by Ava Hayden
Lance rushed into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and ran a towel over it. He pulled a brush through his hair, gave it up as a loss, and stumbled to the front door. He clicked off the alarm and fumbled with the locks, then finally threw the door open.
His heart stuttered.
Milo leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed. He wore a smile that was meant to look confident, but Lance could see the uncertainty hiding beneath. On his head, a black brimmed cap. On the rest of him, white cricket flannels, leg guards, and leather shoes. A cricket bat dangled from one hand.
Speechless, Lance stepped back. Milo pushed away from the doorjamb and strolled inside, twirling the bat. Lance couldn’t finish a complete thought before his brain reset, his eyes roaming: biceps, ass, shoulders, hands, forearms peeking from sexy rolled sleeves, cock and thighs outlined under tell-all trousers that might—just might—be a teensy bit tighter than they wore them in the early twentieth century.
They stared at each other.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” Lance said. “Are you still mad at me?” Lance took a step forward, then another and another, until he stood close enough to smell the fresh scent of whatever the flannels had been laundered in. He fisted his hands to keep from touching Milo. “Talk to me?” he whispered.
Milo held Lance’s gaze and drew the flat surface of the cricket bat along Lance’s cock, so gently that it hardly made a sound as it slid along the fabric, which tented under the bat’s slow progress.
Lance shivered as Milo stroked him again. He widened his stance when Milo pressed in, seeking access. Lance closed his eyes and let his head fall back as Milo traced his length and his balls through the soft fabric of the track pants. A wet spot bloomed across the front under the progress of the bat. He rutted against it, aching for contact, which was taken away the next second.
Milo stepped into him, his cock hard against Lance’s, and then the length of the bat pressed flat against Lance’s buttocks. Milo gripped the bat’s ends and used them to pull Lance against him.
Lance ran a hand around Milo’s neck and drew him in for a kiss. They ground together for what felt like hours, until Lance pulled back, breathing hard. “Too close. I want more.” He reached for the fastening of the tantalizing white pants.
Milo tossed the bat to one side as Lance dropped to his knees.
THEY SPRAWLED across Lance’s bed, panting like at the end of a race, redolent of sweat and spunk.
Lance turned to Milo and kissed the darkening bruise on his cheekbone. “Do you forgive me?”
Milo laid a finger on his lips. “Nothing to forgive.”
Gently they explored each other’s mouths. Deep kisses gradually turned into light flickers of tongue, and then they just lay quiet, lips together, breathing each other in, eyes closed, wholly focused on scent and texture and taste.
SOME TIME later, Milo woke. When he moved, Lance woke as well. They’d slept an hour. Lance’s stomach growled, and Milo’s followed, like a call and response. Milo flushed, and Lance chuckled.
“I really liked my present,” Lance whispered. He played with a lock of Milo’s hair.
“I was going to sashay in and be your cocky cricket boy, but then everything went sideways and….” Milo pinked. “Now I feel kind of silly.”
“Don’t.” Lance nipped his earlobe. “You’re every Merchant Ivory queen’s wet dream.”
Milo snorted, but he couldn’t help feeling a little smug. Mission accomplished.
Lance raised a brow. “Under fifty dollars, you said?”
“It was. The costume shop was getting rid of a bunch of early twentieth-century outfits. They said ever since Downton Abbey wrapped up, they didn’t have as much call for them.” Milo smirked.
Lance rolled out of the bed and grabbed two bathrobes from his closet. He tossed one to Milo. “Come with me.”
In the living room, Lance drew Milo down beside him on the sofa. He pulled out a key and laid it on the coffee table in front of them and then placed a second key beside it. “This is what I got you first.” He pointed to the key on the left. “It’s the key to the condo next door.” Lance held his gaze a moment before continuing. “But this is the one I really want to give you.” He touched the key on the right. “It’s the key to this condo. Along with it, you get a key to my house. And I would be over the moon if you’d accept it, Milo, my heart.”
Milo closed his eyes and thought of the grand gestures Lance had made. And also the countless small ones. My choice. How can he trust me this much? It’s a gift, that kind of trust. A responsibility. I think I can handle it—but I won’t know until I try. Until we try together.
Milo reached for the key on the right, and Lance pulled him in for a kiss that lasted until Milo’s stomach growled again and they both laughed and pulled apart.
Milo looked at the key he still gripped. “I think this violates the fifty-dollar limit, though.”
Lance raised a brow.
There’s my billionaire boyfriend.
“Certainly not. Keys are cheap.” He reached into his robe’s pocket and pulled out a red-and-green… Christmas ornament? No, not unless they were making them out of silicon these days. “This, on the other hand, nearly put me over the limit.” He tucked it into the belt of Milo’s robe. “A little stocking stuffer. We can try it out after dinner.”
It’s a stuffer, all right. Milo flushed and bit his lip.
Lance smiled as if he knew what Milo was thinking. “And maybe we can see what other games you can play with a cricket bat.”
Milo touched his forehead to Lance’s. “After everything you spent today, you really didn’t need to give me another gift. How much did it all cost?”
Lance shrugged. “The televisions and the tickets, not more than $160,000. William has exact numbers. He says Connor and Missy won’t let me chip in on repairs, so nothing there. At the mall, I paid a man $500 for his parking spot.”
Milo’s jaw dropped.
“It was convenient to the store and I was worried about you.” Lance considered. “Oh, and six fifty-dollar bills for the feral tweens in his van who were whining about wanting to hang out in the mall and snipsnap or slamchap or something like that.”
“Snapchat?”
Lance narrowed his eyes but didn’t reply.
Milo snickered. “Where’s tech-savvy Great-aunt Fanny when you need her?”
Lance huffed. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
Nope, not ever ever ever.
“It was money well spent. And considering how everything turned out—” Lance laid a kiss on his nose. “It was a bargain.”
AVA HAYDEN lives and writes in Canada but grew up in the southern United States.
When not writing, she loves reading yaoi manga and LGBTQ+ romance, taking afternoon tea, baking, seeing plays, hearing live music, and hiking (even though she once came face-to-face with two grizzlies on a trail). Most of the time her life isn’t that exciting (and doesn’t require her to carry bear spray), and she’s okay with that.
She is thrilled to be publishing with Dreamspinner Press.
Ava Hayden Writes: avahayden.com
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By Ava Hayden
The Billionaire’s Boxing Day Bargain
Daniel’s Lynx
Highballer
His Fallow Heart
Table for One
The Timpanist and the Stagehand
The Valentine’s Day Resolution
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and in
cidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Billionaire’s Boxing Day Bargain
© 2017 Ava Hayden.
Cover Art
© 2017 Paul Richmond.
http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64080-311-4
Published December 2017
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America
