. That was neat.” He took a last sip and put the glass down on the side table behind him. “Mostly I stayed with my grandparents.”
“London,” Baz croaked.
Eyebrows raising, Matt asked, “Have you been?”
“No. Lacey, my boss, handles most international events. Did London out-Christmas here?”
Matt chuckled. “Nowhere can out-Christmas us. I remember my mother waxing poetic about Dickens. I kept thinking about the old black-and-white Scrooge film and expected to wake up and find all the color missing.” Realizing how melodramatic that sounded, he pursed his lips. “Guess I was a bit of the dramatic artist even back then.”
“I remember your drawings,” Baz said, changing the subject. He lowered his eyes, hand resting on his own drawn-up knee. “I remember you drew me one time.”
“I drew you more than once.”
Startled eyes met his, widening in wonder. “I only posed for you that one time.”
“I did more sketches from memory,” Matt answered, meeting Baz’s gaze.
For a long moment they stared in silence, memories skimming between them, forming small ripples across a pond of time.
Matt shifted on the sofa cushion and drew closer to Baz, eliminating the space between them and putting his hand to Baz’s stubbled cheek.
He waited till Baz closed the distance and their lips met in a soft kiss. Matt urged the kiss deeper, longer, wetter. The honeyed sweetness of the vanilla and banana mingled with the fiery molasses of the rum until Matt felt the giddiness of alcohol despite having barely imbibed. It was insane how Baz kissed like he was still discovering what it felt like. He bit back an irrational chuckle.
Baz breathed between them, “What?” It came out like a puff of air, before his tongue brazenly entered Matt’s mouth and Matt lost the thread of thought. Dipping down, he followed the curve of Baz’s jawline toward his neck. The scruff hot against his tender lips parodied the rum’s heat tingling against his tongue earlier. Baz inhaled and allowed access. The vibration of a low moan tickled his lips as he reached Baz’s neck.
“I want you,” he murmured against the thin skin.
“Yeah,” Baz replied. Matt smiled at the choked way it came out.
“Yeah,” he mimicked, straddling Baz on the sofa so their erections could press together. At the first electric surge, he remembered with crystal clarity the astonished blue gaze of teenage Baz beneath him.
Meeting the adult, steady stare of the man beneath him now, Matt tipped his lips into a helpless smile. “What do you want?” he asked. “Because we’re too old for dry humping.”
The meeting laughter was husky and warm. “Speak for yourself, old man,” Baz teased. But then his voice dropped even deeper as his arms dipped to Matt’s waist, then lower to his hips. “What do you want?” he tossed back.
Well, that was easy. “Everything,” Matt replied.
Baz’s lips quirked. “Tall order.”
“Got somewhere to be?”
“Clearly not. I think Steph would bodily bring me back if I showed up at home.”
Reaching up, Baz pulled Matt’s neck down for another kiss. They made out leisurely, playfully nibbling and exchanging deep, sloppy kisses that ebbed and flowed like a tide, gaining intensity, only to slide back away to a gentle lick. Matt pressed down with equal languor, letting his arousal intensify at a maddeningly slow pace. Beneath him Baz was pliant, his hands running up the muscles of Matt’s back and around his sides until they slipped into the back of his jeans and Matt groaned.
“Bed,” he commanded.
“Yeah,” Baz said, and Matt slid off and held out his hand. It took a moment of adjustment to make walking comfortable and they headed up the steps in silence.
At the top of the landing, Baz headed to the right and seemed puzzled when Matt held him back. “Your room was at the end.”
“Not anymore. I redid the master bedroom as part of the renovation.”
Nose crinkled, Baz said, “Was that strange? I mean, it was your parents’ room?”
Smirking, Matt pulled Baz toward the other end of the hallway. “No. It’s not like they died there or something.”
Flushing, Baz sputtered, “I didn’t mean….”
“I know.” He let Baz enter first and look around. “It’s all new. The bed, all the furniture. I even redid the closets. The folks paid for most of it. Anything that added value they were cool with.”
“That’s very generous,” Baz said, eyes dark as he stared first at the king-size bed and then back to Matt.
“Oh. My parents are nothing if not generous.” He approached Baz and pulled him closer by the belt loop of his deliciously tight jeans. “But we are not going to talk about my parents anymore.”
They kissed again, openmouthed and deep. Matt sucked Baz into his own mouth and reveled in the shudder he felt as he gripped Baz’s hips to smash against himself. Baz latched on to Matt’s neck and started sucking on his pulse point. Heart accelerating with every press of their bodies, Matt felt the back of his knees hit his bed and stumbled a step.
Pausing for breath, he giggled like a kid until Baz pulled back to slake off his outer shirt and then lift his T-shirt over his neck. Matt’s fingers twitched with want of a pencil and pad because the sheer artistry in Baz’s exceptional musculature needed to be set t
o paper. He traced a finger instead around a hard pectoral and followed the muscle around, skimming his lats before trailing down his stomach, dancing across Baz’s defined abdominal muscles and feeling them contract under the pads of his fingers. With a sly smile, he lifted his eyes back up to catch Baz biting his lower lip.
“You must live in the gym,” Matt said with a glint in his eyes.
“I do work out regularly. But my dad had a similar build. It’s genetics.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty lucky in that I don’t gain weight easily. But I’d have to set up a sleeping cot in the gym to get defined muscles like yours.” He struggled with the thought he’d disappoint as he yanked his sweater and T-shirt off together and stood bare chested before Baz, but the gleam in Baz’s hot gaze was like striking a match to a pilot light.
“You’ll do,” Baz said, the hoarseness in his tone belying the teasing words.
Scooting backward on the bed, he beckoned Baz to him and wasn’t disappointed as he felt Baz’s warmth settle on top of him. Thighs spreading, he accommodated the firm weight and ran his hands over the curves of Baz’s back, dipping into the crevice right above Baz’s waistband and slipping his fingers inside.
“We should….” Whatever the ending of that sentence was supposed to be was swallowed in the mmph of Baz’s lips grazing Matt’s again as Matt slipped his hand lower to squeeze Baz’s butt inside the jeans.
“Yeah, we should…,” Matt repeated, fingers moving to the button on Baz’s pants. He looked up and waited to see if this was what Baz meant. Baz covered his hand and moved it lower to press against the hard bulge straining within the denim, and Matt figured they were on the same wavelength.
“Might be easier to do our own,” Matt said, sliding sideways so that Baz slipped off him and reached down to undo his jeans, pulling them and his briefs down together. He kicked off his socks before turning his head to see that Baz had followed his lead. Saliva pooled in his mouth as he perused what looked like a gift from the gods splayed out unselfconsciously across his bed. An offering, he thought, that should ensure rich crops for years to come.
Santa's Last Gift Page 8
