His for the Holidays

by LB Gregg, Harper Fox, Z. A. Maxfield

  “Platitudes?” Chandler’s lower lip pushed out in a delightfully childlike pout. “I didn’t expect—”

  “No, listen. I met you and I didn’t expect to fall for you but clearly—” Steve swallowed,

  “—very clearly I have. So now I have to say what’s on my mind. I have to take the chance you feel the same way. There’s this clock in my head now—ticktock ticktock—that tells me not to squander my time. Not to waste one second that I can be spending loving the people I—”

  Chandler cupped his face and kissed him, a thoroughly deep, delightful, heady kiss that seemed to go on and on until finally he broke away because he had to breathe. “Me too. You know? I waved goodbye to my brother and his wife when they pulled out of my parents’ driveway. Just…bye. I never dreamed there would be so much I’d want to say. If I’d known it was the last time…”

  “This is crazy. I don’t even know you, man. What do you do for a living?”

  “Me? I sell advertising in a local newspaper.”

  “Really? You’re a salesman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So…conceivably, you could sell…I don’t know. Anything?” Steve’s heart beat fast. “I mean, you could get a job selling things anywhere, right?”

  “I guess so. It’s a pretty tough economy. I doubt I could sell something people didn’t need.”

  “And what about where you live. You said you have an apartment? Are you planning to live in your brother’s house?”

  At this Chandler shut down. Steve saw how painful the subject was for him. “I don’t even want to visit my brother’s house. I’ll have to go there eventually. Poppy needs her clothes and toys. I’ll have to pack and store all her parents’ things for when she’s older, but I don’t want to live there, no.”

  “I could help you with all of that, my business is slow this time of year. I could help you find your balance, and then maybe once you know where you stand, you’d consider dating me?”

  “What about Poppy?”

  “What about her? Shouldn’t you give yourself a chance with Poppy? You can’t run from responsibility you know is yours. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”

  “You’ve got it all figured out?”

  Steve wondered if Chandler even realized he was brushing his lips back and forth over the bristly skin of his neck. This was the most relaxed Steve had ever seen him. “Not a bit of it.”

  “I want to be with you, like this. That’s what I want.”

  “Yeah?”

  “But if I try to have it all, if I want to date, to work, have a life and take care of Poppy—”

  “You wouldn’t be the only single dad out there. You wouldn’t even be the only single gay dad. We’ll take it real slow, Chandler. One thing at a time, see how we feel…”

  “But if I tell people I’ve just met you and I want to see where this leads, they’ll think I’m crazy. People will call me irresponsible and say that I’m not doing what’s best for Poppy.”

  “You worry a lot about what people will say. Is anyone planning to fight you for custody?”

  “No. There’s no one else except me and my folks. My sister, but she wouldn’t fight me. Poppy’s mother’s family—what’s left of it—is in France. Her parents are dead, she was an only child and she wasn’t close with anyone else there. She liked us. She said it was the first time she’d had family in a long time.”

  “Then why worry about what others will say?” Steve held up his hand so Chandler wouldn’t interrupt. “I’m not just saying this because I want you. You need to be sure about where you stand. But raising a kid doesn’t mean you can’t have relationships. It requires more careful screening, sure, but—”

  Chandler bumped him with his shoulder. “I could hardly do better than Santa Claus.”

  At this, Steve laughed. “You have no idea how many people think I’m a total perv for liking that so much.”

  “People have filthy minds.”

  “They do indeed.” Steve sobered. He’d certainly seen that side of people over the years.

  “There will always be people who think the worst.”

  “I know.” Chandler sat on the stool next to Steve’s. “I get what you’re saying.”

  “I guess my point is, where is your heart? What does it tell you? Poppy needs you. Your brother and sister-in-law trusted you.”

  Tears sparkled on Chandler’s lashes. “What if I’m not good enough? What if I fuck up?”

  Steve sighed. “I wish my mom was here. She is so much better at this. We’ll talk to her later, all right? But right now let me tell you that she’d say you will fuck up…”

  “Huh?”

