The Key to his Heart for Christmas

by Rebecca James

  “No, I couldn’t use her stuff,” he protested.

  “She left them with Liz several years ago when she got married and moved to France. She doesn’t want them back. Please use them. I certainly have no use for them.”

  Sayer walked forward, set down his cup, and began taking things out of the bag. There were various oil paints, canvases, brushes, a palette, a palette knife, and a bottle of linseed oil. “Looks like everything I’d need except turpentine,” Sayer said.

  “Which I can easily get. I may even have some out in the shed. You can set up on the back porch.”

  Sayer’s eyes met mine. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I want to.” I shrugged.

  Sayer looked over the supplies again, running long fingers over the various tubes of paint. “You’re really tempting me.”

  “Then do it!” I grinned. “What have you got to lose?”

  “When I lost everything, I thought I’d never have the time to paint again.” Sayer picked up a brush with the kind of care and respect only an artist would display.

  “Maybe losing your job was a sign that painting’s what you should be doing full time. At least think about it. You think dinner’s ready? I’m starved.”

  Sayer hadn’t taken his eyes off the paints, but he looked up at me then, eyes dancing. “Yeah. Let’s eat.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sayer

  I’d lost track of time, painting for hours. Dane and I had had a pleasant dinner, talking and laughing for over an hour. He was a born storyteller and had regaled me with anecdotes about people he knew. Then he’d insisted on cleaning up while I tried out the paints. I hadn’t even heard him go to bed.

  I packed up the art supplies and stretched, muscles protesting having sat for so long. I’d been painting the tree with its dozens of rustic ornaments mixed with crystal icicles, and the fireplace behind it with the garland Dane had brought in from the truck draped over the mantel. When I’d been young, naive, and had aspired to be an artist, I’d worked hard on a technique to produce the cozy glow I was now satisfied emanated from the tree and fire. That had been before the surgery that had left me with astronomical bills, forcing me to find a dependable job to help me climb out from under them. And before Nate had taken off, and I’d given up on love.

  Thinking about Nate now didn’t hurt like it had in the past. I’d grown a lot since then and could see we hadn’t been right for each other. Nate had been a model in one of my art classes. He’d noticed my eyes lingering on his nude body and had cornered me afterward, so sexy and bold I’d melted, and he’d owned me from then on. Nate’s fierce pride in being gay had emboldened me to come out, and I’d marched in several Pride’s with him, although it had put me on the outs with my Mormon family. He’d opened my mind to things I’d never thought of before, both intellectually and sexually, and when he left a year and a half later, tired of me and overwhelmed by the medical issue that had appeared out of nowhere, I’d crumpled into myself.

  Since then I’d had sexual encounters but no relationships. I’d worked hard, and where had that gotten me? Fired after fifteen years.

  Boone escorted me to bed, leaving me in the guest room and padding off toward Dane’s darkened room. I stripped off my clothes and climbed into bed.

  Excited from painting again, my dick was hard. I reached down and stroked myself, unable to help from thinking about Dane while I did. His broad chest, strong arms, long legs. That mouth I’d love to kiss. Reasonably, I knew Dane was straight and I’d never have him, but there, naked in his guest bed, I could fantasize.

  Before I knew it, I was coming into my palm. I lay there, breathing hard, my hand covered in jizz, and told myself that had to be it. I wouldn’t make this a habit. After a few moments, I got up and went to the bathroom to wash off, then returned to bed and quickly fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dane

  My alarm woke me from a dream of kissing Sayer, my body flush against his, our hands roving and tongues tangled. Reluctantly, I threw back the covers and got out of bed, wishing I could go back to the dream, which seemed so real, I could still feel the phantom of Sayer’s lips on mine.

  On my way into the bathroom, I ran into Sayer coming down the hall, a smile on his lips until his gaze moved down my body to the crotch of my thin cotton pants that did little to conceal the hard on I’d woken with. My own gaze moved away from his face, down his bare torso, to his own noticeable erection.

