Noel turned his face against Robert’s hand. He closed his eyes when Robert stroked his hair.
There was wry humor in Robert’s voice. “Did anyone ever tell you, you look like an angel?”
My mother. But Noel didn’t want to remember. Had worked hard to forget.
“The first time I saw a photo of you,” Robert said, “I thought, anyone who looks that innocent has to be wicked as hell. Then I thought, how can I get him to look at me like that?”
Noel huffed a laugh and opened his eyes. “The first time I saw you, I thought, I could love that guy.”
Robert made a pained sound. “Jesus, Noel. There you are out on a ledge again. You scare the hell out of me.”
But it was Robert who made the first move.
* * *
It was safe in the darkness.
They could hold each other and kiss and pretend that the tenderness was as invisible as the dark silhouettes of rocking chair and mirrored armoire and antique bird cage. It was there all the same.
“I swear I never meant to hurt you,” Noel whispered as Robert’s mouth trailed down his ribcage. “I’m sorry, Robbie.”
Robert didn’t answer, but at least this time Noel knew the words had been heard. And in time they would be believed. That felt more important than forgiveness, assuming forgiveness was his—it felt like it was his in this sheltering velvety gloom.
The tenderness was what had been missing the first time, that first and last night. It had been a game back then—and they’d both been high on the rush—he’d never had a more exciting night. Never, before or since, had sex been that good.
This was better.
Tonight Noel was high, too, intoxicated with desire, but what he desired was something very different. Almost shocking in its simplicity. He wanted Robert to be happy.
He wanted Robert to fuck him. Was glad to have it that way. He didn’t need Robert’s power under him and harnessed, he wanted it inside, filling him, warming him, ending the winter that had haunted him for so long. Maybe for a decade.
He liked Robert’s gentleness, though it wasn’t something he’d ever required from a bedmate before. He liked the caresses, liked being stroked and petted, liked the fact that Robert’s hands were moving over him, slipping inside him, in a silent of assertion of ownership.
He wriggled agilely to accommodate the larger body lowering itself onto him. Robert, braced on his hands, stared down. His face was in shadow, his eyes a gleam, but Noel smiled up at him.
“Anything you want,” he promised.
“I used to dream about this.”
Elation flooded Noel’s veins at that rough admission. He was acutely aware of the softness of the flannel sheets, the warmth of Robert’s skin, the quick, hard beats of his heart. His heart or Robert’s? He wasn’t sure which was which. He couldn’t ever recall feeling so alive. He could almost feel the moonlight brushing his skin. His own heart thrummed beneath his collarbone with something very like joy.
They shifted, resettled, and Robert’s slippery fingers slid inside Noel, scissored, turned this way and that, loosening the quivering muscle. His touch was careful and attentive. There was nothing there of settling old scores or one-upmanship.
Noel reached out and they linked hands, laced fingers. Noel liked the strength that met his own, the fierce grip that held him—no chance of falling with a grip like that. He closed his eyes, focusing only on the feel of Robert pushing into his body.
“Okay?” Robert asked thickly.
“God. Yes.”
Robert began to thrust into him. Long, slow strokes at first, and Noel rose to meet them, shoving back. But almost immediately they seemed to lose the rhythm, disintegrating into mutual desperation, and the long, slow thrusts gave way to short, hard punches. Somehow they recovered the tempo, their bodies once more moving in unison, pacing each other, learning each other. It wouldn’t take long, for all they’d waited ten years for it.
Noel freed his hands and pulled Robert closer, holding him tight, not wanting to forget one moment of this, committing every second to memory: the harsh wounded sounds of Robert’s breath, the damp heat of his skin, the human, musky scent that was Robert and no one else.
When Robert’s hot mouth covered his own, he opened to him, kissing him back with the same hunger, turned on by the idea that Robert’s tongue was fucking his mouth even as his cock fucked Noel’s ass. His own cock was trapped between them, rubbing hard along the silky rough line of belly hair tickling him with each powerful thrust of Robert’s hips.
Noel’s balls tightened, tingling heat washing through. Robert fucked him harder and faster and deeper until the moment seemed to stretch and stretch and grow timeless—unique and fragile as a snowflake against glass—and then Robert was coming, exquisite relief pulsing in satiny long jets.
Chapter Seven
The smell of fresh brewed coffee infiltrated his dreams.
Noel opened his eyes.
Christmas morning. His mouth curved. It was a long time since he’d felt this sort of anticipation for Christmas morning.
Through the half-raised window shades he could see the sun shining brightly, the trees feathered in white and the sugary hills beyond.
A floorboard squeaked and Robert walked into the bedroom with two cups of coffee. He wore jeans and Noel’s black dressing gown, which was both tight across the shoulders and too short for him—and yet somehow totally sexy.
“Merry Christmas,” Noel said.
Robert gave him a look from beneath his dark brows and a funny little smile. “Merry Christmas.” He handed Noel one of the coffee cups.
“Just what I asked Santa for.”