  “She’d say it’s a foregone conclusion that at some point you will really make some dreadful parenting mistakes. She talked about shit like that when Dave got his girlfriend pregnant, and she’s said something along those lines to every one of them since.”

  “That’s…not exactly a ringing endorsement for parenthood.”

  “No.” Steve got up and got two beers from the fridge. “But as you can see, it hasn’t kept our family from growing at an almost alarming rate.”

  “No sir, it hasn’t done that. Let me.” Chandler got up and took the beers, opening them with Steve’s wall-mounted opener.

  “Little things amuse him so.” Steve rolled his eyes.

  Chandler grabbed hold of Steve’s ass. “And big things.”

  “Hey, that’s my ass you’re calling big.”

  “Nuh-uh, I wasn’t. You’re my new big thing.” He took a swig of his beer. “Look at you, so tall…”

  Steve wrapped his arms around Chandler. “Like that, do you?”

  “I like everything about you.”

  “Me too.” Steve reddened. “About you, I mean.”

  “Good thing that car broke down,” Chandler barely whispered. “I think you might have saved me from more than just a night in the auto repair shop, Steve.”

  The way Chandler looked at Steve made him breathless. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You think we could make it work?”

  “I’ll have to consult my gut, Steve.” Chandler took another sip of his beer and gave it some thought, during which Steve waited in an agony of uncertainty. “My gut says hell yes.”

  Steve’s heart slammed against his rib cage. Chandler smiled his secret smile and Steve’s cock responded accordingly. “And what does your gut say about me, personally?”

  Chandler smiled. “The same thing it said about your car when I first saw it. Get in, shut up and hang on. You’re in for the ride of your life.”

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  Chandler tried to look discreet as he sauntered away from the laundry room and back toward the main party. He hoped Steve would wait a few minutes before he came out. There was no point in everyone knowing what they’d been doing. He turned the corner and bumped into Steve’s brother Dave, whose first words confirmed his deepest fears.

  “I know what you’ve been up to.”

  Chandler rolled his eyes.

  “Seriously, dude. Newlyweds. Enjoy it while you can.”

  Dave’s wife joined them, and they seemed to be waiting for Steve to come out.

  “Good laundry weather,” she finally said, all innocence.

  They busted a gut laughing when Steve came out of the laundry room with a stack of towels, attempting to look as though he’d had a purpose for being in there.

  “Very funny.” Steve put the towels down and took Chandler’s hand. “We’ll be with the grownups, if you want us.”

  Chandler followed him back into the living room where the eldest Adams and his wife held court. The rest of the family swirled around them in a kaleidoscope of holiday colors, everyone dressed their best for Mass, after which there would be dessert and one present, a family tradition, then the kids would try to sleep through their excitement over Santa’s impending arrival.

  “Suckers,” Chandler wh
ispered into Steve’s ear. “I make Santa come for me all year round…” He felt a tug on his jacket and turned.

  “So. You have matching ties.” Steve’s mother straightened Chandler’s tie and gave his lapels a little brush with her hands.

  Chandler kissed her cheek. “They go with Poppy’s dress.”

  “I saw that.” She shot him her mom smile. His mom had one just like it. It said you did well. I love you. You make me happy. He let her pick up his hand. “And these.”

  Chandler grinned when he looked at his ring. He and Steve had exchanged rings around Thanksgiving, and it had apparently not gone unnoticed. “Yeah.”

  “Are you going to have a commitment ceremony?”

  Steve saved him from having to answer that. “Nah. It’s not about ceremonies. We know what we are.”

  Chandler admitted the truth. “I just got tired of all the poachers going after my Santa. No wonder the real Mrs. Claus keeps her guy so fat.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, don’t worry about naysayers. I would love to see you two have a wedding, and fuck the assholes.”

  Chandler’s mind was drawing him a perfect mental picture of her words.

  Steve’s mom frowned a little. “That sounded a lot better in my head.”

