Icecapade (8 page)

“No.” Noel drained his glass. “Sandwiches for dinner okay with you? I’ve got to get this turkey ready and all the stuff that goes with it.”

Robert stared at him. “You think we’re having dinner together?”

Noel expelled a long, harsh breath. “I do. Yeah.

I’m not stupid either. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I do know that if you were only here to question me about a bunch of copycat burglaries, you wouldn’t have spent the day trotting around the countryside rescuing llamas and fixing generators. You wouldn’t have come at all. Given our history, you’d be the last person the Bureau would send.”

“Maybe I’m doing this on my own time.”

“
That
, I totally believe.”

Robert met his gaze without blinking and Noel felt his own resolve crumble. “And I’m not forgetting what you said about wanting to fuck me. I’d sort of prefer to make love, but whatever you want.” He shrugged.

Robert picked up his glass and finished his own drink.

Noel leaned forward. “Why are you here?

What do you want, Robert?”

“Maybe I’m not sure myself.” That seemed to be further than Robert had meant to go because his face closed immediately.

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Noel rose. He moved around the kitchen preparing thick sandwiches of roast beef and tomato on sourdough bread.

“You want to freshen our drinks?” He carried the plates to the front parlor.

He was opening the boxes of ornaments when Robert rejoined him with their drinks.

“You wait till Christmas Eve to trim your tree?” Robert picked up one of the sandwiches and took a huge bite, watching Noel sorting out the strings of lights.

“That’s the way we did it when I was growing up.” Noel threw Robert a look of inquiry.

“We used to get our tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. Christmas was a big deal in our house. Part of the fun was watching that mound of presents grow each day.” Robert smiled at the memory.

A shortage of presents had never been a problem for Noel. “Are you religious?”

“I never know what that question means. Do I believe in God?” Robert shrugged. “Yes. Do I go to church every Sunday? No. I don’t even go on Christmas day anymore.”

“But you used to?”

“When I was a boy, sure.”

He could picture Robert in church—in a blue suit and a hat—probably due to all those 1950s movies featuring steady, sober FBI agents who Josh Lanyon

85

looked a lot like Robert. Tough guys who never failed to catch the gangsters but still had time to teach their kids to ride bikes and remembered to give their wives pearl necklaces on their wedding anniversaries.

Noel’s family had not been remotely religious, but Christmas had always been a big deal. There was no fasting on Christmas Eve, no waiting for the first star, but there was always a twelve course supper—although the traditional dishes of borsch and stuffed cabbage were replaced with more trendy choices like smoked salmon and gallons of champagne. Grandfather Frost and the Snow Maiden brought the piles of presents on Christmas morning rather than New Year’s Eve. In the afternoon all the men, by then well and truly soused, took their new motorcycles and sports cars out. Noel’s eldest brother Nicky had been killed thirty years ago when he wrapped his new Honda CR-X around a telephone pole.

That was not to say Noel hadn’t enjoyed Christmas as a kid. He had. It was only as he left the relative safety of his adolescence that it became more and more stressful. When Christmas stockings were replaced with recreational drugs and booze and expensive toys were replaced with well-trained prostitutes, when the pressure for him to take an active role in the family business began, it had dawned on him that the only thing he had in 86

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common with his nearest and dearest was an accident of birth.

It was only in later years that he had begun to consider the greater implications of the Christmas holiday—and to make an effort recapture some of the old joy he’d felt as a boy by creating his own holiday traditions. Such as they were. It would be nice, though probably fanciful, to think that perhaps this evening was the start of a new Christmas tradition.

Robert took another bite of sandwich, chewed, swallowed and said, “You know, because you can’t do the climbing doesn’t mean you’re not still masterminding—”

“Don’t.” Noel dropped the string of lights, and rose quickly. More quickly than usual, which meant his balance was slightly off as he crossed the floor. He steadied himself on the table next to the sofa and then knelt in front of Robert. He could see the startled wariness in Robert’s face.

“No more games.”

“I thought you liked games.”

Noel shook his head. “Not with you. Not anymore. No.”

Something changed in Robert’s face. His thumb brushed Noel’s cheekbone. “No. I don’t want to hurt you this much.”

Noel turned his face against Robert’s hand. He closed his eyes when Robert stroked his hair.

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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 88

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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.

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“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 90

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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.

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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.”

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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 the 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.”

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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.