Robert snorted. He sipped his coffee.
“You’re a long way away,” Noel said.
Robert’s lashes raised in surprise. Self-consciously, he sat on the foot of the bed. “No. I’m not.”
Noel stretched out his hand. Robert took it. Noel sipped his own coffee and tasted the sweetness of Baileys and the bite of whisky. He sighed. “This is nice.”
Robert nodded. “It is.” His gaze caught Noel’s. Though his smile was guarded, there was something in his eyes that made Noel’s heart speed up.
“So…you’re planning to hang around today?” Noel stared at their laced hands.
“I thought I might.”
Neither of them spoke for a few quiet, surprisingly tranquil minutes.
Finally, Robert said, “Those phone calls every New Year’s Eve—”
“I guess…I wanted to apologize.”
“I did catch that much. It’s not that I wouldn’t have—if things had been different—”
“I think I understand. I just want you to know I never meant our relationship to hurt you.”
“Our relationship? You mean the fact that I was investigating you in the hopes of putting you in prison?”
“Yeah.” Noel met that crooked grin with one of his own. “Hey, all couples have their rough patches.”
Robert snorted. It was an endearing sound, Noel decided. He could picture Robert spluttering and snorting at him with that same amused exasperation twenty years from now. Maybe. Depending.
“If you had caught me, would you have sent me to prison?”
Robert’s smile faded. “One reason I never picked up that phone was that I didn’t want to ever have to make that choice.”
“Right.” Noel brooded over that. He looked up. “There wasn’t any copycat burglar, was there?”
“No.”
“You made that whole thing up about a string of cat burglaries fitting my MO.”
“Yep.”
“You never had any intention of arresting me.”
“You said yourself the statute of limitations has run out on your last known robbery.”
“You wanted an excuse to come and see me.”
Robert grunted. “I’m not going to pretend I didn’t want to see you sweat a little. Actually, I wanted to see you sweat a lot.”
Noel grimaced. “But you read th
e last book, right? You read Crawl Space?”
“Those books.” Robert’s groan sounded genuine. “And that last one.”
“I was trying to apologize.”
“I preferred the drunken phone calls.”
Noel pulled his hand free. “You know those books are very popular.”
“Yes. I do know that.”
Noel retreated behind his coffee cup.
“Noel.”
Noel looked up.
“I didn’t want to be alone this Christmas. That’s the truth. I can’t pretend that my feelings for you through the years have always been, uh, tender, but I never forgot you. I made a point of keeping track of you, and I never stopped wondering what things could be like if you really could go straight. Legally speaking.”
“Same here.”
“I can’t say I had a real plan when I decided to come here. I only knew I wanted to see you again. In a crazy way, you’ve been one of the constants in my life.”
“It’s been the same for me.”
They both seemed to consider this for a few moments.
“How would this work?” Noel finally steeled himself to ask. “Could it work?”
“Unlike your friend with the greenhouse, I don’t pretend to know the future. But regardless of what happens with us, I’m through with the Bureau.”
“You’re not with the Bureau?”
Robert shook his head.
“You quit?”
“I quit.”
After the initial surge of relief, Noel was conscious of a wave of guilt. Was the decision to leave the FBI what Robert honestly wanted? Or was it what he was stuck with after Noel had inadvertently sabotaged his career?
He said tentatively, “Are you okay with that?”
“Honestly? Yes. It was time for a change. I realized a long time ago a lot of the fun went out of it for me when you dropped out of the game.” Robert set his coffee cup on the floor, reached over, took Noel’s cup and put it on the nightstand. “So, having seen firsthand how busy your social calendar is, I was thinking I better find out now what your plans are for New Year’s.”
Noel laughed, reaching for him. “I was planning on a quiet evening at home. Maybe phone a friend.”
His mouth a kiss away from Noel’s, Robert said, “Angel, I’m going to save you a fortune on long distance charges.”
About the Author
A distinct voice in gay fiction, multi-award-winning author Josh Lanyon has been writing gay mystery and romance for over a decade. In addition to numerous short stories, novellas and novels, Josh is the author of the critically acclaimed Adrien English series, including The Hell You Say, winner of the 2006 USA Book News award for GLBT Fiction. Josh is an EPIC Award winner and a three-time Lambda Literary Award finalist. Josh is also the author of the definitive M/M writing guide Man, Oh Man! Writing M/M Fiction for Kinks & Ca$h. To learn more about Josh, please visit www.joshlanyon.com or join his mailing list at groups.yahoo.com/group/JoshLanyon.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9083-3
Copyright © 2010 Harlequin Books S.A.
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Mistletoe at Midnight
ISBN: 978-1-4268-9093-2
Copyright © 2010 by LB Gregg
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9094-9
Copyright © 2010 by Harper Fox
I Heard Him Exclaim
ISBN: 978-1-4268-9095-6
Copyright © 2010 by Z.A. Maxfield
Icecapade
ISBN: 978-1-4268-9092-5
Copyright © 2010 by Josh Lanyon
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