  Poppy called his name and he glanced around. He located her by the fireplace mantle. She waved to him. So pretty, still like a doll, but maybe this year she wasn’t so solemn. “Uncle Chandler, come and see, they found my stocking from last year and we’re hanging it up.”

  “Just a sec, Poptart.” He turned back to Steve’s mother. “Hold that thought. I need to go check this out.”

  He made his way through the crowd. Apparently, all the kids hung a stocking at Grandma and Grandpa’s place as well as the ones they had in their own homes. Chandler’s mother had done a lovely needlepoint stocking. It had been hanging in pride of place at Steve and Chandler’s house since Thanksgiving. The same night they’d hung it up, they’d exchanged rings and decided to go through the formal process of adopting Poppy—both of them—cementing their family together legally and with an eye toward forever.

  He took in the fuzzy red-and-white stocking Poppy held now, her name clumsily written on it in glitter glue. There were plastic rhinestones stuck all over it and as she hung it up on a hook in the mantle, one fell off.

  They’d begun their family when she made that—an entire year had passed since then, he could hardly believe it. His gaze roamed the room until it landed on Steve, the man who’d given him all this and so much more.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed.

  Steve nodded toward him, then mouthed back, “‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.’”

  About the Author

  Z.A. Maxfield started writing in 2007 on a dare from her children and never looked back. Pathologically disorganized, and perennially optimistic, she writes as much as she can, reads as much as she dares, and enjoys her time with family and friends. If anyone asks her how a wife and mother of four manages to find time for a writing career, she’ll answer, “It’s amazing what you can accomplish if you give up housework.”

  Her published books include Crossing Borders, Epic Award finalist St. Nacho’s, Drawn Together, Physical Therapy, Blue Fire, Fugitive Color and Jacob’s Ladder, from Loose Id; The Long Way Home, from Aspen Mountain Press; ePistols at Dawn, from Samhain Publishing; and Notturno, Stirring Up Trouble and Vigil, from MLR Press. Readers can visit her website at http://www.zamaxfield.com.

  Icecapade

  By Josh Lanyon

  On the eve of the new millennium, diamond thief Noel Snow seduced FBI special agent Robert Cuffe, then fled into the dawn. Now a successful novelist, Noel uses his capers as fodder for his books, and has modeled his hero’s nemesis (and potential love interest) on Cuffe. Though he leaves Robert a drunken phone message every New Year’s Eve, Noel hasn’t seen or heard from him in a decade.

  So he’s thrilled when his former lover shows up at his upstate farm one Christmas Eve. Elation quickly turns to alarm when Robert accuses Noel of being responsible for a recent rash of diamond heists. Robert is all business and as cold as ice: it seems his only interest in Noel is to put him behind bars.

  Innocent of the crimes, and still as attracted as ever to the oh-so-serious lawman, Noel plans a second seduction—providing he can stay out of jail long enough!

  Prologue

  January 1st, 2000

  The world did not end.

  Given his hangover, maybe it should have. Noel stared up at the tiny red eye of the hotel room smoke detector. A little late for red lights, considering the warm weight lying against him, the muscular hairy leg tangled with his own, the big hand resting possessively on his groin.

  Talk about having him by the balls.

  He smiled faintly, turned his head on the fine linen pillowcase to study his bedmate. Tumbled black curls, a strong nose, a thin, ironic mouth. Not a handsome face, exactly, but undeniably attractive in a craggy, tough guy way.

  So this was FBI Special Agent Robert Cuffe.

  Noel’s lips twitched with self-mockery. Well, that answered one question.

  He resisted the temptation to touch his mouth to the surprisingly soft lips a few inches from his own. As dearly as he’d love to wake Cuffe up for another round of fun and games, play time was over. He could see the watery frame of light around the top of the long ivory draperies. It must be five-thirty or so. Longer than he’d intended to stay.