  “I was coming to see if your alarm went off. I made breakfast.” Sayer turned abruptly and walked back down the hall.

  I ducked into the bathroom and shut the door, leaning against it for a moment, heart beating hard.

  “Holy shit.” I knew I was physically attracted to Sayer, but I hadn’t given much thought to his sexuality. After what had just happened in the hall, I was pretty sure he was gay. And that he was attracted to me too.

  Turning to the sink, I splashed my face with cold water. When my cock had settled, I peed, flushed, and washed my hands. By the time I entered the kitchen, I was more or less composed.

  “How late did you stay up painting last night?” I took a seat at the table, which was already set.

  “I don’t even know. A long time. Sorry I didn’t say goodnight to you.”

  “You were absorbed,” I said, smiling.

  “I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.” Sayer’s cheeks were bright pink when he set the plates on the table and sat down across from me.

  The last thing I wanted was for him to feel uncomfortable, so I did my best to appear natural—in other words, not like I was imagining him naked and flushed for an entirely different reason.

  “Smells wonderful.” I looked appreciatively at the pancakes and sausage.

  “Thanks. Hope it’s good.”

  As we ate, both of us studiously ignoring the other’s eyes, I couldn’t help thinking about the dream. My cock stirred in my pants, and I was glad that this time it was hidden by the table.

  “I’ve got to be at work in an hour,” I said when I’d finished eating and was washing off my plate.

  “Don’t firefighters usually work twenty-four hour shifts?” Sayer asked.

  “Yeah, we do. But around the holidays we work it out so we have more twelve-hour shifts. A lot of the guys have commitments this time of year.”

  Sayer nodded. “Well, I’ll take care of Boone,” he said.

  I headed to my room to get dressed, and when I left, Sayer was in front of the easel, lost in painting.

  “What kept you so late tonight?” Sayer cut into his potato.

  “An eighteen-wheeler caught fire on the interstate,” I said, so tired I could barely lift my fork. It had been a hellish day, and I’d returned home long after dark to find Sayer had kept dinner hot for me and had waited for me to eat himself.

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “Fortunately, no. We got there before things got too bad, and the driver was already out. But later, an older couple’s space heater caught fire. They weren’t so fortunate.” I couldn’t erase the scene from my brain. We’d all hoped the house had been empty only to find them after we’d put out the flames.

  “Fuck. I can’t imagine. How awful.” Sayer looked to where I was ineffectually stabbing my steak with my fork. “Here, let me.” He took my plate and cut up the meat for me before passing it back.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, trying to smile. I took a couple of bites. “It’s good.” One more bite and I sagged.

  “Dane?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said from behind my hand. “This all looks so good, but I can’t eat anymore.”

  Sawyer stood. “That’s okay. It’ll save. Let me help you get comfortable. Come on.” He led me into the living room and gently nudged me into my favorite chair before unlacing my boots and pulling them off my feet. He reclined the chair and covered me with a blanket. It felt so good to be taken care of, my eyes filled with tears. If Sayer noticed, he pretended not to.

  �
�Relax. I’ll put the food away and get you something warm to drink.” He disappeared into the kitchen, and I closed my eyes.

  I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, Sayer was poking the fire and a covered cup sat beside me on the table.

  I don’t know why my mind went to Liz. Maybe because Sayer was here taking care of me, or maybe because of the couple we’d found dead together in bed when we’d finally put out the fire.

  I stared at the twinkling tree, the night that had changed things vivid in my mind, as though it had all happened yesterday.

  “You okay?” Sawyer asked.

  I looked up at him with every intention of telling him yes, I as fine, but instead I said, “I hurt her.”

  “Who?” Sayer placed a pillow on the floor by my knee and lowered himself onto it.

  “Liz.” I rubbed my eyes. Fuck. I hadn’t thought of this in a long time. Why now?

  But I knew why.

  “Sorry, I’m not following.”

  I let out a breath.

  “The Christmas before she died, Liz found a box of letters I’d never meant her to see. Letters from someone who’d been in love with me, or thought they’d been. I shouldn’t have kept them.”