  Cuffe muttered in his sleep, a gust of alcohol-scented breath warming Noel’s ear. Noel’s mouth curved again. Cuffe was a big guy and he could hold his drink all right, but Noel knew a trick or two to even the odds. Even so, there was no pretending he too hadn’t been drunk off his ass last night. To take that kind of a chance?

  Definitely the worse for drink.

  But it had been worth it.

  From his standpoint anyway. Cuffe might feel differently once he figured out who had actually been seducing whom. Not much of a sense of humor, Special Agent Cuffe. Took himself and his mission very seriously. And his mission last night had been to try and get the goods on diamond thief Noel Snow.

  And he’d been close. Not as close as he thought, but close enough. Closer than anyone else had come in the three years Noel had been in business. In fact, Noel had begun to take a friendly interest in Cuffe—even before last night.

  He stretched cautiously, respectful of his aching head and the tiny, mostly pleasurable pangs of a body well used. Cuffe’s hand flexed in a responsive, an unconscious caress, and Noel’s cock came instantly awake. He mentally shook his head. at himself.

  But God, it had been good. What he wouldn’t give to lie curled against Cuffe’s long, strong body for a couple more hours. When Cuffe woke they could have a nice leisurely fuck, shower together, perhaps order room service. The Michelangelo had the best coffee and hot croissants outside of Paris.

  But no. Cuffe would probably resemble a bear with a hangover. He was too smart not to start questioning his good luck the night before, and before long he’d put two and two together and Noel would be in bracelets—the stainless steel kind. After that, it would only be a matter of time before Cuffe figured out exactly where Dahlia Boaz’s 33-carat diamond ring had been stashed.

  Speaking of which, Noel needed to get downstairs before the cleaning crew got rolling.

  He threw his bedmate a final cautious look. Cuffe continued to sleep the sleep of the just. The just fucked. His face was hard even in his dreams, softened only by ridiculous eyelashes—as thick and dark as a doll’s.

  Keeping his breaths even and slow, his movements minimal, Noel inched out from beneath Cuffe’s arm and slid to the edge of the bed. He rose, careful not to bounce the mattress, and stood for a moment watching Cuffe in the gloom.

  Was he faking?

  No.

  Not much for subterfuge, Cuffe, regardless of what he believed. For nearly two years they’d been playing cat and mouse, and all this time Cuffe had imagined
he was the cat. Noel had become quite fond of his endearingly single-minded nemesis. He always made sure to leave a few promising clues for him, enough to guarantee Cuffe remained point man on his case.

  Of course after last night…well, Noel had his own problems to deal with after last night.

  It took him less than three minutes to pack his remaining belongings. He never really unpacked. He’d enjoyed watching Cuffe painstakingly—considering how smashed he was—rifle through his suitcase last night while Noel feigned sleep.

  Easing open the hotel door, he hung out the Do Not Disturb sign, slipped into the hall and soundlessly closed the door behind him.

  At this time of the morning it only took a couple of seconds to catch an elevator to the main lobby, chill and pristine as a marble tomb following the revelries of the night before. A hint of antiseptic hung in the air. Noel could hear the distant howl of a vacuum. Through artful arrangements of creamy orchids and gilt Italian vases he spotted household staff going about their duties.

  There was no sign of surveillance. No sign that anyone was paying him any attention at all. Why would they? Everyone in the city was probably recovering from the night before and the blow out New Year’s Eve party in Times Square.

  Noel checked out without incident, and headed straight to the downstairs lavatory. Using the small, universal key on his fob, he opened the door of the metal trash container, moved the basket out of the way, and retrieved the plastic wrapped ring he had left tucked in the back of the metal compartment. He unzipped the lining of his London Fog trench coat, dropped the ring in and rezipped.

  There was no real reason for the sick thud of his heart, the uncharacteristic tremor in his hands. He felt as nervous as when he’d pulled his first job. Why? It was going like clockwork. Hangover. That’s all this was. He needed a couple of Alka-Seltzer and sleep. He could have both on the flight to Amsterdam.