  “Had you cheated on her?” Sayer asked.

  I shook my head. “No. Never. I loved Liz. But sometimes I wondered…” I looked him in the eyes, “if the love I felt for her wasn’t enough for her.”

  Sayer was silent, waiting for me to continue.

  “Adam was a friend of mine and Liz’s at college. Everyone knew he had a crush on me; Liz used to tease me about it. One night when Adam and I were waiting for Liz and some other friends outside a bar, Adam kissed me. He’d been a little mortified afterward when our friends caught us and blamed it on being drunk. Liz and I had been friends a long time but weren’t officially dating. She’d found it hilarious, never imagining it as anything but an embarrassing moment for me. Never suspecting that, for one fleeting moment, I’d kissed Adam back.”

  Sayer watched me, the fire in the hearth reflected in his eyes.

  “What happened after that? With Adam?”

  “Nothing. We pretended it hadn’t happened, and soon after, we all graduated. Back home, Liz and I quickly got serious. Our friends and parents had always expected we’d be together, and it was sort of unspoken between us. We started dating, and not long after, we got engaged.

  “Adam had moved to Texas, but he wrote to me, apologizing again about the kiss. Then he’d admitted that when I’d responded, he’d hoped maybe I was bi. I wrote him back and told him there was no need to apologize, and I was sorry if I’d led him on. I’m not sure if I told him Liz and I were getting married. A few more letters came after that, and Adam probably had been drunk when he wrote them because they were sexual in nature. I never responded and should have thrown them away, but I didn’t.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Sayer asked.

  I looked into the fire, examining my feelings before answering. “I think now it was because I liked to know they were there if I ever wanted to read them.”

  “And did you? Read them again?”

  “A few times. But not after Liz found them.”

  “How did Liz react when she found them?”

  “At first, she was confused. She couldn’t believe Adam had been writing to me. Liz was a good person. The letters were addressed to me, and she didn’t read them without my permission. I gave them to her, though, as soon as she asked me about them. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from her. I was confused myself back then as to why I’d kept them. After reading all of them, Liz asked me if I was gay. Or bi. I told her I didn’t know. All I knew was I loved her and was where I wanted to be. I remember the look on her face at that moment so vividly. The hurt and uncertainty and that little bit of hope.

  “She asked what it had been like when Adam had kissed me. I told her honestly—because we’d always been honest with each other—it had been a surprise but that I’d enjoyed it. She asked if I wanted to be with Adam, and I said no. That was the truth; I didn’t have feelings for him other than friendship. But I had enjoyed kissing him. I remember being so scared Liz would leave me. She was a constant in my life I didn’t want to lose. I told her I loved her, wanted to have children with her. She believed me. I tried to throw away the letters, but she stopped me. I still have them at the top of my closet. We went on from there, but looking back, things were never really the same. By the time Liz got sick, we’d both started to realize I wasn’t able to give her what she needed.”

  Sayer was watching me, head leaning on the arm of my chair, expression understanding, and a little more of that hole inside me filled up.

  “What do you mean?”

  I thought about it a moment, the old, familiar pain washing over me.

  “What I never told Liz was that when she and I got back from college and our friendship became more, I’d expected kissing her would be as exciting as that kiss with Adam had been. Being with her was pleasant, comfortable, but not like that. I really did love her, but looking back, I can see the lack of passion on my part. We didn’t make love until our wedding night, and I was kind of let down, to be honest. I’d expected fireworks, you know? Instead it was just… nice. After that, sex was just something we did once a week because I thought we were supposed to. Sometimes I couldn’t even get hard, and I tried to hide it by telling her I wanted to concentrate on her. Still, I wasn’t unhappy. We’d known each other since we were kids and that trust, that comfort, was everything to me. I didn’t want to lose her. If Adam hadn’t kissed me that night, maybe I would have been content. As it was, sometimes I’d have dreams and wake up hard as a rock. They weren’t about Adam. Just some faceless man.”

  “What do you think would have happened if Liz hadn’t gotten sick?” Sayer asked.

  I paused. “I think… no, I know we would have split up eventually. We couldn’t have gone on like that. Liz was figuring out what she was missing, and the comfort I’d felt with her was slowly ebbing away.”

  “I’m sorry that you’re hurting,” Sayer said quietly. I didn’t know why it was so easy to talk to him. Maybe it was because he’d never known Liz. I would never have been able to say all this to anyone else.

  “So, sounds like you’re around twenty-six?”

  “Twenty-seven,” I said. “I repeated first grade.”

  “That makes me eight years older than you are.”

  I smiled. I’d wondered how old he was.

  “Have you been with a man since Liz died?” Sayer asked.

  I shook my head slowly, eyes never leaving his face. I couldn’t deny I found him very attractive.

  I know I wasn’t imagining how the air around us suddenly became electrified.

  Sayer licked his lips, and my cock twitched.

  “I knew I was gay when I was an adolescent, but I kept it a secret for a long time. Then I got in a serious relationship with a man and everything changed for me. I’ve been out and proud ever since, although not particularly active sexually. Work took up a lot of my time.”

  I nodded, excitement stirring in my belly.

  Gathering up my courage, I asked, “Sayer, can I kiss you?”

  Sayer studied me a minute, and I thought I might die if he said no.

  “Sure.”

  I was pretty sure I wanted more than just a kiss, but what if I was wrong? What if the attraction I felt was some kind of a fluke? Maybe I was sexually messed up and only thought I wanted something I couldn’t have. I needed to kiss him—a man other than Adam—to begin to figure out what I really wanted.

  Sayer stood. Taking the large fleece blanket from my legs, he doubled it and spread it out over the hearth rug. Then he sat down and patted the spot next to him. His face was in shadow, so I couldn’t see his expression as I released the foot rest and got out of the chair. When I sat next to him, the fire warm at our backs, he turned to me, cupped my cheek with his hand, and gently brought his lips to mine.

  Intoxicat
ed by the softness of the kiss, I pressed back for a moment before opening my mouth and meeting his tongue, letting out a soft moan when a shiver cascaded down my back.

  “Good?” Sayer asked against my lips.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “More.”

  Sayer deepened the kiss, and I groaned, fingers digging into his bicep. He felt so, so good.

  “I don’t think it’s a fluke,” I whispered.

  “Hm? Fluke?” Sayer kissed along my jaw to my ear, and I gasped when he nipped at my earlobe with his teeth.

  “I mean, I’m really, really attracted to you, Sayer.” That was an understatement. I was painfully hard.

  He pulled back and looked into my eyes. “I’m really, really attracted to you too, Dane.”

  The next kiss was harder, and there was the passion my kisses with Liz had lacked. Our mouths moved hungrily over one another and our hands were everywhere until suddenly we were lying on the blanket, Sayer’s body over mine, his erection poking my thigh.

  “Is this where you finally make your dastardly move and pull a knife out on me?” I joked when we finally came up for air. “Because if it is, I don’t think I care.”

  Sayer’s eyes danced above me. “I have other ways of sending you to heaven.” He unzipped my jeans.

  I laughed. “God, that was cheesy.” My laughter abruptly died when he took my cock into his hot mouth. “Fuck, Sayer!”

  Toes curling, I laid my hand on the back of his head just to feel him bobbing over me.

  “Christ, stop, stop or I’m going to come,” I finally said, tugging on his hair.

  Sayer’s eyes took on a mischievous glint, and instead of pulling off, he licked and sucked harder. It didn’t take five minutes for me to shoot into his mouth.

  Sayer grinned at me, lips wet. “You taste delicious.”

  “Thanks?” I was breathing hard, my mind spinning. I took in his flushed face and hair disheveled from my fingers. “I wouldn’t mind getting a taste of you,” I said, heart speeding up again.

  Sayer’s eyes darkened. He stood up and began stripping.